The only thing worse than waking up with major hangover is waking up to a majorly pissed younger brother.
He has all the fluorescent lights on, shooting daggers through my head.
"It was a fucking funeral," is all he says in an eerily quiet voice.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and ramble out "ChristMikes I'msorry itwas myidea, justso depressingin there n we barely knew -"
He glares at me with that cold pokerface and I shut up. He opens his mouth but then clenches it shut in anger. He turns away but not before I can spot the red in his eyes. Why am I so toxic to those around me?
I groan and press my face into the pillow feeling seven different shades of shit.
I hear Frank get out of the bunk across from mine, his socked feet landing on the floor with a light thump.
My heart starts to race and I can already feel my cheeks blushing. We had about the same amount to drink last night, he is significantly smaller though. So the alcohol had a stronger effect on him.
I could have stolen that kiss. He didn't know what he was doing. No one was around to catch us. I wanted to. Oh fuck, I wanted to. But I couldn't. It killed me to say no. It killed.me.to see that disappointed expression on his face, it killed me to hear those pretty words and dismiss them. He must hate me. Like Mikey hates me. Oh god he must hate me so much. He leans into my bed and pokes me, "Geeby you up? I'm making coffee. I have a killer headache. Can't remember a damn thing from last night. I'm guessing the guys arent exactly proud."
I roll over to face him, "Heh, you could say that."
"Meh," he shuffles away, Sometimes I have doubts about doing things but then I think-"
"If you say yolo, I will pull your intestines out your ears," I threaten tiredly.
"Well, somones ruining my swag." He laughs pouring two cups of coffee that someone (I'm guessing it was the fti-master) was kind enough to leave us.
I sit up and get a hand stuck in my knotted hair, "I'm afraid you're forcing me to end you. It's for your own good."He rolls his eyes, "Stop being a drama queen and drink your coffee." I stare longingly at the delicious drink in his hands, "No thanks."
The cup slips from his grasp, cheap porcelain shatters on the floor. The hot brown liquid spreads acroos the linoleum.
"Am I still drunk. Or did you just turn down coffee," he mutters astonishedly. There is genuine concern bordering on fear. He must just be playing with my emotions. Its a game. A trick. A joke. He doesn't really care about me. This is all some sick game.
"I'm don't have much of an appetite right now," I unravel the torn edge of my blanket nervously.
"You don't have much of an appetite for anything," he remarks quietly in a way that makes me suspect he doesn't entirely forget last night.
I don't reply. I keep pulling apart strings.
He clears his throut, hey, uh I'm supposed to have another meeting with Officer Thompson today. Will you come with me?" Something about how he rubs the back of his neck meekly makes me loose all sense of reason.
"Yeah," I answer to quickly. Then I think about it, "Is this a good idea? Like are you allowed to bring a friend to the police interrogation? Or am I going to be arrested?" He shrugs, and takes a long gulp of caffeine, "Well I guess I can go alone."

---

Brian, our tour manager drops us off at the police station. We both fucking have our license but that doesn't mean he trusts is with his car.
He was a little miffed that we ditched the funeral early but he thinks we're into the whole rock star drinking and sleeping around lifestyle so he was pretty cool with it. That really isn't me though. I'm nearly a virgin.
We mumble our thanks - God I miss having a car- and mount the steps.
Frank introduces himself to the receptionist who asks him, "And who is your companion?"
At this point he realizes saying he brought his friend along sounds childish so he replies smoothly, "My brother Gerard."
I wrinkle my nose at the sound of that. God, if Frankie was my brother.... That would be just wrong.
The receptionist takes note of our matching hazel eyes and black hair and nods, "Go wait in there."
We scurry into the waiting room and sit in the hardback chairs.
The only other person in the area is a man in a business suit. I suddenly feel underdressed in my black jeans and worn sweater. Then again Franks the one with an actual appointment and he's in an old misfits T-shirt.
"Why do they want to see you anyway, didn't you tell them all you saw?"
"Well yeah. I don't know they said, they'd probably have more questions after the post mortum. I'm just going along with what they tell me, like they're the police."
"But they don't suspect you or anything do they?"
"Shit," his eyes widen, "I hope not."
"They better fucking not," I growl ominously.
He takes his hand from mind to scratch under his eye
A nervous habit he has. Funny, I didn't notice I was even holding his hand.
"I don't think so, they're just getting all the evidence they can. When I ran in there I might have messed something up. So the only hope of knowing what it was is if I remember," he assures me. "Besides they probably don't think I can kill people."
"You definitely could Frank. You just wouldn't. "
"That's sweet of you to say, I think..."
"Uhm yeah, it was a compliment," I admit and begin counting the ceiling tiles to avoid blushing. Why am I trying to flirt when I shot him down last night? Why can't I get my mind off him?
"Well, thank you." He says a little confusedly. I don't know what kind of signals I'm sending him. He places his hand back on mine and that's when I see it. Black, unfurling through my veins down the wrist, I can feel it in my palm.
I jerk my hand away violently and jump to my feet.
"Gerard I'm sorry," but his words are nearly drowned out by ringing in my ears. There isn't any hint of the darkness on his hand. I was fast enough this time but there can't be any chance of this happening again.
"No Frank," the rooms seems to be swaying and I can feel the ache rising through my body. I wrap my fingers around the crumpled piece of paper that is always in my pocket for reassurance. I've gotten myself in such a mess. But whats on that paper will always remind me why I did it. Why I have to. Its what binds me to my deal. "Frank, you need to stay away from me."
"Bu-"
I cut him off, "Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me."
I watch in horror as his gorgeous eyes fill with tears. Oh god Frank you weren't playing a game. You actually care.
But I care even more and that why I have to do this.
"Just stay away from me," I order him with a shaking voice. I curl my hands into fists, the aching is getting unbearable I have to get out of here, I need to cut it out of me. I turn and as calmly as I can walk away briskly. I don't make it to the door before I have to run.
I sprint into the alley beside the station and begin to cough violently. Black fluid sprays from my lips. When I'm done coughing I shove two fingers down my throut, and vomit up even more of the liquid. The aching dulls enough for the fuzzy spots in my vision to clear. I lie on pavement shivering even though it's boiling out.
My trembling fingers wrap around the crumpled slip of paper. It's worth it. All of it, it's worth it. I unfold the paper until I can see the image on the worn photograph. If I can save you Frank Iero, its worth it.

Notes

Sorry for not updating in a while, things have been hectic. I'll get on a regular schedule soon. Like a chapter every two or three days or something. I'll figure it out. Pls stick with me. Next chapter should be worth it.