Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > And Without A Sound....And I Wish You Away
2: Poison Girl
September 2008
The motorcycle roared down the highway and skidded to a stop just inside the long gravel driveway leading to the two-story brick house.
Frank lifted the three-year-old from the rear seat and set her on the gravel road before getting off himself. His black boots were covered in dust, as was his brown-leather jacket, but he was still remarkably handsome.
"Go play, underdog," Frank said, pulling off his helmet and shaking his head so that little wisps of dark hair fell into his eyes.
Carmen ran clumsily off to the back of the house. Frank looked over to his wife, who was sitting on the porch steps.
"Hey, babe," he called.
Jamia motioned for him to join her. He did.
"You wanted to talk to me?" He made the statement into a question without realizing it. Jamia hardly ever looked like this-serious.
"Yeah," she said, seemingly unsure of how to proceed. That worried him, too. She was never unsure. "Frank, I don't think this is going to work," she said finally.
"What do you mean?" Frank's stomach seemed to be a coil of wire in his body. God...
"I don't want to have to share you," Jamia said firmly. "You're too into drugs. I'm not saying I want a divorce, I'm just saying that we need to slow things down and spend some time apart."
"I'm not that into them," Frank protested.
"Don't lie to me, Frank," Jamia said. Her voice grew hard suddenly. "I'm not going to share you with heroin, and neither is our daughter."
Frank stared out over the lush countryside for a moment. "Okay," he said finally.
Jamia seemed surprised that he'd agreed. "Did this ever mean anything to you?" she asked furiously, rounding on him and turning his head so that he was facing her. "How can you be so calm about this?"
I'm not calm! Frank wanted to tell her, to yell, to scream it. But he didn't.
"Of course it did. It still does. But I'm not going to sacrifice my job."
"What about Carmen?"
"I love her to death and you know it. I love you, too."
"But you love the drugs more," Jamia said softly, staring him in the eyes. "I understand, Frank."
No, you don't. You never will.
To his credit, he didn't say yes. But he didn't say no, either.
He didn't say anything until he was at his motorcycle. Then he stuck the key in the ignition and turned his body halfway around, meeting Jamia's eyes for a fraction of a second. "You have custody of Carmen," he said finally, his voice carrying down the long driveway. "You won't have to share her with me." He knew he'd gone too far when he saw the hurt flash across her face but turned around and switched the key in the ignition, roaring out of the driveway and sending up a gray-tan plume of dust behind him. He was driving recklessly, he knew, but he didn't care. He really didn't care about anything at the moment.
September 2008
The motorcycle roared down the highway and skidded to a stop just inside the long gravel driveway leading to the two-story brick house.
Frank lifted the three-year-old from the rear seat and set her on the gravel road before getting off himself. His black boots were covered in dust, as was his brown-leather jacket, but he was still remarkably handsome.
"Go play, underdog," Frank said, pulling off his helmet and shaking his head so that little wisps of dark hair fell into his eyes.
Carmen ran clumsily off to the back of the house. Frank looked over to his wife, who was sitting on the porch steps.
"Hey, babe," he called.
Jamia motioned for him to join her. He did.
"You wanted to talk to me?" He made the statement into a question without realizing it. Jamia hardly ever looked like this-serious.
"Yeah," she said, seemingly unsure of how to proceed. That worried him, too. She was never unsure. "Frank, I don't think this is going to work," she said finally.
"What do you mean?" Frank's stomach seemed to be a coil of wire in his body. God...
"I don't want to have to share you," Jamia said firmly. "You're too into drugs. I'm not saying I want a divorce, I'm just saying that we need to slow things down and spend some time apart."
"I'm not that into them," Frank protested.
"Don't lie to me, Frank," Jamia said. Her voice grew hard suddenly. "I'm not going to share you with heroin, and neither is our daughter."
Frank stared out over the lush countryside for a moment. "Okay," he said finally.
Jamia seemed surprised that he'd agreed. "Did this ever mean anything to you?" she asked furiously, rounding on him and turning his head so that he was facing her. "How can you be so calm about this?"
I'm not calm! Frank wanted to tell her, to yell, to scream it. But he didn't.
"Of course it did. It still does. But I'm not going to sacrifice my job."
"What about Carmen?"
"I love her to death and you know it. I love you, too."
"But you love the drugs more," Jamia said softly, staring him in the eyes. "I understand, Frank."
No, you don't. You never will.
To his credit, he didn't say yes. But he didn't say no, either.
He didn't say anything until he was at his motorcycle. Then he stuck the key in the ignition and turned his body halfway around, meeting Jamia's eyes for a fraction of a second. "You have custody of Carmen," he said finally, his voice carrying down the long driveway. "You won't have to share her with me." He knew he'd gone too far when he saw the hurt flash across her face but turned around and switched the key in the ignition, roaring out of the driveway and sending up a gray-tan plume of dust behind him. He was driving recklessly, he knew, but he didn't care. He really didn't care about anything at the moment.
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