Early Sunsets Over Monroeville

As soon as I woke up, I was aware someone was watching me. When I rolled over groggily, I found out it was more than one someone. It was three someones. The first one was blond, his lip pierced, in a Smiths t-shirt and black jeans. The second guy was fractionally shorter, but with hair that more than made up for the slight height difference. And the final one was in cute geeky glasses, though his expression was neither cute nor geeky. He emanated pure hatred – for me. Something about his eyes reminded me of my love, though disappointingly, the focus of my universe – most of it, anyway – was absent. I couldn't hear crying though, so at least he must have felt a little better – I hoped.

"I...uh...Um, hi, guys," I greeted them. Something about their expressions scared me. To be totally honest, they looked like they were about to eat me, and it wouldn't have surprised me, considering what they thought I'd done.

"Frank," Mikey began, voice too hard to match his face. It didn't fit – it was like a hideous snarl emerging from a blonde ballerina's sweet smiling lips.

"Hiya, Mikey," I smiled weakly. "How's Gee?" This time, real concern leaked into my voice – it broke my heart how I had caused him all this pain, without even realising I'd done so.

"We've been thinking," he continued, ignoring my question. "And we're agreed that it's not appropriate for you and Gerard to be together –" I stopped breathing when he paused for a second, terrified he'd discovered my real feelings, but he carried on "– on the tour bus. It's too painful for him, and frankly none of us want you here with us anyway. But if you miss the last date of the tour, back in Jersey, when we get home, people are going to start asking questions. I'm sure you'll agree it would be beneficial for you and less agonizing for my brother if this wasn't splattered across front covers, which it will be, if the press find out. We can't keep letting the fans down by missing shows. But not of us are willing to play with you, after what you've done. So, we've come to the agreement that it would be better..." he hesitated once more, took his glasses off and rubbed them on his shirt, then slid them back on and sighed. "You're gonna have to find something else to do, Frank. You are not a member of this band anymore."

It took too long for me to register that, my eyes kept switching between their three, hard, stubborn faces, not able to work out the meaning of the words Mikey had delivered with so little remorse. Finally, I asked, "Well, who's gonna replace me?" in the smallest, weakest, most pathetic voice I could muster from the depths of my mangled insides.

"Anyone," Ray replied heartlessly, the look of blasé on his face more cruel than the actual word itself.

There was another long pause from me; I just didn't know what to do. This band had been my life, and the people in it had made that life worth living. What did I have now? No life, no friends, no Gerard..."Does Gee know?" I wondered, certain it would be the last straw for my frazzled brain if I discovered Gee didn't want me there either.

"No. Well, not exactly," Mikey explained. "I was going to talk to him about it, but he didn't want to hear it. He hates you." The last three words were it for me. They shattered the broken remains of my heart, and the glass-like pieces pierced my chest; they made it difficult to breathe. I was sure I was dying.

"I guess I'd better pack, then." I have no idea how I managed to speak when I was in such agony.

"We did that for you already," Bob answered, pointing at my suitcase, lying by the sofa.

"Oh," I muttered, taken aback. They were that desperate to get rid of me? "Well...uh...where shall I go?"

"That's no concern of ours," Mikey replied coolly. "Just leave, please. You've caused enough heartache as it is."

Gasping, I nodded and went to retrieve my case. Where would I go? Where could I go? How much money did I have on me, in this foreign country? About twenty dollars, and fifty British pounds. That wasn't going to get me far, was it? Thankfully, they'd put my plane ticket back to America in my coat pocket for me – I found it there when I shoved my hand in anxiously. But that flight wasn't until three days time. What would I do with fifty pounds in that amount of time? How much were hotels over here? I realised I knew next to nothing about the place. At least I could speak the language and wasn't in Finland or something; I wasn't even sure if I knew what language they spoke in Finland. It /was/ Finish, right?

"Well, g'bye, then," I murmured softly, my hair falling over my face when I inclined my head. I could feel my eyes stinging, but I was determined not to let them see me cry.

"Just go, Frank." Mikey's voice was a little gentler, so maybe he saw how cut up I was. I'd never felt so awful or unwanted or guilty or heartbroken; never been in such a terrible state.

However, his voice sharpened when I asked anxiously, "Could I say goodbye to Gee?"

"Out. Now," he barked harshly, so I just did as he instructed. I'm pretty sure I wasn't quite off the bus when the cascading fountain of tears began to stream down my face.