3 : 28

3: 28
Frerard

-



Gerard didn’t expect his brother to show up at his place, but there his brother stood at the entryway asking permission to proceed in. Gerard wasn’t comfortable with the idea of his brother showing up but he allowed him in and they sat on opposite sides of Gerard’s coffee table.

Mikey had grown far more than Gerard could have predicted, he still looked like his younger brother but instead of a sixteen-year-old he was now a twenty-six-year-old and married.

Gerard lit a cigarette smoothing himself to lean back against his couch momentarily. His gaze met Mikey’s, the man had aged a lot since he last saw him.

“How’s the wife?”

Mikey smiled, “Surprised that I wanted to show up here.”

“She isn’t the only one surprised,” Gerard smirked, “what brings you here, Mikey?”

Mikey frowned, “You know exactly why I’m here, Gerard… You can’t ignore reality anymore… You can’t shut people out—people that care about you—”

Gerard scoffed, cutting Mikey off, “Reality is a subjective word. I never asked you to personally tell me your version, Mikey…”

Mikey pleaded, “Gerard…!”

Gerard got up, “I think it is best you leave, Mikey… Tonight is not a good time…”

Mikey shook his head, “Gerard, you can’t keep avoiding me—the family, your family…”

Gerard held his hand up in defense, “When the time is right, I promise you… I will talk to everyone.”

Mikey, Gerard noticed, was holding back from either arguing or crying. Gerard this time shook his head and opened his door to escort Mikey out. Once Mikey left without a word of goodbye, Gerard walked around his apartment floor in numbed understanding…

They all knew, something that he kept buried so well—he thought no one would find out.

Reality became a distant unattainable object as Gerard’s hands shook and he could only see red flash behind his eyelids. He began to pace himself in circles, everything became fragmented in his mind as he laid his eyes on a painting that hung in his room over his bed, and he removed it and kicked the frame. He tore the canvas apart as he did, the tears slipped in hot rushes of anger and finally, he began to sob inconsolably to himself.

Gerard felt as if he was collapsing into himself, devastated by his own foolishness—the painting he had destroyed was the last one he had of Frank. Gerard hugged himself as his breakdown kicked into full swing at the sights of the destruction he had unintentionally done.

Painting was never Gerard’s best platform but he enjoyed it nonetheless, well, he began to enjoy it with having Frank’s company around. Frank was Gerard’s muse and he painted violent portraits of what Frank would purpose has stories. They were either bloody or morbid but the results made them both laugh at the ridiculousness of what Gerard would paint.

“Gerard, why do you always paint everything else but a self-portrait?”

Gerard chuckled as he stroked the red paint on the canvas, “Because I look ridiculous and I am the complete opposite of vain!”

Frank laughed, “I dare you to paint yourself in any medium you want!”

Gerard raised a playful brow, “Frank, you’re knocking on the wrong door.”

“Try it, c’mon…”

Gerard rolled his eyes and finally caved in, “Fine.”

Frank clapped, “I’ll help.”

He admitted he wasn’t the greatest artist but he decided to give it a try and as Gerard dipped his fingers into the black acrylic paint Frank dipped his in red. Each stroke made a vague version of what either of them could tell was a self-portrait, they were too busy laughing at each other and playing with the paint the both ended up being a spotted mess.

Something so innocent then, as the canvas showed a scary reality that was happening right before Gerard’s eyes.

Gerard screamed out in pain, he was alone and no memory of Frank could numb that.

-4

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