Mirror, Mirror On The Wall

I sat on my bed in fresh clothes and a new feeling that settled inside me, security. This room held so many memories and it was just like a trip back in time. It was like when My Chemical Romance was still around, Mikey was still alive, and... I wasn't sick. I sighed to myself and looked up at the ceiling, there were hundreds of sketches in different mediums I had created. I scanned one in particular, it was of New York City during 911 being bombed. At the time I was working at a comic bookstore, I remember it all. Across the top of the page were the lyrics to our old song 'Skylines and Turnstiles'. Fuck, it was MCR's first song I wrote. It was my inspiration to make a difference in the world. My eyes flicked to another sketch that was fully painted in watercolours. It was of a scared boy with a gun to the back of his head, execution style. That boy was me at one time, when I was fifteen I saw the face of death but never followed him. That was many years ago though. I realized I was breathing hard and my eyes were shedding tears at the painful memories. I bit my lip and counted to ten. I calmed down and sat up on the bed. I could hear Frank downstair doing something, probably freaking out. It's amazing how apathetic I feel at this moment. Frank has done so much for me but I couldn't care less. Fucking medication... I got off the bed and walked downstairs to see what was going on.

Frank was cleaning. He looked incredibly nervous as he dusted a picture. I watched for a moment, he didn't seem to notice me. He just kept dusting the same spot. It was a painting of one of his old dogs. He didn't have any anymore, he never told me the reason.

"Frank?" he snapped his head up and grinned at me.

"Hey Gee! How are you feeling?" the smile was fake, the cheerfulness was fake, and he was pissing me off.

"Just kill him." Revenge whispered seductively. Time to take my meds...

"I'm fine. How about you?" I raised an eyebrow at him. He was stressing out to no end. Another clash of lightning lit up the room and Frank screamed. He dropped the duster and ran for a door. He opened it, ran inside and slammed it behind him. A roll of thunder made the lights flicker and I glanced up at the ceiling. I sighed and walked over to the closet. Maybe Alex had meds for a fear of storms? I quietly rapped on the door of the closet.

"Frank, are you okay?" no answer. "Frank, open the door." I sighed again. He liked jokes, he loved to laugh. I heard whimpering on the other side of the door. It was just like the old days.
"Frank, come out of the closet and I won't judge you, hell I like men okay." the door creaked open and I peeked inside. Frank was sitting in a pile of coats and shoes.

"Do you really?"

"No, it was just to get you out." I reached in and pulled him out of the closet. Another roll of thunder shook the house and Frank clung to me like a cheap suit. I hugged him back and told him it was okay. "Come on." I said after a while. "Ignore the storm, let's clean up before Jamia comes home."