Sequel: Postcards From... ›
Status: Re-written
The Club Is Open Until 8:00Pm
Trente
Gerard's POV
"FRANKIE GIVE ME THE GODDAMN PHONE!!" I yelled through gritted teeth. He shook his head while holding the phone, my cell, behind his back. "Not when you're like this! You're fucking crazy if you're seriously thinking about calling her."
I ran a frustrated hand through my hair, no doubt pulling out a few hundred strands. "Frankie give me the phone!" I lounged for it, missing the phone by inches and banging my pinkie on the edge of the dresser and pinching the nail.
"Son of a bitch!" I grunted with a sharp intake of air. I started to suck on the tip of my finger. Someone knocked on the door to my hotel room. "What?!" I called. Ray and Bob peaked their heads in. "We heard yelling. Is everything ok?" I sat on the edge of my bed, sucking on the tip of my little finger. "He got the genius idea to call his old fucking girlfriend." Frank explained crossly.
"Shannon?" Ray guessed. They were hovering by the door, scared to enter but not wanting to leave. "No not Shannon, Monet's mom, Lynnea." There was a silence that seemed to drape over everything and everyone in the room.
"Why on earth would you wanna call her?" Ray asked. "Because Monet actually knows her. Lynnea could help me."
"Help you, help you with what?" Frankie asked. "I wanna be Monet's father again." Everyone stared at me. "Gerard, you never stopped being her father. Even though you haven't seen her for awhile, you still care about her and worry about her. I think that's as much as a father you could ever be to her." Frank tried. "What is that suppose to mean?"
"You're in a band currently touring; suddenly picking up a 15-year old daughter is not very smart. I'm not her father, but if I was, I would just leave her alone. The family she has now is normal comparative speaking. I would never wanna take that away from her."
Frank seemed to register the stares he was receiving from everyone. Bob's, Ray's, and Mikey's who had just walked in a few minutes ago. "But like I said, I'm not her father. You are." Frank tossed the phone on the bed next to me and left. The others left thinking I wanted to be alone.
Frankie was right. He wasn't her father. He didn't know what I was going through. He didn't know what seeing those pictures had done to me. How they had made me felt.
I picked up the phone and filed through my wallet. Her number was in here somewhere. I found it on the back of a gas card. Now hopefully it was the right number. I glanced at my watch. 7:45pm which means Paris would be 1:45am. six hours ahead of us. I would have to wait until tomorrow morning to call.
I set the phone down, my mind still going over what Frankie had said.
"FRANKIE GIVE ME THE GODDAMN PHONE!!" I yelled through gritted teeth. He shook his head while holding the phone, my cell, behind his back. "Not when you're like this! You're fucking crazy if you're seriously thinking about calling her."
I ran a frustrated hand through my hair, no doubt pulling out a few hundred strands. "Frankie give me the phone!" I lounged for it, missing the phone by inches and banging my pinkie on the edge of the dresser and pinching the nail.
"Son of a bitch!" I grunted with a sharp intake of air. I started to suck on the tip of my finger. Someone knocked on the door to my hotel room. "What?!" I called. Ray and Bob peaked their heads in. "We heard yelling. Is everything ok?" I sat on the edge of my bed, sucking on the tip of my little finger. "He got the genius idea to call his old fucking girlfriend." Frank explained crossly.
"Shannon?" Ray guessed. They were hovering by the door, scared to enter but not wanting to leave. "No not Shannon, Monet's mom, Lynnea." There was a silence that seemed to drape over everything and everyone in the room.
"Why on earth would you wanna call her?" Ray asked. "Because Monet actually knows her. Lynnea could help me."
"Help you, help you with what?" Frankie asked. "I wanna be Monet's father again." Everyone stared at me. "Gerard, you never stopped being her father. Even though you haven't seen her for awhile, you still care about her and worry about her. I think that's as much as a father you could ever be to her." Frank tried. "What is that suppose to mean?"
"You're in a band currently touring; suddenly picking up a 15-year old daughter is not very smart. I'm not her father, but if I was, I would just leave her alone. The family she has now is normal comparative speaking. I would never wanna take that away from her."
Frank seemed to register the stares he was receiving from everyone. Bob's, Ray's, and Mikey's who had just walked in a few minutes ago. "But like I said, I'm not her father. You are." Frank tossed the phone on the bed next to me and left. The others left thinking I wanted to be alone.
Frankie was right. He wasn't her father. He didn't know what I was going through. He didn't know what seeing those pictures had done to me. How they had made me felt.
I picked up the phone and filed through my wallet. Her number was in here somewhere. I found it on the back of a gas card. Now hopefully it was the right number. I glanced at my watch. 7:45pm which means Paris would be 1:45am. six hours ahead of us. I would have to wait until tomorrow morning to call.
I set the phone down, my mind still going over what Frankie had said.
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Really tried to make this chapter something special, so hopefully you liked it :)