Sequel: Upwards

Frontwards

Fireworks.

STILL Saturday, November 5th, 2005

It is a truth universally acknowledged that an attractive man becomes exponentially more attractive whilst playing a guitar. Any woman could tell you that; it’s basic maths. And I am a master of maths. So trust me when I say that watching Frank do his thing on that stage made me quite weak at the knees. It was swoonworthy, if that’s even a word.

To avoid probable death from obsessive fans, I watched from the wings backstage. It was pretty mesmerising, to be honest. I mean, the whole band were great, but naturally I was mostly drawn to Frank. Every now and then he would catch my eye and give me a quick wink that would make my heart leap up to my throat or plummet down to my stomach.

The set ended with the biggest cheer I have possibly ever heard in my whole life, and I leant back against a pillar and stared up at all of the stage equipment above me and I thought, is this really my life?

Only two days ago I was Daisy Montague; accountant and social outcast. Today, I am Daisy Montague; rockstar seducer, waiting backstage at a gig for the guitarist so I can go have crazy sex with him. Dear Lord, am I a groupie?!

“Hey, beautiful,” came a familiar voice, followed by a peck on the cheek, and I snapped out of my thoughts to focus on a very sweaty and very happy-looking Frank Iero. Swoon swoon swoon.

“Hey,” I replied, catching him this time on the lips, as I heard another band member mutter distastefully at us. I didn’t really pay too much attention as to who it was because I am carefree now, remember? “You were amazing,” I said to Frank, and then looked behind him at the rest of them. “You were all really really good.”

Really really good. Gosh, Daisy, how eloquent.

“Thanks, sugar,” Gerard grinned, embracing me in an abrupt and uncomfortable hug. I’ve never been a big hugger, ladies and gentlemen. British people rarely are. We are just not the touchy-feely types. We communicate our affections with respectful head-nodding and thumbs-ups. Not hugs. So I was a little startled by the gesture but tried my best to laugh it off. Pretty sure they all still think I’m insane though. Perhaps they are right.

Anyway, as we finally left the venue for the cabs outside, we were instantly mauled by a mob consisting predominantly of scantily-clad neon-haired teenage girls who seemed to want a) the boys’ autographs and b) me dead. Thankfully I was still just about tipsy enough not to take this to heart because I am very sensitive. Instead I just politely weaved my way through them and into the awaiting taxi, as Frank had told me to do.

I waited in the cab for a while (17 minutes according to the clock on the radio) while the taxi driver ignored all of my polite questions. Eventually I just gave up and then another few minutes passed in silence before Frank finally clamoured in, slamming the door on some angry-looking fans and grabbing my cold hand with his incredibly warm hand and kissing me on the cheek and making me hyperventilate slightly at all the incredible hotness.

“I’m really sorry about that,” he said, rolling his eyes, and I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or the driver. “Haymarket, please.” This one was obviously aimed at the driver.

Frank is staying at the Haymarket. The freaking Haymarket. For those of you not familiar with London, I’ll have you know that the Haymarket is one of the fanciest, trendiest hotels in the city. The kind of hotel with marble bathtubs and velvet cushions and goose-down pillows and champagne breakfasts with croissants and foie gras and caviar. It’s irrelevant that I prefer showers and am allergic to feathers and don’t like any of those foods because it’s all so fancy. The fanciness is overwhelming.

So there I was, in the middle of this huge room, with my mouth hanging open in awe, just absorbing the fact that this was real life and feeling incredibly spoilt. Most girls can only dream of their boyfriend treating them to a night in such an establishment, or even simply being able to afford the £250 bill (champagne breakfast is extra) and here I was with a man I had known for only twenty-four hours. Funny how things happen.

I know you’re probably thinking this is all a bit far-fetched and I would have to agree with you, but there you go. You can choose to believe me or not, it’s up to you. I’m having a hard enough time believing it myself.

It was as I was fingering the velvet curtains that I felt Frank’s arms snake around my waist and he planted a long, soft kiss upon my neck that lingered long after his mouth had moved away. Dear god.

Suddenly, from outside the window there was a loud whistling and a bang and a flash of colour lit up the sky. In the midst of all of this mayhem I had forgotten what day it was.

“Bonfire night,” I said by way of explanation, and then I let out a small laugh as I recited the nursery rhyme to myself. “Remember remember the fifth of November; gunpowder, treason and plot.”

“I see no reason the fifth of November should ever be forgot,” Frank finished with smooth tones, kissing me again on the neck and making me shiver. It all seemed quite poignant, despite the obvious syntactical error that I could not help but notice. But hey, that’s just how the song goes.

Soon my legs were around Frank’s torso and then I was being thrown down onto the bed and there was lots of kissing. Lots of kissing. All over kissing. And then with the kissing there was ear nibbling and neck licking and lip biting and hand holding and nose rubbing and all sorts of other extremely intimate forms of contact which were all very well and good (VERY well and good, I should say) but there was a little voice at the back of my mind that I could not silence and she kept asking a very good question that I could not ignore.

“Frank,” I panted, finally pushing him away just as he had managed to unhook my bra.

He glanced up at me all flustered and horny through his fringe and part of me wanted to say “oh screw it” and carry the fuck on, but the tiny little voice wouldn’t allow it. I took a deep breath and sat up, forcing him to also sit up. I left my bra unhooked but still around me as I shuffled to the edge of the bed, letting my legs dangle off the sides.

“What’s up, Daisy?” He didn’t sound as annoyed or frustrated as I thought he probably deserved to sound, and I had to give him credit for that. I mean, I had stopped just as things were getting good and now I was hunched over at the end of the bed kicking my feet about and rubbing my lips together like a child or something. And I really didn’t want to have to ask it but I knew it was very important that I did.

“Frank,” I began, my voice faltering a little as he came and sat beside me and took my hand. I kept looking blankly ahead. “How long are you here for?”

I felt his muscles tense a little from beside me, and then he let out a long sigh. As if he should have been expecting that questions but evidently had not. “A few days,” he finally replied, playing with my fingers. I looked down and nodded.

“And then what?” I asked in a small, small voice. Like a mouse’s voice, if mice could speak. A few days is not a very long time but I feared that by now it was too late to prevent myself from doing something stupid and possibly even falling in love with Frank Iero.

I’ve always been terrified of love. I’m not really sure why, and I definitely haven’t got any kind of sad story to explain it. Maybe I didn’t have a conventional upbringing but I was certainly not isolated from love. I was exposed to plenty of normality from Kate’s family and her parents were always happy together. Personally I just find the whole concept a little strange. To strip yourself down to the very core and give somebody all of your trust and all of your heart is just somewhat alien to me. The thought of that sort of vulnerability terrifies me and never before did I consider that maybe it could all be worth it. Obviously that’s all changing now because it feels perfectly normal to hand my heart and my trust to Frank on a plate and not even care what he chooses to do with it because I’ll be happy just to see him smile.

God, that’s all a little philosophical for a Saturday night, isn’t it? My apologies. But let me just say this: whatever I was feeling for Frank, I had never felt it before in my life.

“And then...” And then there was a long silence. The kind of silence where all you can focus on is the silence itself. The kind of silence that speaks volumes. It was horrible.

It was me that finally broke it. “And then we go back to our lives like nothing ever happened.” My voice was somewhat more assertive this time, but all I wanted to do was shout FUCKFUCKFUCK and cry for getting myself into this stupid mess. After a long breath, I made myself turn to face him. He was looking at me with this really strange expression, like he wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at the same time. But he did none of these things. Instead he just put his arms around me.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he said softly, stroking my hair with his soft hands. I sniffed a little bit. “But I’ll tell you what I do know. I know that yesterday I met a woman on a train who is beautiful and smart and who makes me laugh. I know that I have very strong feelings for this woman. I know that I am leaving the country in five days and I know who I want to spend them with.”

“You had fucking better be talking about me.”

We both began to laugh in somewhat of a sad way and Frank hooked his fingers underneath my chin and pulled my face up to his and kissed me very softly on the lips. “I want to make these few days count,” he whispered as we parted, and I found myself nodding along quite happily.

Oh Daisy, what are you doing to yourself? Why are you even here? You’re letting yourself fall in love with this man when we all know that in a few days he will be in another country and you’ll be all alone again.

Oh, shut up Daisy. Enjoy it while it lasts. A fresh batch of fireworks lit everything up. Outside and inside. Literal and metaphorical.

“I really like you,” Frank muttered in between feverish kisses on my neck.

“I really like you too,” I managed to whisper in between little gasps of pleasure. More fireworks. Again and again and again.

“Well,” he grinned, gently pushing me backwards onto the bed, “I like you and you like me. So what’s the problem?”

My coherent mind could think of no suitable reply and so it was that Frank continued to kiss me all over and I continued to annoy the occupants of the rooms surrounding us by not being subtle about it. The one thing I can say for sure about Frank Iero is that he is a persuasive little devil. And not just with his words.