-o-
“You're doing what?” I gawked at my brother as he haphazardly shoved clothes into his large blue suitcase. I stared in disbelief while he busily opened and closed drawers as if taking part in some sort of one-man symphony. His large hazel eyes sympathetically peered up at me from under a wall of shaggy black hair, which was still a mess since he'd just gotten out of bed only a few moments ago.

Being that we had neighboring rooms, I'd heard him frantically running around like our uncle's mansion was on fire and sleepily stumbled in to see what was wrong.

“I'm not staying, Mikey,” he repeated sadly, stuffing a handful of red boxers into his bag and slapping it shut. He glanced around, searching for some clothes to swap his black skeleton pajamas out with then recalled that he'd put them all away.

“You're going to go back to Jersey and leave me all alone here on this island?” Recently, it had come to our mother's attention that her brother, our Uncle Dante, had been having some issues getting around his ridiculously large house. How she found this out, I know not. Maybe it was a woman thing. Not one of the locals would help him because apparently he was rumored to be some crazy sex addict and a warlock. Please. He never left his study. I didn't know what he looked like. I doubted he would sneak out at midnight to go rape some girl then sacrifice her to Lucifer. It puzzled me why he didn't just sell his place for the huge hunk of cash it was worth and move into some one-story clay house that made up the not-so-nearby village we'd passed through on our way up here.

Actually, I kind of saw where he was coming from by not wanting to leave; this building could have been crafted my God. That's what I thought at least.

A glass castle is the only way I can describe it. There were floor-to-ceiling windows in all of the forty-something rooms, so you couldn't even change in the lavatory without worrying about flashing an innocent bystander. I'd taken to doing it in the shower. I'm not sure that sounds right but whatever. You know what I mean. I hope. Don't be dirty. Pervert.

Anyway, in Gerard's room and my own there were three walls made up of glass so we both had a two hundred-seventy degree view of this end of the island. I'm fairly certain that's the correct amount, but if not let's just roll with it. I hate math. Back on track, the place our distant (see what I did there? Pun. Ha ha ha) and almost non-existent relative lived was called Panarea. No, to my dissapointment, not the bread place.

Rather, it's an itty-bitty island off the coast of Italy. There were about two hundred occupants and it rarely had tourists. The only ways to get around were by electric golf buggies and a few scooters. Hardly anyone came on this side of the island. It was rumored to be haunted. Give me a break. Anything falling under the motif of “in a dark and scary forest” was considered haunted. Or a sacred Indian burial ground. In both cases, we were considered to be fucked. Tell the unicorns I love them.

Gerard opened to suitcase again and grabbed a few articles of clothing at random.

“You won't be alone. There are people nearby.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my bare chest, being that I hadn't worn anything to bed but sweatpants.

“Like, ten miles away and I don't think any of them even speak English!” He shrugged and shed off his pajamas, starting to tug on a pair of jeans.

“Well, maybe you should learn Italian. Embrace your ethnicity or something.” He hopped up and down, trying to get the fabric over his butt. I swear, my brother has lady hips.

“'Embrace your ethnicity' my ass,” I said sourly, plopping down in the desk chair that sat across from his bed. There was only a light brown desk, dresser, and the one extra bit of seating added to the room, despite the fact that it was very big. The furniture was spread out so far that they looked like lonely little islands. Ironic. I was going to be stuck on my own floating bit of land longer than Mom had anticipated when she'd ordered us to go help Uncle Dante out for a few days. She was totally healthy. She could've come.

“Oh, stop whining, Mikes; it's no big deal. You'll only be here for a couple months-”

“Months?!” I interjected, my jaw dropping in horror. Gerard ignored me and continued speaking,

“-While I go with Grandma and...” He trailed off, sadness filling up his eyes like water flooding a ship. My heart twanged with sorrow. Our grandmother had been having some health issues for a while. Gerard had taken it upon himself to go and care of her in the last stretch of her life. We didn't want to admit it, but we would lose her soon. I knew Gerard wouldn't take it well; they'd always been extremely close. I think it was how she legitimately forced him into his green tights the night he played Peter Pan in our school's production. She was a typical elderly lady in her appearance (i.e. sturdy shoes, kitten sweaters, and knitted shawls) but she did not cheer like one. She seemed proper and collected during the performance, on the verge of tears when Gerard first sang angelically onstage, clasping her hands over her heart. However, during curtain call when he'd stepped forward, she'd yelled and screamed for all she was worth. I wasn't aware she knew how to do anything above the volume of a golf clap.

“If it's no big deal why don't you stay with an uncle who's probably been dead in that stupid office for years!” I snapped at my brother, staring down at the creme-colored carpet and scowling.

“That's what the smell is? I was convinced it was tuna.”

“Not funny, Gerard!”

“I thought it was pretty funny.” I shot a glower at him and he smiled cheekily. “Besides,” he started again, pulling on a navy blue shirt. He popped his head through the hole and kept talking, “can't Alicia come visit?”

“She's back at college,” I informed him glumly. Even though we had only been dating for a few months, I absolutely loved my girlfriend to bits. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. Everything about her I found utterly perfect; her heavy eye make-up, her shiny black hair. Hell, she even smelled great. Like lavender and lemons. Not to mention, she played the bass, too. How awesome was that? I grinned widely at the memory of her, but it vanished as I recalled that we had to wait so long before being reunited once again. God, school's the worst thing ever invented.

“And what happens in Panarea, stays in Panarea.” He walked over and clapped me on the back. “You're welcome, bro.”

“You're unbelievable!” I cried, placing a blow against his bicep and shoving him away. My brother giggled and went back to his suitcase. He pressed down on the top and tried to squeeze the teeth of the zipper close enough together so that he could close the bag.

“I'm sure there's some way you can stay in touch,” he reassured, face turning red from the force he was exerting to trying and shut his luggage.

“Yeah, right. No phone and the nearest computers are stupid, malfunctioning dial-up fuckwads miles away!” As if I would drive into the village on a scooter or golf cart buggy. The image of me bumping some rap song and bouncing my head to the beat with a sideways cap on came into my mind. I grimaced. I wasn't that white 'n' nerdy.

“Write a letter?” Gerard offered, finally zipping the suitcase closed with a grunt. He sat down on the ground and swiftly tugged on his socks and ratty black Converse sneakers.

“Do you know the cost of postage these days?” He sighed and rolled his eyes, getting up from the floor. I wasn't going to be isolated without a fight.

“You'll be fine,” he said confidently, perching on the edge of the bed. That was kind of pointless, I thought to myself. “Get too lonely and all you have to do is go outside and yell 'Hey! I'm Mikey Fuckin' Way from My Chemical Romance!'” He flailed his arms in the air. “People will come running.” He shot me a thumbs up.

“No one here knows us, Gerard,” I sighed, running a hand through my ruffled brown hair. “I still can't believe you put the tour on hold,” I leaned back into the hard wood of the chair. “It's all you've ever wanted to do.” He'd lost all of his hurry in packing a while ago, but now he seemed to be flat-out exhausted. He flopped back onto the mussed white comforter that was sprawled across the mattress with a groan.

“I had to. Grandma needs me, and Uncle Dante needs you.” I wasn't sure why. Having two nephews you've never met shipped off to your mansion in a foreign country? Our family really was crazy.

“I don't see the reason for that; he has a million housekeepers.” Really, he didn't. Gerard knew too because he sat up again and sent me one of those telepathic brotherly messages, indicating he'd detected a lie.

“Even if he did, they still aren't family.” I broke our eye contact and stared out at the tangled black trees that loomed near us. They reminded me of long demon claws.

“How do the guys feel about this whole shitfest, anyway?” I asked, realizing I was losing the battle and changing the subject.

“They understand, but all of them agreed that I only get twelve weeks tops, which I think is fair.” Of course, they were being nice. They were always nice. Jesus, why couldn't I be friends with people who had no morals whatsoever? They might actually help me in situations like this.

“What am I supposed to do about school?” Gerard shoved his bag off of the bed and stood.

“You dropped out, remember?” He leaned down and began dragging it towards the door. I pushed out of the chair and followed him. We were on the first floor so luckily he didn't have to throw it down a steep, winding staircase. We inched our way down the hallway towards one of the many conveniently located exits.

“Yeah, well, maybe my braincells are being killed off due to all this stupid fishy air and I want to save them.” I could smell the stench of tuna wafting up from the nearby ocean. I wouldn't be swimming with them any time soon. I didn't like touching fish unless they were going in my mouth. That wasn't meant to be sexual either. God, what's wrong with me?!

“I doubt that,” he stopped pulling the luggage and straightened up. He gazed at me sympathetically, eyes gentle. “Hey, it's not as bad as you think,” he promised in a soft voice. “I swear this will be over before you know it,” he walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe you'll even make some cool, exotic friends,” my older sibling added brightly. He always did try to be optimistic.

“Three months of not talking to anyone, Gerard,” I whispered, my tone almost pleading. “Three months.” I stared up at him, the pain from being left behind already growing on me.

“I know, Mike-Mike,” he reached up and stroked my hair. He'd done that when we were little and I'd needed comforting. It still worked even when I was twenty-two years old. “I'm sorry but Uncle Dante and Grandma need help. Will you stay? Please?” He was begging me now with the big, innocent puppy dog eyes going on. Who would be able to say no? We both knew very well that I could hop a boat and bribe the captain to take me away, but when Gerard made Uncle Dante seem like a fragile old man the plan diminished.

“Alright,” I agreed despite the fact that everything inside me was was screaming for me to decline.

“I knew I could count on you,” Gerard said with a smile. He wrapped his arms around me in a warm embrace. I buried my head in his shoulder, missing him already. “This will be done before you know it and then we'll be back on our way with the band,” he promised, his breath tickling my ear. My brother retreated from our hug. He searched me for some sign that I would be alright alone with our crazy uncle. “It'll be like none of this ever happened,” he grinned again. “Think of it as a vacation.”

“Shittiest vacation ever,” I told him as he traveled over to the frosted glass door once more. He hefted up his suitcase and turned the knob, opening it and letting the humid air in. My tear ducts swelled. He was going. Gerard was really leaving me. He looked over his shoulder.

“I love you, Mikes.”

“Love you too, Gee.”

With that, he stepped out and closed the door behind him, cutting me off from the world.

I had never been more alone.

-o-

Dear Justin,

It's been a year. One full year. Fifty-two weeks. Three hundred sixty-five days. That's how long you've been gone. You'd think by now I would've given up on finding you, or at least moved on. I haven't. I know I shouldn't be, but I'm still in love with you. I don't even know if you're alive.

I remember waking up the day after you proposed and you weren't in the car. I thought you went out for a walk or something and didn't leave a note because you would be back soon enough. Likewise, it wasn't normal for you to leave and not say anything. I was worried, but I shook it off and went to try and find another job. Remember when I got fired from the club for accidentally mixing lemon dish soap into someone's drink? I still don't know how I managed to screw that one up.

Anyway, when I returned you still weren't there. I started to get scared; it was nearly noon and you'd left sometime in the morning. I walked to Azlyn's and asked if she'd seen you. She hadn't. I tried to tell myself that this wasn't a big deal and went back to the vehicle once again.

I waited, Justin.

I still am waiting.

You haven't returned yet.

Why? Did you just not love me anymore? Did the idea of marriage scare you? It scared the hell out of me. Still does. I wear the wedding ring. Do you wear yours? I wear it even though all the silver is gone and in other people's eyes it looks gross and rusty. I'm proud to display it because in a small way I'm tied to you.

You're not dead. I don't care how many people say I should give up on finding you. I can't. Not yet. Not until I get some sort of answer. I've searched your hometown in South Carolina and what I could of London, but I'm not done yet. Don't worry. I nearly put your picture on a milk carton. Ironic being that I'm a vegan and all? I feel like that's something you'd point out.

I'm not even sure why I write these letters anymore. At first, they were like therapy for me when I was convinced you weren't coming back. Now, I fantasize about letting the wind catch the paper and carrying it to you, thousands and thousands of miles away. I imagine you finding me. I imagine us hugging and crying and just being together again. I image this is all simply a nightmare and once day I'll get up and be with you once more.

Tell me, Justin, am I hopelessly lost in these daydreams?

All my love,
Nicole

Notes

So, I changed to course of history a bit. I AM GOD. Nah, just kidding. I'm not sure if Panarea has native Italian speakers or a creepy forest but oh well. This is my story and I am God. Have a nice two o'clock in the morning.