Gerard tell us a little, and Mikey makes Frank a little pissed.
I want to live. I’m sick of being dead. Really, I am. Seriously, being dead sucks fat old mens’ dicks. Ugh gross mental image... nasty.
As the days go by, I wish more and more I was stronger, braver, a better brother, not dead.
But I am. I’m dead because I wanted to be. Now I want to live though.
Dammit Gerard make up your fucking mind!
I can’t! Its Hell on either side!
Well its too late now fuckface, you made your everlasting choice once you slid that dagger across your pale throat.
Well I know, but I shouldn’t have done it. Poor Mikey. I know I will feel forever guilty for leaving him alone on that godforsaken earth. Alone. No parents, no love. No boyfriend. Just a puff-headed freak and a blue-eyed bully.
Wait- Aren’t I on (in) the Earth too? What happened to the whole “depart this world after death” thing? Am I actually underground? If so where? What has room to hold all the deceased from the history of this Earth? There must be billions of people here, but I can't tell. Were not allowed t ogo anywhere but our chambers and the church. Hell, pure hell.
I didn’t even look as the strange man called Frank took me away from my brother after I-.... My eyes were to blurred over with the uninvited tears that-...
Mikey. My brother. My baby brother. The one that I held in my tiny arms the day he joined me in that world, the one that held me as I left that same world.
He's Franks little toy. Because of me, he will suffer. Because of me, he will die. And I will see him walk into Hell with a bloody bruised face, and know that I’d done that to him.
I absently trace over my thin line across my throat that never fails to remind me of the painting. The painting that I spent hours, days, weeks making perfect. The painting that killed me.
Please God, or whoever is there, watch over Mikey, send him the guidance he needs and no doubt craves now that I am rotting in this place.
Forgive me Mikey, I’m sorry for everything.
I’m sorry for laughing at you on your first day of school when you used moms hairbrush.
I’m sorry for getting you addicted to coffee before you even hit puberty.
I’m sorry for when I scared off your very first girlfriend, even though she’s now a lesbian like you are gay.
I’m sorry when I laughed at you after you stuck a fork in the toaster, when you screamed “My hair, my precious hair!”
I’m sorry I will never be able to make you nervous when you propose to a fiance.
I’m sorry I will never walk you down the aisle.
I’m sorry I left you alone.
I’m sorry I died.
I Love you.
“Excuse me, Michael? Are you in need of assistance?” Frank asks waving a steaming cup of coffee in front of my face.
“Wha- OH no I’m sorry I just dozed off a bit whoopsie...” I reply.
I facepalm. “Ouwch!” I frown rubbing my forehead where there is no doubt a huge red mark.
“Michael? Are you in need of assistance?” Frank asks urgently.
“No.. Just living in the past.” I reply grimly.
“Ahhh a problem I too struggle with.” Frank admits
“Really, how so?” I question.
I surprise myself by actually being very interested in this kind man. I feel, attracted to him. Who wouldn’t? Hes a very attractive man. He has a short, skinny, well defined body with a delicious looking face to complete it... Wait, delicious? Thats new. His hair is a tousled mousy dark brown swept off to the side. His eyes, though calm and experienced looking, sparkle with the mischievousness of youth. They glaze over as he thinks over his response to my question.
“Well, I’ve always been very fascinated in history, specifically history pertaining to my own family tree. Sometimes I feel as though I get lost, and never quite return.” Frank says slowly and carefully as though weighing each word in his brain before choosing when to say it.
“Interestingly put, Frank.” I say into my coffee mug as I sip the hot liquid that’s filled with memories.
We sit in silence. Frank simply gazes calmly into the fire as I fidget nervously. I guess I’m just not used to being around strangers without massive Afros or blazing blue eyes or... ebony hair.
Unable to handle the silence anymore I bring up the one topic I try to avoid most in conversation: Gerard.
“So uhm, did you know my brother Gerard?” I ask timidly.
“Well I guess to a certain degree, yes I am friendly with Gerard.” He reply after ages pass.
I can’t help but notice the the present tense.
“Frank, surely you know hes been dead for nearly 5 years now.” I say bluntly, as though saying it with no emotion would make it hurt less. I doesn’t.
“Oh of course I know that, I was at his funeral.”
This surprises me. I’m pretty sure I would remember a mysteriously handsome stranger at my brothers funeral. But then again, It was pretty much all a blur through my tear soaked eyes.
“Oh I must have not seen you then.” I reply.
For some reason he looks a angry at my words. As though he expected me to see him, as though he saw me.
“How did you know Gerard?” I ask quietly, feeling quite taciturn.
His eyes flash dangerously as he replies.
“I met Gerard Way through work. And he owes me something I’m going to get no matter what.”
A/N HAHA GO FRANKIE OWN THAT BITCH! just joking, mikeys defiantly NOT a bitch! Oh and I'm hoping and praying I've finally made a chapter over 1,000 words so thank me with reviews! Joking. But Please please review! Even if its to tell me I'm a bitch!