FicWad

A/N: Ahoy there, lovelies! Wow, how can I even begin to thank you all for the utterly amazing rates and reviews on the last chapter? You made me SO happy :’D Anyhooo, here is Chapter Twenty…I hope you like, and please let me know your thoughts on it :) I actually really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope you enjoy reading it!


Chapter Twenty

Gerard is silent the whole way home. His body is rigid with suppressed emotion, shoulders tensed protectively over his vulnerable frame while he clenches his hand so fiercely his knuckles are turning violently white, little purple grooves staining the soft skin of his palm. All the while, his eyes; unblinking and devastatingly alive, stare silently out of the tinted taxi windows, their potent, breathing emerald reflecting the lights of a city blurring past. Rain rushes down the window like tears, copious and glossy and grey.

I’m sitting anxiously in the seat beside him, jiggling my left leg up and biting nervously at my lip as I wonder just what Ocean is going to think when she can’t find us at the club- let alone poor Mikey, who I feel guilty enough about already after snapping at him earlier. I’m also more than slightly worried about just what’s going to happen when we arrive home; Gerard didn’t want Steve to find out the state he’s in, but I’m not entirely sure how we’re going to avoid that if they’re still awake. My stomach is churning queasily, partly from the stuffily airless interior of the taxi and from the glass of cider I downed in the club, but more just from just watching the boy hunched beside me and trying to unravel the answers.

It looks as though his lips are stapled together, but his secrets forced out; his soul trembling vulnerably behind only a thin fabric layer of a vomit-stained ‘The Stooges’ shirt, and his eyes are stripped harshly clean of all pretence. He could be a different person to the self-satisfied one that’s been masquerading as Mikey’s smarmy, older and cooler brother.

I swallow anxiously, unsure of what to do. The movement is sticky, congealing and uncomfortable, snagging on all the unvoiced words I want to say.

We’re nearing the house now; the car is turning out of the city centre and rolling smoothly through the crying rain, along one of the quieter side roads. I can vaguely hear the shush of tires dragging through the oily puddles that have collected in the gutters, but are slowly beginning to seep into the middle of the road.

“….Okay?” I mumble, glancing nervously at Gerard as the car swings into another road and his breath hitches uncomfortably, the framework of the bones in his hands becoming excruciatingly evident as he tenses further still.

His eyes don’t move from their spot on the rain-glossed window, agonizingly wild and glittering green with silent destruction and unshed tears, but he nods ever so slightly in response to my question, and I see the lily-white flesh of his throat convulse as he swallows shakily.

Watching him right now is like watching a masterpiece unravel. Horrible yet beautiful at the same time, because no matter how masterfully something is stitched up, the raw, untamed beauty of truth can never be imitated. And that’s what I’m starting to see.

It’s horrible to watch because of the hue of agony and fear shimmering around his cowering, clenched, contorting body, but beautiful, because I can almost taste the metallic tobacco vulnerability of his soul in the stuffy air of the car.

And the whole way home, his trembly white fingers stay curled fiercely round mine, soft and scared, talented and angry, linking us together in the dark silence.

Sometimes, his grip is so fierce I can feel his pulse screaming under the thin layer of papery white skin, and it feels a little as though he’s holding onto my fingers as if they’re his last hope.


*


Thankfully, I’m only two pence short of the taxi fare, and the taxi driver has a heart, because he tells me not to worry and smiles kindly in response to my guilty apologies. Then again, maybe it’s because Gerard, who, having staggered wildly from the taxi the second it stopped, is busy throwing up into Steve’s neglected flower bed.

“Take care,” the taxi driver tips his cap at me before rolling up the window and revving the engine.

“Thanks,” I say honestly, even though the shadow-tinted window has already rolled up and he won’t be able to hear me. I mean it, though- god knows what would have happened if we’d had to walk home. I don’t even know if we’d have got home.

Stomach knotted, I turn to Gerard’s contorted posture as the taxi starts trundling back off down the rain-slicked road, leaving us alone in the icy black pollution with nothing but the drill of bullet-shell rain and the sting of coarse winter air to strip and scour at our skin. Much to my relief, I notice that all the lights are off in the house up ahead, saving us the bother of having to explain ourselves- but also meaning we’ll have to be as quiet as we can, which might be less easy. I’m not sure how steadily Gerard can walk, and I’m kinda small for carrying someone.

He’s still draped disorderly over the pointy wooden fence, black hair straggling downward like fraying ribbons as he throws up bitterly again, tears gliding down his cheeks and glimmering with disarray in the greasy streetlight and black night.

Compassion flows through me, a torrent of someone else’s tears that tug painfully at my insides with their salted sorrow.

“Hey,” I bite my lip, hovering uncomfortably beside Gerard while he retches again and again, sounding as if his body is trying to throw up far more than the contents of his stomach. “…Uh..”

I don’t really know what to do other than stand there with nothing filling my ears but the strangled sounds of rain and choking.

After what seems like forever, Gerard finally straightens up, wild midnight hair flopping in his eyes and tickling his pale lips. He staggers slightly, emerald eyes tempestuous and lost, before he lunges out haphazardly and grabs hold of my hand again, crushing it tight between the death-grip of his spidery fingers.

Something inside of me skips unexpectedly as he crashes into me unsteadily, coughing feebly and sniffing into my t-shirt. It’s a very weird feeling jerking unevenly through me; almost like rancid electricity that doesn’t quite know where to go. It’s surreal, having the guy who seemed to loathe every bone in my body clinging to me for support. Surreal, but it feels strangely right at the same time, which is even weirder, as the loathing every bone in the body feeling was mutual. At least, I thought it was. Perhaps the cider I had earlier has had more effect than I thought- after all, I guess my body isn’t that used to alcohol.

“You ready to go in?” I whisper after a moment, my brain feeling oddly befuddled.

Gerard blinks, coughing a little and finally dragging his eyes up to meet my gaze. My heart turns over and empathetic hurt tugs right through me as I let myself drown in the churned up irises of glistening emerald.

After several peculiarly timeless moments standing there in the shivering rain, he nods shakily, wiping his mouth jerkily with his free hand. I can see it quivering with the effort and another spasm of sympathy shoots through me.

“How…uh, how easily can you walk?” I ask, feeling stupid.

Gerard lets out a long, shaky sigh that gently grazes my lips with the sour tang of putrid alcohol, sweet tobacco and pure, undiluted fear. I suddenly feel very aware of just how close our faces are; only a few inches of ebony, rain doused night curling between our uneven breaths.

“Uh,” I stammer, dropping my gaze to my soggy, grime-soaked Converse trainers while Gerard stumbles sideways, overbalancing and unintentionally dragging me with him as our hands are still somewhat unsteadily linked.

I bite my lip, watching tears and sweat glisten on his deathly pale face, mingling with the lashings of spattered rain coursing from the dense raven cloud lamenting overhead, its ocean heavy with the polluted sighs and grimy car fumes of the city.

“C’mon,” I take a deep breath, tugging gently at his hand. His milky skin feels wispy and flimsy with cold sweat, and I can feel his bones grinding anxiously together under the delicate veil of translucent, almost ghostly skin.

Stomach feeling oddly churned up, I bite my lip and raise my gaze to his.

Gerard’s mouth sets in a firm, determined line, and we slowly, unsteadily make our way up the weed-infested concrete of the garden path where the first little crystals of frost are beginning to shimmer like pure truth. It takes at least three times longer than normal, but we eventually make it, although Gerard is trembling even more by the time I unlock the front door and we stagger into the dark hallway.

“Okay?” I ask anxiously as I kick off my shoes and lock the door as quietly as I can. Gerard doesn’t reply, just takes a few gulping breaths of the sleep-silent air and leans weakly against the rose-patterned wall, eyes flickering shut so as I can just make out the shadows of his softly midnight eyelashes sweeping the skin of his cheekbones in the half-light. The house should be completely dark, but the unhealthy, greasily yellow glow of the city seeps, slick and oily, into the darkness, invading it and undermining it.

The truth never sleeps.

“…Gerard?” I probe uncertainly, peering through the shadows. My heart is pounding in my chest.

He exhales through his nose, tiny little teeth sinking fiercely into the full flesh of his lower lip as he pushes himself off the wall and promptly stumbles over, right into me with a grunt. His hair flops in my eyes, surprisingly soft for so many split-ends and slightly crusty from where it dangled in the way of his vomit.

I can almost taste the defeat on his breath and empathy is still coursing potently through me, so wordlessly, I slide an awkward arm round his waist, only then realising just how skinny it is; I can feel his bones protruding through the battered leather of his jacket, poking into my arm. When he doesn’t do anything but whimper slightly in protest, I half carry, half drag him up the stairs and along the landing towards the guest room as quietly as I can so as not to wake Mom and Steve, as I’m pretty sure the last thing Gerard wants is to be yelled at by sleep deprived adults.

When we finally reach the guest room a slightly awkward silence hangs thickly between us on the dark landing. After a moment, I uncomfortably disentangle my arm from his waist and try and step away, but before I can, his hand latches onto my wrist, pulling me back with surprising force.

I look up, confused, heart beating fast.

“Please don’t leave me alone.”

It’s nothing more than the smallest move of his chapped lips and a ghost of breath reaching out vulnerably, but it’s the clearest meaning five words, the most honest I’ve ever heard him utter.

“…But…” I mumble, not really sure what to do.

“Please.” His eyes are gouged right back to their sockets with anguish, the phantom of alcohol still dominant, but closely matched by pure honesty.

Even though I know I wouldn’t have left, he seizes my arm and fumbles his way into his darkened room unsteadily; eyes blurred with pain and confusion and drowned lies as he tugs me along behind him.

I flick the light switch on, watching as the soft glow of fairy lights illuminates the shadows and hollows out Gerard’s face, making it look gaunt and hungry for unconsciousness as he slumps down lifelessly on his carelessly made bed, eyes flickering shut against the world. He continues to shiver and shake, forehead creased in pain, body contorting.

Feeling distinctly awkward, but also surprisingly compassionate, I cross the small, cluttered room and sit down gingerly beside Gerard on his bed, shrugging off my hoodie and draping it round his convulsing body.

“…Um, is there anything I can do?” I ask, feeling stupid. Gerard’s eyes are still screwed shut, giving me the opportunity to stare round his half-dark room.

“Just…don’t leave me alone,” he mumbles, eyes still shut. I can see his knuckles going white again from his fierce grip on the sheets, and it sends a gush of sympathy through me. Tentatively, trembling furiously which must have something to do with that half glass of cider I had at the club, I reach out and gingerly stroke his violently dishevelled, encrusted raven hair out of his screwed-up eyes, letting its soft, whispery strands flow through my fingers like black water nightmares.

“…Why?” I hear myself murmur.

Gerard’s whole body tenses again, his forehead knotting up in fear.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to,” I reassure him, biting my lip guiltily.

He visibly relaxes a little, sighing shakily and nudging at my hand that’s still lingering slightly awkwardly in his hair.

“…I…” his voice is husky and broken as I tentatively continue to run the tendrils of his tangled ebony hair through my clammy fingers. “…I get…scared…” he mumbles, lips cracked and dry under the words.

I blink. “…You get scared?” I blurt before I can stop myself.

His eyes suddenly flicker open, deep, unfathomable jade in the soft half-light. “Everyone gets scared, Frank,” he whispers, and although his voice is shaking and only just loud enough to hear, there’s a surprising strength to it this time, seeping through the post-drunken slur. “Don’t you get scared?”

“Of course I do,” I mumble, looking away, because it’s easier.

“What are you scared of?” Gerard whispers, wincing as he tries to shift position. “Tell me.”

“Lots of things,” I say honestly, feeling uncomfortable. “I’m… a coward.”

“…I don’t think that’s…true,” Gerard mumbles through gritted teeth.

I still don’t look round, but I continue combing my hands through his hair, its silken midnight strangely soothing on my trembling skin.

“It is,” I say, and my voice is almost as quiet and broken as his now.

“What…what scares you, …then?”

“Spiders,” I say honestly, although quite frankly, I’d find facing a bunch of spiders every day a hell of a lot easier than the truth. Well, as long as they weren’t tarantulas laying eggs on me.

Something like the ghost of amusement flickers across Gerard’s dry lips.

“Why are you scared, then?” I hear myself asking, wrapping a strand of hair round my little finger and then unravelling it over and over again, watching its different shades of midnight ripple like a black waterfall.

Gerard’s eyes go all haunted and cavernous. “…Me.”

I blink. “…You?”

“Of what I can think…of what I can remember…” Gerard shuts his eyes, snuffling vulnerably and shaking his head. “When I’m alone.”

My heart feels as though someone’s just lodged a huge splinter of pain right through it, and it’s contorting my ribs so much they shatter and gouge right into my heart too. I swallow.

“What do you think when you’re alone?” I hear myself whisper, gently stroking more wisped tendrils off his perfect white forehead, vaguely feeling his pulse underneath the flesh. I feel strangely timeless and dreamlike.

Gerard’s lips clench together, his whole body shuddering and shaking.

“It’s okay…” I murmur hurriedly. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep. You won’t think those things, okay? I promise.”

It’s kinda a rash promise to make for someone I barely know and seems to have so many different layers, but he relaxes a little; going silent for several moments as I just continue to rhythmically stroke my hand through his hair and watch the way his eyes twitch slightly as if he’s looking anxiously round his own mind.

Suddenly, though, his head turns towards me. “…Thank you,” he mumbles without opening his eyes.

I feel oddly touched.

“You’re welcome,” I reply quietly.

“Tell me things,” Gerard murmurs, curling up on his side like a cat, long legs pulled up to his chest, breath brushing the side of my leg as I continue combing though his hair like a silent lullaby.

“…Uh,” I pause. “Um…like what?”

“Anything.”

“Uh, okay…” I take a deep breath. “My biggest fear is actually going to school.”

His eyes snap open, and suddenly he looks more sober. “But you go everyday,” it’s a statement, not a question.

“Uh, yeah,” I mumble.

“Then how are you a coward?”

I blink.

Gerard closes his eyes again, and after several moments, I decide to carry on.

“It’s weird, because when I was a kid, I loved school. Ocean was my best friend, all the way through primary school- we used to play vampires and goblins under the desk during maths, and she once bit this kid because he made fun of my freckles.”

I notice Gerard’s lips twitch faintly.

“She’s always stuck up for me, but when we were fourteen, her Dad whisked her off to some girls’ school at the other side of town because he thought it would ‘straighten her out’. Fat lot of good that did. I guess you’ll remember that day you and Mikey were visiting and you all drove past in the car with Steve, and I was on the sidewalk, bleeding? I don’t remember much about it, actually. Probably because I was practically unconscious. I guess I’d have been fourteen then, and that might have been the worst day of my life- that was the day Ocean told me she was leaving and then I got beat up by the football team with fucking hockey sticks because they were drunk. Anyway, once she was gone, I didn’t really have anyone to hang out with so I sort of drifted into the shadows and people started picking on me.”

I glance down at Gerard to see his whole face has softened a little and his lips are slightly ajar as he breathes more steadily into the soothing air. Rain patters against the windowpane, soft and lulling.

“…Carry on,” he murmurs after a couple moments silence.

“Okay,” I take another deep breath, fleetingly wondering just what the fuck I’m doing, telling my life story to a guy who hates me. “Well, after that, everything kinda went downhill. Danny and his gang picked on me all the time- sometimes just words, sometimes violence. This one time, the trapped me in a locker and I was stuck in school overnight. I think that’s where I got my claustrophobia.” I let out a shaky sigh, glancing down and seeing Gerard breathing softly, fast asleep.

I finish my story in a whisper, though, getting the truth out because I never do and I need to, because it’s slowly poisoning me, festering in my soul and infecting my whole being.

“…They’ve broken my arm and my neck, given me third degree burns and scarred me. I never show my face because there are all these…. Scars… and bruises. I hate them… they make me so ugly…” I trail shakily, off, grateful he’s asleep.

“…You’re not… ugly.”

I jump, because I was so sure he was asleep, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have said so much if I realised he was otherwise.

“I thought you were asleep,” I stammer, feeling humiliated.

“Nearly,” Gerard mumbles, burrowing closer and leaning into my touch. “Keep talking…you’re good at storytelling.”

“Oh,” I feel my cheeks flooding bright red. “Um, well, Ocean and I stayed friends through it all, even though she’s at a different school. I worry about her sometimes, because she has this endless chain of changing friends there, and I wonder sometimes if she’s as lonely as I am. But I wouldn’t dare ask- Ocean’s not that sort of person. If it wasn’t for her and my guitar, I don’t think I’d be here. Music is like my escape. I love it, it’s like breathing, like living the way I want to but I can’t. I don’t know if I’m good or not, all I know is that I love it.”

“You play amazingly,” he whispers, making me jump again, because he looked as though he’d drifted off. “You play like it’s alive.”

“Thanks,” I feel a little smile ghost across my lips.

Gerard sniffs and I watch his tension gradually melt away as I stroke his hair, occasionally letting my fingers stray to his neck and stroking the perfect, silk skin too.

“…Do you write songs?” he murmurs after several moments, not opening his eyes, but I still feel as though he can see right through me.

“Sort of,” I admit, thinking of the small, battered black A5 notebook hidden under my pillow, covered in scrawled lyrics and thoughts and fears that somehow link themselves together in bleak melodies.

“Can you…can you sing to me?” he whispers tentatively. “It’ll stop my thoughts.”

My heart just about stops. “…I…”

“Please.”

It’s such a vulnerable, hurting little mumble I can’t quite bring myself to say no. If I look away when I’m singing, maybe I’ll manage. I’ve never really sung in front of anyone before- especially not my own lyrics, because that would be like giving someone my soul.

I jump as Gerard’s shaky fingers curl round my free hand and gently squeeze, silently reassuring me and pleading me to stop the thoughts.

I look down at the mess of a soul before me, open my mouth, and without thinking, I start to sing.


“I know I’m in this alone.
My heartbeat is lonely, my footsteps stumble solo.
The high of my day is its end,
My eyes so tired of this school jotter lined life….”


My voice gets a little stronger, loosing its rusty shyness as I launch into the chorus and close my eyes so I can’t see whether he’s looking at me or not.


“My scars tell my horror story, my silence screams my fears.
Can no one hear? Can no one hear?
I walk the school corridors as if I’m alone, but I always have this shadow.
School tie nooses and Prozac blurred nightmares are my best hope.
So dead, so dead inside, I’ll spend my empty days smoking dope.
Or waiting for a non-existent better.”


I let my eyes flicker open fleetingly to see Gerard’s lips are curved up in a little smile, hair softer than ever against my skin. I close my eyes again and sing on softly, tugging gently at the strands of hair in my hand.


“Is everyone else empty?
I see your carnival mask eyes,
Your painted-on smile,
And wonder, wonder,
What’s real, what’s real?

“My scars tell my horror story, my silence screams my fears.
Can no one hear? Can no one hear?
I walk the school corridors as if I’m alone, but I always have this shadow.
School tie nooses and Prozac blurred nightmares are my best hope.
So dead, so dead inside, I’ll spend my empty days smoking dope.
Or waiting for an honest smile.”


The lyrics flow from my lips as easily as Gerard’s silky hair from my fingers and the rain gushing down the windowpane.


“Oh, I walk the school corridors as if I’m alone, but
I
Always
Have
This

Shadow.

School tie nooses and Prozac blurred nightmares are my best hope.
So dead, so dead inside, I’ll spend my empty days smoking dope.
Or waiting for someone to see,
Splintered bones and spattered blood, spelling out my loneliness…”


Gerard lets out a shaky sigh, and I glance down to look at his vulnerable, sleeping face. I’m pretty sure the sleep is genuine this time.


“I scream and scream, but no one hears,
I bleed and bleed, but no one sees.

If I was to blow my brains against these bleak corridors,
Someone would hear
Someone would see
Someone might even reach out their cavernous chest and care.

But I’m alive.
Can no one hear? Can no one hear?
My pulse makes me silent; my pulse makes me irrelevant,
But I’m too scared to cut
It
Out.”


I tenderly stroke Gerard’s ebony hair, feeling the emotion of my words flow through my fingertips as well as from my lips. He’s definitely asleep now, so I launch into the final chorus, voice soft and slightly husky from nerves.


“…Oh, School tie nooses and Prozac blurred nightmares are my best hope.
So dead, so dead inside, I’ll spend my empty days smoking dope.

Smother me in silence, forget my heartbeat,
Maybe it’s the easiest death.

Maybe it’s the easiest death…

Maybe…it’s…the…easiest…

Death…”


I trail off softly, opening my eyes gently to the soft half-light of the room.

Gerard doesn’t respond to the silence, and I realise he really is asleep this time, breathing softly, sweetly, slightly unevenly. Without realising it, my eyelids are drooping too, as if his slightly rough breathing is my own lullaby.

I sort of feel as if I should leave, so I carefully get up, untangling my hand from his waterfall of liquorice coloured hair, missing its split-end softness the second it’s gone. Tenderly, I pull his duvet up over his softly breathing body, but leave my hoodie curled around him too.

He snuffles slightly in his sleep, a frown creasing his features as I step away.

Without even thinking about it, I lean down and softly touch his forehead with my fingertips, watching the impact of the touch seep out across his face, melting the tension, right down to his chapped lips, which turn upwards in an unconscious smile.

Somewhat reluctantly, I make my way towards the door, gaze lingering on the softly sleeping boy on the bed; someone I thought I had figured out, but I realise now that I hardly knew him at all, because the person who clung to my hand and got me to sing seems like someone I’ve only just met.

As I step towards the doorway, my gaze fleetingly sweeps the cluttered, dark room and snags suddenly on a striking poster above his overflowing desk. Curiosity getting the better of me, I tiptoe over to look more closely at it.

My heart just about falls out.

It’s not a poster; it’s a drawing. Gerard’s drawing. It’s incredible; vivid and dark and disturbing yet so beautiful. It’s a drawing of a skinny, raven-haired boy that looks a lot like him, but it’s split down the middle; one side is smiling and good-looking with designer clothes and a leather jacket, but the other side is ugly and scarred and torn apart so brutally my heart aches just looking at it.

A small snuffle from the bed makes me start, and I suddenly feel guilty for snooping. I snatch my gaze from the drawing and ignore the A3 sketchbook on top of the cluttered desk that nibbles at my curiosity.

Swallowing the nag of curiosity, I turn determinedly and go to the door, glancing back at the sleeping form of Gerard on the bed.

And despite everything, as I slip out onto the landing and close the door softly, there’s a smile tugging honestly at my lips.



*


Nausea, harsh grey light and an aching skull slam into me the second I resurface from a deep, dark sleep the following morning. I groan slightly, wincing at the bleak daylight assaulting my bloodshot eyes and trying to burrow back into the dark depths of my crumpled, lukewarm duvet.

I’m in my bed, but I don’t remember getting here. In fact, I have to prod my brain into action before the events of the previous night come flooding back much faster than I need them to, overflowing my mind with questions and confusion and panic so as I jolt upright, eyes snapping open.

My head thumps irritably in protest at the sudden movement and harsh light that feels like sandpaper on my sleepy eyes.

But it’s all flooding back so fast; Revolutions Club… Danny… Gerard… Taxi… Gerard… Gerard… Gerard…

I put a clammy hand up to my head to try and stop the thoughts swilling sickeningly round my skull. I must have drunk a bit last night- I’m not used to alcohol, so even though all I remember is a glass of cider, I guess that would have had an effect on my alcohol-innocent system.

My system doesn’t feel innocent now. It feels chug-full of soured bile.

Groaning slightly, I look round my room and a gush of blood-hot relief floods through me as I see Mikey curled up on the little mattress as usual- he must have found his way home okay after all. On further inspection of my surroundings, I notice that I’ve drooled all over my pillow, my alarm clock reads nine thirty AM and Ocean is asleep on my window seat with one of my ancient blankets pulled over her. I’m much relieved to see her safe too; I guess she must have come back with Mikey and decided to crash here as she so often does.

There’s a huge icicle of hurt lodged firmly in my chest, grey to match the bleak rain still rolling down the windows, while icy cold is seeping out through my body and making me feel strangely alone, as if I’m missing something.

“…Frank?” a sleepy mumble crumbles my thoughts and I look round to see Mikey blinking blearily up at me from his mattress.

I blink too, rubbing at my eyes and grunting. “...Umph.”

“What happened to you last night?” Mikey asks sleepily, nothing more than a tuft of mousy hair and a sleep-paled face.

“Uh, I went home…early,” I reply truthfully, but carefully skirting the most honest truth. “Sorry. I felt bad about leaving you.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Mikey says politely. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhm,” I mumble, burrowing back under the covers. “I think I’m a bit hung-over. Did you have a good night?”

“It was okay,” Mikey snuffles. “The band playing was pretty good.”

“Is Ocean okay?” I ask, glancing briefly in the direction of my sleeping, blue-haired friend and remembering our argument.

Mikey nods. “I think so. She was a bit drunk, and she was saying all this stuff about feeling really bad she hadn’t been a good friend to you lately.”

I bite my lip and don’t say anything.

“Did Gerard get home?” Mikey asks suddenly, and I realise I’d been on the brink of going back to sleep.

“Um,” I blink my sticky eyes open. “Yeah.”

“Oh, good,” Mikey looks seriously relieved. “I’m gunna go shower. I’ll see you in a bit.” He throws me a small smile, which I return honestly as I watch him stumble out of the room in his worn penguin pyjamas.

Then I sigh heavily and burrow back under my duvet, burying my head in the fabric of my t-shirt, because clinging to it, I can still faintly smell the nostalgic mingling of cinnamon, salty someone else’s fear and tobacco.


...............

Was it okay? I'd really love to know your thoughts, as this chapter was possibly the biggest risk yet...Rate? Review? You'll make my day if you do, seriously xD I really hope I managed to pull this off okay. Oh, and in case you're wondering, I wrote Frank's song (what did you think of that, btw? I hope it wasn't too awful!). Thanks so so much for reading...I'll update as soon as I can. Love you all to bits- your support means the world to me, honestly

CosmicZombie xo