Ferard: Frank has to confess... He's in love with his best friend. Theres too much going on for him now.
Suddenly anger swelled inside him, taking the place of all other emotion, morphing his impassive face into one of twisted, angry features. He hated how he could look so perfect and yet be incapable of talking to someone about such a simple matter. He had the urge to break the mirror, to just shatter the image he saw; the fake, the weak, the confused. He fell to his knees, taking in a sharp breath looking into his green eyes. He looked over to his guitar, his best friend, his comfort. He smiled at it, knowing that it wasn’t enough anymore. He needed something more, something stronger. The anger was getting to be so overwhelming that he had to dig his nails into the carpet…he then realized that it was helping. The sting of the nails breaking was helping. He looked down to his hands and saw the blood and somehow time stopped. Time was no longer a factor, the anger itself began to slowly drift away, and something else filled him, a strange numbness… a shelter from everything.
He then could smile. Smile and laugh. He felt like he could walk all around the world with his head held high, he could face anything that headed for him. He got up and a sudden burst of energy came over him. “I can do this” he stated to himself. Running, he was running. The energy was so much that he couldn’t just walk, he had to place one foot in front of the other as fast as he could, turning right, then left, then finally stopping as he reached the door.
He looked at the door, so old… so meaningful. In the next few minutes he would confess what he had been hiding for what seemed an eternity. His misfit gloves were so out of place on the door knob. It made him want to laugh. Everything he ever did seemed out of place, even what he was doing now… it was so risky. He took a deep breath; in the few seconds standing there his energy was gone. Now came the pang of anxiety, swallowing up his actions making him fragile and frail.
The doorknob was finally turned; in the instant he opened the door all hope left him. All the dreams of confession, all the opportunity of love all of it was gone forever. The scene in front of him was too much. He didn’t even hear Gerard. The feeble “Wait!” was lost. His vision was blurred by tears. He ran, ran to save what dignity he had left... ran to get away from the nightmare being played out in the room.
He wanted to puke, puke up the love he had for Gerard. Get rid of it, all of it. He should have known… the glances, the jokes, the meaningless blushes. He should have fucking seen the connection between the two. He felt so helpless. He could have sworn there was something more between him and Gerard. He could have sworn his life on it.
Returning to the musky room that held his excitement moments before was heart breaking. He collapsed. What else could he do? Skip and sing “La dee fucking da?” No. There was going to be a cave in. Where his chest emptied out and just collapsed leaving him with nothing more than an empty shell.
All he could do was curl into a little ball and hold himself. Waiting for this to pass… in fear of never returning to normal, in fear of loosing it all. He shuddered, now sobbing. He was positive anyone who was standing within ten feet of the door could hear him. Yet, he couldn’t hear himself.
His eyes started to close, he was ending it. Whether his emotions wanted him to or not… he had to stop. There was a moment where he thought it didn’t happen, where he thought that he could go on believing he had a chance. A knock at the door painfully brought him back to reality, the reality he now despised.
“Frank?” the tone of the familiar voice was supple and pleading. He dare not say anything. He was torn. How could he trust his voice to say what he wanted? How could he fake it at a time like this? Plaster a smile and say “It’s okay” when really it wasn’t okay.
“Frankie?” the door opened. Frank could see his shoes in the mirror reflection. They were walking over to him. He didn’t panic; he didn’t flinch when he felt the hand on his head, slowly petting his hair. He just sat there, silent tears flowing gently down his cheek.
“Frank…” The third time his name was called, it wasn’t a question... it was a statement, a miserable statement. He looked up at Gerard. The look on his face said more then words.
“I’m so sorry… I didn’t know…” Gerard stroked his cheek. “You’re my best friend…and you’ll always be that… but nothing more.” This sentence was all he needed. The feeling of needing something more came back.
“I’m sorry…” and with that, Gerard got up and left the room.
He was angry again. So angry it burned his skin, it burned his eyes. It burned him up. He was in hell, literally in hell. He screamed, got up and charged the mirror. He punched it with all his might. It shattered, his knuckles brutally cut. Glass flew everywhere. He searched through each piece till he found one shaped like a triangle. He picked it up and pressed it deep inside his wrist. The warmth coming from the blood gave him strength. He then fell down, on top of the glass, letting his wrist bleed. He could feel himself gaining control again. He could feel the tears drying, the blood running down to his fingers. Sleep was all he wanted now. To sleep the rest of his life away, living in fantasy created by his mind, living in a place he would be happy and smile.
Awakening in the same changing room was dreadful. The blood had gotten all over the glass, his close, and his face. It dried and was a dark rusty color. He didn’t clean it up, he examined the cut. It was deep, so deep that he could almost see the layers of skin.
He held his wrist in silence, letting his mind adjust to the earlier events.
Finding Gerard making out with Bert was unbelievable. The worst part was the tour. For the next five months he would have to share his beloved Gerard with Bert. Time would be cut for him, and he wanted to give up.
But how could he give up? Bert had him at the moment. However, love is always changing, shifting. It was brutal, true to only those who fought for it.
He got up and pulled his misfits gloves over the cut; luckily it just barely covered it. He winced as the pain caught fire and went all the way up his arm. He took a deep breath and braced himself for the battle to come.