Married In My Mind

I stood in the parking lot outside of the practice space with genuine dread in my chest. I had only showed up because Mikey said I had to. My Chem was booked to play a few local shows at a small venue in the city starting the day after that morning and everything needed to be run through.
I glanced around the parked cars, looking for Frank’s car. I breathed easier when I didn’t see it.
I tightened my scarf over the platonic hickeys Bert had insisted on giving me when he’d done my makeup earlier that morning and wandered towards the building, trying to think of nothing but the crunch of gravel under my feet.
The building was warm and held the familiar scent of old paper and beer, like a library and a houseparty fucked into one. I slowly walked towards the practice room. I paused in the hallway, wondering if I should turn around and go back to the my car to get my gloves. It could get cold in the practice room on windy days. The whole place was drafty. Clammy hands could be so distracting and… I knew that if I went back to my car I wouldn’t be able to convince myself to come back inside.
I hovered in front of the practice room, listening to the voices on the other side of the door. I recognized Ray’s cheerful voice and Mikey’s laugh, followed by Bob smacking a cymbal with his drumstick to make sure it was as loose as he liked. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Gerard! Hey!” Ray said cheerily, spinning around to grin at me. “Only 20 minutes late.”
Mikey looked up from his spot on the couch. He was huddled over his bass, running a cloth between the strings.
“Alight so…” Ray sighed. “Since everyone’s all here now, let’s get down to business.”
He plopped down on the couch beside Mikey who was staring at me with an apologetic frown. Bob got out from behind his drum set and perched on an arm of the couch.
“But Frank’s not here… shouldn’t we wait for...” I trailed off, heart fluttering in response to saying his name out loud.
None of them were looking at me. The three of them were all focused on the same spot behind me. As soon as I put two and two together I heard someone clear their throat behind me.
“Hey Gerard.” Frank said softly. I cringed at the withered tone of his voice.
“Oh… Hi Frank.” I mumbled, feeling my blood run cold. I wasn’t brave enough to turn around and look at him.
The rest of the band stared at Frank and I with great curiosity, like they weren’t sure what we would do if we were put in the same room. They must’ve been caught up on the details of our fight somehow.
It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
“Nice scarf.” Mikey said, eyes darting between me and wherever Frank was standing behind me. I couldn’t decide if the little shit was trying to break the tension in the room or make everything worse.
“Thanks.” I said softly, feeling myself blush like crazy and instantly regretting letting Bert suck on my neck for so long. Mikey clearly thought Frank had done it and Frank would be upset when he saw saw the marks and realized someone else had done it.
“So anyway,” Ray continued, “I talked to Brian this morning. He said he’ll fill us in on the details as soon as he has them, but we might be approached about a tour in the near future. After the album drops.”
“Cool. That’s… that’s great.” I said, biting my lip and dropping into a plastic chair across from the couch.
“Frank, you want to sit down?” Ray asked. It reminded me of that thing my parents used to do where they’d command me to do something but disguise it as a question.
“Um… yeah okay.” Frank said softly, dropping in the chair beside me, which made me feel especially like Ray was a parent and we were his unruly children. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Frank’s guitar balanced in his lap. His fingers fidgeted over the frets like they always did whenever he was anxious.
“What that’s gonna mean, though,” Ray said. “Is that we all need to be on our best behavior. For these next couple of shows there’ll be representatives from the label and shit.”
“So no fighting, you two.” Bob teased, smiling warmly at me. He twirled a drumstick between his fingers absentmindedly.
“We’re not-” I started to say.
“Gerard just...” Ray interrupted, “Let’s not get into it today, yeah? Just... no upsetting each other. Not at the venue. Please. Frank, no fistfights, you got that?”
Bob dropped the drumstick he’d been twirling glanced over at Ray, probably surprised Ray was being so blunt about it.
“Fuck you.” Frank mumbled. It was his default response when he had nothing else to add in an argument. There was no venom behind the two words.
“And Gerard, just call Frank back.” Bob said, turning his gaze to me.
“I don’t see why I sh-”
“You don’t have to marry the guy, just… hear him out, okay?” Bob countered. “That’s all.”
An awkward silence fell over the room then. I was frozen in my seat, fingernails digging into my palms. The anxious twang of Frank’s fingers running over his frets battled with the soft vibrations of Mikey’s bass strings as he cleaned his fretboard. Bob leaned over to pick up his drum stick and ended up kicking it further away. The sound of it rolling away was somehow deafening.
“Alright, well fuck this.” Ray said cheerily, lifting himself off the couch and going for his guitar, “Nice talk everyone. Looking forward to touring with you all again.” He lifted the strap over his head and plugged in to his amp. He started tuning without waiting for anyone else to catch up. Silently leading, as always.
The frustration on Ray’s face was all I needed to be reminded of why you weren’t supposed to fuck the other members of your band. The turmoil between Frank and I had gotten so bad it was getting in the way of the music and I’d just kind of… let it. I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck, hoping to hide the marks there. Just outright telling them I’d moved on might’ve made everything better in some weird way.
We just had to do run-throughs of everything that was going on the setlist. Everyone seemed to still have the songs together except for me. One look at Frank and I forgot all the fucking words, which would be a real problem when we were performing live. I had no idea how to vocalize it to the rest of the band. If Frank had any idea he had that sort of power over me he’d use it.
Frank probably should’ve received an award for the way he was avoiding me. I tried not to move around too much in an attempt to help him stay the fuck away. I spent a lot of the practice session with my eyes closed.
A frontman standing in place with his eyes closed wasn’t going to make for very interesting stage presence, but I couldn’t think of any other solutions. I made a mental note to ask Bert how to handle that side of things in a way that didn’t involve copious amounts of drugs and alcohol.
Aside from having to hold a print-out of the lyrics to my own fucking songs and the murderously blank look on Frank’s face everything went smoothly for the duration of practice. Bob was happy to be banging out his frustrations on the drums. Ray was mostly pleased with the general togetherness of the band. He mothered us when he thought it was necessary, pointing out if Mikey came in a second too late, or if I fucked up on the lyrics again.

At the end of practice I just wanted to curl up into a little ball and die. I felt like I was going to as I made eye contact with Frank on my way out of the practice room. He looked sad, exhausted and pale, withered from a few days of poor sleep, or perhaps even sleeplessness.
“Gerard, can we talk for a second?” Frank asked flatly.
“Um… sure....” I sighed, stepping back towards the door.
He slung his guitar in it’s case over his shoulder and followed me out into the hallway.
“What’s up?” I asked, checking over my shoulder to make sure that we were alone as we walked down the hallway side by side.
“You know I didn’t get back together with Jamia, right?” he asked.
“Yeah… Bert told me.” I said, keeping my eyes intently on the ground.
“Fuck you for even thinking I’d move on that easily.” Frank spat.
“Honestly, Frank?” I shot back, stopping just short of the door to the parking lot and glaring hard at him, “What was I supposed to think? You would’ve thought the same thing if some half-naked chick answered my door.”
“I probably would’ve answered your fucking phone calls after the fact.” Frank argued.
“Is this what you wanted to talk about!?” I yelled, hearing my own voice echoing down the hallway, “You just wanted to point out how stupid I am for assuming what every other person on the fucking planet would’ve assumed?!”
“No. I wanted to fucking explain myself to you.” He said, eerily calm.
“What’s the point?” I groaned, “Why can’t you let me think you guys got back together? That’s so much fucking easier to navigate than whatever the hell this is.”
“Because that makes me look like a fucking asshole.” Frank spat.
“You are an asshole.” I pointed out.
“So are you!” He yelled, “God… just-just fucking shut up for a second and let me explain myself, alright?”
“Make it quick.” I muttered.
“No.” he argued.
I just glared at him silently then.
“Okay, fine… I’ll fucking try.” Frank amended. “Okay so Jamia was just at my apartment getting some of her things... And we started fighting and-”
“Frank, I don’t think I wanna know.” I interrupted as my brain painted a truly horrific picture of makeup sex, “Can you just spare me the details and get to the fucking point?”
“Just fucking listen to me for a second, okay?” Frank snapped, cursing under his breath.
I folded my arms over my chest and resumed glaring at him silently.
“Look, Jamia knows about…” He paused to wave a hand between us, “About us. And she didn’t wanna freak you out by bringing it up when she answered the door. But when she came to get her stuff that day we ended up fighting about you. She doesn’t like how I handled you relapsing...”
“You fucking told her I relapsed?” I hissed. “Frank, that’s not your fucking secret to tell.”
“I’m sorry.” Frank said softly. “I’m still in the habit of telling her everything, I guess? She’s harmless, she won’t tell anyone. I swear.”
“I still don’t see how she ended up answering the door in her underwear.” I pointed out, “You don’t typically get naked when we argue.”
“I’m getting to that.” Frank shot back, face flushing, “Look, we were clearing her stuff out of the apartment and she thought she had some stuff in the cabinets above the fridge… so we were going through the stuff up there and there was a bunch of house paint.”
Frank paused to set his guitar down against the wall.
“So we were going through all this stuff and she asked about you. We started arguing… God, we always fucking argue.” he sighed, “And she ended up dumping a can of paint on me.”
“She what?” I breathed, trying not to laugh in spite of how shitty I felt.
“Yeah! Fucking paint all over my thrice tour t-shirt and my favorite jeans and everything.” Frank said, smiling fondly, “I was so mad I wiped some of the paint off of my shirt and smeared it around in her hair. And then she got another can and was about to pour it on me... but I grabbed it and splashed it on her and pretty soon we were like, just angrily covering each other in paint.”
“Oh my god.” I gasped.
“I was trying to get that shit out of my hair when you showed up. Jamia thought you knew that me and her were cool so she didn’t think you’d freak out the way you did.”
“I’m sorry I was so quick to assume, I-”
“After you left like that she realized how it all must’ve looked to you but she couldn’t run after you because she was still in her underwear. Everyone on the second floor knows her so…” Frank trailed off.
We stood there smiling at each other and it reminded me of how things had been before I’d gone and fucked it all up.
“I’m sorry for freaking the fuck out like that.” I sighed.
“You were right though, Gee. I would’ve freaked out, too…” He said softly.
“Well, I have to get going.” I said, stepping towards the door when looking at him was too much to handle, “I… Bert wanted to touch up my roots for the show tomorrow.”
“I don’t get why you wanna spend so much time with him.” Frank said, wrinkling his nose. He leaned over and grabbed the strap of his guitar case.
“He’s actually not so bad.” I sighed, holding the door open for him.
“He’s a fucking drug addict, Gerard.” Frank muttered, stepping past me.
“So was I at one point. You were still friends with me back then.” I shrugged. “Anyways, I didn’t see your car on the way in… do you need a lift?”
“That would be cool of you.” he nodded.
I pulled my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the car, sliding in behind the wheel as Frank stashed his guitar in the back seat. I saw Ray leaving the building in my rear-view mirror as Frank slid into the passenger seat. I held my hand up to wave at Ray and he smiled and waved back.
There was still so much left unsaid between Frank and I. I could feel it in the silence between us as I pulled the car out of the parking lot and onto the street. Frank stared out the window quietly like he always did, briefly reaching over now and then to turn the radio on, flip through the radio stations, complain that they all sucked, and turn it off again.
Casual, polite questions kept dying on my lips. I wanted to ask him how he’d been, how his nightmares were progressing, if his medication helped at all, if he missed me. Every time I’d get brave enough to ask something I couldn’t stop myself from trying to predict the arguments it might cause. I wondered if the silence was just as confusing and uncomfortable for Frank as it was for me.
Before I knew it I was turning the car down his street and into a visitor parking spot.
“Thanks for the ride.” Frank said softly, unbuckling his seat belt. He made no motion to open the door and get out. He looked over at me as if he expected me to say something. I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing.
“No problem.” I echoed, smiling weakly.
“Look, Gerard…” Frank sighed, “I didn’t mean it when I said I didn’t care.”
“I know you didn’t.” I said, leaning back against the headrest.
“I’m so fucking sorry I said all that shit to you that night at the party.” He continued.
“Don’t be.” I offered, looking straight ahead at the other cars in the parking lot, “I probably deserved all of it.”
“It wasn’t fair of me...” Frank said, reaching for my wrist and stroking his thumb over the sensitive spot below my palm. The contact pulled the breath from my lungs. “That’s what Jamia had been yelling at me about. You’re just trying to figure shit out. Blowing up on you like that doesn’t fix anything.”
Frank’s gentle finger-strokes paired with his apologies were too intimate somehow. I tried to suppress the urge to pull my hand away.
“If it’s any consolation, I forgive you.” I shrugged. “And I’m sorry for getting mixed up in all that stuff in the first place.”
“Do you wanna come upstairs?” he asked. “There’s still paint everywhere but… I don’t know. I fucking miss you.”
“I don’t know, Frank.” I whispered, pulling my hand out of his grasp. “I’m having a hard enough time getting over you as it is.”
“That’s the thing though. I’ve had some time to think over the last few days, Gee…” he said softly, “What if we’re not meant to get over this? What if this is supposed to happen?”
“Frank…” I groaned.
“Why are you fighting this?” he breathed.
“For my own fucking sanity.” I said, “Or something… I don’t know. I’m so tired of all of this.”
“So let’s put a stop to it then.” Frank said, leaning towards me, “Come upstairs.”
“Frank please…” I begged.
He reached for my sweatshirt to pull me closer and ended up pulling at the scarf around my neck. I’d forgotten about the hickies entirely until I saw the confused look on Frank’s face.
“What the fuck are those?” Frank whispered.
“Don’t freak out, I can explain.” I said, “It was Bert’s idea.”
“Bert?” Frank gasped, “You’re fucking Bert now? What the fuck, Gerard?!”
“No it’s not like that.” I said as calmly as possible.
“Like hell it’s not!” He yelled.
“Frank, didn’t we just have a long fucking conversation about misunderstandings?” I said, reaching for his arm.
“We did. Are you seriously going to try to tell me those aren’t hickies? I think I understand perfectly well.” he growled, pulling open the door, sliding out and slamming it behind him.
I watched in confused horror as he stormed off towards his apartment building. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to follow or not. I thudded my forehead against the steering wheel in frustration.
It was just a moment later that I realized Frank’s guitar was still in my back seat. I pulled my phone out and called Frank. Of course, it went straight to voicemail, the motherfucker.
A text from Bert popped up at that moment.
“where r u? already mixed up the dye. :.(“ it read.

Frank said he’d spent the last few days thinking things over. I decided I’d give him another day and started the car.
~

I carried Frank’s guitar into Bert’s place, setting it down carefully by the door. I couldn’t leave it in the cold overnight. Frank had once spent an entire afternoon explaining the importance of temperature control and guitars. It wasn’t good to leave them in the cold. If anything happened to Frank’s guitar there was no way he wouldn’t take it personally.
“Get your ass in the shower.” Bert scolded playfully, running his fingers through my hair. “Your hair has too much product in it to dye it like this.”
He disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the faint sound of the shower turning on. I slid out of my coat and shoes and pulled my shirt over my head. Bert appeared in the bathroom doorway with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“C’mere.” Bert said, puffing his cigarette.
I followed him into the bathroom and got to sliding out of my jeans.
“So how was practice?” Bert asked, making faces in the mirror and ashing in the sink.
“Terrible.” I grumbled, leaning against the wall. It was cold against my skin, sending goosepbumps down my arms.
The mirror was starting to fog up with steam from the shower, but Bert didn’t turn around when he could no longer see himself. He just continued to bend over the sink and puff on his smoke.
“Go on, get in. I won’t look.” Bert promised.
I swallowed hard, feeling myself flush.
“Relax, baby.” Bert cooed. “I can step out if you want.”
“No, um, it’s fine.” I mumbled, sliding off my boxers and reaching over to adjust the temperature of the water. I stepped under the spray, feeling more comfortable in my own skin once I was behind the shower curtain.
“So what happened?” Bert asked. There was a faint tap as Bert lowered the toilet seat and perched on top of the cover. I poked my head around the curtain and reached for his cigarette, and stole a drag.
“You’re getting my smoke wet!” Bert grumbled. I reached out and ran my wet hand over Bert’s cheek.
“You’re insane!” He laughed, pulling up his shirt to wipe his face off, “I should send you bleach blonde as punishment.”
I handed the soggy cigarette back and adjusted the curtain.
“Frank saw the hickies.” I said, wetting my hair and reaching for the shampoo.
“Oh dear.” Bert singsonged without a single trace of genuine sympathy in his voice.
“He looked so hurt.” I groaned, massaging soap through my hair, “What the fuck am I gonna do?”
“You guys have been mad at each other forever at this point. What’s another night gonna do? I mean, it’s not like he’s your boyfriend or something. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No but… I feel like I did something really, really wrong. I love him and I-”
“It’s not like you actually fucked me.” Bert interrupted. “Don’t forget that part.”
“I know but… He’s never going to believe me.” I moaned, rinsing out the soap. “So I might as well have.”
“I’ll tell him myself.” Bert said.
“He really doesn’t like you.” I said, shutting off the water. “Why would he listen to you?”
A towel appeared at one end of the curtain.
“Thanks.” I said softly, grabbing it from Bert’s hand.
“I don’t like him either but I can be persuasive, Gee.” Bert said, “Let me talk to him at the show tomorrow. I mean, I was gonna go anyways.”
“Okay.” I mumbled, pulling tucking the towel around my waist and pulling back the curtain.
“Now lets fix that hair.” Bert cooed.
Bert had set up a makeshift dying station in front of the TV in his living room. He had all the materials arranged on TV trays around a chair. The whole system sat on top of bath towels so that he didn’t get anything on the carpet. He’d put on some old black and white movie.
“Take a seat.” He said, firing up the hair dryer.
I did as he said, trying to focus on the movie as he worked.
“Are you actually dying it black?” I asked suspiciously as he ran a comb through my dry hair.
“Of course, Gee.” Bert laughed. A bowl of murky purplish-black dye appeared to my right, held by one of Bert’s gloved hands.
“See? What else could that be?” He asked softly.
“It looks like something you got from satan himself.” I shrugged, “But at least it’s not bleach, right?”
“Right.” Bert agreed.
I couldn’t really focus on the movie with Bert constantly swearing under his breath and stopping to light cigarettes. He kept laughing and saying that the dye was extremely flammable, carelessly ashing everywhere.

Once I’d rinsed the dye out we curled up on the couch and put on another movie. After the opening credits he got up, returning with a bottle of black nail polish.
“Bert, there’s something I need your advice on.” I said as he grabbed one of my hands and started polish.
“Well, you know, I charge for that.” he chuckled.
“No really.” I moaned.
“Okay. Okay. What is it?” Bert said, still smiling.
“Today at practice I had to hold a fucking sheet with lyrics on it when we running through the songs. Like, every time I looked over at Frank I fucked up on the words…”
“It’ll be different when you have an audience in front of you.” Bert said. “You’re just overthinking it, I promise.”
“I don’t know, dude, it was bad.” I breathed.
“It’ll be different, I swear.” Bert promised. “When was the last time you guys played a show anyways? You just don’t remember what it’s like.”
“Besides,” he continued, “I’ll be there. Just focus on me or something.”
“Alright.” I nodded.
“I’ve obviously never been through this thing you and Frankie got going, but I can assure you that you’ve been overthinking it every step of the way.” he said.
I watched him paint in silence through the first coat.
“Bert… what would you be doing if you weren’t with me right now?” I asked as he was getting through the second coat.
“What do you mean?” Bert asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
“Like, what party would you be going to? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be out somewhere right now.” I pressed.
“Fuck you, Gerard.” Bert grumbled, “I wouldn’t trade my time with you for anything.”
“Sorry…” I mumbled.
“You should be, you self-loathing piece of shit.” He muttered fondly.
He glanced up from his work to smile at me.
“OH FUCK!” He yelled when he looked back down at my hands.
“What is it?!” I asked.
“Fuck.” He laughed, “I painted your nails navy blue.”
“No, that’s black.” I said, pulling my hand away gingerly to inspect the paint.
“No it isn’t…” He said, tilting my hand towards the TV screen. “Fuck. Sorry. That’s definitely navy blue.”
“Works for me.” I shrugged. “Why do you even have this color?”
“I use it on my toes sometimes… makes my skin look paler.” he mused, “Hey, you want me to take it off and redo em black?”
“Nah… maybe I’ll start a new trend.” I laughed, laying back on the cushions. “Does it make my hands look paler?”
“Sure does.” Bert nodded. “Don’t get dye on my couch, motherfucker.”
“I won’t.” I mumbled, pulling up the hood on my sweatshirt and tucking a pillow under my head.
After that I dozed off on the couch.

I woke up in the middle of the night worried about Frank.
Bert had disappeared, probably off to his room. The TV was still on, running through a DVD title screen over and over. The sound was muted which was probably why it hadn’t woken me up sooner.
I felt around for my phone. The screen was blindingly bright in the now dark livingroom, it hurt my eyes. I didn’t have any calls or texts from Frank which was sort of unusual. I started to panic that I had actually fucked things up with him permanently. I tried to talk the anxiety down. There wasn’t anything I could do about our situation in the middle of the night.
I tried calling him. It rang and rang and went to voicemail.
“Hey, it’s Gerard. I…” I hung up before I saying anything else.
I laid on Bert’s couch for hours, running over everything we’d been through. Everything. The fights, the long nights of nightmares and uneasy sleep, the drugs, the awkward practice sessions, the doctors visits. My mind spun in anxious little circles of ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ until the sun came up.
By the time the room was starting to get lighter I was completely wiped out and drifted back into sleep.

The sun was high in the sky by the time I woke up again. It took a me a moment to realize that the smell of burning had been what lead me to stir. I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I’d almost forgotten about the incident with the navy blue nail polish the night before but as the soft mid-winter sunlight streamed through the windows I saw that my nails were well and truly a deep, dark blue. I could hear Bert cursing in his kitchen.
“Oh good. I was just about to wake you up.” Bert said, wandering into the room with two mugs in his hand, “I tried to make us breakfast but I almost lit my hair on fire.”
“What did you try to make?” I laughed, accepting one of the mugs and realizing it contained coffee. I couldn’t smell it before because the burning smell overpowered everything else. I couldn’t even detect the remaining sent of hairdye from the night before.
Bert crossed the room and pushed open one of his windows. Cold air started to flood the room, but the relief of fresh air made up for it.
“I tried to make oatmeal. Who knew it could be so fucking hard?” Bert said, dropping onto the couch beside me.
“It seems harder to like… light it on fire?” I mused, taking a sip of the coffee.
“Well I made it look easy.” he boasted. “Drink that quickly. It’s already 4 and we have to get you all prettied up.
“It’s 4?!” I coughed, almost choking on my mouthful of coffee.
“Sure is. More like… 4:45,” Bert chuckled. “I tried to wake you up but you wouldn’t let me.”
“Shit. Shitshitshit.” I cursed, setting the coffee down and heading for Bert’s room to find some clothes to steal. I checked my phone. Frank hadn’t tried to contact me at all, which was getting really concerning. I put my phone down and started rifling through his closet.
Bert came into the room a moment later with my coffee in his hand.
I was quickly lost in a whirlwind of hair, clothes and makeup. Bert was not only incredibly good at hair and makeup, he was also incredibly good at keeping me calm through all the bullshit I was feeling about Frank.
I was sliding on my coat when Bert decided he didn’t like the shirt we’d picked out. I wanted to kill him for making us backtrack, but I couldn’t lie, going with the tight, plain black t-shirt made sense the more we argued about it. I very nearly forgot Frank’s guitar on my way out the door.
Bert offered to drive, saying I was too distracted by my nerves to be considered legally safe to drive. I would’ve punched him if I wasn’t hugging Frank’s guitar so tightly. I held it in my lap the entire drive to the venue, which took longer than it should’ve because Bert insisted on taking back-roads instead of enduring the traffic on the highway.
Bert dropped me off at the front of the venue and drove off in search of parking.
All-in-all I ended up getting there about 20 minutes late, just missing the important parts of soundcheck.
“Look who decided to fucking show up!” Ray called out, equal parts cheerful and sarcastic. I said my thanks to the staff member who checked me in and gave me a badge for the back-stage area and speed-walked across the room towards Ray, trying my best not to jostle the guitar.
“Hey, Ray!” I echoed.
“Where’s Frank?” He asked.
“Um… I don’t know? He’s not picking up his phone. He’s not here?” I asked, following Ray down a hallway to the right of the stage. Our voices echoed in the huge, empty showroom. Sound techs were hauling in equipment and plugging things into the PA system.
“You have his guitar, though? And I saw you guys leave together yesterday?” Ray pointed out. “Well yeah,” I said, “I gave him a ride home, but-”
“I thought you guys made up?” Ray said, pointing to his neck as reference to the purple bruises all over mine.
“Oh um well… The thing is... Frank didn’t do that.” I explained, swallowing hard and feeling myself blush.
“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Ray asked.
“Yesterday. We got in an argument just as I was dropping him off.” I said, “He hasn’t been answering my calls. I guess I don’t blame him, but…”
“Fuck. Okay. Well, can you go get him?” Ray asked, pushing open the door to the green room. I followed him inside. Mikey and Bob were socializing with some other dudes who I assumed to be members of the opening act.
“Sorry to interrupt guys,” Ray said, cutting into the conversation, “Frank is missing.”
“He’s wasn’t with Gerard this whole time?” Bob asked, directing his gaze towards me.
“No… why did you all just assume that?” I asked.
“Don’t fucking start.” Ray said.
“Fuck.” I sighed, “Um, maybe he’s just running late? I’m late to shit all the time. There was really bad traffic on the way.”
“They got in an argument yesterday.” Ray pointed out.
“You don’t think he’s flaking out on us, do you?” Mikey asked. “What did you guys fight about?”
“These.” I said, pointing to my neck.
“You mean Frank didn’t give those to you?” Mikey asked, stepping closer to me.
“No… uh… Bert did?” I admitted.
“You idiot.” Mikey sighed.
“I didn’t like, hit it, okay?” I said, “I just wanted to make Frank jealous and-”
“Fucking idiot.” Mikey repeated.
“It’s gonna be okay.” Ray said, “Gerard was right. He could just be running late. We don’t go on for 2 hours so there’s no need to panic yet.”
“I’m panicking.We can’t play without Frank. Goddamit, Gerard,” Bob growled, “You need to fucking fix this the second Frank gets here. I’m so done with this shit!”
The room fell silent. Everyone was staring at me. I felt like I was going to pass out from the weight of all the emotions.
“I didn’t mean to yell, sorry.” Bob amended, “But this has gone on for too long, man. I’d never leave you guys or anything… but this is more than I can put up with. Fix it. please.”
“You’re right.” I nodded, staring at my shoes, “I’ll fix it as soon as he gets here.”
“If he gets here.” Ray muttered darkly.
“He will.” I said, dropping onto one of the couches.
A few moments of silence later and the door opened. Everyone in the room, including the guys from the other band, who had huddled into the corner after our discussion, turned to see who it was. I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding, praying that it would be Frank walking into the room.
Of course, fucking Bert walked in.
“Hey guys!” Bert said cheerily, “What’d I miss?”
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Bob asked.
“No need to get sour, Bob.” Bert said, curling up beside me on the couch. “I just came for support.”
“You need to leave. Gerard, tell him he needs to leave.” Ray commanded. “Frank is going to fucking flip out.”
“I actually need to talk to that kid.” Bert said, standing up and heading towards the door, “But if you guys don’t want me in here, I get it. I’ll just go find the bar and catch up with you guys in a little bit.”
And just as quickly as he’d come he was leaving.

“What the fuck, Gerard?” Mikey asked, dropping down onto the couch beside me.
“I need a fucking drink.” I groaned, hugging Frank’s guitar.
“No you fucking don’t.” Mikey scolded.
“It was just a joke.” I mumbled.
“It’s not funny.” Mikey said, wrapping his arms around me. “Don’t fucking joke about that.”
“Sorry, M.” I whispered, resting my head on his shoulder.

The minutes passed in strange increments. The guys in the opening band disappeared to get set up. Doors had been opened and show-goers were starting to fill up the venue.
No one wanted to leave the green room. We were all just waiting for Frank to show up.
Bob and Mikey occupied themselves by power-calling Frank. Ray took Frank’s guitar and made sure it was in tune and working properly before putting it back in it’s case and resting it beside me.
“If he doesn’t show up in another 20 minutes we’re going and getting him.” Ray said.
“I didn’t drive here. Bert drove us.” I groaned.
“I can drive us.” Ray offered.
“We should get someone from the label to go get him.” I said. “I think it would be worse if 3 band members were missing.” I pulled Frank’s guitar into my lap to make room for Ray on the couch.
“The label is already watching us like a hawk, Gee.” Ray hissed, “If you don’t think they’ll fucking drop us over something like this… you’re wrong.”
I hugged Frank’s guitar. I felt like crying. The motherfucker wouldn’t pull something so shitty. Even if he fucking hated me, he loved music. He wouldn’t desert a band, no matter what.
“Sorry…” Ray sighed, “I didn’t mean to come across like such a fucking douchebag. I’m just nervous.”
“I know, man. It’s cool.” I said softly. I looked over at Mikey, who was stress-eating chips and hummus off the snack table the folks at the venue had laid out for us.
The door creaked open and we all looked up again... but it was fucking Bert.
“Still no sign of him?” Bert asked, perching on the arm of the couch beside me.
“No.” I said, “Where the fuck could he be? Wait a second… how the fuck do you know about this?”
“Everyone in the venue is talking about it. You want me to go check his apartment?” Bert offered. “It’ll take forever to get back here, but if he’s there it’s better that someone’s going to get him.”
“That could work.” Ray approved.
“Let me go track down Brian real quick before you leave.” I said.
“Gerard, don’t drag Brian into this.” Ray scolded.
“I want to make sure he knows about this so there aren’t any unpleasant surprises for him when we get up there without a fucking rhythm guitarist.” I groaned, “Here, Bert, can you hold Frank’s guitar?”
“Sure thing, dude.” Bert said, pulling the guitar from my arms.
I got up off the couch and headed for the door.
“This is all my fault.” I grumbled.
“You’re doing the best you can, dude.” Ray offered reassuringly.

The door creaked open again and Frank walked in. I swore my heart fucking stopped for a second. He looked like absolute shit, all pale and puffy-eyed. But at least he looked like a pile of shit that had actually managed to show up.
“Thank fuck.” Bob gasped. “Where the fuck have you been, man?” He crossed the room and pulled Frank into a hug. Mikey joined him and so did Ray. I was frozen in place, unable to join in on the group hug and the look on Frank’s face said I wasn’t welcome anyways.
“Don’t ask.” Frank mumbled, glaring at me through the sea of arms.
“I’m glad you’re here.” I said softly.
“Like fuck you are.” Frank muttered darkly, pulling away from from everyone’s embraces.
“No, really, I am.” I argued. “I was worried sick. You could’ve fucking called and said you were gonna be late.”
“Like you would’ve fucking answered.” He shot back.
“You and Gerard are gonna have to talk this out before we go on.” Bob said, resting a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “This ends tonight.”
“I’m not fucking talking to Gerard right now.” Frank barked, shuffling away from Bob’s touch. His eyes landed on Bert, “What the fuck is he doing here? Is that my guitar?”
“I think actually, Frank and I need to talk before he talks to Gerard.” Bert said, gently setting Frank’s guitar down and getting up off the couch.
“I have no interest in speaking to you.” Frank snapped.
“That’s what you think.” Bert grinned, “I’ll let you punch me as hard as you want if you give me 5 minutes of your time, Frankie.”
“I don’t want to punch you. I want you to fucking leave.” Frank chuckled. It was the scariest laugh I’d ever heard.
“Let’s go, loverboy.” Bert said, grabbing Frank by the arm and tugging him from the room. “We’re taking this outside.”
“Get the fuck off of me!” Frank yelled as the door swung shut behind them.
We could all hear Frank’s echoey protests as Bert dragged him down the hall. Nobody made any movements. If I had to guess, I’d say they all felt the same way I did: too confused to know what the fuck to do.
“What the fuck was all that about?” Bob asked. “Should I go stop them?”
“Bert won’t hurt him.” I shrugged.
“It’s not Frank I’m worried about,” Bob laughed. “There’s no way Bert’s strong enough to drag Frank around like that. Frank was letting him do that. He probably wanted to punch Bert after all.”
“Frank’s pretty small…” Mikey commented. “Bert’s like-”
“Don’t let his size fool you.” Bob interrupted.
We all stood there silently for another moment.
“I mean… he said he only needed 5 minutes.” Ray commented, glancing down at his watch. “I’ll keep the time, but what are we gonna do if they’re fighting out there. It won’t have made any difference if Frank showed up tonight or not if he has a broken arm. ”
The door creaked open and for the umpteenth time that night, everyone in the room fell silent and looked towards the door.
“Uh, hey guys.” Some unfamiliar guy said, poking his head through the door, “You guys are on in like, 15 minutes. Are you ready?”
“Fuck… I’ll go get Frank.” Bob said, turning to glare at me. “But you guys are fixing this after the show.”
“Yeah. We’re ready.” Ray nodded to the stagehand.
Just as the door swung closed, it swung open again. Frank stormed back into the room, without Bert and without any distinguishable injuries.
“Can I talk to Gerard alone for a minute.” He announced, staring at the ground, breathing heavy.
“Sure… but we’re on in like 15 minutes dude. Get tuned up okay?” Ray said.
Frank nodded as everyone crowded out of the room leaving us completely alone together. I swallowed hard, realizing that I was actually terrified of being alone with him, what with the murderous look on his face and all.
“So um, first of all,” He started softly, all previous traces of anger missing from his voice, “Never let that fucking psycho touch my guitar ever again. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.” I whispered, frozen in place. His eyes focused on something behind me as he took a few steps towards me. He ran a hand through his messy hair as a thin smile widened his lips.
“Second of all… Bert McCracken?” He asked, “Bert fucking McCracken? Really? What the fuck does he have that I don’t? If you’re gonna rebound on me like that at least pick someone better than me.”
He took another step forward.
“I don’t know if you would’ve been able to find someone better, honestly.” He laughed, “You didn’t go for Bert because he’s better than me. You picked him because you knew it would piss me off. There’s nothing he has that I don’t, Gerard. You probably even thought about me when you were with him, didn’t you?”
“Frank, we didn’t-”
“Shut the fuck up. I’m not done.” He snapped lightly, taking another step forward and finally meeting my gaze. The anger was still missing from his voice. I knew it was in there somewhere. It had to be.
“Listen Gerard Way,” He sighed, “there isn’t a soul on this Earth who can do to you… what I can do to you. And before you try to tell me I’m wrong about that, I’ll remind you that those are your words, not mine.”
“Before you try to tell me you don’t want to be with me,” he continued, “I’ll remind you that if anyone in the fucking world were to google us, what they’d find is that you fucking belong to me. You wrote it yourself. Dozens of times.”
“I drive you fucking crazy. I know I do.” He insisted, reaching up a hand and stroking my jawline, “I make you freeze up. I make you forget the words to your own fucking songs… and you fucking love it. You fucking love me and I fucking love you back.”
“All I need from you is...” He said, dropping his hand.
“Guys, we really need to go,” Ray’s voice interrupted, mincing the vibes in the room into tiny little pieces. I glanced down, not having remembered grabbing the front of Frank’s jacket. I pulled my hand away and slid it into my pocket. Leaning to the side to peer around Frank, I saw Ray standing there with his guitar in his hand.
“I fucking knew Frank wouldn’t have gotten his guitar out yet.” Ray sighed. “Shoulda put money on it… I already made sure it’s in tune and everything, dude. You’ll have to check it again once we’re up on stage though.”
Frank ripped his jacket off and pulled his guitar out of it’s case, sliding the strap over his head.
“Sorry to interrupt like that,” Ray said, as we filed down the hallway towards the stage door, “If there weren’t like y’know, a couple thousand people waiting on us I would’ve let you guys hang out in there all night.”
“I’ll forgive you eventually.” Frank chuckled, reaching for my hand, lacing our fingers together.
“You better not forget the fucking words out there.” Frank whispered in my ear before pulling me through the door.

Notes

uh. hi everyone!
so technically it's been saturday for like, 10 minutes but it's still Friday in some places... like california.... so TGIF (thank god it's frerard)
welcome to my frerard-themed party. please put on this party hat and take a goodie bag.

sorry for making you wait three weeks for this update. but lemme tell u, it's like, over 7,500 words long. my usual update length is like 2,000 words.
i must... love you...

-m