Married In My Mind

I sat in my car outside of my apartment building, hand still tightly clutching the park brake. My cheeks felt clammy and raw from the tears. I reached up to wipe the salty streaks off on the back of my hand. I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to picture that my emotions could just exit my body with every exhale of breath.
In.
Out. Less sad.
In.
Out. Less sad.
In.
Out. Less sad.

I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror to confirm that I looked as miserable as I felt. I did.
I dug my phone out of my pocket. I had several missed calls and texts from Mikey, Ray and Brian all wondering where the hell I was.
I’d completely forgotten to tell Mikey that I’d had to pull Frank away from the party last night. There was so much I hadn’t fucking told Mikey and now it was all crashing down around me. I tried not to think about the fact that Frank hadn’t even tried to call after I’d left. I had no intention of speaking to him (about anything, ever again), but it still sucked that he didn’t care enough to call.

I slid out of the driver’s seat and slowly walked up the stairs and into my apartment. Once inside, I stared around at my silent belongings, all collecting dust. Everything that had happened lately had kept me away from home and it was starting to show.
I was desperate for background noise. Anything to mute the painful thoughts buzzing through my head. I dropped on the couch and pressed buttons on the TV remote until the screen turned on. I flipped to a random channel and called Mikey.
“What the fuck Gerard?” Mikey said into the phone, picking up after only two rings.
“Hey Mikes. Sorry I forgot to tell you when I left last night...”
“Like fuck you’re sorry!” He spat. “Do you know how worried I’ve been? No… you know what? It doesn’t matter. Just please tell me you didn’t relapse again.”
“I didn’t.”
He left out a deep sigh of relief. “Thank god… Please just never disappear on me like that again. If something happened to you...” he trailed off.
“I’m really sorry, M. It won’t happen again. I promise.” I told him.
“Okay. I didn’t mean to blow up on you like that I just… I love you and don’t want you to go through all that again.”
“I know.” I said. "I love you too."
“Did you see what happened with Frank and Bert McCracken last night? Schechter’s pissed!”
“Uh yeah. I did. Actually… I’m the one who pulled Frank away from the fight.” I gulped. It hurt to even say his fucking name.
“What?! Oh my god. Can I come over? You have to tell me everything.” He gushed.
“Actually uh… I kind of just need to be alone right now but we should meet for coffee tomorrow before we hit the studio.” I suggested. I could hear the glum in my own voice. It was hoarse and monotone.
“Uh ok?” he said. “Yeah. Meet me at the place down the street from the studio at 10? I want to try their dark roast.”
“10 it is… Love you.” I sighed, dropping the call and resting my phone on my stomach. I let out another deep sigh and stared at the ceiling, listening to the voices coming through the TV.

A few minutes later and my phone was buzzing. I pressed the talk button and brought the phone up to my ear.
“Hey M.” I said, trying to sound more cheery than I had before.
“Gerard?” a broken voice croaked.
I pulled the phone away from my ear to look at the screen. Fuck. I’d answered a call from Frank. I felt a nervous twang in my chest.
“Oh… hi...” I said cooly.
“You picked up…” He let out a shaky breath. “Gerard, please, just let me- I need to-”
“Frank,” I interrupted. “Is this band-related?”
“Of course it’s not fucking band-related.” He replied incredulously, voice breaking. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”
I took a deep breath and hung up.
“Didn’t think so.” I said to the empty room.

At least he called... I thought.

I regretted walking out on him like that but I knew that if I hadn’t he would have just said a bunch of mean shit he couldn’t take back. I replayed our earlier conversation in my head over and over. It wasn’t like there was anything he could say now that would change our predicament. There definitely wasn’t anything he could say that would change how he felt. He said he cared, which meant he didn’t love me. If he loved me he would have said he loved me.
A relationship built on pity or whateverthefuck it was he felt wasn’t a relationship at all.

What stung the most was that Frank was fucking right about everything. The Frank in my fics would love me or leave me. He’d never fucking pull selfish, manipulative bullshit like this. He wouldn’t reduce my feelings to a single body of fucking writing and act like he knew everything there was to know about how I felt.
“...Just because we want to fuck around.” He had said. That was all it was to him.

I wished we could go back to how things were when he wouldn’t even talk to me. That was easier to navigate. Easier to move on from. Now that I knew what he tasted like, what it was like to hear him moan my name. Oh god. What it was like to wake up in his arms. What it was like to think he wanted me too...
I didn’t know what to do or how to feel.

I spent the afternoon on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling sorry for myself. I could hear my phone’s faint vibrations, little buzzing noises as it sat the coffee table, but I wouldn’t be bothered to check it.
After several hours alone with my thoughts the shock had finally worn off. In its place there was nothing but pain. Despair. This deep, gnawing, nauseous, hollow feeling.
This was about the time I’d usually reach for a beer but even that felt wrong. I was completely paralyzed by the utter hopelessness.

On the drive home from Frank’s apartment I’d contemplated a million stupid reckless things I could do just to spite him. Everything from crashing my car to calling Bert for another all-night coke binge. If I self-destructed he’d blame himself. If I overdosed he’d never forgive himself. But I wasn’t going to let him reduce me into the shell of a suicidal monstrosity that I was before I got sober.
I’d have more control of our situation if I kept him fucking scared of what I might do to myself.

If Frank didn’t want me at my best, he didn’t fucking deserve me at my worst.
~

I tried to keep the details of the release party vague. I told Mikey I’d pulled Frank off of Bert before he could get any critical punches in and then dragged him out the emergency exit doors. After that I’d given him a ride home. We’d said very little to one another. Frank had thanked me for the ride home.
I’d left out the conversation we’d had on the way to my car. I’d left out the part where I’d stayed the night, exchanged hand jobs and left after he’d basically broken my fucking heart. I wasn’t worried about what Mikey would think, I just wasn’t ready to talk about it. I couldn’t believe any of it had even happened.
“So you guys are friends now… or not like friends but you’re talking again?” he’d asked.
I’d smiled, nodded and changed the subject.

Recording had gone fine for most of the day. I didn’t need to look up to know when Frank had come in to the studio. I could hear him get his guitar out and exchange a few words with Ray about which pedal sounded better for the track we were working on.
I was busy recording vocals for most of the afternoon and really only spoke to the sound tech working the board. Ray would occasionally add in his opinions about some of the layering we were doing to the backing vocals.

The room was too fucking quiet when I returned from the bathroom. I glanced around the room but everyone appeared to have left. Almost everyone except-
“Gerard, can we talk?” Frank asked.
“Where did everyone go?” I asked, ignoring his question, keeping my gaze focused on an insignificant point on the floor.
“I told them I needed to talk to you… they’re taking a fifteen minute break.”
“Oh...” I mumbled. Thanks for making our problems everyone else’s problems, I thought.
“Gerard are you… are we okay?” He asked.
“Yeah. We’re good.” I said coldly, nodding my head.
“Then how come you won’t even look at me?” he asked softly.
“I don’t need to.” I shrugged. “I already know what your face looks like...”
He reached up and touched my jaw, tilting my face in his direction. I shifted my gaze towards him but still avoided his eyes. I’d be totally screwed if I made eye contact with him and I knew it. I ended up focused on his lips. Huge mistake. My breath caught in my throat just thinking about his stupid, pretty, manipulative lips. They were curled into a morbid, uneasy frown.
“Happy?” I whispered, leaning into his touch.
“I’m so fucking far from happy.” He murmured, brushing his thumb against my cheek.
“I don’t know what the fuck you want from me.” I said bitterly, swallowing hard. I seized his wrist and pulled his hand away from my face.
“I know. I don’t either. But the way you left yesterday... That wasn’t okay. We can’t just leave things like this.”
“Yes we can.” I muttered, still clutching his wrist. I finally glanced up into his eyes. He looked exhausted and sad.
“No. We can’t. It's not right.” He argued as tears welled up in his eyes. He took another step toward me, closing the space between us. I hadn’t been expecting him to kiss me in the middle of the fucking recording studio where anyone could walk in and see. Maybe that was why I’d let it happen. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t kiss him back. I did. But once my brain caught up with my heart I pushed him away.
“Frank, I swear to god, if you ever want me to get over you, you’ve got to stop pulling shit like this.” I hissed. My cheeks were smeared with his warm, wet tears. I wiped them off on my sleeve.
“What if that’s not what I want?” He croaked, biting his lip.
“You know what? You need to make up your fucking mind.” I said, soft and venomous. “And until you do, leave me the fuck alone.”
I stumbled back towards the door and slipped out as quickly as I could.
I passed Ray and Bob on my way down the hallway to my car.
“Where you going, Gee?” Ray asked cheerily.
“Decided to call it a day.” I shrugged, “See you guys tomorrow.”
Ray shot me a confused, worried glance but I didn’t stop to explain myself. I needed to get out of there fast.

Once safely in the driver’s seat of my car I pulled my phone out of my pocket.
I needed someone to talk to. Someone who would want to talk about anything and everything except Frank fucking Iero. I scrolled through my contact’s list, until Bert’s name came up.
Against better judgement I’d called him and he’d picked up before I could change my mind.

Notes

i can't explain why your nice/encouraging comments make posting a new chapter so much more intimidating. i guess i'm afraid you won't like the new chapter as much as you liked the last. in any case, thank you for commenting. it's as much appreciated as it is terrifying.
-m