Married In My Mind

I admired my black eye in the bathroom mirror for a long time, realizing I’d have to come up with an explanation. The bruising around my eye was a violent dark purple, just a few shades away from black. I poked at it, tenderly. It looked worse than it felt. Back in art school I would’ve taken a picture for future makeup referencing.
I decided I’d tell Mikey I got in a bar fight after I had so foolishly decided to start drinking again. He was the only one who would be comfortable enough to ask, anyways.
I stood under the shower until the hot water ran cold. Everything about Frank was so much different than the way I’d written it - everything down to his choice in shampoo.
After I toweled off I slipped on my jeans from the night before and carefully walked back to his room. I was still too dizzy and nauseous to bother with eating so searching the kitchen for something to take the edge off my hangover seemed pointless. I padded through his cluttered room until I found a big sweatshirt that smelled clean.
I curled up in his bed and buried my face in the sleeves of his sweatshirt. It smelled just like Frank. Laundry and cigarettes and that secondary, indescribable scent that always lingered on his skin. I drifted off to sleep separating out the differences between real Frank and the Frank in my stories, trying to ignore the way the room spun every time I opened my eyes.

--

I woke up when I felt the mattress beside me dip. It took me a moment to remember I was still in Frank’s apartment. The dizziness I’d felt earlier had been replaced with a sickening aching throughout my entire body. The room was pitch black aside from the small red numbers of the clock on the nightstand and a long, thin line of light coming in from the hallway where the door was cracked open.
“Frank?” I croaked out. My voice was dry and low.
“Hey sleeping beauty, how’s your head?” He asked softly as he curled up beside me. He buried his face in my neck and wrapped an arm around my middle. He drew in a long, slow breath.
“It hurts.” I whispered. And I'm sure there's nothing beautiful about me right now... I thought.
“I bet it does. At least you don’t smell like the floor of a bar anymore...” He chuckled. He pressed his lips to my cheek.
“How do you know what that even smells like?” It hurt to smile, but I smiled anyways. “How much time do you spend on bar floors?”
“You know exactly how much time I spend on the floor.” he replied.
I laughed hoarsely as I thought about Frank somersaulting around on stage. My face twitched, causing violent pains to shoot through my face. “Fuck. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.” I breathed.
He was quiet for a moment, breathing softly against my neck. “I really am sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to punch you so hard. I was just… so fucking… mad at you.”
“And you’re not anymore?” I asked softly, feeling a tiny pang of hope.
“Have you taken anything since the pills I gave you this morning?” He asked, ignoring my question.
“No.” I replied, letting the other conversation drop completely.
“Let’s get you some aspirin then…” He said evenly. He slid off the bed and disappeared out the bedroom door. The slant of light from the hallway widened, burning my eyes and sending ripples of pain through my skull.
He’d talk about it when he was ready. My wrecked mind couldn’t be bothered to process the conversations we were going to need to have if we were ever going to sort out what I’d done. We were speaking again. Everything else would just have to wait until Frank was ready.

He was back a few moments later with a glass of water and a new round of pills. I sat up and swallowed them, chugging the entire glass.
“Frank, thanks for taking care of me like this. I can leave if you want.” I said.
“I don’t want you to leave. Why would you think that?” He asked. His confusion sounded genuine.
“Well I, um…” I trailed off, trying not to say ruined your long-term relationship AND our friendship by writing extensive romantic fiction about us and then publishing it on the internet for all of our fans to read.
“Please stay.” he insisted.
“Okay.” I echoed quietly.

“You must be starving… want me to make you something?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He reached for my hand and helped me out of the bed. Getting up was the last thing I wanted. I wanted him to hold me like he had this morning. I wanted to lay down and sleep in his arms forever.
I followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.
“You can smoke in here.” He said, passing me over a pack of smokes. He busied himself searching through the cabinets.
A cigarette was exactly what I needed. I lit up and watched as he maneuvered around the kitchen, getting stuff out of the fridge, and getting out plates. He would look up at me every so often with this expression I didn’t understand. He didn’t look mad, but I still couldn’t place what it was.
I lit a second smoke after finishing the first. I stood there ashing into the sink, trying not to stare. I glanced over at the fridge. My heart lurched as my eyes fell over a string of photobooth printouts of Frank and Jamia together. Oh god. A few rumpled show flyers were taped up - upcoming gigs Frank wanted to attend, I guessed. A sketch I’d done during band practice a few years back was buried underneath other photographs of the band together.
“The black eye actually looks pretty cool.” he commented. “Has the aspirin kicked in yet?”
“Not yet.” I said, taking a drag. “The cigarettes are helping a lot though.”
“You know what always helps me with hangovers?” he asked, taking a step closer to me.
“Um, no. What?” I asked, crushing a cigarette butt against the sink.
He took another step towards me, closing the space between us completely. My cheeks were burning as every single cell in my body rushed with the painful awareness of how close he was. I held my breath as he leaned in to press his lips against mine. His lip ring nudged into my bottom lip and I swear my heart stopped.
Needless to say, it felt incredibly wrong to kiss back. A little voice at the back of my head was screaming at me that I was terrible friend for kissing back. Frank had just gotten out of an extremely long relationship. He was vulnerable, and desperate for someone to hold onto and I knew that. But regardless of how logical that little voice may have been it was completely silenced by the way his arms wrapped around my neck to pull me closer.
I framed his face with my palms, sliding my fingertips into his hair. He sucked my lower lip between his lips and sighed into my mouth.
I parted my lips to try and ask him if he was sure about this but he stole the opportunity to shove his tongue into my mouth. His hands slid down my torso and up under the borrowed sweatshirt. His lips trailed kisses down my jaw and onto my neck while his fingers gently caressed along my spine.
“Frank, please.” I whispered, not sure if I was asking him to stop or keep going. My fingers tangled in his hair. He slid a leg between mine and ground his hips against me, pushing me up against the fridge. I failed to suppress the desperate, lusty moan that had been building in my throat.
“Please what?” he breathed against my skin, dragging his nails down my back.
His lips found mine again. We kissed each other like we’d never see each other again, desperate and meaningfully and rushed.

We both jumped at the wailing sound of the smoke alarm.
“What the fuck!?” He squeaked.
Whatever he had been cooking in the pan had set fire and was now shooting bright orange flames.
“Call 911!” He shouted.
“Frank, it’s fine!” I called over the shrieking alarm, fighting the urge to laugh at the fear in his eyes.
“It’s not fine! My house is on fire!” He yelled reaching for his cellphone.
I grabbed a pot lid off the counter and covered the flames.
“See!?” I yelled. “Fire contained!”
I stepped over to the screeching device and reached up to turn the alarm off.
“You don’t remember that day in home ec, huh?” I chuckled. He shook his head, still clutching his chest. His lips were pink and swollen from kissing.
“I think your pot is probably ruined… but your house isn’t going to burn down.” I told him softly. I pulled him into a hug. He buried his face in my chest. My fingers slid through his hair, trying to calm him down.
“Sorry… I-I- I don’t cook much. Jamia usually…” He stammered. An anxious pang struck my chest to hear her name.
“Promise me you won’t try to cook anything else on the stovetop for awhile, okay, Frankie?” I murmured, swallowing hard.
He didn’t respond, he just slid his hands under the borrowed sweatshirt and wrapped himself around me. I pressed a careful kiss into his hair.
“I’ll have an even harder time sleeping at night if I remember that you’re out there somewhere setting fire to your kitchen.” I told him softly.
“Usually making out isn’t part of my cooking rituals...” He said in a tiny voice. I held him tighter, chuckling quietly.

I heard my cellphone ringing somewhere in the apartment. I slid away from Frank and followed the sound of Girlfriend In A Coma. My phone was in the pocket of my jacket, slung over the couch. I answered when I saw Mikey’s name.
“GERARD?! Is that you? Where the fuck are you!?” he yelled.
“I’m uh… at my apartment. Sorry I didn’t make it into practice today. I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Bullshit.” He spat.
“... What?” I asked, chewing my lip. I glanced up at Frank, who was resting against the frame of the entrance to the living room. He chewed his fingernails absently, staring at me intently.
“You’re not at your apartment…” He said, irritation thick in his voice. “I’m at your apartment and you’re not here. Where are you?”
“Listen, M. We uh… we need to talk.” I sighed.
“Yeah. I guess we do. Look, Gerard, I know Frank’s being a dick right now and I know you’re upset and all... but you can’t let him fuck this up for the rest of the band. Okay?” The phone had been pressed tightly to my ear but the volume was turned all the way up. Frank looked like he’d been slapped.
I tried to mouth, sorry but he had already disappeared out of the room.
“Okay...” I said vacantly. “I need to stop by my house and change but I need to see you. Can we grab dinner? Usual spot? In like, an hour and a half?” I asked.
“Fine.” He said. “See you soon.”
“Love you.” I said softly before dropping the call.

I slid my phone in my pocket and went back to the kitchen. Frank was haunched over the sink, cigarette smoke curled around his hood-covered head.
“Frank?” I called softly.
He turned to look at me, eyes watery.
“Do you think I’m fucking things up for the band?” He mumbled, voice wobbly.
“No… Jesus, Frank. Mikey is just being defensive of me. He gets like this when it comes to… well, yknow? This kind of thing... I don’t think you’re fucking anything up.” I cooed, wrapping an arm around him.
“Can I drive you home?” He asked suddenly, puffing his cigarette. A tear slid down his cheek.
“Yeah… I’d like that.” I said, wiping the tear away with my thumb.

We drove in silence. The car stereo quietly played a demo tape of some local band I couldn’t remember the name of.
“Will you come over later?” Frank said quietly as put the car in ‘park’ in front of the entrance to my apartment building.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea...” I said before thinking my answer through.
I glanced over at him. By the light of the dashboard controls I could see pain in his face. His fingers gripped the gearshift tightly.
“I just…” I sighed, reaching for his hand. “I’m your best friend and your bandmate… not your rebound.”
His face flashed the same surprised, hurt look he’d had when he heard Mikey say he was fucking things up for the band. I squeezed his hand gently.
“Look, Frank, I love y-”
“Shut up.” He snapped.
“Frank…” I whispered.
“No. I get it. It’s fine. I’ll uh… I’ll see you at practice.” He said bitterly, looking out the front of the car.
I slid out of the passenger seat and headed into my apartment building with a sinking feeling in my stomach. It felt wrong to kiss Frank. It felt wrong that he wanted to pretend I wasn’t completely in love with him. It felt wrong to leave him. It felt wrong to not go and see him after dinner with my brother. It felt wrong that there was a good chance he’d go back to giving the silent treatment at practice tomorrow. It felt wrong to slide out of Frank's sweatshirt and into a clean batman t-shirt.
It felt wrong to toss Frank's sweatshirt onto my bed with full intentions of curling up and sleeping in it later on.

Everything was all wrong and I had no idea how to make it right again.

Notes

i am so sick. i swear i'm on my deathbed. :(

-m