Disenchanted

"Hey, Gerard, do you have a minute?" Frank asked the singer as the rest of the guys headed out of the room.

"Crap," the fiery red head groaned as he rushed to collect his papers, "not really. I'm sorry Frank but I really have to be somewhere and I'm going to be late."

"Oh, okay then," he muttered tucking his long hair behind his ear and moved to the large table to help.

When he finished picking up the last of it he walked over to the taller man that he desperately needed to talk to and held the out with his tattooed hands.

"Here," it was quiet and if the singer hadn't been so distracted he would have easily noticed that something was wrong. But he didn't and instead with a small smile took them. The small smile that would usually brighten up the younger man did nothing as he stood there watching as Gerard grabbed his jacket and rushed towards the door.

"Thanks, Frankie!" he called without looking back and disappeared on the other side.

The rhythm guitarist stood in silence as he stared at the door that had just closed. He wished that the singer would one day have time to listen instead of being in a constant rush. With watery eyes he grabbed his jacket, leaving his backpack sitting in the chair and exited through the same door.

He needed to talk to Gerard. The sanity he had managed to cling to had begun to slip the last few weeks, months if he wasn't lying to himself and now his depression was at a new high.

Lighting a cigarette he decided to take a walk down the night life city street. Needing the fresh air and nicotine in his lungs. Seeing the cars and people made him feel livelier as he wandered, not paying attention as to where he was going. He hadn't been paying attention to anything other than the life he saw until he felt something pressed to his lower back.

"The next alley way you fucker," a low voice growled in his left ear.

He knew he should be scared out of his wits. After all he understood what was happening, he was going to be mugged. But he wasn't scared, his heart rate didn't pick up, his palms didn't sweat. He was fearless. With only a nod he did as he was told and made his way towards the alley.

The moment they were out of view he was shoved roughly into the brick wall. Wincing as he felt the scrapes on his cheek and his head ringing from the blow of contact. The weapon was pressed against his lower back once again as a strong hand pressed him to the wall with his shoulder.

"Empty your fucking pockets," the unknown voice commanded.

"I don't have anything on me. You caught me on a smoke break," he answered softly not wanting to upset the man.

"Bullshit," the man growled as he flipped him around pushed him back up into the wall, "you're famous. You gotta have something on you!"

What he now knew was a gun was pressed to his throat. The cold metal stung against his contrasting hot skin.

"My wallet is with the rest of my things in a studio down the street. All I have is my phone, cigarettes and a lighter. I swear to you," he explained holding his hands up in defense. He stared the man in the eyes, feeling the anger radiating from him and the anxiety that was beginning to show.

The next thing he heard was the loud ringing, once, twice and then a third time. He felt the warmth soak his shirt before he registered the pain. But once that hit him it was agonizing. It spread like wild fire through his shoulder, chest, and stomach as he fell back into the wall. He was sure he had been set ablaze by how intense it was.

Pressing a shaky hand to the pain that was consuming him he winced feeling the warm liquid before looking down to see endless red. His knees grew weak at the sight and he slipped to the ground. Feeling like he was choking as screams filled his ears. There was a thudding in his skull making his body feel like it was being smothered as blood slipped from his mouth and down his chin.

With the same bloody hand he pulled his cellphone from his pocket and looked at it before dropping it to the ground. He didn't want to live through this.

He could hear his name now, voices shouting at him to look, but all he could see was his own pain. The fiery sensation had now taken over his eyes, blocking out his vision.

"Frank!" a familiar voice screamed in his face.

He looked, trying to see whoever it was that was calling to him. All he could make out was a blurry figure kneeling in front of him, their shaking hands on his face.

"Someone call 9-1-1!" the voice shouted causing him to wince.

"Frank, look at me," the voice begged. He knew that voice.

"Mikey?" he choked on his blood as the figure grew clearer to him.

"Look at me Frank, you're not looking at me. I need you to look," he ordered holding the man's head up.

"You're going to be okay. Do you hear me? Just hold on. No matter how much it hurts, don't you close those eyes."

He wanted to thank him for being so positive, but he knew it was of no use. He tried his hardest to shake his head but all he could manage was a grunt of pain.

"Frank, I promise you." Mikey stressed trying to keep the bleeding man hopeful.

His vision worsened before he realized it was happening. Everything was darker and blurrier than before. When he tried to breathe the only thing that could be heard was a gurgling sound as he began to drown in his own blood.

"Please Frank, just hold on," Mikey begged as the dying man was enveloped in darkness.

*

Gerard burst through the emergency doors of the hospital. His hair was wild from the wind and his eyes wide and frantic as he scanned the room quickly for anyone familiar. Grateful when he saw the mess of curly hair he ran across the floor not caring about the rules that were posted.

"How is he?" he gasped catching his breath only to find his Brother being held by Ray and Alicia. What he didn't expect was the blood that covered his baby Brother as Ray pulled away to look up at him.

"Mikey?" he choked.

The younger Way only looked to him before jumping up from his seat and latching onto his shoulders as he cried into his chest.

"There was so much blood, Gerard," he whimpered tightening his grip. He held on just as tightly and kissed the top of his head.

"Just tell me what happened," he whispered.

"Me and Alicia were at Starbucks when we heard gun shots. So we went out with everyone else to see what was going on and saw a guy running away. Then someone- someone shouted Frank and I-I ran! I just ran because its like I knew. He was just... just slumped against a wall," he forced out his words with watery eyes.

"Where is he right now? He's okay right?" he looked to Ray who was now hugging Alicia. When nobody answered him he felt like his entire world was crashing to the ground.

"He's dead?" the words left him breathless in a painful way.

"No," Ray began," but he lost a lot of blood Gerard. We were told that he couldn't breathe and that meant he couldn't get oxygen to his brain. With the combined blood loss and lack of air he went into shock. They said that they're doing everything they can but he doesn't have a good chance. That if he does manage to survive he's going to have brain damage and more than likely its going to be severe. "

"Where is he?"

"They're finishing up surgery now," Ray answered quietly.

He didn't know what to say or do as everything set in, so he left. He couldn't handle the reality of the situation. He didn't want to see the blood; he didn't want any of it to be real. When he was finally alone outside the hospital the tears fell freely as he fell to the ground.

Frank had wanted to talk to him and he had shot him down. If he hadn't of done that then Frank wouldn't have left, he wouldn't have been shot. None of this would be happening.

*

Gerard looked from comatose body on the bed to the woman sitting in the chair beside him.

"I'm sorry about all of this, Jamia," he whispered.

"I know, Gerard. I know."

"He's strong alright? You don't have to worry, you won't lose him. He'll get better, he's always been a fighter," he stated trying to keep her hopeful. She turned to him and smiled sadly.

"You can't lose something that you don't have," she replied quietly.

"What do you mean?" he asked with a confused frown.

"He has a leather journal that he keeps hidden with his things. If you want the truth then you need to read it. But only read it if you know you can handle it okay? If he ever wakes up Gerard, chances are he's going to need you a lot more than you ever needed him," she explained before patting his hand.

"If you do read it though, start on the date of the very first My Chem show alright?" he nodded, still confused as she left the room.

*

He was too curious as he pulled out Frank's bags and began to search through each of them one at a time. Making sure to check every possible pocket, hidden or not. It only took three bags before he came across a thick and worn out leather journal. Laying it on his blanket he turned back to put away all of Frank's things before sitting on the edge of his bunk and opened it.

The pages were packed with writing and dates. Scribbles and little cartoons filled the margins in true Frank fashion. He was looking for one date in particular, the one that Jamia had told him about. When he finally found it he looked for the scrawl beneath it.

I always thought love at first sight was stupid.
But I think I fell in love tonight.
He was drunk but he looked and sang like an angel. I was so busy being captivated by him that I burned my hand with my cigarette. It sucks, but he was worth it.
I have to see him again.
I think I'll go crazy if I don't. Like I only imagined him and he isn't real. God I hope he's real.

Had he meant me? Gerard thought as he quickly skimmed through more entries until he came across more.

Eyeball Records had a party tonight, and he was there.
He was drunk again, but then again I had been drinking a lot too.
He told me he's an artist. When I asked him to draw me something he stole a sharpie off of someone and decorated my arm.
I've never felt like this before and its scaring the shit out of me.
I still don't know his name. Maybe its time I start asking around.

He flipped the page over and the first thing he saw was his name.

Gerard Way.

Its all that was there, under the date. He frowned wondering why it was like that but quickly glanced at the rest on the page. Turning the pages he found that his writing had grown scarce over the next two months and none held his name.

They asked me to join their band today. Well he did I mean.
I thought I was dreaming and I laughed in his beautiful face until he said he was serious.
I told him yes, but all I wanted to do was kiss those pale lips of his.
God he's so beautiful.

He felt his chest tighten. That last entry was enough confirmation for him. Frank had been in love with him this whole time and he had never known.

Flipping through more he mainly skimmed, looking at the sometimes sloppy writing.

Tonight I told Jamia that I was in love with a man.
She didn't yell at me, she should have though. She only cried.
I hurt the woman I've loved for years. The same one that I was so sure was the one until I met him.
I feel like the biggest asshole in the world right now.

Pausing on the date he quickly flipped through page after page. Skipping years until he landed on the lowest point of his life.

He collapsed again today.
He was so hung over I'm sure he was still drunk.
I told him I was in love with him tonight after he had been drinking. He told me he loved me too before passing out in my bunk clinging to me.
I hope he doesn't remember this in the morning.

When he thought about it, he found that he couldn't remember and the frown on his face deepened as he skipped to the date of his marriage to Lindsey.

I couldn't watch it.
I know I should have stayed, but I couldn't.
I ran and I ran until I couldn't anymore. When I finally stopped it was like my heart was being crushed and grated while someone tried to pull my lungs out through my throat.
It was my first anxiety attack since I was twelve. God I don't miss those things.
It was the only time I wished I was numb to any emotion and that life wasn't real.

He didn't realize he was crying until he saw the stains on the paper causing the gel of the pen to blotch.

"God, Frankie," he whispered wiping them from his face.

Again he skipped, reading of how he felt when the news of Bandit had been released. How the guitarist was obviously growing more and more depressed but wore a smile to cover it up.

A few hours later he was down to the last two entries. One was from a week ago and the last from the night before.

I promised myself I wouldn't tell him. I swore that after that drunken confession I would hold my tongue.
But I can't.
I tried to tell him a few days ago. He said he was busy and that he would talk to me the next day. We were supposed to meet up but he never showed.
He must have forgotten because he still hasn't said anything about it.

Gerard thought hard, trying to remember but only felt worse when he couldn't.

Busy.
He's always busy anymore. If it wasn't for touring I'm sure I would never see him.
As sad as it is, I miss the old Gerard.
I miss the old everything.

It was the last thing he ever wrote. In the journal that is. Gerard wiped his eyes once again just staring at the journal that now rested in his lap. It was worth more than anything in the world. It was the truth in possibly the rawest way he would ever get it.

His best friend had been in love with him since the beginning. Standing by his side watching while the man he loved went through women left and right. He had picked him up when he fell. He had been there through everything and had kept something so powerful to himself.

There was a dull buzzing that filled the quiet room as Gerard pulled his vibrating phone from his pocket.

"Hello?" he asked as he cleared his throat and wiped the tears from his face again.

"Gerard, I-" the other guitarist froze on his words.

The silence was enough and this time he didn't even attempt to catch his tears. He let out a shaky breath, gripping the aged leather tightly in his hand.

"I'll- I'll be there soon, okay?" He choked as reality hit him hard.

"Please be careful?" Ray pleaded knowing how emotional the singer could get.

"I will, I promise," he managed to reply with the tightening in his chest. He hung up and quickly dropped the phone to the floor as he stared at the empty bunk before him. Understanding that Frank, would never sleep in it again.

With a strangled cry he pressed the journal to his lips and hunched forward gripping the back of his head with his free hand.

"Oh God, Frankie," he sobbed shaking his head. He didn't want to picture the rest of his life without the younger man.

When his shoulders finally stopped shaking and he could breathe without feeling that pressure on his chest he sat back up. Looking down at the now heavily stained page and traced the words with his fingertips. He would cherish them; treat them like the finest art for the rest of his life. However long it would be. He stopped, only to remove the pen from the back flap. He pressed it to the page, unsure of what he was about to do before scribbling down the date.

With a deep breath he looked once again at the bunk in front of him before looking down at the paper and continued.

Today my best friend tried talking to me.
I wasn't there for him and I should have been because he was always there for me.
He was shot and my baby Brother was the one who found him.
Today I found out that the same best friend was in love with me.
That he had been trying to tell me when he asked to talk to me.
Now he'll never get to because he's gone forever.
All I want is to be gone forever with him too.
I'm so, so sorry Frankie.