Nobodies

FRANK’S P.O.V.
“Gerard’s been gone for a while,” I mutter. I check my cellphone clock, to see that he’s been gone for fifteen minutes. Maybe he went to throw up? But I didn’t think he drank any. I figure he got preoccupied in the party and am about to go look for him when Christian returns, asking, “Hey, Frank. Can you get a sweatshirt for me out of my room? This girl is passed out in the yard.”
“Sure,” I answer. “Where’s your room?”
“Down the back hall, third room on the left,” Christian directs.
I cut through the living room. Past the bathroom where the muffled cry of vomiting rins through the air, down one of the bedrooms where people are clearly having poor sex, and then, finally, to Christian’s bedroom.
I open the door to see Gerard sleeping, hair a mess, shirt off, covers pulled up to his ribcage. I’m shocked, but not as stunned as when I notice the random ass guy sleeping next to him.
GERARD’S P.O.V.
I wake up to Frank’s yells. I blink myself awake in time to catch Frank standing in front of me, eyes red, and mouth flapping. I manage to make out,
“Fuck you, Gerard!” from Frank.
My head pulses with Frank’s words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I look around to try to figure out where I am, since it’s definitely not the bathroom. That’s when I realize I’m in an unfamiliar bed with a stranger in my underwear. I struggle to pull up memories of before I’d passed out, but I can’t. All I remember is drinking lots of tangy orange juice before blacking out. I try to bring back any thoughts of sex with this stranger, but I can’t. Either it didn’t happen and for some inexplicable reason we wound up in the same bed, or I am a filthy, forgetful cheater. “Frank, I don’t think this is what it looks like.”
“Don’t think!?” Frank exclaims.
“I can’t remember what happened,” I moan, rubbing my pounding head.
“You can’t even remember fucking this guy who was just soooo good that it was worth throwing our relationship away?!?” Frank cries, tears rushing down his face. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t ask you how it was.” He leaves with that, so I spring out of bed, following him.
My knees are a bit weak, so it takes me a while to catch up with him. We get some strange looks, a crying punk kid being followed by a scrawny boy in his blue underpants throughout the house. I manage to grab his elbow by the time we’re outside, pleading,
“Frank, I want to talk about this!”
“Don’t you dare fucking touch me!” Frank spits. He wrestles his arm from my grasp.
“Frank, come on, we need to work this out!” I argue.
“You don’t fucking get it, do you? I… I let you into my life, I fucking drag you along kicking and screaming through therapy, I let you take me away from my family and…. For what?! So you could break my heart into smithereens? Well, I’m not having it! I’m going home and getting my shit from your house!” Frank rants.
I follow him to his truck, begging, “Frank, please think about this! You’re being hasty! I don’t even know what happened!”
Frank hops into his truck, barking, “Well I do! What happened is Gerard A.K.A. the walking failure fucked up everything once again! No wonder no one likes you; you’re a piece of shit! I hate you!”
“Frank….” I gasp, my voice catching. I can’t say anything; I want to; but nothing will come out.
Frank gives me one last look with those giant hazel eyes before slamming on the reverse, pulling out into the street and speeding away.
I rush into the house, going straight to Christian. I really need to vent. “CHRISTIAN! WE’VE GOT TO TALK!”
I grab Christian, who looks absolutely terrified for a split second before asking calmly, “What’s wrong?”
“I…. something happened last night. I can’t explain it,” I reply.
“What was it?” Christian asks.
“I passed out… I… I woke up with this random dude,” I share.
Christian gasps. “You didn’t…. sleep with him, did you?”
Tears begin to form as I answer, “I don’t remember.”
Christian hugs me, rubbing my back. “Frank’s upset, isn’t he?”
“He’s more than upset,” I cry. “He never wants to see me again, I’m sure of it!”
Christian takes a long time to reply before flatly responding, “My, isn’t that a shame.”
I sob into his shoulder, rambling on about the fights Frank and I have had and therapy and all these things that don’t even matter anymore because we’re done. Frank and I are over. And I doubt I’m ready to accept that.
It’s hard, over. I get home that night and end up bawling again, and the only person I want to talk to is Frank. But he’s currently plausibly crying over the situation as well, and, unfortunately, vowing not to let me back. He’d dumped me before, over a petty fight that I had initiated and he had ended with an immediate end of our relationship. But luckily for me, oh, he’d taken me back, and it was all roses and daisies. But now…. I might’ve cheated on the poor kid. He doesn’t even have the assurance of my knowing, simply because I just don’t remember that night.
I go to bed wallowing in self-pity, remorse, but also self-hatred. If I can’t remember anything, but had slept with the guy, does that make me a piece of shit? Am I a terrible person for this freak happening I have no explanation for? Do I owe it to Frank to just leave him alone forever? Where is he staying now? Is he safe? He didn’t hurt himself, did he?
I have all of these difficult questions billowing through my mind and not a resolution to a single one of them as I go to sleep that night.

Notes

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