Beautiful Fool

I woke several hours later. I was on my back and Gerard had his body wrapped around mine. He felt small in my arms and I tightened my hold on him. I could hear the city, fully alive again just outside the window. Yelling and cars passing by, honking their horns. The clock across the room said it was nine in the morning and I groaned softly.
I thought about the night before. Of Gerard, drunk and vomiting, naked and crying, honest and vulnerable. I hadn’t known him for long and I already felt so close to him. Holding him there in my arms, his leg wrapped over mine, his arm draped across my stomach, his head on my chest, I felt as if I had woken up like that a hundred times before. I felt I would wake up like that a hundred times more.
My mother believed in soul mates. She told me I would know ‘the one’ the moment we met. I never subscribed to the idea. Soul mates seemed such a silly thing. One person that you’re meant for, ridiculous. But still, holding Gerard, thinking about the last turbulent 48 hours or so of my life, it made me wonder.
I tightened my hold on him, feeling him beneath my fingers before I drifted back to sleep.


I woke again with a start. I looked immediately to the clock and saw it was 10:30, and then I felt what was missing. The weight around my body. He was gone.
“Gerard?” I called out.
No answer.
I slowly slipped out of the bed and padded to the bathroom. The door was ajar.
“Gerard?”
Nothing. I pushed the door open and it was empty. I felt my stomach tighten and my heart sink. I was alone.
I turned and went back to the bed. I saw a piece of paper folded on the nightstand. I lunged for it. Maybe he had left to get coffee, maybe he would be back. I unfolded it and skimmed the big, sloppy writing.

Frank,
I am so sorry.
I couldn’t stay. Please understand.
You deserve better than this.
I meant what I said. I’m glad I met you.
Always,
G.

I folded the note back up and placed it back on the nightstand. My heart ached. Gone, just like that. I was alone again. I sat on the edge of the bed, head in my hands. I had no right to be upset. He was nothing. He was a weird fling. It meant nothing.
Nothing happened, anyway.
Not even a fling.
Absolutely nothing.
And that made me feel so incredibly empty.
I stood slowly and stretched out, then I went to my dresser. I changed into black slacks and a blue, light sweater. I splashed some water on my face and brushed my teeth. I looked in the mirror and decided I looked alright.
And then I headed to the cafe.
I walked the seven blocks, only thinking over in my head what I would say. I was definitely going to call him rude. Because how rude, to leave without saying goodbye. I was going to tell him he didn’t get to just walk away so easily.
In my mind, he was going to ask why. He was going to say, what’s the big deal? It was nothing.
And I didn’t quite have an answer to that. Maybe I would say, it wasn’t exactly nothing. It wasn’t much, but it was a little more than nothing. Maybe I would tell him it’s the principle of the thing, and you don’t just leave people. I could tell him, maybe, that I was glad I didn’t die before I met him too.
Maybe I could tell him I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind since I saw him two nights ago, standing on the balcony below me with a cigarette between his lips.
I was sure I would say the right thing when the time came.
Thing is, it never came.
I pushed into the cafe, shoulders back and looked around. He wasn’t there. I approached the counter and the man behind it smiled.
“What can I do you for?” he asked.
“Have you seen Mr. Way in this morning?”
“Mr. Who?
“Mr. Way. I guess he comes here most mornings.”
“Sorry, Sir, I’m not sure who you mean. But I can make a damn good cappuccino,” he said, shrugging.
“Ah, alright, I’ll take one of those then,” I said. I paid him and he got to work. I took a seat where Gerard had sat just the morning before. And I waited.

Three cappuccinos later, I was still waiting.

Three mornings, eight cappuccinos later, I was still waiting.

I went to the cafe every morning for a week before I gave up on the elusive Gerard Way.

I went to two Gatsby parties, expecting to see him on the steps below me, but he never showed.
Gerard Way had vanished, and it was two weeks and four days later that I finally accepted it. He was gone, and it was nothing.
Life went back to normal quickly after that. Band practices, band performances, partying in the juice joints and on Gatsby’s lawn. Jay swore he hadn’t heard from Gerard so I stood on the balcony and watched over the party, my eyes darting back and forth. I casually asked around, until Daisy decided I was making her sad, and she introduced me to another man. He was fine looking, handsome, had a nice laugh. He was fine. We got on great, we brushed our hands discreetly together as we walked, we said things to make each other blush, it was a nice fling. But just because I had another man to flirt with didn’t mean I didn’t hope every wild-haired man I saw was Gerard.
Some people, they just sting. They dig in deep and you find yourself hoping they’ll be around every corner you turn. Some people.

Three weeks after Gerard slipped out of my bed, I was back at The Gimlet with Jay and Daisy, who were sitting closer to each other than they normally would, but Tom couldn’t make it out that night and they were feeling brave. Beside me was Pete, the man Daisy had introduced me to. He and I were making small talk for the most part, each nursing a whiskey. He had a nice smile and I enjoyed making him laugh. He was a musician too, a bassist. I had seen his band a few time in the juice joints. They were very good.
I looked over and Daisy was leaning into Jay’s shoulder. He looked happy. He was smiling, his eyes bright. I was happy for him. We never discussed his relationship with Daisy. I just never brought it up, even though I had spent much more time with the two of them recently. They never did anything too indecent around me, and even if they did, what was it my business anyway? They knew my deepest secret and never thought twice about it. I owed them the same respect.
I felt warm breath against my ear.
“Wanna get out of here?” Pete asked.
I looked at him. His eyes were half-open and a loose smile played his lips. He was drunk. I was drunk.
I nodded.
Pete stood suddenly and I followed his lead. Jay looked at us, smirking.
“Goodnight,” I nodded to him and Daisy.
“And to you,” he said. Daisy gave a slight wave, but was too entranced by Jay to care much about my leaving.
I followed Pete from the room and up the steps, down the narrow hall. We rushed through the pie shop, and walking down the street we leaned against each other as we walked made our way to my apartment. We were singing and shouting. I remember thinking how free Pete seemed. Loud and happy, no scars or skeletons. His hair was always kept short, he was always smiling, and he always told me what he was thinking.
And I felt bored by him.
But I was drunk, and I didn’t care. Being 23 meant leaning against Pete in the middle of New York, singing a jazz song. I had no business falling in love with anybody.
Once in my apartment it was a spinning blur. Shirts flying, pants dropping, desperate and needy hands grabbing wherever they could.
This is something.
I pushed Pete onto the bed and climbed on top of him. I pressed my hard dick against his and he let out a low moan.
This is something.
I attacked his lips with my own while I slowly slipped a finger into him. He squirmed beneath me, letting out a pained breath into my mouth. I let him adjust, and then I added another finger. He clung to me, his fingers digging into my shoulders. I let him adjust, before I started to pump my fingers in and out.
This is something.
“Enough,” he moaned, “I want you,” he said.
I nodded and lined myself up at his entrance. He wrapped his legs around my waste. I pushed myself into him. He cried out and I stopped but he urged me to continue. I went slowly, groaning as I thrusted in and out of his tight ass.
This is something.
“Harder,” Pete moaned.
And so I did. Hard and fast, bracing myself against my hands on either side of his head. He moaned and thrusted up against me, in rhythm with me. And it didn’t take long before I felt the warm, tingling feeling building up inside of me.
“I’m gonna-“
“Me too-“
My thrusts faltered as I came, and shortly after he did the same, all over our bellies. I pulled out of him and fell to my side, panting.
“That was something,” Pete said, also trying to catch his breath.
“Yeah,” I nodded and then got to my feet, going to the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror. My hair was getting long and it was standing up on it’s ends. I looked at myself covered in sweat and I thought about what happened. I forced myself to smile, even tried to feel happy for myself. But I felt nothing.
I wiped my stomach off with a towel and then came back into the room and tossed the towel to Pete, who did the same. I collapsed onto the bed next to him. He rolled over onto his side, facing away from me. It didn’t take long for his breathing to even out and I knew he was asleep.
I faced away from him, staring at the folded up piece of paper on my nightstand. I felt my eyes getting heavy and I sighed. I slowly let them fall shut. I drifted off to sleep, waiting to have, hoping to have, the same dream I’d had every night for three weeks. The dream of the dark haired man on the balcony below me, smirking around a cigarette.

Notes

Ah! Sorry, the story had to take a turn. Thank you for reading! I promise to bring G back.
Thank you so much for all of your comments! Ya'll are the bees knees.

Love,
-Me