Amnesia

The looming wooden door gave way to a dingy, messy residence that looked nothing like the one I was used to seeing. Of course that was a relative statement; the walls and the carpets were the same as they had always been, and Bob had all the same furniture, but there was a certain disarray that made me almost hesitant to venture further into the room. The coffee table was askew and laden with what you could only assume were empty beer cans. The recliner had been tipped over to its side. The floor was barely visible between all of the junk; there were pieces of papers strewn among more empty alcohol containers which were speckled among miscellaneous objects like books and paperweights and drink coasters. The entire place looked as though someone had thrown a house party and never bothers to clean up the mess.

Bob’s yells of anger broke me out of my quiet contemplation, and a slamming door brought my attention directly to my infuriated best friend. His head was down, but I could tell that his face was as red as the blood that was boiling under his skin. He brushed right past me on his way out the door, never having so much as glanced at me.

“Bob!” The boy stopped dead in his tracks halfway across the street and turned on his heel to look at me. He almost look as though he was angrier.

“What do you want?”

I replied matter-of-factly, “I want to know what the fuck is going on and how the hell I’m supposed to do any good around here.”

“You’re pretty much just babysitting, Gerard, calm down.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Bryar?” At this point, I was frustrated because he was abandoning his responsibilities, and neglecting to tell me how I was supposed to handle this kid that hated me – whether he remember so or not.

Bob’s baby blue eyes bore into me, even from the distance he was at. “Look, Way,” He sneered. Something had obviously gone sour. “You can fucking take care of that piece of shit until I get back. I’m going out for a drink, because I fucking deserve it.” None of what he was saying made any sort of sense to me. The last time I had checked, Bob adored his cousin, and he felt sorry for everything that his petite relative had gone through. On top of that, I knew that Bob liked his alcohol, but I had the feeling that he had started using it for another purpose aside from recreation.

“Where are you planning on getting this wonderful alcohol, Bob? Huh? What are you planning to do with Frank in the long run? Abandon him like the rest of his family has? Like your family has done to you?” I really didn’t know where I was getting the ammunition from, or why I was using it now, of all times, but I couldn’t help being mad at Bob. I didn’t even know how Frank was doing, but I knew that Bob couldn’t be handling it right if he’s storming out of his house in search of someone who would buy his minor ass alcohol.

“Shut the fuck up, Gerard. You don’t know shit. You can either look after Frank until I get back, or you can fuck off and die. I couldn’t care less either way.” He whipped around and began walking away again, but before too long he stopped. His torso rotated slowly the second time, allowing the suspense to clog up inside my stomach. I could only imagine what rage he was going to unleash now that I had voiced my frustration and disapproval. “By the way, you look like shit, G.” And then he was gone. He kept walking at a constant pace until I could no longer see him along the sidewalk. I still had no idea what I was supposed to do now.

I turned to walk back inside, wondering what sort of state I would find the quarterback in, but to my surprise he was standing in the doorway with his head turned down toward his feet. He looked so sad like that. The boy couldn’t have been more than five foot two or three, and there he was, standing sadly over what seemed like the entire world.

“Hey, Frank, do you have to listen to all of that?” I asked as softly as I could.

“It’s okay,” He began without even looking up. “That was nothing compared to everything else he’s been saying lately.” There was no quiver in his voice as he spoke, not on trace of uneasiness. He just sounded so sad. I wasn’t sure what to even say back – what could I say?

“Let’s go inside and talk about this, yeah?” I offered. He turned and walked back inside. There was no consideration, no hesitation and no confirmation; I don’t think Frank cared about anything at that moment. He sat himself cross-legged on the couch, facing the other side, which I assumed he wanted me to fill. I followed suit, taking my shoes off and gingerly crossing my legs over one another so as to not inflict any further pain on my injuries.

“Why do you look like you’re in pain? Why do you look so sad?” He asked, disconcertedly. I looked into his eyes angrily. He should know what his friends do to me, but then I noticed that he was genuinely confused. It was the first time he had lifted his head since I had gotten here. Sure, it hadn’t been that long, but it was still something. “Did someone do that to you?”

“Yeah, your fucking friends did.” I had no intention of being rude or angry with him, it technically wasn’t his fault – he hadn’t been around to reign them in.

“My friends? What are you talking about? I don’t have friends, Gee,” His face contorted unhappily and the edges of his mouth hung lower than they had before, if that were possible.
“And, even if I did, I don’t think I would want friends that hurt my other friends.” He really didn’t remember anything bad about his life. This was going to be rough, and I was beginning to understand why Bob might have lost it. Who would want to be responsible for telling someone that they care about all of the bad things about his life?

“We’re friends?”

His eyes receded back to his bare feet. “We don’t have to be if you don’t wanna be, I guess.” Fuck.

“Of course I want to be friends, Frank.” His head snapped up and his eyes were bight as he said “really?!” His grin spread all the way across his face. I chuckled because it was almost rectangular in shape – I could see both rows of teeth, and it was purely adorable. He was adorable. And in that moment I really did adore him. I nodded as a response, and he jumped across the couch and landed on me in a hug. I couldn’t even hug him back because he had trapped my arms under his.

I could feel a smile break across my own face as he held me tightly in a joyful embrace. It was weird for me in a lot of ways, but it felt as though this was what I had been waiting for. I had been thinking about Frank so much, dwelling on what Bob had revealed to me about his cousin, and what I had observed, especially about what had happened in the bathroom. And I knew when he hugged me that all of that was really leading to this point, because he answered all of my unspoken questions – he was innocent, at his very core. I knew because it seemed as though his head injury had stripped him back down to his true self. It was like a second chance for the most deserving candidate that I could have ever pictured.

Eventually he sat up, but he didn’t move back over to the other side – he stayed in close proximity of me. I knew I had to ask, though I didn’t really want to.

“So, Frank, I have to ask,” I paused, waiting for some sign of affirmation, some way of knowing he was okay that I was asking a question. He simply looked at me expectantly. “Do you remember anything?”

He looked back down toward the couch, as if to form his thoughts before he began to speak lightly, “N-not really.” His feathery words felt like silk brushing past my ears. Frank’s hazelnut eyes looked up to me from under his eyebrows; his head was still tilted down as though he was afraid or ashamed, and his eyes were under the shadow of his forehead. I didn’t saying anything because I wanted him to go on, to elaborate. And he did. “Of course I remember Bob.” He paused for a moment and fumbled with a stray piece of gray fabric that was beginning to fray off of his sweatpants. “I can tell that something happened to me, Gerard, you know?” I nodded once. “Because I don’t remember Bobby being so mean to me, and I don’t really remember him having a drug problem. But the thing is that he won’t tell me exactly what happened. I’ve sort of gathered that something has damaged my memory, but I don’t know what.”

“Wait,” I interrupted, “Bob hasn’t told you what happened yet?”

The black-haired former quarterback shook his head, “nope,” he said. I caught a glimpse of his eyes watering, even though his head was down. “He said that if I was too stupid to remember my life, then I didn’t really deserve to remember anyway.” I put my hand on his knee, directly over the unraveling piece of fabric that he has been toying with moments earlier. I didn’t know what to say, really. What was there to be said to this sad, troubled boy who was struggling to remember who he was?

“The worst part is,” he began after a moment of sniffling and wiping small, despondent tears from his reddened cheeks. “is that I know that there’s something missing, but I still can’t remember what it is. It’s so goddamn maddening to know that I forgot a lifetime of things, and not being able to even remember why I have about a hundred scars on my body that are just straight lines.” The small boy began to sob, and I immediately regretted having asked him if he remembered anything. And I was deeply perturbed by the fact that Frank Iero had woken up one morning to find a series of cuts – some recent, some old scars – and not know what they are or where they came from.

Without thinking I grabbed his torso as lightly as I could and pulled him into my lap, wrapping my arms around him. I began to caress his soft raven hair as he cried into me. My mind went back to the last time we had been positioned like this – the men’s bathroom of our high school. I had a second chance to make up for leaving him in such a state as he was. There was an aching in my chest that I could not decipher, and I couldn’t help but feel closer to Frank Iero, more attached as it were.

Through his tears I heard him falter out “Puh-Please-e, G-gee, duh-don’t luh-leave me this t-t-time.”

“This time?” I asked, perplexed and slightly alarmed. Did he remember what happened between us in the bathroom too?

“Y-yeah. L-last time y-you left me, r-remember?” I didn’t think Frank had even realized the magnitude of what he was saying yet.

“Do you, Frank? Do you remember?” I asked in hope that he would realize.

His crying stopped instantaneously when his head snapped up so his hazel eyes could look into mine. They were red around the pupil, but they were just as beautiful as they had always been. There was a glimmer there, aside from the glistening tears. There was a shine of recognition and of terror. That poor, innocent, gorgeous boy didn’t remember anything, and now he remembered what must have been a horrible moment for him. Tears began to rush down his cheeks, quieter this time, but he kept looking at me; looking in my eyes, in my heart. I hope he saw how sorry I was for having left him.

Notes

Chapter Title - Piledriver Waltz by The Arctic Monkeys

hey guys, a new chapter. Hope you all like it :*

xoBunny