We lay still for a while, dozing into a peaceful place. The rain was starting to come again. The pavement glowing from the streetlights as darkness crept across the sky. I yawned and stretched my aching legs out on the mattress. Gerard was still fast asleep next to me. A beautiful sight, the droplets of rain drumming in rythmic patterns on the window pane as i traced every feature on his pale face.
Then it dawned on me. Dinner was cooking wasn't it. I crept from the room and shut the door softly before i ran down the stairs. To my surprise nothing was there. No smoke, no heat from the oven. No tall, graceful woman eyeing me cautiously the way she had earlier. I opened the oven and peaked inside. There was our dinner alright. It was a shame he had forgotten to switch the oven on. I had never cooked before in my life. Well cooked successfully. I had cooked before but it always ended up black and crumbly. After a few moments of internally debating with my culinary skills or lack of it, i decide not to risk burning down Gerards home. Instead i go and sit on the plush soft couch and settle myself, watching the nightmare before Chirstmas, my favourite. Oh to live like that. Like Jack and Sally Skellington. Contentment. They will always have eachother. I don't have that with anyone. I've never had that with anyone. And i doubt i will ever achieve that.
The credits start to roll and i'm sitting cross legged on the carpet in the darkness. I can't stop thinking over my entire life. I can't stop questioning my existence. Why should i be here? There are people who've died who should still be here, making the world better for everyone. And here's me. Desperately dreading the thought of waking up to another day. So sick and tired of always being sick and tired.
I reach out my hands, grasping the sheets searching for the tough skin of Frank's arms. The softness of his hair. The silky skin of his rosebud lips. Nothing. I wondered if Frank was real. Had i just dreamt of him there? Maybe the Frankie i had adapted so well too was simply a ghost of the actual person. No, i wouldn't feel like this if he was all made up in my head. I would need months and months of rehab if this was the case. Something was telling me something was wrong. Really wrong. I rose myself from the bed and ran a hand through my hair, which could be mistaken for the top of an oak tree.
I make my way down the stairs. Hearing the credit song of The Nightmare before Christmas playing into the living room and the small downstairs hallway. I couldn't help but smile at that. I knew it wouldn't be Sophia watching that movie. She always said it was immature and that her films such as Twilight and Titanic were much better. Now don't get me wrong, i don't mind a good old bit of romance from time to time but overall i prefer horrors and cartoons. I don't see why that's such a flaw to her. Everybody else i know are fine with it, i often find they like it almost as much as me. I'll never understand Sophia. Another reason my doubts keep multiplying.
I slowly open the door to the living room and my heart skips a beat as i see Frankie lying with his eyes closed, his mouth slightly agape. It's when i fully open the door that everything falls apart. Because right there in front of me, lies Frankie. In a pool of his own deep crimson blood.
DUN DUN DUNNN! Thankyou for reading! :) x