Early Sunsets Over Monroeville

Sighing, I waved goodbye to the agonizingly-named girl and walked away, hearing the first of Frank's exhausted footsteps behind me. I really should have taken him to the hospital sometime around then, but I wasn't thinking straight, and he never voiced his own opinion on the matter aloud. But maybe he was still hoping to die. After all, I'd just rejected him.

But that was just the thing. There was something I'd only ever confessed to one person: Mikey; I hadn’t even told Lyn-Z or Frank – not my fiancée – ex-fiancée – or best friend – ex best friend. I wasn't exactly...straight. Oh, hell. Whatever. I was bi. I'm bi.

So it wasn't totally impossible to love Frank. Not that I was in love with him, as he claimed to be with me, but I could love him – it was possible. And the more I thought about it, the more idiotic I felt for not noticing sooner. Not noticing ever, actually: I'd only realised when Frank said it. It’d been so obvious Frank liked me, but my eyes had been blind; my hopeful subconsciousness – the part of me that didn’t want to hurt my best friend – had kept me blinded.

But now I thought about it...it was blaringly obvious that he liked me. He was always the first one to help me – and I needed help a lot in the past – and he followed me virtually everywhere, not that I minded. Also, whenever I asked him if he liked anyone, and who, if he did, he would always blush, look at the ground, and mutter: "I'm not sure." I'd just thought he was shy, but all the time, he'd being trying to tell me he loved me.

And what should I do about that? Could I tell him 'no'? Was I humanly capable of doing that to him? I didn't think so; I wasn't quite that heartless. But what other option did I have? String him on, deceive him? I couldn't do that! He was my best friend, even after all of that, and I could never, ever do something like that to him. Something like Lindsey had done to me. For years. To the point of agreeing to marry me. But there were no other options.

Were there?

I supposed there was one...I could love him. Not to be kind, for the sake of not having to say 'no', and not to lie to him like I'd been lied to. But to actually, truly, with all my heart love him.

Could I do that?

The more I mulled over it, the more the question changed. A few moments later, after what seemed decades in my head, I didn't have a question anymore. I had an answer, though not quite suited impeccably to the question. Maybe I want to do that. It took me maybe thirty seconds to realise that, what Frank had worked out years ago, I had taken nearly forever to discover. Maybe I wanted to love him. But /could/ I?

But what I didn’t understand about that was that I still loved Lyn-Z. Still mourned her loss like a death, still wished she loved me back, still wanted to be with her. So why could I even consider wanting to love Frank? It was confusing. I could want him. Maybe I did. But I wanted Lyn-Z. For sure. Only...she didn’t want me. Frank did. Was that why I thought I might be able to like him, want him, love him? Because my body was protecting me from rejection...I was fooling myself into loving what loved me, for protection and security and for the desire to be loved.

But did anyone want to love me?

It was about then I realised I'd been walking for so long I didn't know where I was, and I didn't know where Frank was. Suddenly nervous, my head snapped up and I looked around desperately. I was on some road, with no other cars, and no other people. Scratch that – four or five or six other people. There was a gang of hoodies, intimidating the hell outta me, even if I did say so myself. Maybe it was something to do with the dark, and being in an unfamiliar, foreign country. I didn't know where I was. But when I searched hurriedly, I soon found a sign for a hotel, just around the corner, but it said it was two miles away. I decided to chance it up a back-street, which seemed to go to the same place as the road. Running to leave the hoodies behind, I set of as fast as I could. Frank must have gone up there – there were no other ways off this road, so it must have been kinda central, up there.

But when I emerged from the alley, there was no sign of Frank. I walked to the top of the road, which was on a steep slope, not great for boots that had already given me blisters, but he wasn't there either. So I looked back down the hill to see if he'd only just caught up. But there was no sign of him. However, there was a growing gaggle of people around a car, so I went to see what the fuss was about. Half way down the hill, I saw clearly, when one guy moved out the way. Half way down the hill, my heart smashed into tiny, insignificant, stabbing glass pieces.

It was Frank. Underneath a car.

Whether I loved him, liked him, wanted him, or none of the above, he was still my best friend – even if he hated me, even if I wasn’t his best friend. I still wanted him to be happy, safe, just okay. And right now, he wasn’t okay. He was under a fucking car.

Shit! I ran as fast as I could – faster than normal, because the hill propelled me, with more momentum than I was used to, my boots banging hard and painful on the floor.

When I got to the bottom of the hill, I started asking quick, mumbled questions that hardly made any sense even to my own ears. Soon I gave up and went to kneel by Frank.

All the opportunities I'd had to tell him I loved him, all the times I could have loved him, maybe should have. Do we have soul-mates at all? I’d have sworn mine was Lyn-Z...but look at that pile of shit with her. Look at the warped thing with Lindsey and Frank and I. Maybe it would be easier if I pretended to love Frank, or if Lindsey pretended to love me. Either way, my best friend or my love – I did still love her – got hurt. Maybe they should hook up after all. Yet where did that leave me?

Dying alone.

Maybe in every relationship, there’s one who isn’t as commited, doesn’t love the other quite so much – maybe not at all. Maybe my mom never loved my dad, or the other way round. Maybe Lindsey never did love me at all. Maybe I couldn’t answer my question because I never could, never would, love Frank. I don’t know.

I could have lied to Frank. All those opportunities for a little white lie to sneak slyly past my secretive lips. An eternity trapped in an unwanted relationship for me, an eternity with the adored for Frank. I could have told him when we first met. When I met Lindsey. When he got me clean and sober. When I saved his life. When he saved mine. When I asked Lyn-Z to marry me. When she said yes. When his nightmares started. When I'd found out Lindsey loved him. When he'd been kicked off the tour bus by my too-loyal band-mates. When I'd been lucky, met Lindsey's friend when I was rushing around looking for Frank, who'd told me where Lyn-Z had gone. When I'd seen the half-dead depressed suicidal Frank in the hotel. When Lindsey went away, leaving us alone together. When we left the hotel. When we met the fan, not twenty minutes ago.

All crucial points in time, building up to this. I could have lied to save him. I should have lied. I would have pretended to love him – I would have been the best actor. Could have, should have, would have. What did it matter now? I was in this situation, at this moment in time. I had to deal with this, not anything else that might have happened in another, better dimension.

So I took a deep breath. I took hold of his hand. My eyes watering, lips trembling, legs going weak where I knelt on them, I began to murmur to him, murmur the lie I should have – could have, would have – said long ago.

I told him I loved him. I told him he'd be okay. I was finally lying about one thing, but honestly, truthfully desperate for the other to be true. But when I frowned down on him, crying again, weeping for his approaching fate, it didn't really look promising. His face was bruised and bloody, his head bleeding profusely, and his leg was cut too. What once resembled his right arm was bent into an unrecognisable shape, and even semi-conscious, he was frowning and looked like he was in pain. That made me want to bawl and thrash about at the unfairness of it all. But I didn't. I just spoke, sweetly, smoothly, passionately, poignantly. As calmly as I could. As dishonestly – a beautiful lie – as I could. I told him something my heart clenched when I said it. I only hoped it was what he wanted to hear, and who he wanted to hear it from. Only hoped his dreams could come true, as my own never would: he would be okay, we would be together – for his sake, if anything. He was my best friend, I owed it to him. He saved my life, I owed it to him. I’d hurt him, I owed it to him. Was this lie so hard to tell if it meant I at least had a life, even a liar’s one? I’d rather make Frank happy and condemn myself to eternal depression than leave both of us alone and suicidal. One happy guy is better than none.

"Frank, can you hear me? It's Gee. You're gonna be alright, I promise you," I took another deep breath, fighting to stop my voice from cracking and breaking so he'd know how bad I felt about lying, how guilty I felt for not lying earlier, and continued: "You can't leave me. You're my best friend; I need you. And...you've taught me something. Today, it's taught me something. For one, I don't love Lyn-Z. Not after what she's done. And for another...there is someone I love, I think. And he's right here next to me. Y'see, what I'm saying is..." I paused again, filling the sentence with haws. Oh, what the hell! Let’s get the lie out, spit it out, let the world be deceived. Deceive the world and I’ll be okay. Frank’ll be okay. What can one little white lie do to hurt anyone? If it saved his life, gave him something to live for, cleared up a little of my guilt, surely the lie was worth telling. Even if it ruined my life.

"I think I love you,” I stuttered out, cringing at the sound escaping from my liar’s lips, and the dishonesty. Was it better to depress my friend or deceive him, in the end? “You're gonna be okay, I promise. And when you're better, I'm gonna be with you, for the rest of my life, if you want. I'm sorry." I apologised for lying – not that he’d recognise it?

When I finished, my eyelashes stuck together with clumpy wetness, sealing them, like my lips were now sealed. I could never tell the truth. Never escape this twisted, untruthful life. I blinked hard, semi-opening them just in time to see Frank's chocolate eyes flicker open for a second. It might just have been me, but there seemed to be a hint of sarcasm in their martyred depths. He was a martyr? Sure thing. After what he'd said about being willing to suffer all his life than to see me unhappy, he was definitely selfless to the point of idiocy. But it was sweet. It made it easier to imagine staying with him. At least I knew him. At least I knew he loved me – even if I didn’t love him. At least he was selfless and wanted me to be happy. After that favour, I was repaying him, by doing the same. Something Lyn-Z couldn’t do for me. Something I could do for him.

I was going to pretend to love him. Only he couldn’t ever, ever know that. As far as he’d know...if he survived...I’d love him. It had to be that way, just did.

Whether I liked it or not.