Married In My Mind

I woke up in a dark, unfamiliar room. I had somehow made it to a bed at least. I was thankful for that, I suppose. I found it concerning that it wasn’t my bed, especially since I felt an arm draped around my waist. It felt like I still had all of my clothes on, which was a good sign. It didn’t necessarily mean I hadn’t done something I was going to regret.
I let out a careful breath trying to work backwards. I remembered Bert, I remembered the venue. I’d drank, snorted a lot of cocaine… we went out for a cigarette. And then…
Oh no… Frank.

I reached a hand up to rub my face but quickly ripped it away from the stinging sensation as my fingers brushed over the tender bruising under my eye. My head had never hurt as much as it currently hurt and I desperately needed to throw up. My tongue felt like it had been pickled and my throat felt like it had been used as an ashtray all night.
“Gerard? Are you awake?” a wrecked, sleepy voice asked.
“Yeah.” I whispered nervously.
“How’s your head?” the voice I suddenly recognized as Frank’s asked timidly. A smile spread across my lips as I realized I was in Frank’s room. It hurt to smile (or really move my face at all) but I couldn’t stop myself.
“It hurts... You fucking punched me in the face.” I chuckled.
“I know. I’m sorry. You deserved it...” he whispered. The arm around my waist tightened.

My heart began beating rapidly, suddenly terrified that I’d slept with him and didn’t remember.
“Frank… we didn’t uh… you know?” I asked.
“Didn’t what? Oh… no…” He shifted slightly.
“Good.” I blurted. I slid my arm on top of the one that was draped over mine.
I bit my tongue. My head was still swimming with alcohol. I tried to swallow my nausea and focus on Frank. I’d woken up in the same room as him plenty of times on tour and stuff but I’d never woken up in his arms before. I wanted to hold this in my head. He was so warm and soft and he smelled good. I never wanted to forget what it felt like to wake up next to him.
“Why is that… good?” He asked gently. “I mean I agree, but…”
I rolled over to face him. He slid his arm to the same spot on my waist, his fingertips trailed small circles on my back.
“I want to remember our first time.” I whispered. My cheeks got warm as I realized what I’d just said. “I mean, if we ever…” I corrected, trailing off.
He pushed me onto my back, pinning me to the mattress by my shoulders.
“How fucking dare you.” He hissed.
“I…Frank, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest anything.” I stammered.
“No, you fucking idiot. You relapsed! Honestly, Gerard. I’m away from you for one week and you fucking relapse on me?!”
“I’m sorry...” I said weakly.
“How dare you?” He repeated, his voice breaking. “How could you?”
He buried his face in my chest. “I was so scared, Gee. You could have died.”
I cautiously wrapped my arms around him.
“How dare you?” He whispered. He was sniffling quietly. “How dare you?” he repeated over and over.
His lips brushed over my cheek, right where I could tell a colorful bruise would eventually form. Wet tears smeared against my cheek. The pain of the contact brought on a new wave of nausea.
“Frank.” I breathed, trying to push him back gently.
“Never scare me like that again, asshole.” He whispered, his lips ghosted over my bruised cheek bone. My stomach quivered and my blood ran cold.
“Frank. Please.” I pushed him back a little harder.
Just my luck. I was in Frank’s bed with him practically on top of me, kissing my face, worrying about me, crying about me - and I was too hungover to do anything about it.
He pulled off of me and slid back to his previous place by my side, draping his arm over me again.
“I’m sorry. I’m just so hungover. I love you but I can’t…” I shut my mouth hard. I couldn’t believe I’d said that out loud. Fuck. I felt his whole body tense up beside me.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” I breathed. “I didn’t mean to- I can’t think straight...”
An awkward silence fell over us. He didn’t seem too upset because he kept his arm around me. He might have even held me tighter, but I couldn’t tell, the twitch in his arm was so small. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest. I was sure he could feel it which only made me more nervous.
“Don’t apologize...” He said softly.
He propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over me. His face was inches from mine, I could feel his warm breath against my face. His fingertips slid against my jaw as I felt his lips gently press against mine. I kissed back carefully.
I couldn’t process this. Just last week he told me he couldn’t return my feelings and that we couldn’t be friends. Now he was telling me I shouldn’t be sorry for loving him as he kissed me carefully in his bed. I must have skipped the day in school where they taught you how to manage being in love with your best friend because I was so lost.

He pulled away slowly and reached across me to turn on a lamp on the nightstand. The light hurt my eyes.
“Let me look at your face.” he said quietly, taking my face in his hands and angling it to look at the bruising in the light. I stared at his pretty face as he poked at the skin around the bruise. He smiled when I winced at his touch.
“Damn.” He said, with a weird note of pride in his voice. “You need to ice this… stay here.” He slid out of the bed and disappeared out the door.
I reached up to poke at the bruising on my face and inspect the damage myself. It hurt. It fucking hurt. I laid there feeling pathetic. The room was swimming and it didn’t seem like it was just from the alcohol anymore. I’d never been in Frank’s bedroom before. It was a place I wanted to stay forever. The bed took up most of the tiny, messy room. There were clothes everywhere cluttering the floor and spilling out of drawers. Posters cluttered the walls, broken up only by Frank’s guitars, which hung from pegs. My Chem posters mixed in with show posters from his former punk days. Light poured around the edges of thick, drawn curtains hanging over a large window. It hurt to look in that direction so I directed my gaze towards the other side of the room. The drawer on the bedside table was hanging open. Guitar pics, aspirin bottles, a box of condoms… my heart fluttered. My mind flitted to a scene in a story I’d written where Frank was on top of me, kissing me softly and pressing a small foil package into my hand.
I was pulled out of my thoughts of uses for condoms when he returned to the room with ice bundled in a cloth and a glass of water. Real Frank was much prettier than the Frank in my stories. His hair was messy and sticking out in all directions and he was wearing a bleach-stained oversized black shirt. It was almost as if fantasy Frank and real Frank were completely different people. They were, in a way. He sat beside me and opened one of the bottles in the open drawer and passed me 3 pills.
“Take these. It should help with the swelling.”
I popped them into my mouth and took a sip of the water.
He handed me the ice. I lifted it to my face but didn’t press it against the skin. It was going to hurt.
He must have seen the fear in my eyes.
“It’ll only hurt for a second. You need to ice it.” He put his hand over mine and pressed it closer to my face. The contact burned at first but after a moment the cold was nice.
“You didn’t have to hit me so hard.” I groaned.
“I’m sorry. I freaked out.” He mumbled.He kept his hand over mine and delicately brushed the back of my palm with his thumb. “You were fucked up and you basically said that it was all because of me... and the way you were hanging off Bert McCracken…” His voice has lowered to a shaky whisper. I realized in that moment that Frank was incredibly nervous. And from the way he looked away as he said Bert’s name he seemed almost jealous. A small grin formed on my lips as this occurred to me. I instantly tried to stop because it hurt so much more with the ice in place.
Our relationship couldn’t have been in worse shape at the moment, so I decided there was no harm in asking him, “Frank?”
His eyes darted back to mine for a moment before he looked away again.
“Wait. Frank?” I chuckled. “Are you… Jealous?”
“No!” He shot back, he tried to look mad but his face flushed.
“Bert’s just a friend...” I told him gently, only half teasing.
“I’m not jealous you fucking idiot. He’s a scumbag. I don’t want you hanging around him.” He muttered darkly, but his face was still bright pink.
I couldn’t wipe the smirk off of my face. It didn’t matter if he was jealous or not, making him squirm like that was priceless. He shot another quick glance at my face.
“Oh fuck you.” he spat when he saw my expression. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Don’t make me smile, it hurts.” I whined.
He rolled his eyes.
I laid there in silence, staring at him with the bundled ice on my face. His gaze roamed around the room, focusing on anything but me. He didn’t say anything either. I wanted to tell him he was beautiful. I wanted to ask why he’d kissed me. I needed to know why I’d woken up in his arms instead of on his couch. But I didn’t know how to ask without destroying this carefully spun web we had woven where he was comfortable to be alone with me.
He broke my train of thought by speaking finally. “I have to go to the studio soon.” He said. “But you should stay here and sleep more... I think it would be too suspicious if neither of us showed up. Text Mikey and tell him you’re sick or something.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but I closed it when I realized he’d told me to stay here, in his bed, in his apartment. I was speechless.
“And you need to tell Mikey you relapsed... If you don’t tell him, I will.” he said sternly
“He doesn’t need to know. It won’t happen again.” I whimpered.
“No. You need to tell him, Gerard.”
“He’ll be so disappointed...”
“He’ll be even more upset if he finds out I knew about this and didn’t tell him.” He said carefully, brushing my face with his fingers.

He slid off the bed and pulled the shirt over his head. I couldn’t help but stare at him as he got dressed. He disappeared out of the room and when he came back he had a leather jacket and sneakers on. He stepped around the bed and perched on the edge right next to me. He leaned in and pressed his lips to my forehead.
“Get some sleep… and maybe take a shower. You smell like the floor of a bar.” He chuckled. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
He turned to smile at me one last time before slipping out the door. I laid back on the pillows and stared up at his poster-covered ceiling.
“Oh and Gerard…” Frank called, poking his head through the doorway. “Don’t even bother looking for my drug stash. I flushed all the good stuff after I brought you here last night.” He winked and disappeared again.
It was an alarmingly accurate prediction, even for him.
He knew me too well.

Notes

hi. thanks for waiting patiently for this.
i had a hard time picking what direction to take this...
let me know what you think?

-m