Never Let Go

Lindsey smiled, her cherry coated lips stretching over gleaming white teeth. The little note was taped to the fridge, yellow post it paper contrasting with the white plastic covering the fridge door. It was a stupid, silly love note, one that most people would make faces at, but for Lindsey, it made her morning, especially when she also spotted a hot mug of coffee waiting for her. The sun was shining brighter, the coffee in her mug tasted richer, and the love in her heart for Gerard swelled. Whatever had been annoying Gerard, seemed to have faded into the background, and he was making up for his less than attentive behaviour recently. He was back to his old self, or almost, anyway. He was leaving her little notes again, she found the cupboard stocked with a few bars of her favourite chocolate, and when he was home before her, he made dinner from scratch. They weren’t great meals by any means, (he wasn’t much of a cook, though he did cook a great steak) but for Lindsey, it was the old cliché ‘it’s the thought that counts’. Jamia was right about them needing a couple of days of space. The two nights she'd stayed away must have made Gerard re-evaluate their relationship, and his recent distance. Their sex life was back on track, or close to anyway. He was affectionate, attentive and back to the Gerard she'd fell in love with. She was happy that they were getting over the little bump in their relationship, that the hard time was becoming a thing of the past and that they were finally moving forward. She had tried to bring it up, figure out what had caused the change in the first place. Gerard never gave anything more than a vague ‘work was stressful’ answer, which Lindsey had decided would have to do. There was no need to rehash it over and over – not when it was in the past.
Lindsey finished her mug of coffee, rinsed it out under a gush of hot water, before dropping it into the sink with a clatter. Then, everything was a rush as she gave her makeup a once over, checked that her outfit was free of creases and grabbed her handbag in a flurry. She didn’t care that she was running late – she would rather lose a few essential minutes if it meant she woke up to Gerard’s romantic gestures.
**
“Frankie,” Jamia whined, curling up to his side as they cuddled in bed, pushing her body flush against his. She bit her lower lip seductively, peering up at him from her lashes, her little freckled pixie nose rubbing his neck. She was practically keening at him, her small voice pleading.
“Not tonight,” Frank muttered, ignoring Jamia’s hand creeping under his shirt, deft fingers tracing over the pale, tattooed skin with soft fleeting touches.
“Did I do something?”
The hurt, anxious tone cut through Frank like a knife. It hurt, in more ways than one. It raised his guilt, his confusion and the impending feeling of dread that had descended upon him in the last couple of weeks.
“No, baby. I’m just exhausted,” he excused, hoping the bags under his eyes were convincing enough.
He had calmly picked up the pieces of Gerard’s guitar moments after smashing it to smithereens over two weeks ago. He had gotten a few splinters in the process, something he imagined was karma’s way of giving him penance for destroying such a beautiful instrument. He had felt remorse in the wake of its destruction, well aware that he had no right to damage Gerard’s property, no matter what Gerard had done. It wasn’t as though Gerard had harmed him – at least not physically. Mentally, it was another issue, one that Frank was trying to block out. He refused to think about it, only his brain had other ideas and made him think about it. His memories were still hazy, but he remembered enough for his collar to get hot and his skin to prickle. He shouldn’t have enjoyed what happened. His body shouldn’t have reacted with such betrayal and reckless abandon to someone else’s touch, let alone a man’s touch. He got uncomfortable at the thought.It made him sweaty and nervous, and a strange kind of anxiety gripped at his chest, squeezing his lungs and leaving him gasping for breath when it took a hold. He was angry at Gerard, beyond furious, in fact. He had ignored Gerard since, and Gerard had returned the favour. Gerard had heeded Frank’s warning so far, but Frank now lived in a perpetual fear that one day Jamia would come home, cheeks streaked with tears and anger flaming her eyes and scream that he had betrayed her.
He missed Gerard’s company, though. They had gotten on so well, had developed a rapport, and Gerard had carved himself a little place inside Frank’s heart, unwittingly. Frank was pissed that Gerard had ruined it, that in a moment of impulsiveness and intoxication, they had crossed a line, run past it so far that it was nothing but a speck on the horizon that was barely noticeable. Things were fucked and unfixable, and it killed Frank a little to know that one of the most important friendships he had ever made was now gone in a flash. Gerard wasn’t who Frank had thought he was – Gerard had another side of him that Frank had not seen, maybe one which he hadn’t wanted to see. How could he not have seen it? How had he been so blindsided, so completely unaware that Gerard had been harbouring feelings beyond friendship? And what on earth made Gerard think that Frank would ever return them, or that he had any interest in that kind of…lifestyle? He had Jamia… He was happy with Jamia. He wasn’t going to be a pawn in Gerard’s game of exploring his sexuality. Frank was comfortable in his own, and he had no desire to delve any further than he already had.
The fact that he’d enjoyed what Gerard had done was coincidental. It didn’t say anything about him– it didn’t mean anything, other than that he was intoxicated out of his head, and had been lead into a compromising position by someone who manipulated him when he was in a vulnerable condition. His dreams,(of Gerard on top of him, kissing him senselessly, trailing kisses and feather light touches over his skin) they were just his psyche’s way of rubbing the guilt in. The fact that, two weeks later, he could still vaguely recall how Gerard smelled, that he'd woken up hard after a few not so innocent dreams, was nothing. He would tell himself that every day, all day, at home, and at work.
Jamia had noticed something was wrong, though, as much as he tried to hide it. He wanted to be honest about it; they had been in each other’s lives for so long that honesty was just ingrained in them. They never kept secrets, because they knew each other too well to try and hide anything. This, though – this, he couldn’t tell. He knew Jamia wouldn’t understand,that she would over-react, think Frank was questioning his sexuality, or that he was in the closet. He wasn’t – he was nowhere near the land of Narnia. He'd made a mistake, one he bitterly regretted, and was paying the price for. He lost a friend, his mind was tormented in waking hours by daydreams, when he wasn’t concentrating, and his mind wandered to Gerard, and what he was doing, and if he was okay, and what would have happened if Frank hadn’t reacted so badly the next morning. Would they still be friends? Could they have gotten over it, and moved on, if Frank had calmly explained that he wasn’t interested, and never would be? He was left with could've, should've,would've, and he wondered if they would ever fade. He missed texting Gerard, missed their Saturday hangouts, their occasional weekday wanderings around the mall for comic books. That had been ripped away from him, and it had an adverse affect on him,which he wouldnever have anticipated. So adverse, that Jamia was noticing, and questioning, in her own way. He was pulling away from her in his guilt, not just emotionally, but sexually. He found it hard to cave into her touches and pouts, when all her touch did was remind him that she wasn’t the last person to touch him like that, that someone else had made him excited to the point of release without direct skin on skin contact. His gut twisted at the knowledge that Jamia was left confused, and probably full of self-doubt, over something that wasn’t her fault.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, swallowing a lump that blocked his oesophagus.
Jamia didn’t respond. She laid her head on his chest, her breathing a little unsteady, and Frank knew that she was trying not to cry. It made him feel like shit, like he was worth nothing. She didn’t deserve to be caught up in Frank’s fucked up-ness. He planted a kiss on her forehead, squeezed an arm around her shoulders tightly, and whispered softly.
“I love you, baby. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise.”
She looked at him again, a faint smile tugging at her sad lips. He returned the smile, praying that his misery would end soon.

Notes

Hey guys,

I swear, things won;t stay this way forever. They'll change in the next chapter, or the one after. As always, I'd like to remind you that comments/feedback/subscriptions and votes are wonderful and fuel my creativity, so please drop some.love.

Also, I wrote this Frerard one shot a while ago, please read if you can spare a few minutes (it's not very long).

Lyra xxx