“Frankie, why the hell am I so screwed up? Why me?”
Time was a very strange thing. Every so often, time whizzed by. You could look back over your shoulder and wonder how exactly you’d gained ten pounds and lost all your hair. It never feels like more than two days passed since your fifth birthday, but obviously, years had flown by. You’d wish there was some way to rewind and live life at a more leisurely pace. On the opposite side of the fence, time also went at a painfully slow rate. Each day seemed to be dragged and stretched out so far that you’d hope God would just take you already. Another thing about time was that it could make you wish you could pause it; stare at your life from a different dimension and contemplate your life decisions.
Gerard sat in an uncomfortably comfortable chair, thinking about his latest life decision, but unable to freeze time. The regular bustle of ‘behind the scenes’ carried on outside the room in which he rested, uncaring towards how sick he felt. His bloodstream was unusually clean for fifteen minutes before a concert. His heart was racing beats above a regular rate, out of nervousness. He was regretting the promise he had made so much. He wasn’t sure he could do a show unless he was either drunk or high. He was actually convinced otherwise. When he was sober, he was self-conscious. Every word that would leave his mouth and echo throughout the theater would reverberate through his brain even hours later. His little introductions before the songs would taunt him; keep telling him how stupid he sounded. Every move he made could and would be used by his mind to break himself down at a different time. He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. If only he hadn’t swore to his brother and friends that he would stop with the substance abuse. That way, his cocaine never would have been taken away; he would have still felt happy and excited instead of miserable and uneasy.
Earlier, he had looked around for something— anything which he could inhale. Of course, necessary precautions had been taken by his friends; nothing toxic was left anywhere close to him. His eyes wandered around the room, resting on each one of his friends. Bob was doing push-ups for whatever reason, while Mikey made it harder by sitting on his back. Ray sat in a chair, like Gerard, practicing bits and pieces of his guitar solos. Gerard fidgeted in his seat. His focus lingered on Toro’s afro because he really didn’t want to move his gaze to the last person in the room. To distract his thoughts from that one person, he concentrated on one of the songs he was going to be singing soon. It happened to be the one Ray was playing the solo for; Thank You For The Venom. The first thought on his mind was the word “thank”...it rhymed with “Frank.” His eyes involuntarily darted to the second guitarist of his band.
Gerard’s eyes felt like they had been sucked dry. He just couldn’t look away from that beautiful lump of flesh who lay curled up in a chair, listening to his iPod. Frank was one of the reasons why he wished he could go back in time to change things. The small man had not uttered a word to him ever since their “fight” in the bus, only a mere forty eight hours before. It distressed Gerard a lot more than he knew it should have. He kept attempting to convince himself that it was because Frank was his friend; his best friend. He told himself the feelings he had for Frank was nothing like those he had—well, used to have—for Bert. But, it was a futile effort. Although he wished it was otherwise, he loved Frank. Loved him and lusted for him in such a...painful way. It hurt him so much that the guitarist refused to speak to him. Frank had always been his crying shoulder. No matter what, he had always forgiven Gerard. Even when Gerard hurt him repeatedly—basically ripped his heart out—Frank would always just smile and allow him to do it again. Gerard expected this to always be true, but apparently, he was wrong. Now, he felt so empty on the inside. He needed his best friend right now more than ever.
Obviously, he knew the fault was his own. Frank’s angry speech from was still sounding in his head. It was on ‘loop’, shouting the same words at him for hours on end. He sighed and rose from the chair. Well, he wasn’t going to take this anymore. He wasn’t going to sit around feeling miserable. Wordlessly, he pulled his hood over his head and left the room.
Out of the corner of his eye, Frank had been watching Gerard for the past five songs he’d listened to. His green eyes widened in alarm when his friend simply walked out the door. He looked around the room from Mikey, to Bob, to Ray. All their faces looked just as surprised as his must have. Sliding his chair back, he stood up too. He knew everyone in the room had the same theory about what the reason of Gerard’s departure was. The singer’s cocaine had been “gotten rid of” but who knew whether he had a hidden stash somewhere else? Hurriedly, Frank followed his friend out, hoping his assumptions were wrong. He looked over his shoulder to see Mikey right behind him, but he shook his head. He needed to talk to Gerard privately anyway.
Gerard stepped out into the cold air and jogged to the tour bus. Looking both ways and making sure the coast was clear, he pulled the metal door open. Once inside, he rushed to the bathroom. He didn’t have much time before his friends would get suspicious. Quickly, he shut the door behind him and flicked the lights on. Biting his lip, he looked at the mirror. This was something he always seemed to do right before something went terribly wrong. Two hazel eyes stared back at him, reminding him of this fact. He chose to ignore the warning and stared deeper into his own eyes. What he found was vulnerability. On the outside, he appeared to be a strong enough guy; he was well built and had menacing facial features. However, this cover-up was like the dark clothes he wore; nothing like the real him. In actuality, he was over-dependant—be it on drugs, alcohol or whatever. He had always needed something to help him carry on with life. He was that fucking weak. His shoulders trembled as a few tears slipped down his face. He hated this dependency, but craved it at the same time.
Shaking his head with confusion, he pulled open the drawer next to the sink. There lay his razor, wiped clean of his blood. He picked it up and fiddled with it between his fingers. Holding his uninjured arm above the sink, he rolled up his sleeve. Without hesitating, he ran the blade over his arm, not very deeply. Some blood spewed out. Gerard closed his eyes and smiled, feeling the red droplets embrace his skin. It felt fucking good...like all the helplessness he felt was draining out. He opened his eyes and stared for a few minutes. He turned his arm over, making the blood leave faster. This was the best idea he ever had. He wasn’t breaking his promise, nor was he letting himself drown in powerlessness. Once he was satisfied, he pulled up the faucet and let water rush over his brand new cut.
Frank panicked upon realizing that Gerard went into the tour bus. Mumbling prayers beneath his breath, he scurried inside. The bus was deathly silent, scaring the crap out of Frank. He tiptoed towards the bathroom, where he often found Gerard doing something stupid. He pressed his ear against the door to hear the sound of running water. Frowning in puzzlement, he turned the brass knob. To his surprise, the door opened. What it revealed surprised him even more.
“Dude, what the fuck did you do?!” he squeaked, staring at the diluted blood which ran from Gerard’s arm.
The singer’s eyes were wide and his cheeks paled even more. Quickly, he closed the faucet and crouched down to get the roll of emergency first aid kit he knew would be under the sink. Keeping his eyes and mind away from his friend, he wrapped gauze around his second arm until blood could flow out no more. Then, he gazed at the wooden cabinet in front of him and shook.
Frank leaned against the doorway and stared, unable to say anything. What could he say anyway? He had sincerely hoped that what he said two days ago was enough to stop Gerard from doing things of this sort. Chewing on his lip and thinking all the while, he gripped a hand around his friend’s shoulder. He kneeled down so the two of them could make eye contact. For once, Gerard was the one with watery eyes. Frank leaned forward to brush away a few tears.
“I wish you would stop hurting yourself like this,” he whispered.
Gerard choked out a response, “I thought you wanted me to die.”
Frank sighed and moved closer. After a moment’s hesitation, he pressed his lips onto Gerard’s cheek, “I’d never.” Ruffling his friend’s black hair, he stood and backed up against the wall, “Let’s go...show’s starting soon. Well, if you feel up to it, that is.” Gerard got to his feet as well, making Frank think they were leaving. He looked over his shoulder when Gerard didn’t follow him out, “You okay?”
The taller man shook his head, “Frankie, why the hell am I so screwed up? Why me?”
Frank walked back towards the brightly lit bathroom, “I don’t know.” He closed his eyes and reopened them in a few seconds time, “But I love you.”
Sorry if this chapter's a bit on the crappy side. I fell down the stairs...I probably lost a whole bunch of brain cells. I wonder, will I get any reviews?
Anyway, it's Gerard's birthday in a few days, maybe I'll write a one-shot. But if not, happy early b-day to Gee-Gee. We should throw him an online party. You get the cake, I'll get the booze!