I Think I Like It

The universe has a certain way of doing things. I always believed that – if something is meant to be, it will be. It was thoughts like these that carried through the tremulous three years that stretched before me. It was good at first – better than good. It was perfect. I saw Gerard all the time, and when I wasn’t physically with him, I was texting or calling him. It looked, for some time, like he might be wrong after all; that the weight of our love would prevail. Happily ever after, and all that bullshit.
Soon though, things got more difficult. It started with one weekend, where I couldn’t see him because of my workload. One of my professors (who ended up being one of my favourites, in the end) liked to work us like mules in terms of assignments, and it was genuinely infeasible for me to visit him. He understood, but told me he missed me, and I said I missed him too. But then one week became two, and two weeks became a month. My reasons faded into excuses, which became arguments, and then transformed into outright lies. It was only after three months of a consecutive lack of contact and false “I miss you”s said between clenched teeth, that the truth finally emerged – I wasn’t in love with him anymore. Of course, I still loved him, but there was no desperate need to be with him. It was hard to realize, and even harder to tell him, but it was true. I put most of the blame down to the fact that, with Gerard’s reluctant blessing, I’d slept with too many people, and hadn’t slept with him at all – nor, I realized, did I even want to anymore. The fire was gone.
When I discovered the ugly truth, I went down to see him immediately. I sat him down, held his hands, and explained the situation to him as gently as he could. He cried when I told him, of course. His body shook and trembled, and he couldn’t bear to have me look at him, let alone touch him. He looked like he might collapse in on himself, and all I could do was watch. When he’d calmed down, he told me he’d planned a whole weekend for us, but he didn’t think he could stop crying long enough for us to actually do any of it. That was fine with me; we just spent that night crying and holding each other, until we eventually (and inevitably) fell into bed together. That was, undoubtedly, the best sex we’d ever had. It was aggressive and needy and filled with so much hate and love and desperation, that we were both sobbing by the time we came. He looked at me expectantly afterwards, like he was waiting for me to say that I’d changed my mind, but I didn’t. I just rolled over and went to sleep, and was gone before he woke up the next morning.

After that, I saw Gerard Way only three more times. The first was at a New Year’s party held by my Mother. During my time at Uni they had, keeping up with their promises, become quite good friends – a fact that was rather bittersweet for me. I knew, therefore, that he would be there, so I dressed maybe a little bit nicer than I usually would have, but I still wasn’t anywhere near as beautiful as he was without even trying. We spent the night talking, which progressed into awkward, timid flirting. The night ended with me sucking him off in my old bedroom, while he bit his lip to the point of bleeding as he tried not to tell me that he loved me, because he knew I wouldn’t say it back. Not anymore. Despite that, when he told me he was leaving, I cried and begged him to stay with me just one more night, and he, of course, agreed. We stayed up all night re-learning each other’s bodies, our hands tentative and cautious, as if any sudden movements would cause the other man to shatter. It felt like I’d never touched him before, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel that familiar fire ignite inside me.
It was useless, though – by the time I woke up, he’d already left. I couldn’t convince myself to be angry at him, because I knew that it was for the best, and that one night of tenderness couldn’t reverse everything that had happened between us. Besides, now we were even.

The second meeting was by mistake. After graduating and moving back to New Jersey, my long-term girlfriend, Jamia and I were at an art gallery, and I bumped into him quite literally. He seemed unabashed, and spoke rather animatedly to Jamia about art and culture, and if I hadn’t seen the marks on his arms, or smelled the ghost of alcohol on his breath, I might have believed him when he said he was happy for me.
Jamia, of course, was curious. For most of our relationship, I’d carefully side-stepped the topic of Gerard (other than what she’d already seen at the train station on our first day), but she was relentless, so I told her everything. When I was done, she didn’t seem surprised at all.
“He still loves you.” She said simply. I asked her how she knew, and she just gave me this knowing smile, nothing more than a quirk of her lips as she said:
“He just kept staring at you.”

The very last time I ever saw Gerard was upon his request. He told me in a rushed 4am phonecall that he was leaving Jersey, and that he wanted to talk to me just once more before he left. It’d been almost a year since I’d seen him, or even spoken to him aside from polite birthday wishes, so I was, understandably, very nervous to see him. Alongside that, though, I was excited. It seemed that even when logically I knew I shouldn’t want to be with him, my heart had other plans. We met at a café, and he was uncharacteristically late – I figured, though, that he was trying to make a point. Even when he arrived, I barely recognized him; he’d lost a fair amount of weight, cut his hair short and dyed it white. He spoke to me, at first, with a cold politeness that I found almost uncomfortable. He told me, after a few minutes of nervous small talk, that he had got a deal with a comic book publisher in New York. I told him I was happy for him, even though I could feel my heart shredding itself in my chest at the thought of him being so far away.
“You know, even after all these years, I still believe that you’re it for me.” He told me suddenly, breaking out of his reverie of reserved coldness. I nodded, unsurprised.
“I think I knew you were going to say that” I admitted. He smiled sadly.
“I’d still marry you in a minute, you know. I still have your ring, and if you want it…it’s yours. I’m yours. I could take you away with me to New York.” He said, a desperate edge in his voice. I held his hand and smiled almost condescendingly at him.
“Gerard, you will always have a special place in my heart. I don’t think I could ever not love you.”
“Then why-“
“I had to. You have to see that we’re both better off this way.” I told him carefully, but I was doubting my own words as I felt the familiar weight of his hand in mine.
“You said you’d always come back for me.” He whispered. I looked up at him and pursed my lips.
“I did come back, didn’t I?” I asked. He didn’t have a reply to that, so we just sat in silence.
After a few painful, awkward minutes, he rose to his feet and grabbed his jacket, heading to the door without a word. I thought he was going to leave, just like that, and went to stop him. It wasn’t needed though, because he stopped suddenly and turned around.
“Oh, and congratulations on your engagement. I guess you’ll understand if I don’t show up to the wedding” he said with a humorless laugh. I nodded wordlessly, unable to form the words that were clawing at the back of my throat.
He just nodded, as if he understood, and gave me a sad smile.
“I’m always yours, Frankie. You know that, don’t you? Always.” He said, his voice breaking. I still couldn’t force the words out of my mouth, and he left with a sad wave.
Those were the last words he ever said to me.

My wedding that took place in the summer of the next year was beautiful – everything I’d ever wanted. Chris was my best man, as I always knew he would be, and even Joe, who lived a few hours away, managed to be there. It was one of the happiest days of my life, and I got to spend it with all of the people I loved.
Almost all.
Neither of the Way brothers turned up, despite me inviting them both. Mikey sent Jamia some flowers, but she and I could both tell that they were chosen by Gerard – the colour scheme, we decided, could only have ever been configured by an artist. I stared at them for longer than I should have, unsure if I should smile or cry.
Despite that, though, the day was marvelous, and I was more than elated to walk into my new life, with the woman who had proven herself to be the love of my life by my side. I only wished I’d met her sooner, to save Gerard and I both the heartbreak of our failure. Not that I could bring myself to regret it, though. He gave me things that nobody else ever could have. Although my marriage to Jamia signified a new beginning, it didn’t mean, by any means, that I had to completely let go of the past.

Although I never spoke to Gerard again, he was never far from thought. I saw his comics in newspapers occasionally, and I was wont to cutting them out and sticking them on the corkboard in my kitchen. Jamia, being the saint that she is, would simply glance at them and say
“one of his?” and I’d nod. That was the end of it, most of the time, and she and I were both happy living around the ghost of the life I could have had.
Despite this, though, I honestly believe that my ties to both Gerard and Jersey were what prompted Jamia’s sudden desire to move back to Canada, but I was ready to do just about anything to make her happy, so I agreed. Though, with Gerard completely gone, I didn’t have any doubts about leaving – until Jamia stumbled across Gerard’s old copy of To Kill A Mockingbird. The sight of it choked me, and she handed it to me with an understanding smile. I looked at the words scrawled on the front, before flicking through the browning pages. It was hard to believe that the book in my hand had, at one time, acted as a portal for me, throwing me into a completely different life. As I flicked through, a piece of paper fell to the floor from the pages. My heart pounded in my throat as I picked it up and unfolded it with shaking hands. When I saw the letter he’d written to me so many years – maybe even a lifetime – ago, on my 18th birthday, I nearly lost it. Even his number, scrawled messily and hurriedly along the bottom of the sheet still sent my heart into overdrive. I blinked away the tears that formed in my eyes, being endlessly grateful that Jamia was pretending to not notice my swell of emotion.
She was great like that.

Finding the lettter brought on a terrible case of cold feet that I just couldn’t shake. Leaving Jersey the first time was hard enough, but now, neither Gerard or I would be here to keep the memory of what we had alive, and it was terrifying to think we could just die like that.
On a whim, I pulled out my old phone from my teenage years, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I sent him a text.

TO: Gerard.
(2:39am)
Gerard. I’m moving away from Jersey tomorrow, and I’m so scared. I’m scared because, as much as I try to escape it, I love you, and I always will. Fuck, I always thought it would be you and me. Where did we go wrong, Gee? What the fuck happened?
Maybe it could still be us. That sounds crazy, but I don’t even know anymore. I just know that I love you, Gerard. I love you, and I will always love you.

I sent the message with shaking hands, and wished I hadn’t as soon as I did. Putting my phone back in my pocket, I sat down on the bed next to my wife’s sleeping form, and sighed with a soft smile. I brushed my hand through her hair, before trailing it down, over the gentle swell of her pregnant stomach. She wasn’t him – I knew that. She never could be. Perhaps, though, that’s why I loved her so much. I didn’t need to replace him, or find what I had with him – I needed everything she had to offer me. God, I loved her more than anything in the world, and we had a future – something he could never give me.
It was while I was considering this that my phone rang again, signifying his reply. I knew, without even looking, that the message would say one of two things. It could say that he hated me, that I was confusing him and hurting him, and he wanted me to stop. The possibility of that hurt me more than I was willing to admit. The other possibility, though, is that I’d open the message and he would try to convince me to run away with him – and maybe I would have said yes. Maybe we could pick up where we left off, and do all the things we promised each other that we would do.
I never found out, though. I stood up carefully, so as not to awake Jamia, and walked to my bedroom window. I looked out into the night and sighed, remembering that one particular evening where he and I made love in the rain on top of a rooftop, looking at the same city I was staring at now. All of that seemed lifetimes away from this. I took my phone into my hand, and stared at his name flashing on the screen. Without another thought, so as not to let myself second guess my actions, I flung the phone out into the night.
I never saw where it landed, but I heard the faint smash as it broke. It hit me then, that I would never see what he’d said to me, or know if he felt the same way after all these years.
It was better that way, though. Some messages were never meant to be read.

The universe has a certain way of doing things – if something is meant to be, it will be. For as long as I live, I will keep this reassurance close to my side, with the hopes that maybe we really could have worked if we’d tried, even as I bear the understanding that perhaps we wouldn’t have.
Through all of the things Gerard Way taught me, both in the classroom and out of it, there is one message that springs to mind whenever I think about him:
The Sun is just a star, no matter how bright it is, and all stars die. But in the wake of their destruction, comes the dispersal of stardust, and the potential for the creation of something even more beautiful than before. With this in mind, I believe that Gerard and I will never truly fade, because we were brighter than the sun, and the stardust created by our demise will settle into something marvelous, and so by moving on, but still holding our love deep in my bones, we can never truly die.

***
“How wrong we were to think that immortality meant never dying”
- Gerard Way.
***
The End.

Notes