Their Hearts Don't Beat Like Ours

It was a Tuesday. A very gloomy Tuesday. The worst Tuesday, with the worst weater.
Black Tuesday.
I was always so bad in History, I don't remember what that phrase meant, or if it was something. Wasn't it?
Lindsey was amazing at History. She would help me in my advanced art history classes. I'm not sure if I miss her, I think I miss knowing she's there. When she was in prison, I didn't miss her. But I like knowing she was there. That that was someone else thinking of and loving Bandit. Bandit deserves so much love. She didn't deserve to lose her mothers love to suicice.
Lindsey was smart. She claimed her stomach was hurting at lunch. Knowing the guards would be occupied and wouldn't make it in time to save her. She cut herself and bleed to death. The coroner report said it took her at least 45 minute to bleed out and die. When we first got together, I saw her scars. She promised she'd never do it again. She lied.
Back to Tuesday. Today is Lindsey's funeral. It's me, Frank, and Bandit. Yes, I'm bringing her. She's too small to know what's going on, she won't remember a thing. Lindsey would want her here.
I see so much of Linds in Bandit. I've heard stories where people can't even look at the child of deceased because of the similarities, even there own kids. I don't know how that's possible. Bandit doesn't make me sad. She makes me happy. She's Lindsey's legacy. Lindsey might have been a shitty person at times, but she made such a beautiful thing. She left her mark on the world; and that should be something to smile about it.
I won't go into detail about the funeral. Her mother spoke. Kitty spoke.
Everyone was there. Her lawyer, Brendon, her family, Jimmy and his family, Mikey and Pete, and even my family came. She didn't have many close friends. But that's okay. The service was beautiful. The satin in her coffin was red. The flowers were all Red Roses. She was buried in a black sleek dress with her hair curled, and me and Kitty insisted she have bright red lips. It wouldn't be Lindsey without them.
The whole thing was exactly how Lindsey would have planned it, or at least, I'd like to think so.
When Frank and I arrive home, Bandit is asleep. I take her to her crib and then go to lay down myself, stripping my black dress clothes and replacing them with pajama bottoms and a David Bowie shirt. Frank comes and practically does the same, except he puts on sweat pants and a Misfits shirt.
I decide I need a nap. So, I lay down and curl up under the covers.
I hear Frank speak from the other side of the room.
“Can I join you?” He ask me. I have the urge to say no, but then again, a cuddle buddy would be really nice. So I nod my head and open the covers beside me. Frank smiles a little and comes over to me. He wraps his arms around me tightly and buries his head in my neck. We fall asleep quickly.
I'm not sure what Frank dreamed about, but my mind is full of vodka and whiskey running down my throat.
No, Gerard. You always want to drink when you're sad. It's not your fault. It's the addiction trying to return. It'll pass, if you don't drink.
I repeat those lines a million times in my head in my dreamland.
I expected the craving to leave once I started to feel better. But, perhaps, I wasn't getting better. I felt better. I didn't think about Lindsey as much. I came to terms with her death. But I still found myself driving slower by the bar or liquor store. Finding myself walking by the spirits section in the grocery store.
I realized, it wasn't alcohol that I missed. It was Lindsey. Alcohol was a large part of our relationship. That's why me getting sober seemed to ruin it. I needed something to make me feel close to her. It's like her death has made me fall in love with her again. Perhaps, I never fell out of love with her. Maybe my love just faded. That's it. I'll always love her. She was my first love. It didn't take long for me to accept this, and then to realize that I love Frank in a different way; a stronger way. A way that will never die, not even with our death.
I told Frank about my cravings to avoid any fights. He used to enjoy a few beers on Friday night. He'd ask me to go get him a six pack. But it's been a couple weeks, and he hasn't done that. I feel bad. I'm preventing him from having his little pleasures.
It's like I relapsed without committing the action. That's how I feel. Which is weird. I even thought about taking one of Frank's pain meds. He gets migraines, so she has sedatives prescribed to him.
“How do you feel, today, baby?” Frank ask me. Making us pancakes for breakfast. I'm holding Bandit at the island, watching her play with my necklace.
“I don't know. I still have that headache, but I don't want to drink. I just feel like my bodies trying to change that, though.” I reply.
“Y'know, I was thinking, you never started smoking back up after Bandit was born. Maybe starting again will help? I mean, it's still horrible for you, but you get the picture.” I didn't think of that. That could do a lot.
“That's actually not a bad idea. Can I have some?”
“Of course. They're on the back porch. Let me finish this pancake and I'll take Bandit.”
After the pancakes are done, I go ahead and eat them while they're hot.
As Frank is feeding Bandit, I step out on to the back patio, walking over to the pack of cigarettes on the table. I pick one out, and grab the light. I watch the fire for a second before connecting it to the end of the cig. I inhale stronger then I ever have, holding it in my lungs for a few moments, and exhaling through both my noes and mouth.
God, that's good.
I take another hit, just like the previous one. After about half the cigarette is smoked, I realize the headache is gone. Once it's done, I smoke another, and eventually four more.
Maybe I just needed something to do with my mouth and my mind went to drinking.
I guess, I'm lucky it didn't go to blowjobs. Fortunate for me, quite unfortunate for Frankie.
I have a feeling that moving on from Lindsey's death completely, or at least as much as one can move on from a loved ones passing, the wanting to drink will go away too.
Maybe I need help. Maybe I should go to a therapist. Yeah, I think I should.
I told Frank about the idea the next day, he completely agrees. In fact, he's very proud of me for doing what I need to do. I guess most people would be in denial and wouldn't ask for help or even tell there loved one about it. I'm proud of myself too.
We call the best therapist in town, and set an appointment for the following Wednesday.
The last time I got therapy, I was in denial and forced into it by Mikey. Hopefully it'll go better this time.

Notes

hey guys! i will now be updating weekly until the end of this story, which is soon.
there are now 4 chapters left and then the epilogue.
anyways, this is kinda a filler, with little dialogue, but it's a little inside to how gee is dealing with lindsey's death (and sorry to those who liked her CHARACTER)


subscribe to see how the story ends! please give me feedback, i enjoy reading comments.vote cause you get to make the stars pretty.
and ofcourse, stay lovely!