It's Not a Fashion Statement

“mikey?”
I step back, not believing it.
He looks at the floor guiltily, biting his lips whilst tears spill down his face.

“Why the fuck would you- all this fucking time?”
I sob; refusing to accept this is all happening, my own brother, best friend, why?

“I didn’t want to-“

“oh yeah? WELL SURE, CONSIDERING YOU’VE BEEN AT IT FOR THE PAST THREE FUCKING MONTHS.” I scream, pushing him back and onto the floor.

“no gee, it wasn’t me it’s not- gee it wasn’t me okay?” he cries, cowering on the floor, shuffling back and protecting himself with his arms.

“Yeah, you and Pete, fuck, I knew it was him. I just- you mikey? I knew you were really close with him and Patrick, and I know ever since ‘it’ happened you haven’t been quite as close with me. But fucking hell mikey? That’s just low… I don’t even know what to think of this- I fucking hate you, I can’t believe you’d do this-“
I break my sentence off, cries racking through my body because fuck, this is just a huge fucking mess.

My own brother?

“Gee, let me explain.”

He quietly whispers under his breath, backing against the wall and checking his surroundings suspiciously, before using the wall to behind him to pull himself up.

“I didn’t even touch frank.”

I stare dumbfounded at him, because come one, the evidence he is talking out of his shit hole is right in front of me. So therefore, may I be the first to ask what the fuck is going on then, dearest mikey, ‘brother’?

I bite back my frustration and temptation to literally fucking kill mikey, clicking my jaw and un-fisting my sweaty hands.

“It was... I, I didn’t do anything okay? He just threatened me and made it appear to be me so he wouldn’t be in the shit with you; I swear I didn’t lay a finger on frank… He just, it’s Bert, he’s here and I can tell you everything but we should go back because I’m not meant to be saying any of this but-

A click sounds and right before my very own eyes, my brother screams and falls to the ground in agony, gasping for breath, falling into a heap on the muddy floor, blood spilling out of his neck.

Oh. My. God.

“MIKEY!” I scream, running to his side, my heart racing and racing and my head spinning.

My knees give in, I fall to the ground beside his body, whilst he stops chocking and gasping for air, his hands drop down from the hole in his neck, drenched in his blood, down to his side, limp and his fingers curled into his palm.
No, no no no! This cannot be happening.


I pull him up, his head falling back and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his blood filled mouth agape and hanging open, nothing coming out or in, he isn’t even breathing. I check for his pulse, my hands shaking out of control, there’s no use even trying to find it; if it’s even still there, that is.


I try to regulate my breathing, tears pour down my face, whilst I prop him up against the wall and step away, pulling my phone out of my pocket and quickly dialing the police and services. If I had just done this earlier, if I wasn’t so selfish about Pete telling someone about what happened all those years ago, this wouldn’t have happened. My brother wouldn’t be fucking shot in the neck, because of me.

“Close one, wasn’t it, eh?”

Someone chuckles from behind me, oh what the fuck now? As if it isn’t bad enough already.
“Surprise you didn’t recognize me sooner, y’know”

I turn around, knowing full well who it is.
Wait, Bert?
i only just process what mikey said to me...

“Thought he was gonna tell you everything, couldn’t have that. But I guess my name was enough for you to know and send me back there, and by the time I shot him, he had already said it.”

He says it all so casually, like he hasn’t just shot someone. He bites the inside of his cheek, flashing his teeth and running a hand through his greasy hair.

“Wasn’t the plan to shoot your little bro, but turned out better than I expected, really. His fault for opening his mouth.”

None of this makes sense, not one bit. Why was mikey involved with Bert? Why would I send him somewhere… where the fuck is this there? And most of all, what have I ever done against Bert?

“Thought you had this all figured out, didn’t you, Way? Thought it was Pete all this time, I knew it. Let me tell you this now, you see, you think we were best fucking friends, and still friends after that incident, you know the one where we killed Patrick. That time you came down to the liquor shop and you got all drunk and fucked out of your mind high on drugs, you thought we were still on good terms, am I right? Well, whilst you’ve been living your high life, millionaire, world designer, model, perfect boyfriend, I was stuck to rot in a fucking prison cell, for four years straight. After you just left that night, leaving me with all the blame. The needles and shit, his body, you just left me by my fucking self to take all the god damn fucking blame-“

He steps closer, his face contorting into a frown, his hands clenching into tight fists, whilst he growls, growing impatient and mad, angrier by the second.
“And then, you fucking take half of my money, from my very own fucking business to kick start yours, whilst I’m thrown behind bars with a seven year fucking prison sentence.
And you know what? A few months ago, I escaped, and you, being the global superstar you are, I could get all the information I needed to tear you down and apart like you did with me. And I thought, what better way, than to hurt your gorgeous boyfriend, with your own brother, eh?”

He smiles, a sadistic grin breaking through his face, whilst his hands relax at his sides, tugging around to his back pocket, fuck, the police better hurry up because if he’s doing what I think he’s about to do-

“You called your little boyfriend, and guess what, the shouting worked, I called out, “put your phone away,” pushed mikey onto the scene after threatening his sorry ass, and you just walked right into this fucking trap, didn’t you, you walked into the fucking bullet, didn’t you-“

“GERARD, NO!”
Another click sounds, and before I can even comprehend what is happening, Frankie falls back into my arms, choking and gasping for dear life, because no, no no no. He just jumped the fucking bullet, the one that was meant for me.

Crimson liquid pours out of the wound in his shoulder, whilst his cries and screams, kicking around and clutching to it. My baby, my Frankie, god, my fucking everything.

I gasp out and cover my hands over the wound seeping with blood, everything moving in slow motion, spinning and turning the wrong way. My heart stops, completely frozen and my brain numb and senseless, whilst I cry and scream with him because no, not my frankie. I hug his shaking body close to mine, praying to some god up there the police and the ambulance would just get their asses right here, right the fuck now.
All of a sudden, I feel cold metal pushed up against my neck, forcing my head back against the brick wall.

“It’s not a fashion statement anymore, is it, way?”
Bert growls, inching towards the trigger.
“I think the more appropriate term would in fact be, a death wish.”
And he winks, before the last click echoes throughout my ears, tearing my brain apart.

Notes

"what ever you do, don't kill someone"