FicWad

"Hey Hambone" Tim called as the playing came to an abrupt stop. He put his hand on the cymbal for silence. "Focus"
His tone dripped with annoyance as he glared at the man he spoke to. This rehearsal was so full of drama, you'd think they were a bunch of high school girls at a cheerleading practise.

"Get over yourself man, you're like a half beat late yourself" The man spat back.

Frank sat on the speaker, putting his guitar down and resting his head in his hands. The constant quarreling seemed to take its toll on him, which I understood perfectly. The gig meant the world to Frank and I could see the worry in his eyes when he listened to the men point out each other's faults and mistakes.

"This ain't gonna work"

"What do you mean it ain't gonna work?" I chipped in. I recieved wary glares from all of the men, seeing as though I'd only been let in after a ten minute argument and a series of promises to stay still and shut the fuck up. I smiled sheepishly.

"I mean, you guys just recorded a demo, you have a great shot at recording an EP.. You're good...So what's the problem?"

"For fucks sake, Em, do we sound good?" Frank snapped at me, obviously not bearing the stress of fearing to fail at the gig.

"I think you do" My sincere opinion delivered with a careless shrug only brought me another set of death glares from most of the band members.

Frank ignored my innocent praise and stared absentmindedly at the stained carpet.
"Well I, for one, think that was the best thing that has come out of her mouth in a long while" I turned to look at Shaun, surprised to find him smiling at me. I guessed that the keyboard incident had finally been buried.

"Taking into account that I've been sworn to silence and haven't had the chance to say much" I muttered defiantly, although I was grateful for the acceptive response I'd gotten.

"You say the best, when you say nothing at all" Frank suddenly sang into the microphone, a horrible imitation of Bryan Adams followed by a fit of giggles.

"Well excuse me for trying to be supportive and shit." I pouted, and pulled my feet up on the couch, and made myself more comfortable. I leaned my chin on my knees and observed as the men became indulged in a rather hasty conversation about whose fault the off-tune sound was, and who lagged a beat or two behind. They even touched a subject that made me want to call the cops on my own ass before I started killing people, but I backed off after Frank did a fine job defending himself. No one talked shit about Frank's talent in singing.

After they finished fighting and agreed that rehearsing was a way more appropriate way to spend the last moments they had together before the actual show, they managed to regain the focus and played the song again. I believe it was as of yet untitled, but I'd heard Frank humming the melody numerous times, and I'd also caught quite a chunk of the lyrics.

"I think of running away, I can't keep running away" He sang.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sound, ignoring the weird pauses and sounds that came from one of the members missing a beat or strumming the wrong chord. It sounded great, nevertheless. Sure, they might not have been the most talented guys as in they were all self-taught with their instruments and they were still sort of exploring the world of being in a band, but for me it didn't matter if the timing hadn't been adjusted into perfection or if half of the songs ended up being improvised due to lack of practise and a barely existing memory. They had the energy and up-beat sound that for people that could bitch over a single wrong note were but an untouchable dream, a wish not about to be granted.

I smiled as Frank's voice echoed in the small space.

"Can't keep feeling the same, I can't keep taking the blame. I wanna run with you, I don't care what we do.."

I thought of the words, and realized that was exactly what I wanted.. To just get away. To run as far as our legs would take us, or rather, drive as far as the minimum amount of gas we could afford would take us. It took me a while to realize I wasn't planning on going alone, and when I thought we I was secretly referring to Frank. He was the one person I would never let go of. I opened my eyes and watched him bounce and jump in the small space, adrenaline pumping through his veins like never before. He smiled as he sang.

I vowed in that moment that I would hang myself if I ever were to lose Frank. He was my best friend, my soulmate, the only person in the universe that had put up with my shit for more than a year and still had the nerve to claim he actually enjoyed it. Whether it was true or he said it just to make me feel better, it didn't matter, both of the options only meant he cared about me more than anyone ever had. I

thought of all the times I hadn't returned the favor, when I'd treated him with spite or just plain indifference although he never did a single thing to deserve such behavior on my behalf. I felt a strong pang of guilt and self-loath as the list of times I'd hurt him went on and on..

"I'm re-living yesterday" he stretched out the last syllable and I snapped out of my thoughts when I realized the playing had stopped. I frowned as I learned that I'd missed most of the song being so wrapped up in my thoughts. I lifted my gaze to see Frank and the guys bouncing enthusiastically, obviously more satisfied with the perfomance than before.
They played a couple more songs, covers mostly, and everyone seemed quite happy with themselves.

They didn't have a whole lot of songs to play, their setlist consisted of four originals and 8 covers, which was kind of sad but inevitable.

I insisted on helping with the list, writing the titles on a huge piece of cardboard with a red marker, also decorating the masterpiece with flowers and butterflies. Tim said it harmed their credibility, but Frank gave it his blessing, saying it was way better than another band drawing anarchy marks and skulls all over the place. I nodded, extremely happy with myself, and decided that while I was at it, I might as well make each guy their own list, so that they wouldn't have to move around the stage that much to see the setlist taped onto the floor and know what's next.

The men groaned in unison as I refused to abandon my idea and they had to wait around for fifteen extra minutes until I was done. Tim locked the place up, and patted Frank's back. The thrill in their eyes were similar, and we all waved good night anxious for the day after tomorrow.

I talked Frankie into sleeping in my room. After seeing him fumble with the coffeemaker and magically managing to burst my bubble of anger and unhappiness, I wanted to be around him every minute of the day to avoid slipping into that waking coma again. We tried fitting into my narrow bed but after both of us had gotten one too many bruises from the other's elbows digging into our ribs, and finally realizing that sleeping this close to each other without hurting each other or accidentaly placing a hand too close to the other person's private areas, Frank folded an extra blanket and slept on it on the floor. I offered him my pillow several times, but he refused it, saying pillows were for pansies.
I fell asleep feeling a little guilty about being the pansy with the pillow.


I woke up alone, and fell into an instant depression. My dark mood had made a comeback and was as strong and consuming as ever. It was like having an exremely unfriendly imagined dude whispering me things that made me hate the world. One that came back to say 'did you really think you'd get another peachy day?' and 'you didn't think you'd get off that easy did ya?'. It was reality check of the bitchiest kind.

Grumpily I decided that since the day was already ruined, I might as well dedicate it to schoolwork. Yesterday's and today's classes were all canceled due to the university's experimental online course testing. I was supposed to find someone with a computer and an internet access, log in on the school's website, write essays and read and review others'. I had already made a mental note to write a bad review on the snarky blond's one no matter how good it most likely was.

I was new to this whole internet thing, I mean yes, it was fucking year 2000 and all, but somehow the rapid development of modern technology had gone unnoticed by me and all I was capable of doing with a computer was playing Solitaire so today was definitely going to be a challenge. The professors had told us to not even bother showing our faces in the campus area on Monday unless we'd done our work for the few extra days off.I had to get it over with today since tomorrow was all reserved for the pre-hype, the gig, and the after party. Sunday was reserved for the same thing sundays were always reserved for - recovering from the night before and trying to fight off a major hangover, hiding from Mikey (in case he actually planned on returning home after tomorrow), the usual..


I pulled on my clothes from the day before, sniffing the shirt first and declaring it fresh enough, called out a rather insecure bye to Gerard who was located in the living room, and went to put my shoes on. It was unnerving, being alone in the apartment with Gerard. I had finally seemed to have given up on the thought of having him on top of me so I wasn't exactly feeling any tingles of excitement, just that I was unsure of how to act around him. What happened that night had been more than enough to cause an awkward silence but adding the fact that I apparently knew the man's deepest secret made me feel uncomfortable.

Though I wasn't really sure how big of a secret it in fact was, since the whole damn school seemed to have a pretty good idea of his sexual preferences, but Mikes sure didn't, and neither did Mrs. Way. I wonder if Kat knew.. Maybe that's why they broke up? Gerard had just seen his opportunity come and blamed it all on me, perhaps to avoid having to explain further details of his break up to his brother or ma? I shrugged and turned to look at myself in the mirror. Why did I care so much? What did it matter? Something about it still bothered me like a goddamned persistant itch in im-not-gonna-tell-you-where, but I couldn't put my finger on it.


He didn't really act like a gay person.. For the record, I didn't really know any gay people so I wasn't exactly and expert on homosexual behavior, but I'd always considered gays as feminine men. As if they were just born into the wrong body. Male on the outside, female on the inside. They talked like girls I hated, and walked more graciously than I did, they had unmistakable sixth sense for fashion and loved design and re-decorating other people's houses. I realized I was only recalling all the TV-shows I'd seen with supposedly gay men starring the shit. Gerard wasn't like that. Propably 99 percent of gay population wasn't like that.

I straightened my shirt once more, tightened my sloppy ponytail and left the house. I would walk the two blocks to Grace's house and do my school work there. She had a computer, and a hell of a lot of more expertise on the technology depart. The only challenge really was to stay sober, since I knew for fact that Grace had an apartment full of booze, an intoxicated mind and a very persistant and persuasive nature. I was doomed.

My boots made sounds that sounded much like gunshots on the deserted street, as I jogged along the pavement. I wonder if anyone would mistake them for actual shots fired, and call the police on my ass, but decided that no, not in this part of New York they would.

Our apartment was located right next to the Hudson river. We liked the idea of a neighbourhood like home, a place not so different from the streets we grew up in. Not so far from Jersey. I stare dreamingly at the bridge and the grey buildings that rose from the earth across the river. How could you love such a place? This cold, colorless and unhappy place we felt we were inprisoned by for the most part of our lives had somehow stolen our hearts forever.

There was no place like Jersey, I smiled, deciding that sometime soon I would take Frank with me and pay ol' Belleville a visit, one that didn't include family re-unions or heartfelt meetings with our mothers. I ran the rest of the way to Grace, and wasn't surprised to find her laying on her bed with a half-empty whiskey bottle in her hand.

"Grace, you okay?"

"Do you think.." She slurred "that the bottle is half empty, or half full?" she inquired

Though I'd just described the bottle as half empty, I wasn't in the mood for her drunken weirdness, and shrugged.

"I'll just use the computer for a while" I stated and turned around, only to hear her declare that the bottle was in fact only in need of a re-fill. I was about to tell her that I might need her help with the task, but closed my mouth when the singing started. Better not to make her get up. I had a feeling I'd only get my nerves wrecked big time.

I was only half-way done trying to log in on the website when she burst into the kitchen, making me start all over again.

"Em! I gotta show you something!" She exclaimed.

I looked at her quizzically, waiting for her to start rambling about unicorns in her toilet seat or some shit.

"Come!" She sang, swaying on her feet that seemed to be way too tired to be carrying something as unstable as her.
I wondered if this was how Mikey felt when I was drunk out of my mind. Annoyed, frustrated, just about ready to shoot someone..

The best way to shut her up was propably to go with her, look at whatever she wanted to show me for about four seconds and get back.
She danced, and stumbled, her way back into her bedroom and I followed warily.

"Sit" She pointed on the bed.

Letting out a deep sigh I sat on her unmade bed and waited.

"Close your eyes"

"Oh for fuck's sake Grace, whatever it is, get it over with and let me go back to work" I snarled.

"You're no fun anymore. School has ruined you" She pounted. "Close your eyes"

Only to prove that I was just as fun as I was a month ago, I closed my eyes. I heard her fumble with the drawer knobs and search the contents.
I bounced up as her body weight was dumped on the bed, right next to me, and decided it was propably okay for me to open my eyes now.

"I know how you feel" She whispered "You've been so down. You've been so mad. I know that feeling. You shouldn't have to put up with it"

"What are you on?" I choked out a hollow laugh to indicate that her drunken touchy feely crap wasn't affecting me. Which it, annoingly, kinda was.

"You don't have to tell me, you know, but I'm gonna show you something. Something that's been missing. Cause you know something has been missing, right? The entire time. You haven't been happy for a long time" She went on with her ridiculously secretive tone and I turned to look at her, realizing now that she had something in her hands.
A bag.

"Grace.." I started. It was strange, that I wasn't mad at her at all. Any good friend would've kicked her ass right then and right there. That explained a lot, I decided as I thought back to all the times I had thought Grace had been acting weirder than usual. All the maniac laughing and the uncontrollable crying and the amazingly fast switch between the two. I was worried, yes, but also... Also somehow very intrigued. Something had been missing. The booze had long ago seized to take the edge off, I only got half as drunk as before, only had half as fun and twice as bad a hangover.
Something had been missing the entire time.

She opened the bag and held a pill between her thumb and forefinger. After studying it for a second, she carefully placed it on her pink tongue and washed it down with the whiskey.
I watched in fear and awe, speechless for the moment. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but snapped it close after discovering my mind was a blank sheet, a void of words to say.

Was she offering me one? As in a solution? Was she in fact trying to help me? Showing me a way out, an emergency exit for my permanently crappy mood? Could I do that? Would I have the guts to? It was a big step, the step between being a drunk and a junkie.. And then again, no step at all. It was all the same.

I felt unable to breath as I stared at her features, looking for any signs of regret, nausea,.. death, maybe. None appeared, and all that was visible to my curious eyes was the satisfied, peaceful smile that her cracked lips curved into in the ten minutes I watched her in silence. She leaned back, now laying on the bed once more, looking like the sleeping beauty.

"How.. How does it feel like?" I whispered unsurely. I detected the curiosity in my tone, the ache, but also signs of hesitance and indecision.

"Feels a lot like heaven" She whispered back, and then she was out. Her head lolled to its side and her breathing became heavy and even.

I felt like I'd been left alone in a room with the devil himself. No one here to stop me, to talk some sense into me, to save me from myself.

It was just me and the tiny plastic bag with contents I couldn't tear my eyes off. Staring at the pills, I lost track of time and was unable to say whether I'd been sitting there unmoving for ten minutes or three hours. I noticed my hands shaking.

At that moment I understood that I didn't trust myself. I'd always thought that yourself was the only person in the world one could trust, a motto of a kind. Something to fall back on after being let down or hurt. But I had had it all wrong - I was the one person in the universe I could not trust. When it came down to being alone, just me and a potentially bad decision, I couldn't trust myself to do the right thing. I hardly wanted to.

Everyone had their personal demons, they say, but I was my own demon. Suddenly all my former excuses ceased to exist, lost their meaning that I'd held on to for so long. Claiming my mother ruined me, claiming high school did, or even some of the friends I'd made during my short but unfortunate life. I blamed a god in which I did not believe to begin with, I blamed my former job and the stress and trouble it caused me. I blamed everthing for the state I was in, but myself.

Who did I have to blame now? Sitting here in my own company, the one guilty as charged became as clear as ever and even though there wasn't a mirror in sight, I felt like for the first time in ten years I'd gotten a good hard look at my own reflection and the person I truly was. I damaged myself. And I wanted to. The epiphany I had made me sick to my stomach, but also made it easier for me to breath. Me being responsible meant I had power. I had all the power in the world when it came to choices regarding my own life. The weightlessness, the lightness, reappeared.

With trembling hands I lifted the bag off the bed and studied it, as if to test myself for the last time even though I knew I'd made up my mind long ago.

"A lot like heaven.." I murmured to myself, dreamingly, placed a single pill on my tongue, swallowed it without liquid, got the damn thing stuck in my dry throat and then downed the remainings of the cheap whiskey Grace had.

And then I waited.