Married In My Mind

Mikey let the tears fall into his french fries, not bothering to stop them on their way down.
“Gerard... I just want you to know I’m not upset with you.” He paused to blink a round of tears away.
“Thanks M, that means a lot, coming from you.” I said softly.
“I’m just mad at myself for not being there to stop you. I should’ve been there. This is all my fault. And this is Frank’s fault.” He moaned. “If he’d just stop acting like such a… such a fucking-”
“I want someone to blame just as much as you do.” I said gently, cutting him off. I squeezed his hand. “But this is my own fault. I made a conscious choice to open that beer and drink it...”
“But Gee, you’re a wreck! Your eye looks so bad… who did you say you got in a fight with again? I’ll kill them. I swear to God I’ll-”
“I don’t remember… I was too fucked up.” I lied. “But it doesn’t matter now. It’ll never happen again. I promise you.”
“Maybe someone was there who remembers the parts you don’t. Have you tried calling Bert?”
“No!” I yelped. “No. I just... I want to put this all behind me, M. I don’t need to know what happened to know that it wasn’t good and that I should never do it again.” I sighed, not sure why I was so desperate to avoid telling Mikey the truth.
“Okay…” He whispered.
After dinner Mikey asked if he could come over and watch a movie. He was still upset that I had fallen off the wagon and said he just needed to be close to me.

Once back at my apartment, Mikey immediately headed for my DVD collection. I stopped in the kitchen to take some more pills for my headache. By the time I made it to my bedroom Mikey was already opening a DVD case and turning on the TV.

My heart stopped as I realized Frank’s sweatshirt was still on my bed. It was just an obscure black shape and slipping between the pillows and the headboard. I felt a pang of guilt as I wondered if I should just tell Mikey about what had happened between me and Frank. If Mikey had been in my position, he would have told me about it in a heartbeat. But I still wasn’t sure what the hell had happened between us. Maybe it all had meant nothing to Frank?
I pulled his sweatshirt over my head, my heart fluttered as Frank’s scent overwhelmed my senses. If Mikey asked, I could say he’d left it here before we’d stopped talking.
I missed him. I wished I had told him I would come over.

Mikey slid the disk into the player and climbed onto the bed with me. He pulled a blanket up around his face and snuggled up next to me.
“We need to tell the band what happened.” Mikey whispered.
“We don’t have to.” I pointed out miserably.
“They can help you stay on track, Gee. You’re less likely to relapse again if you have your friends looking out for you.”
“I don’t need babysitters, Mikey.”
“Fine… but let me at least talk to Ray about it. We don’t have to tell Bob or… Frank if you don’t want to.” He mumbled, still saying Frank’s name like it was a bad word.
“If you think it’s a good idea, then talk to Ray.” I said softly.
“I love you.” he whispered, reaching for my hand.
“I love you too, M.” I replied, already feeling heavy. I pulled the corners of my mouth into a lazy smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you...”
I drifted off to sleep during the opening credits, distracted by the faint headache that remained and reverberating thoughts of Frank.

~~~~~~~~

Mikey woke me up the next morning by setting a mug of coffee on my bedside table.
“I have to go get my bass before we go to the studio.” he explained. “I made you some coffee.”
I groaned an acknowledgement sleepily and rolled over. 5 more minutes of sleep. That’s all I needed.

It was more like 2 hours later that I finally got up.
I reached over and felt the side of my coffee mug. It was completely cold. I rubbed the sleep off of my face and slid out of bed. My entire body held a lingering dull ache. It was enough to remind me I never wanted to drink again. Ever.
I ran my hands over the soft fabric of Frank’s sweatshirt as I made my way down the hallway to make myself a fresh pot of coffee.
I stared hard at my reflection in my metal toaster. I had almost forgotten about my black eye - which seemed like it was only going to look worse before it would start to look better. Frank was right though, it did look cool.
I glanced over at the clock in the kitchen. The rest of the band had probably showed up at the studio 20 minutes ago. Ray may have been 15 minutes late… but if Ray was late he always made sure to bring coffee and donuts.
At least I was normal-Gerard late. Things seemed to be at least following some kind of routine similar to how they had been before everyone found out about my fics. I got ready to leave as quickly as I could, scooping up my journals and a fresh cup of coffee on my way out the door.

To my disappointment I’d been spot-on about Frank giving me the silent treatment. He didn’t look up when I walked into the room. I shrugged off Bob’s comment about my black eye.
I glanced over at Ray, who flashed me a look of genuine concern and I wondered if Mikey had already found the time to tell him about my night from hell. I’d been right about one thing - Ray had brought donuts and coffee for everyone.
Frank busied himself talking to one of the guys who worked at the studio. I couldn’t hear their conversation but bits and pieces of boring technical stuff drifted to my corner of the room.

Everyone caught me staring at Frank at least once throughout the course of the day. If it had been a contest, Bob won. He’d caught me staring 3 or 4 times and every single time he had let me know by making a puking noise. He bent over himself, choking out a justgotalktohim.
It was uncomfortable to think everyone knew what I thought about Frank. I hadn’t discussed my feelings with anyone besides Mikey but Bob and Ray at least knew what I’d written about him - they had to. And based on the way Frank was acting, I’m sure they figured that everything I’d written was true.
Frank was in one of the sound booths replacing his top E string, which had snapped during the last run-through of a track we were almost done recording. I quickly darted my eyes away when Frank looked up in my direction. I glanced over at Mikey, who was sitting next to me with a concerned look on his face.
“What?” I mumbled.
“Have you talked to Frank at all since the party?” He asked quietly under his breath.
“No… why?” I whispered.
“He just seems less pissed off today.” he shrugged. “Maybe I’m imagining things. Or maybe he’s finally starting to get over himself.”
I looked over at Frank. His gaze quickly shifted away from Mikey and I.
“Also that.” Mikey mumbled, nodding his head in Frank’s direction.
“What?”
“You two keep looking at each other like that.”
“Yeah right.” I muttered quietly.
“No seriously.” He whispered. “Maybe you should just talk to him, Gerard.”
“It’s not like I haven’t tried.” I shrugged, still feeling a little guilty Mikey didn’t know Frank and I had already sort of talked... And spent the night together because he’d punched me in the face and taken me home. And then we’d kissed. And oh god...

The rest of the day at the studio passed easily, ending when Bob grumbled that someone would have hell to pay if he didn’t have caffeine or booze soon.
I glanced over at Frank as he put his guitar back in its case. We made uncomfortable eye contact for a moment, which sent an anxious pang through my chest. His eyes dropped from mine, down to his borrowed sweatshirt I was still wearing. He furrowed his brow in this desperate look before looking back up at me. The entire exchange happened in a matter of seconds but it was enough to make me wish I could disappear or build a time machine.
I quickly mumbled about some place I needed to be and ducked out the door.

I don’t think I could have made it to my car fast enough. By the lights of the small parking lot I could see my breath swirling around in the freezing air. The horrible feeling hit me as I trudged through the gravel. It was this crashing absolutely certainty that something bad was going to happen. Like I’d just received the worst news, tenfold.
I sat in the cold driver’s seat and lit a cigarette. I don’t know how long I sat there, at least 4 or 5 cigarettes. I listened as I heard everyone else get into their cars and leave.
I couldn’t get myself to calm down. My breathing hitched, which didn’t pair well with the aching sensation in my chest left over from chain-smoking.
ohhgod ohgodohgod
I knew I was freaking out but I didn’t know what to do. Everything was so fucked up and it was all unfixable and it was all my fucking fault.
That crashing sensation was overwhelming.
I was completely paralyzed by it. My brain buzzed with it. I couldn’t focus on any one particular thought.
And now, I realized, I was coasting through a panic attack and I didn’t have any fucking beer.
My vision swam. I couldn’t say if it was tears or lack of oxygen or something I’d completely made up in my head. The ash on my cigarette grew longer and longer as I sat there in the silence cut only by the sound of my own pathetic nervous breathing.
I was startled by the sound of soft tapping on the window. I turned to see the dark shadow of someone standing outside of my car. I was about to scream when I recognized the flash of tattooed hand. Frank. Oh thank God.
I opened the door, trying to get my breathing to even out but it was no use. I was still panting.
“Hey.” He said softly. I could barely make out his face in the dark. He gently lowered his guitar off his shoulder and propped it against the car. I wanted to say something but I couldn’t speak.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
I shook my head, pursing my lips tight.
“What’s wrong?” he took a step closer to me.
“I uh… I don’t know I just…” I breathed out, surprised my voice sounded so strangled and messed up.
“Have you been crying?” He took another step closer and pulled me into a hug.
“I don’t know I… probably.” I croaked. I felt warm tears rolling down my cheeks.
He hugged me tighter.
“Frank I think I… I think I’m having a panic attack.” I whispered.
“Focus on breathing.” He said, speaking directly against my ear. I nodded.
I closed my eyes tight and tried to focus on breathing, but ended up much more focused on the way his hand slowly slid up and down my back.
“I’m so sorry about everything.” I whispered. “I fucked up everything and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to not want you so much. And I’m sorry you and Jamia broke up. I’m sorry if that’s my fault.” I was rambling, I know. He probably couldn’t understand me through the sobs. But I needed to say it, I needed him to hear it. “I’m so fucking sorry Frank. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’m so fucking sorry. ”
“Gerard, shhhhhhhhhh stop.” He said sternly. “We should talk about this later. You’re just making yourself more upset. Let’s get you somewhere warm. Can I drive you home?”
“No, please. I can’t go there.” I whimpered, swallowing hard.
“Well… do you want to go back to my place?” He asked, a note of caution in his voice.
“I don’t want to go anywhere, Frank. I want to disappear.”
“Well you can’t… I need you.” He said simply.
I held my breath. I held it until my vision was closing in.
“Keep breathing.” he reminded gently. “Innnn and out.” His lips pressed ever so gently to my cheek and lingered there.
“I’m so sorry.” I whispered.
“I know you are.” He mouthed against my skin. “I know.”
“So sorry.” I repeated.
We stood there quietly in the cold. The frosty air was broken every now and then by Frank quietly reminding me to breathe whenever I forgot. He buried his arms in my coat when he started to shiver.

“Let’s go... I’ll drive.” he mumbled through chattering teeth.
“Where are we going?” I whispered, feeling dizzy and spent and exhausted.
“I don’t know.” He mumbled, pulling away from me gently. “Anywhere... It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Ok,” I sighed, taking my first controlled, deep breath.
“Give me your keys.” he said, smiling up at me.
I slid the keys out of my pocket and handed them over. He grabbed them out of my hand and opened the driver’s side door. He started the engine and popped the trunk.
“Get in.” He said sternly, placing a chaste kiss to my cheek.
I did as he said and slid into the passenger seat. He put his guitar in the trunk and got into the driver’s seat. We drove in silence for the first couple of minutes. Now that I had calmed down and the post-panic exhaustion had settled in I was suddenly feeling self-conscious that Frank had found me in such a state. After the way he had acted all day I couldn’t figure out how we’d ended up in my car together, driving off into the night. I swallowed hard as I prepared myself for the difficult conversation to follow.
“Frank… the other night you said we couldn’t be friends… what changed?” I shut my eyes so I couldn’t see his face.
“I’m sorry I said that. It was incredibly selfish.” he said softly.
“But… what changed?”
“You relapsed. You shouldn’t have to handle that on your own. Nobody deserves that.”
“You’re still mad at me though, aren’t you?” I said somberly.
“I don’t want to talk about this.” he said, an edge of irritation to his voice.
“We’re going to have to talk about it eventually...” I said, feeling a sickening wave of hopelessness wash over me.
“Just not tonight, ok?” he sighed.
“Ok.” I mumbled.
It wasn't OK, not really.

Notes

heyyyyy
i'm kinda ashamed... i haven't been updating as much as i want to. i don't know if it's writers block or something else. i know how the story needs to go it's just...... complicated. i've been reading stuff on how to deal w/ writers block but it doesn't help me. let me know if you have any tips cause updates for ALL OF MY STORIES are on extreme delay.

if you like this update leave me something nice. ; )

love,
m