Something I Could Hold Onto

Quiet sunlight streamed through the cracked window, illuminating a sliver of pallid skin across Gerard's sleeping face. His eyelids twitched uncomfortably, marking the initial stages of awakening, and his hand soon stretched itself across his eyes.

"It's about fuckin' time!" said a familiar voice.

Gerard allowed himself to look at the voice's owner, his lanky form casting a shadow over the groggy boy's countenance.

"What time is it?" he slurred quietly, pushing himself off of the scratchy mattress.

"It's almost two, you lazy fuck! God, I've never seen you sleep off a hangover for that long," Mikey muttered bitterly, tossing a pillow at his brother's bare chest. "Now get the hell out of bed and help me clean up."

A few choice words were muttered incoherently under Gerard's breath, but he nevertheless stood and followed the younger boy into the living room.

Cliché red plastic cups and empty amber bottles littered the cream carpet; napkins, plates, various wrappers and a variety of clothing lay untouched on every available surface. Mikey, most likely sporting a headache to parallel the second Way's, sat despondently on the barely-clear sofa flicking through television channels.

"What are you waiting for?" he sighed. "Get to work."

Gerard couldn't quite place the origin of his sibling's hostility, much as he couldn't place the nagging sense of unease tugging at his fragile mind. The frustration of his uninformed condition soon became too much, and he unabashedly lashed out. Mentally severed fingers became attached to an empty bottle of Belvedere; his muscles flexed as he threw the glass against the wall behind him.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" he shouted, anger pumping visibly through his veins.

"You seriously don't remember?! Goddamit, Gerard, you're the fucking problem!" Mikey spat back, rising to full height and closing the gap between the two.

Their chests were touching; a venomous tint stained each of their eyes and the tension between the two essentially radiated from their skin.

"Where's your little friend, Gerard?" he questioned mockingly, looking down at his brother from his two inch height advantage. "Did you notice that he wasn't in your room like you had expected?"

Confusion etched itself across the elder boy's face, the disorientation only adding to his already pounding headache. "What do you mean-"

"Frank, you dipshit! That little punk you've been talking about nonstop for three-days straight! That kid you brought here last night hoping to get laid!" Mikey yelled, becoming more animated in his gestures as the speech progressed.

Fury erupted in Gerard's eyes as he stepped even closer to his raging brother. "Hold the fuck on! I never expected to get boned last night, you should fucking know me better than that-"

"And I thought I did!" the younger boy roared, quieting his defenseless brother. "I thought I knew you better than anything, Gerard," Mikey said, more softly this time. "I thought I had you pegged as this caring guy who would do anything for someone he cares about, someone who knew his damn limits. But then you bring a guy, a fucking kid younger than I am to my house. I thought it was just a date, but I guess you had other plans."

The pit of Gerard's stomach dropped significantly, causing the little stability in his system to fade. "What happened last night, Mikey?" he asked cautiously, not sure if he wanted an absolute answer.

A sigh escaped the skinny boy's lips as he cast himself back onto the couch apathetically. "You went into the guest room with him, completely plastered; next thing I know he's running out of the room shirtless and crying and you're chasing after him with a fucking boner." He flipped the off switch to the television before walking to the cluttered living room doorway. "You can pretty much guess what happened in between."

In the moment of his clarification, Gerard felt more ill than he ever had in his life despite being physically healthy. The pain in his head paled greatly to the gnawing ache in his heart.

"Clean this shit up," Mikey said quietly before walking into his room and shutting the door gently.

What did I do, what did I fucking- I have to talk to him, I need to see him…

Gerard's thoughts blended together in a perfect storm of repetition and utter desperation. He was alone with his conscience, alone with his actions, but more importantly he was alone – something Frank had momentarily helped him forget.

Gerard sank to his knees, defeated, and cried until his throat was raw. His shaking fingers crept into his loose jeans pocket, retrieving a scratched cell phone. With a deft familiarity, he dialed Frankie's mobile number, praying for a spark of inspiration to strike him once the boy answered his phone.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"Hi, you've reached Frank. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."

For sixty-two seconds, Gerard rambled hopelessly about his contrition and pleaded forgiveness. His voice stilled dripped with spent tears and guilt, but a tinge of sadness tainted the words.

For whatever reason, Gerard couldn't help but suspect that Frankie wouldn't "get back" to him any time soon.