One shot. Three years later, and Frank's still finding it hard to get over Gerard's death. Not a Frerard.
Oh, and by the way, Gerard and Lindsey aren't married in this, just friends.
What if Gerard wasn't as strong as he is and didn't get through his Depression? What if he didn't survive? What would the impact be?
I'll guess you'll find out.
Frank scowled at the crumpled, slightly soggy piece of ragged paper in front of him. Three years he hadn't read that letter, three years he refused to see just why Gerard felt he had to.. had to do that. And now, after time and time again, rotting his mind away with endless thoughts, squeezing his heart till it bled dry with ideas of why he did it, his friends: Lindsey, Ray and Mikey, had uncovered it from the box in his attic.
Frank found the closer to home something was, the harder it was to forget it. So he kept it as far away from himself as he could: the attic.
But now, his closest friends - whom to him were like family - sat opposite him, looking at the 30 year old with worried, hard gazes, trying to guess what he was thinking, his emotions.
But just what was he feeling? It felt like numbness - nothing. But was that it, or was he empty? Truth be told, he was - at some point - going to read the blotched ink letters of Gerard's handwriting, but he could never make himself do it. He didn't want to do it. Why would anyone want to read the reason someone close to you committed suicide?
Well, Frank did. He knew he did, and he understood why people wanted to: answers, closure, comfort. But sometimes things were a little too close to comfort, too close to home, so close you could relate to it, and that scared Frank. Had it really just been Gerard's depression that sent him over the edge? Had it really just been..
No. No it couldn't have been. Can't have been. Frank wouldn't let it - Gerard knew he could get through it.. But.. what if it was a repeat of the Kurt Cobain incident?
Frank suddenly felt like puking up his heart and dying, right there, right then, not having to read the letter, not having to find out why.
"Frank?" Lindsey asked softly, making the pale man jump out his whitening skin. "Are you okay?"
Sorrow-intoxicated, hazel eyes shot up to meet Lindsey's wide, worried ones as the thirty-year-old's shoulders hunched, tears building in his miserable eyes. The the world seemed to turn bleak as Frank, the usually happy man, let his first tear in three years finally fall.
It was as if the world stopped, finally realized that Frank was in much more pain than anyone had seen, had ever saw, and no one could think of what to do, what to say. They felt useless.
But Frank simply shook his head, defeat plastered over all his face which had seemed to age ten years. "I can't.." he whispered finally, voice cracking as held the letter loosely, the thin, flimsy paper burning his hand.
Ray's face only resembled pain. "I couldn't either - but I did. It helps, Frank.." Beside him, Lindsey nodded.
Mikey, younger brother of Gerard, stayed quiet. He was just as pale as Frank -paler even, like a lost ghost searching for his soul, but never quite reaching it- and looked to his fingers. The youngest Way had never been the same after Gerard left. It was as if when Gerard went, Mikey's heart was ripped out with his passing, and he was just like a zombie. The walking dead; alive, but nothing to prove it.
Frank was slowly turning into something like that, but something more insane, something more desperate, needing. "I just.. can't. I can't!" he mumbled, bowing over in the armchair, fisting at his hair and letting his second crystal, pain-induced tear fall to the fall.
His friends stared in desolate awe, the agonizing, pessimistic expressions on each of their faces only growing more sour, more anguished and despairing. The world dissolved into a Stygian, pitiable abyss of pain as each person - each soul - looked to Frank as he bent over, tattooed hands running through his black locks and sticking them up in different places, showing his true exhaustion.
"It's okay, Frank.. You don't have to read it.." Lindsey said softly, after what seemed an eternity of waiting.
It was then, Mikey, who hadn't talked the entire time, glanced up through heartbroken eyes. His voice was hoarse and ragged as he said, "I never did."
And then, as Frank looked up to meet Mikey's gaze, the two shared something, an understanding of some sort, and maybe then they could finally find some closure knowing someone felt the way they did.
Lindsey and Ray were simply shocked at Mikey's confession. Neither of them could quite understand why the two men didn't want to find comfort by reading their letters. But then they shared the same thought Frank once had, 'some things are a little too close to home.'
So, as Frank let the letter drift to the floor and walked out of the room, shoulder's still hunched, maybe they could try to comprehend the excruciating amount of pain that had blackened his and Mikey's hearts.
Frank didn't look back at the letter as he left Lindsey's house, but the image of it's crumpled body fluttering to the floor still implanted firmly into his mind.
He guessed he was just blinded by pain.
So, this is kind of a risk. I'd just like you to tell me what you think? :)