Anonymous
Part Four: Mellon Collie
“We should let him come with us,” you said to Brian.
“We can’t, the hospital and the record label wants him to go for treatment. They want to make sure this isn’t going to happen while on tour.” I could tell from Brian’s voice he was at the breaking point. He never wanted the stress of taking on a band like us- a band this fucked up- but he did anyway. I think it was cause he cared about us…a lot. It was like our dad.
“He will be fine!” You argued, “it was a one time thing!”
“Then what happened back in the bed room?”
“It was an accident! His stitches got caught in my jacket and they just snapped.”
I doubt that was even possible, but I loved you for trying to explain how the stitches came undone. However, it was all in vain. Brian had no control over what the record label wanted and what the hospital thought I needed. And as I laid in your bed, that smelled of your tears and tacky cologne, I accepted my faith of being trapped in this god forsaken apartment: with you miles away.
I heard your footsteps come towards your room; I didn’t feel like talking to you. I think part of me was still mad for some reason. I am just a weird kind of guy huh? So I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. I felt you lean your body against the door and watch me. I could almost see how you would look: arms crossed over your chest, hair down and freed from gel- but looking greasy as ever- reading that iron maiden shirt I dreamt apart and tight jeans that accented your fine curves. Your head would be against the threshold, your hazel eyes shining through the darkness. You would look so intoxicating…I would be drunk in seconds after drinking up your sight.
You moved from your position and came to me. I felt the bed sink as you sat down, as close to me as you could allow yourself to get. Your rough fingers ran through my hair, sending shivers down my spine and too my groin. I apologize for being so horny but I am a twenty something year old who hasn’t had sex in fucking god knows how long. Anyway, despite his advances, I remained pretending to be asleep.
“Frankie,” you called me by the name I hated, “I fought for you. You can’t come with us; but I promise that if you just behave yourself for the next couple of months, you will be back with us…” you leaned into me, your lips hovering over mine, “back to me.”
You pressed his chapped, used, lips against mine for a quick second. I felt warm again. My heart finally began to beat; I didn’t know it had stopped, but it had. It stopped when you chose her. It was rapidly beating like it was on fire or something crazy like that. Even though you had left and my lips were cold, I felt…I felt. That’s what mattered. I felt you.
The echo of car doors coming to a close reached my ears. I heard Brian turn the ignition on, I heard Eliza’s cackle, and I heard the van speed off to the airport. I stared at the ceiling…at the white popcorn ceiling we made fun of. The streetlights from outside were reflecting a heavenly light onto the normally dirtiest part of our apartment. I stared into the white canyons and saw a new heaven within its mighty craters. I saw our haven. Our hiding spot. Where the world could never find us, judge us, and curse us. Where you and I can be you and I….
Gerard and Frankie: Frerard….
“We can’t, the hospital and the record label wants him to go for treatment. They want to make sure this isn’t going to happen while on tour.” I could tell from Brian’s voice he was at the breaking point. He never wanted the stress of taking on a band like us- a band this fucked up- but he did anyway. I think it was cause he cared about us…a lot. It was like our dad.
“He will be fine!” You argued, “it was a one time thing!”
“Then what happened back in the bed room?”
“It was an accident! His stitches got caught in my jacket and they just snapped.”
I doubt that was even possible, but I loved you for trying to explain how the stitches came undone. However, it was all in vain. Brian had no control over what the record label wanted and what the hospital thought I needed. And as I laid in your bed, that smelled of your tears and tacky cologne, I accepted my faith of being trapped in this god forsaken apartment: with you miles away.
I heard your footsteps come towards your room; I didn’t feel like talking to you. I think part of me was still mad for some reason. I am just a weird kind of guy huh? So I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. I felt you lean your body against the door and watch me. I could almost see how you would look: arms crossed over your chest, hair down and freed from gel- but looking greasy as ever- reading that iron maiden shirt I dreamt apart and tight jeans that accented your fine curves. Your head would be against the threshold, your hazel eyes shining through the darkness. You would look so intoxicating…I would be drunk in seconds after drinking up your sight.
You moved from your position and came to me. I felt the bed sink as you sat down, as close to me as you could allow yourself to get. Your rough fingers ran through my hair, sending shivers down my spine and too my groin. I apologize for being so horny but I am a twenty something year old who hasn’t had sex in fucking god knows how long. Anyway, despite his advances, I remained pretending to be asleep.
“Frankie,” you called me by the name I hated, “I fought for you. You can’t come with us; but I promise that if you just behave yourself for the next couple of months, you will be back with us…” you leaned into me, your lips hovering over mine, “back to me.”
You pressed his chapped, used, lips against mine for a quick second. I felt warm again. My heart finally began to beat; I didn’t know it had stopped, but it had. It stopped when you chose her. It was rapidly beating like it was on fire or something crazy like that. Even though you had left and my lips were cold, I felt…I felt. That’s what mattered. I felt you.
The echo of car doors coming to a close reached my ears. I heard Brian turn the ignition on, I heard Eliza’s cackle, and I heard the van speed off to the airport. I stared at the ceiling…at the white popcorn ceiling we made fun of. The streetlights from outside were reflecting a heavenly light onto the normally dirtiest part of our apartment. I stared into the white canyons and saw a new heaven within its mighty craters. I saw our haven. Our hiding spot. Where the world could never find us, judge us, and curse us. Where you and I can be you and I….
Gerard and Frankie: Frerard….