Anonymous

A year. That was how much time passed since you left my sight and never returned. 365 days…seemed like such a short time, perhaps, but to me seemed like an eternity. We canceled all our shows- Brian released a statement on the official My Chemical Romance board stating extreme exhaustion was the cause of the break. Sure. Lie some more to our fans, not like they care much anyway. They eat it up like candy- and for those who don’t…for the ones who sit in front of their computers and wonder what our true motives are, they lost faith in us. But neither group would ever know the truth of the break; you disappeared. That’s right. Once you boarded the plane to Portland, no one heard from you again. You were just gone.

I should have been happy, right? I could get over you now. Never have to see you again. But I couldn’t get over you, even if you were missing from my eye. Even if your voice never reached my ears. Because you were always around me…in my memories, haunting my dreams relentlessly. Broken shards from our past were imbedded in my skin, and every time I had the displeasure of looking at one of those scars I was reminded of you. It made whole “moving on” process much more difficult.

About three months into your disappearance, an old flame showed up at my doorstep, with pretty words dancing from his mouth. I was so wrapped up in the air of confession, that I ignored those little voices in my head, begging to not follow the fellow guitarist. The same voices that begged me not to sleep with him. And like always, I ignored them. I thought he could save me…before he was always there when you weren’t. He was the one I could count on when you were drunk, or high, or just being same-old selfish Gerard fucking Way. Because his eyes only stayed one color…he was always one person…

I thought it would be easier to love him….

The sound of crashing glass woke me up from my tortured sleep. I could hear laughter coming from the kitchen of the boy’s apartment; another one of my precious plates destroyed thanks to 9am drunken fools. I groaned and rolled my eyes at no one, staring at the murky wall of our bedroom; suddenly wishing I was in one of those five star hotels you just had to have. The boy who occupied the bed with me laughed gently and started to rub me through my boxers- an action performed with no love…or emotion…just average lust.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. This was supposed to be the end. I was supposed to be happy with Quinn- purged of my diseases that I caught from you. The story was supposed to be over!

I elbowed Quinn, hard, in the ribs; causing him to cry out in pain and roll onto his back. I immediately jumped off the bed and stomped out of the room, but not before his drunken “fucking prick,” reached my ears.

It wasn’t anything new. We called each other names all the time. Sometimes we attacked each other- violently- with fist and teeth, before getting turned on by the blood that oozed out of our wounds and fucking right there. That’s all it was, in the end, fucking. After living with him for a couple of months, I began to realize the love that surged his eyes was never towards me. But…I couldn’t let him go; I couldn’t be alone. Being with someone who couldn’t love me was better…I guess.

I walked out of the room, heading towards the kitchen to see Jeph and Dan drunk and playing “let’s get Iero pissed off for the fuck of it.” I glared at them as they drunkenly laughed me, neither of the ceasing their little game despite my clear aggravation. Bert sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee apathetically. His eyes scanned a crumbled piece of white paper with some interest.

“New song?” I asked, picking up some of my discarded clothing and placing them on my tattooed body.

Bert hardly looked at me, “No. A letter from a ghost.”

I cocked my head but didn’t question him further. He talked like he wrote- almost like you- and often never made sense. I took his little comment as nothing more that a simple metaphor that had nothing to do with me. Little did I know it had everything. A ghost. The Ghost of You.

Quinn emerged from the bedroom, pulling an unwashed shirt over his head, and approached me. “Next time you don’t want to fuck, a simple no would suffice.”

“Judging from how you acted two days ago, you don’t understand a simple no,” I snapped, causing him to roll his dark orbs.

“We are going out,” he announced to the guys, “try to clean up!”

They all grunted at their friend in response, and continued their mindless activities. Quinn grabbed my hand and lead me out of our New Jersey apartment, squeezing my hand all the way out as if to show my his disapproval with my current behavior. I heard it all before. Same old fight. Same old questions never answered. He was at the end of his own rope, but could never bring himself to leave before he inevitably fell. Maybe…he was a lot like me in the sense he didn’t want to be alone. Maybe he just didn’t want you to win. He didn’t want prove that he and I were just never supposed to be together. That’s like admitting defeat, and Quinn Allman just couldn’t do that.

We walked down the dead New Jersey block, ignoring the disgusted stares the faceless citizens threw at us. It was a hot July day; the haze that dripped in this state was almost unbearable, especially in the black clothing that adored my body. But I was used to it by now. Playing shows in hot as fuck weather, wearing long selves black shirts makes you almost immune to the heat. Note, I said almost. I ran my fingers through my newly shorted black locks that you always loved, groaning that the sweat that formed along my forehead. I looked at Quinn…his hair faired no better; but his newly blonde locks were always wet and greasy from lack of bathing, so I doubted he was annoyed by it.

“I want to go inside, someplace-“

“What’s your fucking problem? You fucking treat me like I am him!”

I yanked my hand away from him in half disgust. “Leave him out of this!”

He faced me, his eyes were dark and hopeless- his voice drenched in pain. “Why should I? He has been the bane of my relationship with you since day one!”

“Don’t put all the blame on him Allman,” I snarled.

“There you go defending him! After he abandoned you at the airport, broken! You called me in fucking tears, Frankie. And you know what I did? I flew me and my band here just so I could be with you! And yet you treat me like shit! I am only trying to fucking help you!”

Then I finally started to think…about Quinn. About the way his eyes would sparkle sometimes with hope and love. But the sparkles never fell on me- never. They always missed me…and instead fell on the floor, only to be stepped on by dirty feet. I realized those sparkles were always in his eyes- and at one time or another, had someone to catch them. Someone who could look at this blonde headed boy with the same kind of love I had for you. But that someone was gone now…

“I’m,” I swallowed back tears and pride, and stared Quinn dead in the eyes, “I’m not a fucking replacement…”

Quinn gritted his teeth, “Come again?”

The words just weren’t coming to me. I knew there was a word for it, I just couldn’t see it. It was stuck in my memory, buried under tons of shit that were more important than a fucking word. So I disregarded the melodramatics. I stood up straight, sighing to let the anger escape my body for a moment. I tried to get my thoughts together…the scattered thoughts that didn’t have a home.

Finally I found my place, opening my eyes that had somehow closed, and looked at Quinn. “I’m not Branden.”

The look in his face was shocking even to me; a mix of sadness with hatred and knowing. He was either going to cry or punch me; and for a second, the latter seemed more possible. But he didn’t. He didn’t do anything. I think he stopped breathing for a second, even. I would have given my life to see what was going on in that little head of his. But his eyes where so blank, that I couldn’t even get a simple idea.

Quinn finally found his voice, cracked; “I’m not Gerard.”

“So then why are doing this?”

It had become clear what was in both our eyes. Love for not each other, but for boys who were too far away to see anymore. It’s the reason why I never bothered going into detail my relationship with Quinn in the last year; it just wasn’t important. It wasn’t filled with the drama that plagued our lives and yet it wasn’t filled with happiness. It wasn’t even comfortable. It was just…there. Just something to pass the time. Some ass to fuck while calling out other people’s names in drunken passion. Quinn was always there; but at the same time he wasn’t. Plus, Fraquinn or Quankie, doesn’t sound good, does it? Doesn’t sound as good as Frerard.

“You…should call him then…if you aren’t Gerard,” I said sadly.

He laughed pitifully, “Yeah? And say what? Sorry I threw you out of the band you created because I was a jackass and cheated on you with from fucking kid.” He looked away, tears stinging his eyes. “Do you even think he wants to talk to me?”

I looked down at the cracked sidewalk- my feet on one side, Quinn’s on the other- admiring the little bit of vegetation that managed to grow in the darkness. I smiled at the green leaves of hope, as a single raindrop from a storm that had passed long ago dropped into the dark abyss.

“Quinn, if he is anything like me…he’s been waiting for your call for a long time.”

We walked in different directions- on different sides of the crack- never forgetting the time we shared, but never wanting to go back. Because in the end it was never love. It was a last resort. It was time to move on. Time to let all of the past die, so we could be reborn.

Time to wake up, Frank.