Anonymous

Bamboozle. I loved that festival. Great bands, great attraction, great fans. I took a mental note at the plethora of My Chemical Romance shirts adored the bodies of kids. I smiled when I saw the line at our merch table. I smiled because I knew that despite your behavior, the fans still cared about us- not just because they spent money on our clothes, but that they showed their support by wearing them. I was happy about that…and I hadn’t been happy in a long time. Not since you left me emotionally. Of course, though, I was only happy when I was away from the bus, and close to our fans. They seemed to understand me more than you did. It was kind of sad.

I walked onto the tour bus and spotted the cameras taking up the cramped space. I almost run out once I locked eyes with Steven- this was your interview…

But your voice called out to me. “No, come on Frank.”

I turned and looked at you, somewhat confused that you wanted me to be interviewed with you. I looked at Steven, who was already asking for another microphone for me. I figured the fans who would watch this already knew I was in the bus; they probably would want to hear from me, so I joined you despite the pull in my stomach telling me not to. I sat down next to you, the microphone clutched tightly in my hand, as Steven started up the interview again.

I eyed the ring on your finger, afraid that he was going to bring the ring up- like others have done before. What did you say? “It means I found someone special.” What a load. Now you were avoiding telling the fans the truth. Not to mention, you implied that Eliza was someone “special.” Special? What was so special about her? She didn’t have a job, she was funny looking, she was loud, obnoxious, and she can hardly cut hair! Was she special because she seemed to give a fuck about you? I gave a fuck. No, I more than gave a fuck. I loved you. I said I loved you. I said it before I blackout. I gave you want you wanted and you ignored it. Was it that hard to admit you loved me to? Despite how much you wanted me to say it…

“Gerard, do you sleep with your clothes on or off.”

Even though I had seemed interested in whatever bullshit Steven was spewing, that question caught my attention. I perked up at the chance to be me- Frankie- the sarcastic little asshole that everyone loved. That you loved. Yes, I knew you loved me…I knew it couldn’t be simple wishful thinking. You loved me, my attitude.

“With my clothes o-“ But I interrupted you…

“He sleeps with them off!”

Everyone looked at me weird; you looked for an explanation.

“We’ll that’s how it has to be when we sleep together. No clothes.”

You just laughed cutely at my behavior. But your eyes screamed that you were pissed at me. What, I couldn’t make jokes now? Would she be made that I may a gay joke about us? Why, because she knows how deep our feelings run? That we secretly want to be in that position. Naked.

You just laughed my comment off and corrected me- that you hated sleeping naked. I looked down at my shoes, trying to hide the disappointment in my eyes; I had to keep up appearances right? We couldn’t let our dearly devoted fans know what is really happening to us. We couldn’t let them know a woman was tearing us apart. I sighed and put my mask back on. We had to let them think we were happy. That we were friends and everything was fine. Most of all, we had to lie to ourselves. Ignore the situation. Ignore me.

Once the interview was over, I rushed to the back to the bus to hide. I didn’t even think you noticed how I rushed away from you. I leaned against the wall with my eyes closed, trying to figure out the part where we went wrong. Was it when I slit my wrist? Was it when I told you I hated you? And meant it? Was it way before that? Was it the drinking, the drugs, the long days in a cramp van? Was it Bert McCracken…the other man you managed to hurt? Maybe I should have known what you would do to me after I saw what you did to him. You know it still burns him? He hates you with every fiber of his being…and he was the one who could love you the most.

I felt another presence with me, but I ignore it- I figured it was Ray or Bob coming in for their gear. Then I felt the being in front of me; his hands on either side of me, like he was attempting to trap me. I could smell your stench and I knew it was you. But I didn’t want to open my eyes for fear I would be smack with that pissed off glint in your hazel orbs.

You leaned in closer, and I could smell the tacky cologne I got you trying to push past your regular male odor.

“Naked?” You asked.

“Yeah, why not, sounded funny. You know our fans and their sick ideas.”

“What’s so sick about it?”

I opened my eyes…you weren’t looking at me with hate or aggravation. Your eyes were confused and your face was sad. Sad. I hadn’t seen that emotion in you; it’s like you’ve been covering it up with bullshit. You cocked your head to the side; you looked like a child trying to figure out the meaning of life.

My breath was becoming strained from how could your body was to mine. “I don’t know. It isn’t sick…I…”

“Do you want to see me naked?”

I closed my eyes and swallowed hard- I couldn’t believe you were asking that question as if the answer wasn’t obvious. I grabbed your shirt and tried to not let go- but it was like the dream of us falling in water…I just couldn’t hang on. You were slipping away from me- she was the hook that was reeling you away.

But you took a step closer so our bodies were touching. Our hips were rubbing against our jeans, causing a painful friction to rock through our bodies. Your lips were barely touching my forehead, but I could feel your strangled breaths hit my head. You were in the same shape as I- so confused about what was happening, you couldn’t control it. Gerard, you were being pulled in so many different directions. You had to be so many people: a son, a brother, a fiancé, a friend, a leader, a musician, an artist, a lover, a hater, an advocate. But never were you allowed to be human right?

You kissed my forehead as if to comfort the insanity in raging war in my head. But I could do nothing to heal your wounds. Because your lips were too far away for me to capture- and I don’t mean physically but emotionally. You needed love, but there was a wall blocking my love from reaching you.

I went to embrace you- bury my face in your chest and get lost in your scent…and hope that you would feel my emotion- but you pulled away and shook your head. You looked away, trying to dodge the tears that wanted to fall from your eyes. You know your eyes turn green when you are sad? Beautiful light green eyes that lit up thanks to your dark black hair.

I took another step…you took away back. You were avoiding me. Running away from me. I went to call for you, but my pleas were drown out but the shouts from our manager and stage crew. Calling for you. They were always calling for you. Gerard Way they wanted. Gerard Way I needed.

You took a breath to compose yourself…and I took that chance to jump in front of you- to block you from leaving me again. You placed your hands aggressively on my shoulders: “Frankie, no!”

“We have to talk!” I argued above the cries for your audience.

“Frank, I said no,” and you shoved me again, roughly, and walked right past me.

I sat on the floor as tears began to form in my eyes- my need to cry was starting to get too much. It was tearing me apart from the inside; but I couldn’t cry. I didn’t want to admit you made me cry- that you were the reason for my own sinking depression. A single tear rolled down my face, and I watched as it landed on my blue jeans. I wrapped my arms around myself to try to give the illusion of warmth. Earning nothing but coldness.

“Frank,” a deep voice called for me.

I looked up and through my blurry vision saw Brian. He looked at me as if I was some cold, wet, puppy dog begging for love.

“Frank,” he sighed, “You are a wreck.”

My lips curled into a forced smile, “I’m the kind of human wreckage that you love.”