Infinite

“Talking to Gerard” doesn’t necessarily mean “talking to Gerard right this instant”. I make my escape to the kitchen where Donna is still preparing the enormous Christmas dinner, and is complaining about “half of the guests being vegetarians”.

“I’m gonna talk to Gerard.”

She looks up from some Italian dish that Gerard and Mikey always persuades her to make. I know what it is from Gerard describing his ultimate Christmas food.

“Yes, I know. I talked to Bob about it just a few minutes ago. He said he was going to go talk to you about it.”

“That’s… great,” I manage to say, hopefully without any trace of sarcasm. I’m not sure how I feel about people trying to fix me, but maybe I needed a push in the right direction this time. If this is the right direction.

After advising me to wait until after dinner, Donna ushers me out of the kitchen and tells me to go talk to Alicia and Jamia. I do as she says, but also wonder who I am to them – Gerard’s ex, probably. I feel a bit intimidated by the fact that both of them managed to hold on to their band members.

I’ve never met any of them before today, but as soon as they see me coming they put on friendly faces and look like I’m a long lost sister. They are both older than me, but I’m used to that by now, since I rarely hang out with people my own age who aren’t part of my band.

“Aubrey, right?” Alicia asks, even though I’m sure she’s certain of my name. "Mikey’s told me so much about you."

Making conversation when you’re desperately trying to avoid looking at someone across the room is not easy, and I think Jamia and Alicia notice exactly where my gaze wanders as I try to keep up with our conversation. They don’t say anything about it, though. I’m used to people knowing about me and Gerard and I’m pretty sure most of the people in this room are wondering what I’m doing here.

At the dinner table I end up seated between Frank and Mikey, and I force the delicious food down my throat because even though I’m starving, I have no appetite. The faces around me are a blur of colors and the voices mix together until I can’t make out what they’re saying.

You have to talk to Gerard.

I can’t do this. I really can’t.

He hates you. He always hated you. What are you even doing here?

“Excuse me,” I whisper and almost make my chair fall over in my hurry to leave the table, but I don’t miss Frank’s concerned look or the sudden silence my departure causes.

Fuck this. I don’t even know why I bothered to come. Gerard obviously doesn’t care about me at all, and everything they’ve been telling me has just been to keep me from jumping off a cliff or something.

Well, thanks for nothing.

I don’t know how I end up in the basement, in Gerard’s room, but I have to sit down to keep myself from falling over. Barely managing not to hyperventilate, I’m curled up against the wall next to the bed, with my legs pressed against my body. I'm shaking, and I barely register the sound of someone walking down the stairs.

“Hey.”

Gerard. Kneeling in front of me and touching my cheek, looking me in the eye.

He hasn’t touched me in over six months. I suddenly remember the first time we slept together, and how he touched my cheek exactly like this when we were lying next to each other afterwards. His hair, slightly damp from sweat. The way he smiled at me then.

Come to think of it, all of that happened in this very room. That memory hasn’t hurt me like this in a long time.

“Hey.” If this was a movie, I would have smiled and the exchange of heys would have been a perfect opening for making up. It’s not, though. I don’t smile.

“I’m glad you came here tonight.” He sits down properly, and leans against the wall to my left. I try to take a deep breath but only manage to make it sound like a pathetic sob.

“You didn’t really look like you were.”

“I had no idea mom invited you.” He makes a short stop, and then takes a deep breath: “It really is nice seeing you. I just didn’t know what to say and I kind of… panicked.”

We sit in silence, both waiting for the other to say something. There’s still so much I want to tell Gerard, but I can’t form the words.

“It’ll work out.” I utter the words mostly to have something at all to say, and in a way I mean it. Gerard gives me a quizzical look.

“What will?”

“This. Us.”

As I say it, I realize it’s the same words Gerard used when he broke up with me. This. Us.

“Yeah. Probably.” Then, he takes a deep breath, trying to gain some footing. “I just wanted to tell you… I was scared. I was scared because…because I knew I was just going to hurt you, whatever I did. And I knew I had already hurt you when I found the courage to call you again, so I never did."

Is he trying to apologize?

When I don’t say anything, he hesitates before he continues.

“I was a jerk. I didn’t think, I… I just thought that you’d get over it. I thought that I’d get over it."

I want to bang my head against the wall.

No, I want to bang his head against the wall.

“Oh. Great plan.”

There’s an almost-smile playing at his lips when he hears the sarcasm in my voice, and I know that even though I don’t want anything else than to just sit here with him for the rest of the night, my heart is going to break again if I do that.

“I need to… go.”

I get up from my position on the floor, wincing as my legs protest after being in one position for too long. Stepping over Gerard’s outstretched legs, I make my way towards the stairs.

“Aubrey."

I turn around at the sound of his voice. There’s something off about it, but I can’t figure out what.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not a very strong apology, and it doesn’t fix everything like you’re told apologies do when you’re little. I’m not really sure what he’s sorry for, either – is it for breaking my heart, or for not being able to explain himself properly? But he really seems to mean it, and that has to count for something.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I know.”

Sitting in the car, I realize that the image I’ve created in my head during the past months is completely off. Because Gerard is not some distant memory, and neither is he the perfect guy I thought left me because I wasn’t good enough. It feels as if I forgot all I knew about him the moment I decided that it was my fault. And I realize, with a sudden spark, that I’m actually mad at him. I was mad at first, for his lousy excuse and his even worse way of breaking up, but I have twisted everything into believing that nothing was his fault. It just seemed easier that way.

As I drive out of Belleville towards the city, there’s a small, fluttering part of me that wants nothing more than to think about Gerard’s hand on my cheek. The other parts are listening to the angriest ones of Karl’s car CDs, trying to make sense of what just happened.