Anonymous

I thought about that day, over and over. Wondering if maybe I had done something different, we could have avoided the turmoil today. Maybe if I stayed with you, choose you over Jamia. Or maybe if you had told me “Demolition Lovers,” was meant for me. Or maybe, just maybe, I had told you my feelings the moment I saw you on stage for the first time. Through my drunken eyes, blurred and teary, I saw this beautiful man with short black hair and entrancing green eyes get up on that unforgiving stage after me. He was drunk and stumbling like an idiot- and I laughed at his pathetic display. My Chemical Romance. That was their name. I mocked it, laughed at it; drunken slurs escaping my mouth that made no sense even to me, now, thinking about it. But then…he began to sing. And through my drunken state, his voice broke through and rattled my brain. The passion, the words, and the love with every note…my heart began to flutter…

That never changed. The only thing that did was my position; from observer to performer. I stood next to you at every show, concentrating on my own notes while listening to your voice. It sometimes felt like the only time you and I were close. My guitar against your voice like sex. We were band lovers, not real lovers, though it was clear we wanted that to change.

But after Eliza had came into the picture, we weren’t even band lovers. You avoided me on stage, hovered by Ray, or Mikey, or Bob…but never near me. If you did, your hands would get a mind of their own and touch me. Rub my chest and cause me to fuck up whatever I was playing. You did this once during the whole tour, because if you did Eliza would screech. Call you a cheater. A liar and a cheater. But I think from the way your eyes would die every time you came from another one of her verbal beatings, she called you more than that.

Then, after months of avoiding me on stage- dodging even the slightest glance- Download came and suddenly you change. You were following me around the stage- though still pacing as if you were bored, you made it a point to never get to far from me. That tingle…the tingle from our first kiss…pulled my stomach. That feeling of butterflies danced around me every time you hovered close enough. I couldn’t focus on whatever song I was playing; I could only focus on the feelings that swirled within my body, all telling me to kiss you. Kiss you for real, for the first time. The thought raged war in my head throughout the set…until you started singing “I’m Not Okay.” That song, the first time our fans saw my lips touch you…

But I wasn’t going to wait ‘til the inevitable “trust me.” I couldn’t wait. The butterflies were flapping their wings crazily; soaring through my body and tickling the strings that kept my broken heart together. I decided the song could go to hell. She could go to hell – “avoid kissing me for now…Eliza isn’t used to it.”- Do I care?

I came towards you, were you stood singing into the microphone- half to the fans, half because you had to despite how tired you felt. Then I did something, no guitarist should ever do: I stopped playing and let go of my guitar. I ignored that you were mid-song, and grabbed your head…pulling you to kiss me…

Our noses got in the way, causing us to miss completely. It was sloppy, disgusting to some even; mouths open with want and need. I couldn’t let you get away from me that easily. I gripped your hair and forced your lips on to mine. You sent shockwaves through my body, causing all those butterflies to explode within me. It had to have been a few seconds, but for me…it felt like hours that our lips were together. Everything in slow motion from that point. I could feel your tongue slowly push through your lips…but I beat you, opening my mouth so that our tongues would meet for the first time in ages.

I slipped my tongue under yours, angled it up, and dragged it along yours, causing your body to shudder. Your free hand clutched my hip, rubbing my clothed body as a silent begging for skin to skin contact. I would have ground my hips into yours if it wasn’t for the pesky guitar blocking us.

Guitar…show. We were playing a show. The shrieking from a million fangirls brought us back to reality. We ran in separate directions, our backs facing each other. I was half interested in the song after that; I just didn’t care. I kissed you. I kissed you for real. Not a stage kiss. Not a kiss to drive fans insane.

I looked at you, slowly…scared. You turned your head slightly to look at me- your eyes were beautiful…not green, or brown, or any natural color. They were pure and confused. They wanted me, only me. I didn’t see Eliza’s thought anywhere in your eyes. Just me….Just me…?

Was I all you ever wanted?

You saw the doubt in my eyes and I guess you needed to show me that…what your eyes spoke was the truth. You followed me to my tacky hotel room after the show; secretly, to make sure I didn’t notice you, even though I did. I could smell you a mile away; I don’t see how I could possibly miss you.

You had been mad at me earlier because I refused to share a room with you in that five-star hotel room you just had to have. I wanted to go back to when we were still a small band, living out of a van, and only getting hotel rooms when we needed a real bed. Those hotel rooms were almost always rat invested and resembled the hostel’s in that movie…Hostel. We fought about it, and decided to just sleep in separate hotels. That’s the first sign of a failing band right? Sleeping in separate hotels. Next will be separate busses. Third will be separate lives. Separate ideas. Until one of us snaps and leaves (or get kicks out).

I was staring at the brown door with the broken number six glaring down at me. I heard the creaking of the old wood floor, and turned slightly to see you creeping over to me. You froze when you saw I noticed you, but a dangerous smile danced across your face.

“Iero,” you said, walking casually to me, “this place smells like shit. Come back to my room. It’s nice.”

I rolled my eyes, “No fucking way, I like it here.”

“Look, you can stop being stubborn, okay? I’m sorry for arguing with you earlier-“

“It isn’t even about that,” I whispered, my eyes wilting to the dirty floor with abandoned rat droppings.

Your hand made its way to the small of my back, rubbing the tension that had been buried in there from years of touring. I tried not to give you the satisfaction of hearing the pleasure you were causing me, but alas, I let out a strangle moan and leaned my head against the door.

“Frankie,” you whispered against my ear, “I want you.”

Those weren’t the words that I wanted to hear, but my heart was being ruled by my growing penis and not with logic. I swung around and faced you, your eyes covered in lust. I should have stopped, but I didn’t. I grabbed your shirt and pulled your lips to crash against mine. And instead of the slow motion kiss of passion…this became a fast paced kiss of nothing by pure lust. Something that, in the end, would most likely leave me empty and depressed. But I allowed you to continue, forcefully.

You pressed me hard against the door, rubbing my hard-on with your hand through my jeans. I moaned and twisted under you, burying my fingers in your growing black hair. You moved your lips down my jaw to my neck, where you sucked and bit every few seconds to send shockwaves of pleasure down my spine. I messed with my jeans; trying like a spaz, who was doing this for the first time, to get my jeans off. Your hands traveled under my shirt, feeling every bit of flesh offered to you. You rubbed your thumb against my nipple…the feeling caused me to jerk and grind my hips against yours…

An “Oh God, Gerard,” escaped my lips. Our erections rubbing against each other…the lust suddenly took me over and I just wanted you in me. Fucking me. Yes I wanted you to fuck me, not make love to me. I don’t know why, I just suddenly gave up…

Then the letter I wrote popped into my head…

I had no control over my mouth…

And before I could even stop the words from falling out of my mouth: “I wrote that Anonymous letting at INO.net.” They were already dancing in your ears.

You pulled away from me; your eyes narrowed and brown, staring me down as if I was a roach under your foot.

“You did what!” You took my small body and slammed me against the door. “You little shit! You know how much shit you fucking caused.”

I shook my head, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it would get that bad.”

“Didn’t know!” You released me from you grasp, “She told me it was you and I thought she was overreacting. You lied to me.”

That word. Lied. I lied to you. I fucking lied to you! I wanted to punch you in the face. Just beat the living shit out of you until you looked like Jared Leto from fight club after Ed Norton disfigured his pretty boy face.

“Oh you dumb bitch,” I snarled, “like you fucking lied to me!”

And you got there first…

Your first connected with my face…hard…sending blood and spit from my mouth. I fell to the floor with a loud thud that shook the unsteady walls of this tired tacky hotel. I looked up through my tear filled eyes…with enough time to see you run away from me…

You left for the second time…only this time, you didn’t come back to pick up the pieces.