Frerard, not a lot of them together. Frank feels as though he's not good enough for Gerard. (one shot)
I couldn’t remember how long I had been sitting here for, how many hours I spent watching the coffee machine. I had memorized now every button, every handle, the exact colour of the beans displayed in the above compartment. I wasn’t about to give up though, I wasn’t about to let it off the hook. It was watching me.
Someone was watching me. I just knew it.
But I guess, even if I had wanted to get up, I couldn’t. It’s not like I didn’t try either, I did. I tried everything I could think of, to make myself motivated. To get myself up and ready for a show.
Something I haven’t done for a few weeks now.
But the thing that frightened me most was that I didn’t care. I didn’t care if the fans hated me, I didn’t care if the band hated me, I didn’t care if the world hated me. There was just too much on my mind, too many things that I made big deals out of, stressful things.
At first, I decided to ignore it. I decided that the more I put on that smile and shook everyone’s hand with the well practiced, ‘Hey, I’m Frank, how’re you doing?’.. the more people left me alone and the less people asked and thought of me.
But after a period of time, these things build up on you. Like red lego blocks in your mind, stacking and stacking until you can’t take anymore. Until it becomes so overloaded that it shuts down.
You, shut down.
And it’s not too long before you forget what you were worried about in the first place, about the things that matter. Which just makes you more worried.
I pulled my knees tighter to my chest as I stared still, intently at the coffee machine as if it were to pounce on me at any moment. I could feel how painful it was to do this, how fragile I was becoming. My cheekbones were fairly visible to say the least, and my collarbones no better. If I was to lift up my shirt even, you could count how many ribs I had. I was getting thinner by the day. And no one could stop me. No one can stop me, because I’m too far beyond help now. Far too broken.
It was as though the moment my mind has died, my stomach had too. I wasn’t hungry, so didn’t eat. But I wish I did, I wish I wasn’t this skinny. I wish I looked right.
But in saying that, I never really did look right, anyway.
I rubbed one of my eyes after the other, the both of them looking heavier than ever. If I just got some sleep, just a few hours.
If that coffee machine would stop watching me. I could feel myself quiver and brought my hand up to see that I was shaking.
I hated this.
The endless nights, watching things that were going to move, but never did.
Not being able to eat, even if I wanted to.
Not being able to get up, to socialize like normal people.
Not being able to cry.
Not being able to shout.
Not being able to smile.
It was as though I felt nothing.
Not even the pain of nails, scratching across my arm and drawing blood. Nothing could make me any different.
So what was I doing here?
“Frank?” I heard Gerard’s voice as the last of the vodka burned down my throat. He glanced to the bench and noticed the bottle of asprin.
The empty bottle of asprin.
“No.” He almost whispered, catching eyes with my own, glimmering in the moonlight coming from a nearby window as he began to cry, “No.”
He ran, and caught me before I had hit the ground. My head now in his lap, his hand stroking my hair as he cried, trying to call out to the guys but all he could manage was a small whimper.
“Frank.. please..” I looked up at him for a moment and smiled, feeling my eyelids grow heavier and an unfamiliar empty feeling wash over.
I love you, Gerard Way.
I’m just sorry I could never be as perfect for you as I wanted to be.