Frank wants My Chemical Romance back. Of course, storming to Gerard's house in the middle of the night is the best way to solve this.
I'm here now, though. I can see my destination just down the street, and my whole body is shaking violently. Not because of the cold, but because of the blind, erratic rage that is tearing throughout me. Enough is enough. Twelve fucking years, is enough. I just can't take it anymore. Jamia will understand, she knows exactly what goes through my head every day. She knows just how much it fucking hurts, but she'll never truly know the feeling.
So I walk up the steps, invisible hands pulling me back, but I fight past them. Rain pelts down on me, hitting the ground with the same anger that is ripping me apart. When I'm at the door, I pause. For a moment, I think that the realization of what I am about to do is catching up with me. I wait a few moments, almost egging it on so that I can double back home, hanging my head in shame. When I feel nothing but the urge to smash the door in, I lift a hand and rap in the hard wood three times.
I'm terrified as to who will answer. Is this even the right house? I think it is, he sent me the address not too long ago, but I still have my doubts. Secretly, I almost hope that he is isn't in. Almost however, is the key word there. I don't even know exactly what I plan on doing. All I know is that he's been lying to me, and I'm sick and tired of having the largest part of my life torn out and missing.
The hallway light comes on, and I don't let myself freeze up. I refuse to just walk away. The door opens. "Frank? Wh-what are you...?" his face is lit up with confusion and surprise. This hurts me slightly. Best friends are allowed to visit each other on Christmas day, right?
"I've had it," I grunt, before grabbing him by the collar. "I've fucking had it, Gerard. This is bullshit,"
His eyes are wide with terror, but I can see what looks like hope flash in them. Has he been having second thoughts? "How did, what? Why are you... Frank, what are you talking about?"
"Shut up," I spit, pulling him closer. He looks strange with brown hair; I've seen pictures, but I didn't expect it to look like this, exactly. His hazel eyes are sunk back as a sign of sleep deprivation, and his skin his pale and unhealthy. There is a tortured look about this man who is slipping away from me, becoming more and more of a stranger every passing minute. "Get in the house," I push him backwards.
He gulps, then backs away slowly, nodding. I'm let in, and I slam the door behind us. "L-Lindsey and Bandit are upstairs..." he tells me, his voice shaking nervously.
"Where's the computer?"
"In here..." he leads me into a study. It's the same one I've seen him tweet pictures of.
"Do you still have the password?" I ask him, and his face tells me he knows exactly what I'm talking about.
Hesitantly, he nods. Only he and the record company have the password. He logs onto the website, and I see the same bullshit four sentences that haunt me everyday pop up on the screen. "Frank, what are you doing? Do you know how crazy you're acting right now?"
"I said, shut up," I'm grabbing him by the collar again. For once, I feel in control. He always chose what would happen, which concerts he would kiss me at, which ones I would kiss him. 'For the fans' he says. 'And to piss off the homophobes'. I could see in his eyes that it was more than that. We didn't just kiss on stage. I remember him pushing me up against the tour van before our lips collided, his hands roaming my body in desperation. "Tell them we're a band again," I hiss, my teeth bared.
I expect him to stick up for himself. I expect him to fight and tell me that MCR is dead. When he turns back to the computer and lets his trembling hands stab into the keyboard feebly, I fall back, amazed. The message he composes is simple, easy. Nice and clean cut, just like how it ended. When I see that it has been uploaded and it's too late to take it back, I pull him out of his chair. "I don't know what you're trying to prove, Frank," his tone is coated with venom. I smash him up against the wall, my arm pinning him against the white plaster. "This won't make things any better,"
"Fuck you. I've had it, the whole fucking world has had it. Mikey and Ray are fed up, and you're the only one who believes all of this shit. Gerard, we promised them we'd be on tour forever. That's what we're going to do, understand?"
"It won't be real. It'll all be forced," Gerard says, gulping hard. His eyes are as cold as the rain-splashed streets outside.
"Forced? Like this?" I ask mockingly, smirking before letting our lips smash together. For a moment, he freezes before giving in. He kisses me back, angrily, fired with passion. I tear myself away, then wipe my mouth as I stagger backwards. He stares at me. "Band practice Thursday next week. You better fucking make it," that's all I say, before I leave. Once again, I'm on the plane, numb as I load up Twitter with shaking hands.
'merry xmas. hope you like your present'