Photograph That I Gave You

He's trying to cheer me up. I want to tell him he's wasting his time, but I can't bring myself to. Seeing the hope in his eyes is too much.
We say our casual goodbyes and head into a nearby diner. We sit in a booth farthest from the door and order some coffee from the hungover looking employee. I don't feel like eating. But coffee is my ultimate vice, well except for... I look up at him, he's barely slept and been through a major trauma (thanks to me) and yet still unfairly gorgeous.
And I want to tell him but I don't know how. Whenever he fixes me with though honey hazel puppy dog eyes the world seems to melt away and he has me trapped in a coma of admiration. I didn't know I could feel like this. Not since everything went numb. He's like a flower in an arctic winter, I don't want him to leave but I know if he stays too long he'll freeze and die too. My love is like permafrost and nothing beautiful can ever grow from it. The only way I can fucking express my feeling is through murder.
"Hey," A tattooed hand lays upon mine. I glance up from my swirling mug of caffeine. His eyes look like coffee and I want to drink up his longing stare.
"Frank...do you think...I might have a problem?" After a second he laughs and I catch myself blushing, "OK, whatever just shut up."
"I'm not trying to..." He smiles at me for a prolonged moment, "You just have no idea how good it is to hear you say that baby."
I scrunch up my mouth, "OK, well, you don't have to be so ha-" My heart skips a beat,"Wait, what did you just call me."
"Hm?"
"Just now what did you call me?"
"I haven't the slightest idea what your talking about."
I continue pestering him but he won't repeat the term of endearment just sits there with that infuriating grin. So we move on to talk about random pointless topics just to feel like everythings normal. That nothing has changed between us.
After a while I start tapping rapidly on the tabletop. I'm not bored, that can't be it. It must be the caffeine entering my system. I calm my hand but once I stop concentrating on it , my fingernails coated in chipping black polish resume pounding on the plastic tiles in quick repetitive successions. This time accompanied by a tight feeling in my lungs.
No. But it's not long before I find myself glancing up at the generic café clock. Last night is already too long a wait. I used to be able to go a couple days, almost a week without the impulses but now I'm getting more panicked I'm running out of time.
As Frank continues to talk my eyes wander across the room. There's an old man with a sad smile by the window. He's feeble enough not to be a problem. A couple sharp blows to the back of the head, the satisfying crunch of arid bones under my feet, ni more than an hour I would be gone. There's also a girl around her twenties with a laptop plugged into an open outlet, ready to take advantage of the free WiFi all day. I imagine her hanging from her feet, her ankles bound together by her own electrical cord and the artery just below her ear severed. Or even our waiter wouldn't be such a hard target, a victim of his own trust. I could cut him open from back to front. Perform my own little laminectomy.
"What are you smiling about?" Shit he must have caught me day dreaming. Shit, I was, smiling? I shouldn't have been smiling. I'm not supposed to enjoy this is any way. This is only because of the deal I made. Not for my own enjoyment in at all. Right? I have to do this right....
"Hey you okay?"
"Huh?" I realize I never answered him. "Oh nothing really." "C'mon, I don't think a smile from you is nothing."
I can't tell him, he'd be so ashamed of me. "Wanna buy something to drink?"
"Haha OK, since you just finished your cup." "
N-not coffee, uhm something stronger?" Alcohol helps me forget. Eases the impulses, at least for a while.
"Jeez, Gee its not even 12 yet. Let's wait a bit, OK." He laughs nervously into his coffee, "I'm not boring you already am I?" It's the first time I've really seen him self conscious because of me, a feeling I know all too well. One I want to reverse immediately.
"I think I can handle a cappuccino at 11:24."
"Ca- How is that stronger than coffee?"
"I'd like to see how you hold up after all the sugar they put in those drinks here."
He raises an eyebrow at me. "Is that so?"
I lean in, "You're on Iero." I say my tongue slipping adeptly over the last name most people falter on. Would I want to take that faltering surname. Fuck, what am I thinking about?
We end up there for a while, spending our cash ordering overpriced fancy sounding drinks for each other and tasting them. We very rarely finished a cup before ordering another one. It's just for the fun of it so we carry on a infinite sugar high until the staff politely asked us to leave. I suggest we head back because I still want to make sure my brother and the rest of our friends are doing OK. Frank agrees mostly because he didn't have horrible nightmares about their safety but because he thinks it'd be a good idea to get everybody together to work on some new material. If we're going to be here for a while we might as well do some song writing.
We run down the street giddily and he jumps on my back and I carry him back. By the time we reach the familiar confines of our tour bus, my energy is pretty much drained.
The guys are still asleep and I can't blame them. I check on Mikey to make sure he's breathing normally and hasn't chocked on his own puke. Something I know from experience sucks a lot. When I'm sure he's OK I give him a gentle hug goodnight since our sleeping schedules probably won't overlap for a while. But as I bring my arms back they feel cold and damp. Holding out my forearms I stumble into the better lighting of the front room and see they are covered in blood. "Now what?"
I ask him as calmly as I can "Is there anything on my arms?" "No why?"
"Uhm, I thought I saw a spider."
"Holy sshit! "
"Don't worry it was probably nothing."
"I'm not taking that fucking chance c'mon I'm going out for a smoke come with me."
"I'm not feeling great. I think I'm just gonna lie down for a bit. Maybe draw."
He looks disappointed but nods and leaves the trailer.
Damn I wish I hadn't said spider. Damn his arachnophobia. Oh well, I think its best if I'm alone for a while. To get some control over these thoughts.
*********** I start tapping on the table top and glancing at the glowing blue numbers of the digital clock. As I tap some of the thin veins darken sickeningly and I pull open an old wound acroos my knuckles to let it out. I check the clock.
Time, time is slipping away. My time, his time. Winter is coming and my flower will wilt. The only thing that holds any meaning to me. Fuck.
I start pacing impatiently.
I hate to admit it but those people, those victims, I never knew them, they don't matter. Maybe they aren't even real. Yeah they aren't real, it doesn't matter what happens to them. None of it matters. I start towards the exit.
My will falters at the doorhandle, I can't do this. Because it's not a secret anymore. He'll know. I told him, he'll know. I can't let him down. God damn it this is for him. Yes he'll be proud of you if you stop but then he'll be dead and that means everyone else died in vain, you can't let that happen. No, your right, they sacrificed their lives so he can live. This is my responsibility. God damn it why does he know. I wish this wasn't my choice. Wait, wait it's not my choice, it's a deal I have to honour. I haven't been living since I was dead, I've been following the careful configurations of a contract. I don't have a say in the matter. That's it. I haven't really come back from the dead. I'm still dead. Following a plan I didn't make, a script I didn't write, a routine I don't want but one that I can't escape. Hah it's like highschool all over again.
I'm sorry Frank but I'm not strong enough. He just doesn't understand. It's not his choice whether I let him live or die, even at the expense of others. People might say it isn't worth it, that many lives for one person. But they don't know him. They don't know my Frankie. The handle turns easily, soundlessly and I step out into the cool night. The sound of a familiar voice stops me dead in my tracks. "Listen, I'm sorry Officer Thompson but I'm doing all I can. It's not easy acting all casual when I know I'm living next to a brutal killer."
My blood runs cold, with a heart too broken to beat.

Notes

Happy new year! We made it! :) And now I have fucking exams to ruin that...