FicWad

It's here! The latest installment to this infamous saga of a bunch of nobodies! I suggest you read the previous chapter before focusing on this one, you know, cause of the 6 month hiatus and shit. Also, I want to remind ya'll of the unwritten rule of the world of fiction - reviewing makes updates happen. Quicker. True Story.





The days flew by in a dull haze as I was still trapped in my oddly senseless state. I wasn't unhappy, precisely, but didn't do a very good job managing the happy part, either.

I went to school in a very mechanic manner, slumped across the hallways and dozed through the lectures. Next term we would finally be done with the theoretical bullshit and be given free access to places where the magic happened, the art-making chambers. Only realizing that I'd soon have to be creating the art I couldn't care less about was enough to make the boring lessons slightly more durable. Each day, at approximately 4 PM, I would swing open the main entrance oak door and take a course this sinking ship to to Grace's.

Having found myself in our shared apartment in the morning after that fateful night out had made me somehow very uncharacteristically jump up (despite the not-so-gentle hangover), and run straight to Grace's. I had stayed there. I had felt threatened in my home - Gerard could walk in any minute seeing as though he still, in some way, lived there; Mikey would undoubtedly see right through me and throw a pissy fit about whatever he would make of my discomfort; and to top the pie with a sickly sugary cherry, I couldn't see Frank holding it up very long at his mother's house and him showing up at my place seemed more likely than him moving back to live with Grace.
My apartment was full of delicious Way men for the gay to goggle at, after all.

I wasn't so much troubled about the incident, as that is what I've come to call it in my head, as I was about the fact that I didn't know what to make of it. Instead of confronting Gerard, asking him about the state of this strange-as-fuck agreement, and calling it quits, I avoided him like plague and kept a low profile whenever his presence was unavoidable.

I could've just walked up to him and told him that the deal was off - that, by no means, would I have agreed to helping him with the physical side if I'd have read through the terms of use first (see, no one ever really does that, do they?) but something kept me from acting on it.

It wasn't that I wished to find myself leaning against the filthy counter of a random night club bathroom again, but I did want to keep the door open, just in case I would still want that.
It was, after all, my only way of getting close to Gerard.

I had to clear my head up before making any decisions, and while I was at it, I wouldn't burn any bridges behind me.



It was almost two weeks after the incident. I stared at a blank sheet of paper that I had assembled on the refrigerator door among Grace's plastic alphabet magnets and pictures of stolen medical descriptions that she planned to, one day, use as models for fake ones she would type and print out and sell on the streets. The skank had a career plan.

This paper was supposed to be filled with little stars lined up under one another, followed by inspirational words. I was trying to make a list of things that would keep me preoccupied, and thus help me in my quest to stay away from the men in my life, but the smooth surface remained painfully empty. I had nothing.
I tapped the end of my pen on my temple and scrunched my face. When I did that, I knew that I looked at least ten years older with the not-so-subtle crinkles appearing all over my forehead and around my eyes.
I had done this in front of a mirror a couple times, and had always come to the conclusion that I should never make that face again.
Relaxing my facial muscles just felt like such a task right now.

"Aren't you supposed to be working on that essay you've been whining about all week?"

I kept staring at the blank paper, wishing that the words would just appear there by themselves if I stared long and hard enough. That someone would do the thinking for me, and give me a well-thought list of things to do to pass the time and not wind up in a mental institute.

"Mm."

It wasn't a yes kind of mm, nor a no kind of mm, but the kind that slipped through your lips when you knew you had to respond something but rather wished the person talking to you would simply cease to exist.

"Frank's been asking about you.." Grace's voice trailed off. It wasn't that she was being subtle about it -- no, I knew Grace better than that. She was most likely annoyed by my lack of effort to socialize, and took it out on me by bringing up things that she, sadly, knew were strictly taboo these days.

I took down the paper, sending a few brightly colored letters flying in the process, and tossed the thing at a smug-looking Grace.

"And you told him what, you little shit?" I crossed my arms before my chest and resisted the urge to stick my tongue out her.
It wasn't that I was mad, it was just the way she and I communicated.

"That you're busy doing schoolwork.. as you've been for the past two weeks. Which is, of course, utter bullshit. What's up with the two of you, anyway?"

"Nothing. I just. I do have a lot of schoolwork." I sniffed.

She walked over to examine the contents of the fridge, and after declaring it empty except for the lights, walked back to the kitchen table to look through her bag, instead.

"I don't really give a fuck, ya know? It's just a bit of a party pooper to have a bunch of people in your circle of acquaintances who won't even be caught dead in the same room."

"Sorry to poop a party that doesn't exist."

"There's always a party somewhere." She let out a hollow laugh as she grabbed the straps of her bag and disappeared into the hall. "I'm off to Tim's. You coming?"

Tim. Frank's buddy. Pencey Prep's drummer.
What are the chances of Frank being there at the same time? I tried to do the math and think of the ways to count out the odds, but failed miserably.

"I got a lot of sch-"

"Yeah, you do. But you never do any of that schoolwork so that pretty much voids the excuse. Coming?" She yelled.

"I'll just. Crap - I'll grab my coat!" I called back and ran to the living room that served as the very modest guest bed room, with the couch covered up in crinkled sheets and pillows from the red cross.

Tim's house wasn't very far from where Grace lived. Even though we all commonly referred to each other's apartments as houses, out of everyone I knew, Tim was the only one who did live in an actual house.
It was a weird little thing to see in the middle of NY, a small wooden shackle-like ensemble thrown in between two tall apartment buildings. Frank told me once that it had been passed on in his family for generations, and despite the property having been owned by the family since fuck knows when, the city was constantly thinking of ways to buy the lot for a fairly cheap price and tear the ugly thing down.
But Tim, just as every other person in his family tree I suspect, was a pigheaded little bugger, and if the authorities could be called persistent then there was really no word for the kind of determination Tim pursued.

I was sort of envious, not for the house itself, but for the unique sort of rebellion Tim got going on while fighting for what belonged to him.
In other words, he was shoving it in New York's face big time, and if for no other reason, I was tremendously happy to go to Tim's parties simply because I could be a part of that group from 52nd street that gave the men in the black suits a major headache.

If there ever was a time that I knew I shouldn't go on a binge, it was tonight. My mood was dark and gloomy, which it often was, but in a way that didn't mix well with alcohol.

Sounds of exhilaration and sheer joy evaporated from the shack and I made a gagging face at Grace, which she swiftly ignored.
Luckily, she decided to light another cigarette before marching in and I made a point to ask some vital questions and possibly gain further information that could lead to a last-minute escape plan.

"So.. Who's here?" I tried, my tone conversationally see-through.

"Everybody."

"Like who?"

Grace let out a dramatic sigh of frustration, making me feel like a young child asking adults dumb questions.

"According to my informants there's Tim, Hambone, girlfriends, some dudes from Kearny, some dudes from next door, the band that they share the rehearsal space with, Gerard, possibly Mikey though he hasn't been seen for an hour or so, some weird kids from the school Gerard and you go to that he invited.." She scratched her nose and took a long drag out of the cigarette. "Yeah, I think that's it. Unless there's crashers, which there always are."

Nearly the whole list went through my ears like flowing water, in and out, as the only thing I could focus on was Frank's name, and the obvious lack of hearing it.
I know I was being stupid, beyond stupid, in fact, but Frank was the only person in the world I was extremely close to and the only way I knew to react to even minimal weirdness, was causing massive weirdness. I was so petrified of things being awkward between us for reasons unknown, that I ended up creating awkwardness.
There's some social skills for you, children.

I grabbed the door handle without bothering to knock (what were the odds for being heard anyway?) and proceeded to the hall to hang my jacket on a broken, plastic figure that once was a lawn chair.

"Oh, and Frank of course." She slipped the words out of the corner of her mouth, barely covering the smug sneer that threatened to claim dominance on her features, before disappearing into the dark bundle of human bodies and beer cans.

The thought of turning around and bolting hadn't even had the time to cross my mind when I already felt a tug on my arm and found a pixie-like creature clinging onto me. I was ninety-seven percent sure I had never seen her before in my life, but she disregarded my opinions and squealed like a pig on extacy while talking about things that made no sense. It wasn't until I'd dragged my ass, and hers at the same time, to the kitchen and stood holding my cup under the beer keg that I picked the words 'university' and 'art' and was able to label her as a faceless, nameless student person I had no desire to make closer acquaintance with.

After circling back to the hall and on to the crowded living room, I managed to lose the annoying blonde thing and found a bored looking Mikey.

He looked up to me as if it was somehow my fault he had found himself in the middle of a drunken group of individuals he didn't have a lot of respect for, but gestured me to sit beside him. I squeezed myself through a pack of what could only be described as wild animals playing Twister on speed, and through my body onto the filthy loveseat.

"Enjoying yourself?" I yelled through the blaring music.

He made a face and pointed at the Twister crowd, where a familiar face could be spotted between two skinny fish-net covered legs and a bulky arm that seemed to belong to no one. Gerard caught my eye and winked while making a scene of trying to get a closer look at the fish-net wearing girl's crotch.
I groaned.

"Why is he always everywhere?" I shouted. "This is my group, these are my fucking people, and now he's everywhere I go!"

"Drunks associate with drunks." He replied with an annoyed face, lifting up a bottle of Coke like the goody-two-shoes little prick he is. I suppose he had enough fun two weeks ago and the next act of spontaneity wasn't due until sometime next year.

"Whatever." I muttered mostly to myself and laid back, downing a great deal of the beer in my cup.

"Are you two gonna sit here like two killjoys for the rest of the night, huh?"

I jumped as I recognized the smooth voice as Frank's, but didn't have the time to react before he was already sprawled on our laps.
I froze for a moment, before pushing his legs with all my might, sending him flying on he floor.

Somebody I didn't get a closer look at handed me a half full bottle of vodka, which I took several swigs from before passing it on to a guy who got his feet caught in Frank's body and almost fell on my face.
A wet, sloppy kiss was plastered on my cheek without a warning, and then the guy, whoever he was, was gone.

Tim's parties always got out of hand. They were always a manic, no-sense crazy farm with people stumbling on each other and never thinking twice about anything they did.
It made you feel like a target range, with punches and nudges alongside with hugs and kisses coming at you from all directions, never having quite recovered from the last thing when the second was already inches away.

I had been to every one of his parties, which is why it took me by no surprise as I felt my hand being grabbed, and though I was momentarily blinded by the flashing home-assembled strobos, I realized that Frank had returned from his previous position on the floor and was dragging me towards the center of the room.

He turned around and shouted something that sounded an awful lot like dance with me and flashed a wicked expression before busting a special set of rather questionable moves. The vodka was fast numbing my brain and even though I'd dreaded seeing Frank again, I soon remembered the actual state of our friendship and got a perfect reminder of how my mind was able to blow things way out of proportion.

This was me and Frank, and we were fucking dancing.
I jumped up and down, doing a pathetic looking little mosh with my hair in the process and giggled drunkenly at how stupid we looked. What we did could barely be referred to as actual dancing, it was more like a thunderstorm of carelessly thrown arms and legs swung at innocent bystanders while goofing out, and making parodies of the kind of club dancing we were never really good at was Frank's specialty.
The way he swung his hips like a lapdancer was almost too embarrassing to look at. Then I remembered the gay subject and seeing him right then was just much too fitting and I found myself pushing my way out of the dancefloor.

The backdoor seemed like the perfect thing to aim for and after a couple minutes of struggling, I found myself on the porch with a few unfamiliar guys who were engulfed in some intense discussion with Tim about the state of rock music these days.

"Tim, could I get a cigarette please?"

"Em! My favorite freeloader in the whole wide world!" He exclaimed happily and crushed my ribs with a massive hug that lasted longer than I was entirely comfortable with.

Tim and I were always on good terms, but banning me from their band rehearsals took its toll in the past. I was allowed to observe these days, though, and as long as they were willing to forget about me destroying some of their instruments, I was willing to forget the disgrace of getting a ban.

"I'm not a fucking freeloader-" I protested before Tim cut me off by shoving a cigarette between my lips. I nodded a thank you and inhaled the calming smoke.

"Haven't seen you at the practice for a few weeks.." He hinted nonchalantly.

"I'll come when you guys finally learn something new." I smirked and received a slap on my forearm in return.

"You haven't even met the new guys, have you?"

I blinked and let my eyes wander back to the two strangers he'd been previously talking to and realized that I did, in fact, recognize the other one.

"I know you, you're that.. Er-" I searched my brain for the right name. "Gimme a moment.. Ronald? Richard?" The man stared back blankly. "No- no- Roy? It's Roy, isn't it?"

"Ray." He corrected with a slight smile. "And you're the first girl I've ever had to throw out of my car. Em, is it?"

The dude I didn't know put up his hand in matter of polite interrupting, and said,

"Wait - you actually got on Ray's nerves? I thought he didn't have any nerves. I thought it wasn't even possible."

"Em's got skills and will go to great lenghts to pursue her talent." Tim contributed and started a minor laughing fit among the men.

I frowned and smacked him on the back of his head, which was quite a task for someone as tiny as me. Tim was much taller than the average male. His body was lean and slender but somehow very fit and muscular all the same. He had dark hair, which came as no surprise seeing as though the lot of us were of Italian origins. He kept it short, and often had a little beard thing going on that never grew into anything more than an awkward buzz under his chin.

"Why did you call them the new guys, exactly?" I inquired, eager to change the subject.

"We're sharing the space with them, now. Ray, Matt, Gerard and Mikes."

"Uh.. Why?"

He gave me a look that simply told to use my brain every once in a while, but spared me the trouble and answered my question.

"Because they, too, need someplace to practice."

"For what? Do you have like some kind of a quartet of struggling circus artists thing going on?"

"We play in a band." The man with greasy brown hair beside Ray chipped in again.

"Don't be stupid. Gerard's not in a band. Neither is Mikey, he can't play an instrument to save his life!" I objected.
The whole idea seemed absurd, especially the part about me hearing of this only now.

"No one said it was a good band..." Tim hinted and cackled a laugh as the other two men groaned with disagreements.

I ignored the conversation and sucked on my cigarette. Why did it seem that I was the one being left out of the group while Gerard was the one marching in like a new, shiny toy?

How come Mikey hadn't felt any urge to inform me about his new-found business in the music world - something that had been an unattainable dream of his since kinder garden? I wasn't worth telling about these things?
What was I - waste of words? How flattering! It was starting to look a lot like this Mrs. Donna Way had been unable to raise nothing more than a couple of inconsiderate pigs. I flicked the cigarette stump into the darkness of the backyard and went back inside.

The second floor was far less crowded and after using the bathroom there, I ran into Grace again. Her eyes were glassy and faraway, and I felt a sudden urge to get as high as I could, as high as Grace.

"Grace, do you have anything?" I murmured into her ear twice before getting a response.

"Not pills." She stated and dug her pockets in an agonizingly slow way. After watching her trying to squeeze her bony fingers into the pockets of her jeans for several minutes, I thrusted my own hand there and grabbed the first thing my fingers found. I pulled out a tiny little plastic bag with a snippet of ominous white powder in it.

I looked at Grace with worry and unsureness written all over my face.

"This? I'm not sure I-"

"You'll love it. Fucks you up." She sang dreamingly.

"I.. How do I even- I don't know about this." I stuttered and extended my arm to give the thing back to her.

She pushed my hand back. "It's expensive. But it's a gift. Happy birthday, or something, whenever that is.." She turned her back to me and stumbled down the staircase, and paused mid-way to suck some guy's face off. The guy had an afro.

"Fuck me.." I muttered in spite of myself and opened the bag. After licking the tip of my finger and dipping it in the powder, I brought it close to my face to inspect it. It could be baking powder, it could be a practical joke.. I glanced at the staircase and saw the man- Ray, in fact- holding the nearly passed out Grace up and wondering what to do with her, and decided that no, it probably wasn't a trap.
I had never tried anything like this before and the only way of doing it that I knew of was strictly movie material, you know, rolled up five dollar bills used to snort it up your nostrils. I did the more unlikely, and pressed the tip of my finger against my tongue. The powder burnt and tasted like mothballs.
I licked my finger clean and took a sip of an abandoned beer bottle that I found next to my frozen feet.

After that, I went back downstairs, and felt somehow powerful and prior to all these people with their plastic cups filled with punch and beer. Even the ones with vodka bottles got pitiful glances from me, as I knew I was on something more. Something bigger, and better.

It was as if I had a secret superpower, something that made me float and rise above all these people and look down on them. I had a secret, and I was damned if I wasn't going to make everyone feel just as left out as I. They could all go to hell with their bands and common interests - from now on I would side up with Grace only and the two of us could focus on the things my former group of friends wouldn't ever be a part of.

I sat on the bottom stair and waited. And waited. The music started to ring in my ears in an extremely unpleasant way and the bass seemed to be making the ground below us throb. When the song ended in a ambitious drum solo, I felt the first jolt in my stomach. The high never came, but as the increasing feeling of nausea washed over me. I hiccuped once and straightened my posture, drawing a deep breath to keep whatever was trying to get up, down.
Then a cramp followed, and I felt myself double over without ever meaning to do so. Something was wrenching my insides like a sharp-toothed animal gnawing its way through my intestines.

I tensed and tried to get a grip of my body, forcing the strange pain to fade until the nausea made a fierce comeback and the next thing I knew, my lap was covered in yellowy goo. Wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt, I stared at my legs in amazement. Where the hell did that just come from?
Cold sweat trickled down my neck and temples as another cramp came and this time I had time to realize the urge to vomit, but my legs didn't seem to get the messages my brain was sending, and despite my efforts, my body stayed as if paralyzed on the wooden step and more liquid flew out of my involuntary mouth. I felt disgusted, and ashamed, and somewhere in the back of my mind prayed that none of the people passing me would stop and notice the dirty mess that I was.

My prayers went unheard, as they so often did, when a vaguely familiar figure was suddenly standing in front of me. I couldn't be sure of who it was exactly, since lifting my head up enough to see his face proved to be just as impossible as moving my legs, or any other part of my body for that matter. I didn't feel the least bit high, just sick - so very sick with nothing left in my stomach to throw up. Something cold and hard was placed against my lips and after identifying the object as a glass, I drank eagerly. Water. Lovely. I felt the person sweep something nice and smooth against my forehead and wipe the hair back from my face. The shame was gone, all I felt was gratitude for this little helper who tried to make me more comfortable. Another cramp, and the water came back up. Voices seemed faraway, as if people were speaking at the other end of a concrete tunnel, the words echoing in my head.

More legs appeared in my sight and soon I was swept up. The motion as someone carried me was something between a soft lull that made me sleepy and a horrible stomach-churning roller coaster ride.

Fresh air suddenly embraced me, clearing my head even more. I took deep breaths and felt the nausea slipping away ever so slowly. I stared at the patio floor, blinking and swallowing hard, wishing for more of that cool water I'd been given before.
After a moment I felt good enough to look up and see Frank's face staring at me in worry. I should've known he was the one acting as my knight. Who else could it have been? It wasn't like I had to tell hundreds of potential heroes to get in line before they could be the ones saving the damsel in distress.

Frank's slight frown almost brought his eyebrows together and his dark eyes glinted in the darkness of the evening. His disapproval was apparent, although still overshadowed by worry.

"Oopsie." I gave him a weak smile.

"Hambone saw you doubling over by the staircase with puke all over you. Came to find me. Scared the shit out of me, too. How ya feelin?" He murmured.

"Better. Kinda queasy, though." I whispered but managed a reassuring grin.

"Look, I really, really wish you'd stick to alcohol. I'm not gonna moralize you, you know I won't, but shit doesn't suit you."

"How're you so sure it's not just alcohol?" I scoffed.

"The sweat, the cramps, the fucking dilated pupils." He chuckled. "Don't take me for an idiot."

"Some people would call a person who knows an awful lot about drugs, an idiot." I pointed out.

He almost laughed, but not quite. The lines were still deep around his eyes as if I hadn't even convinced him halfway of my well-being.

"I thought I already asked you to not take anything from Grace.."

"I didn't."

Denying things was a natural reflex to me.
He cocked an eyebrow making me hate the way he always saw right through me.

"Perhaps I did. Would you prefer me taking shit from strangers instead?"
I challenged.

He studied my face for a while, and dodged the question by wiping my hairline dry again with the sleeve of his hoodie. The breeze felt nice, but the sweating still hadn't quite stopped.

"Well?"

After an overly dramatic sigh and a long pause all the while staring into the distance like a character from a damn soap opera, he replied,

"I told you, rather have you stick to alcohol. And pot, if necessary. Don't go all junkie on my ass. I don't want to have you turn into something as fucked up as Grace."

"Grace seems happy." I disagreed, although I knew how ridiculous the claim was as soon as it escaped my mouth. Grace was far from happy - Grace was far from everything.

"Call no man happy until he is dead." He spoke in a majestic manner that made it clear he was quoting someone I should've identified. "Herodotus."

"Fuck you."

Finally, he cracked a smile and pulled me into a one-armed hug while I pretended to resist and lean to the opposite direction.

"You sure you feel okay? You sure sound like yourself, if that counts for anything."

"You tell me, mister freaking drug expert." I pouted.

"Let's just sit for a while, aye? Have a smoke?"

I nodded and accepted the self-rolled cigarette he offered and lit.
The remaining sensations of displeasure finally disappeared into the night and all that was left was great disappointment.

I'd expected something much better, much more memorable in a much more positive way. Instead of having my childish way with a secret that I would leave my group of friends out of, I had a massive vomit party in my own company before having Frank carry my ass outside, having undoubtedly had everybody in the entire house stare at my puke-covered self in the process.

I wondered why my marvelous ideas and my stand-out moments always had to end in infamy.
I wondered if I was already a big fucking joke among everybody I knew and no one just had the heart to inform me about it.
I wondered if Frank and Mikey had to stand up for me when I wasn't there, telling people to shut the hell up and threaten to beat their asses if they didn't. Or maybe they just held their tongues and looked away, pretending they had no idea what the talk was about.

"Drink?" He offered a half-empty pocket size bottle of something that looked self-brewed and deadly.

I took the bottle, and declared the taste just as deadly.

"You know.. About us-" His voice had taken a very serious tone, the kind that meant business and indicated that all humour had left the atmosphere.

"Don't. Just don't - we don't have to do this. It's alright." I interrupted as quickly as I was able to. If there was anything I could do to avoid having to explain my unorthodox behavior back at his mother's house and during the two weeks that had gone by, I would. No hesitation. I didn't want to go there.

"What is? You don't even know what I'm talking about, Em." The annoyed edge to his voice did not go unnoticed.

"Everything. You're gay and I'm processing it, we don't have to talk about it. But we're cool." I sighed.

"You're an idiot." He spat and got on his feet. I stared in bewilderment as he marched aimlessly across the patio before heading on to the lawn, stomping the ground as he went.

"What?" I called out. He knew. He knew, he knew, he knew. He was giving me a chance to admit that I was keeping something from him, and I didn't take it. I felt my body tremble, but I wasn't sure if it was due to the chill or the sudden anxiety.

I pulled myself up and hurried in the same direction.

"What the hell, Frank?" I demanded as I reached him. "Don't call me an idiot and walk away!"

"There's nothing else I can do, is there?" He fumed.

I shook my head as if to clear my thoughts, only to realize that this time it wasn't my brain that was cluttered.

"You're not making any sense." I declared, taking a swig from the bottle I still had.

"I am not gay!" He emphasized every word the way you would in case you were speaking to a mentally handicapped person, or a child with only limited understanding of all things adult.

"You don't have to do that.."

"I'm not!"

"Frank..." I sighed. "If you're not ready-"

My words were cut off by the sound of a door slamming somewhere behind me.
I hadn't even had the time to turn around to look when, after the sound of a lighter kindling, I heard the least wanted voice in the universe I could imagine at the moment.

"Don't let me interrupt." The smug, nasal voice of the older Way immediately had my nerves in a knot.

"You're part of this, you know - so why won't we all just clear this up together, eh?" I snapped through gritted teeth.

"Sure, I could use a little drama." A cackle escaped his lips as he blinked at us from the patio.
That smirk was like venom shot into my veins.

"Look, I know your secrets. I know yours as well, Frank. I don't think I should be the one being yelled at." I hinted.

"No one's yelling." Gerard shrugged.


I turned back to look at Frankie, who stared back with anxious eyes and I realized I'd done a huge mistake. The last thing I wanted to do was to make him feel threatened, or cornered, for in case he wasn't even ready to admit his sexuality to his best friend, he sure as hell wouldn't be ready to be outed in front of an audience, and I should've never implied that I might just do that.

I took a moment to think about the situation I was in, and after giving it some thought I could see no way of denying the fact that the strings that I'd thought I'd had safely and tightly in my own two hands, had started to loosen and escape. I wasn't sure I'd ever had any of the control I'd thought I had, but right now all I had was another mess waiting to happen.

Could I really keep it together? Did I really have what it took to do that, to keep these two apart just to give myself more time to get the fuck over it? I wasn't the director here, and Gerard and Frank weren't paid actors. This was real, and we all had minds of our own. Minds with wants, wants that didn't meet. Except for theirs - and I was standing in the way.

I was seriously starting to waver now.

The thick, uncomfortable silence hung over the three of us; Frank's emotional outburst had come to a quick halt after the latest addition to out company and Gerard seemed as uninterested as ever. We all stood there looking like we didn't know what to do with ourselves and the heavy weight of the knowledge I had was fast increasing in the wordless, soundless atmosphere. I could almost feel the words trying to force themselves out of my mouth, the words that I knew would end their misery and begin mine.

I opened my mouth, knowing what I was about to do could possibly destroy my friendship with Frank forever while also causing all kinds of further damage, most of it aimed at yours truly.
My breath caught in my throat as I locked eyes with my best friend, who seemed to have frozen in place ever since Gerard had stepped out.

Somewhere deep inside I was aware of the fact that I was nowhere near the state I should be in to be doing this. I was still much too drunk for any of this, which only made the matter worse.

"Frank's gay." I stated with a voice that sounded like someone else's, flat, emotionless and strictly matter-of-fact with a hidden tone of great grief in it.
I turned back towards the patio before I would see Frank's reaction.
"And so's Gerard." I declared sadly.

Gerard studied my face for a long time while Frank remained painfully silent. I'd expected anger, or even a slight protest, but had got nothing instead.

"That's right Gerard." I moaned, taking several swigs of the yucky liquid again. "You want him? Go take him - take him and we can stop playing games."

"Games?" Frank's voice came from behind me, incredulous and rough.

"Yeah, games. You know I fucked Gerard, Frank. Not just once. But turns out he doesn't want me, he wants you."

"And you- what do you want?"

It seemed like the strangest thing for him to ask at this moment.

"I want him, too." I whispered with a dry chuckle. "But you're the one who can have him. Not me."

"You want him?" He repeated with a voice barely audible.

I turned once more to face Gerard and saw no emotion in his dead eyes.
He was wasted, indifferent and cold as he always was while intoxicated, and his dull eyes bore into mine with nothing but perhaps a glint of amusement in them.
He knew, he damn right knew and it didn't affect him in the slightest.
I was standing here, stripped down, and all he did to contribute was a this. A blank stare. A barely noticeable twitch in the corner of his mouth. An almost-shrug.
I felt ashamed, naked and see-through, and I only had myself to blame. I had brought this on. This was strictly my decision, this parade of confessions.
I was sick of secrets. I was sick of unspoken things.
Also, I was quite wasted.

"Yeah."

You'd think it would be easier knowing that my feelings for him went unrequited, that it would somehow numb down the feeling of rejection knowing that it was coming at you. You'd think it would hurt less, that it would somehow make it a bit more endurable not having any expectations. It didn't. His hollow eyes seemed to steal everything from inside me, making me feel as empty as he looked. His blank gaze made me shrink under his eyes.

"No." I was snapped back to reality by Frank. "No, no, no!" He chanted.

"Em." It was Gerard's voice now. "Your great personal sacrifice is awfully appreciated, but I'm afraid it won't do." The sarcasm was there, but with a lack of emotion.

"Huh?"

"You're an idiot." He shook his head and walked back inside like nothing interesting ever happened on this goddamned yard.

The moment the door clicked close behind him, I could feel Frank's unsteady hand grip my arm.

"No way, no way in hell, Em!"

I felt something hot in the corner of my eye and blinked feverishly to get rid of it.
"I'm so sorry Frank.. I never wanted any of this." My voice was giving me away big time. "But he doesn't want me, like I said. He wants you, and you want him."

"You listen to me, Em - I am not gay. I do not want him. I want-"

That look in his eyes.
That heart-wrenching look of wanting something you knew wasn't yours to take.
The look of how I felt.

No way.

"I want-" He seemed to be choking on the rest of the sentence, but I'd already figured it out. I believe it had taken me an awfully long time to do so, but I saw it now. I saw the entire picture in all it's deformed glory and it made me sick.
I saw everything and it made my mind spin and my pulse throb and all the words I knew disappear.

"Don't." I manage to spit out.

"I want-" He started once more but I cut him off,

"Don't!"

"You, Em." His broken voice shattered my heart into fragments. "Just you."

I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut as if the world itself would cease to exist if only I could seal them tightly enough. It was a great big mess, and one that wouldn't leave any of us unharmed. We were all going to get hurt, all three of us. We had already started to get hurt.

"Shit."