London Bridges Falling Down

“Are you gonna talk to me?”

Gerard pried himself from his spot in the kitchen where he had remained solitary, watching the back of Frank’s head for the worse part of the last twenty minutes. He entered Frank’s line of sight, but the only acknowledgement Frank gave was a quick glance up before replacing his glare on the wall behind Gerard.

“Frank?”

When this prompt rendered no results, Gerard finally took in Frank’s sallow features. His eyes were sunken, bags ringing around the olive shaped orbs. While his eyes were normally a gorgeous hazel that shone all the way through, they were now a solid brown; the green seemed to have faded over the last few weeks, and had taken any sparkle with it. Gerard slowly moved his eyes down to Franks chapped lips – the lips he had taken for his own so many times. They were normally full, and curled around his pearly teeth, but now were cracked and sore-looking, and showed no signs of any pearly teeth.

Next, Gerard noticed the shirt Frank was wearing. It was a simple green t-shirt, one he’d owned for years now. Throughout these years, this shirt had been a steady side-kick of sorts for Frank; he’d worn it on stage, on days off, and even to some crazy parties on tour where it could have been ruined, and that shirt had never stretched, never faded, and always fit Frank perfectly, always distinguishing certain parts of Frank’s torso magnificently, and Gerard had always noticed. Looking at Frank now though, the shirt seemed to be two sizes too big, lying scrunched and baggy against his torso, and hung a ways off of Frank’s left shoulder, revealing a too-prominent collar bone that distinguished his breathing pattern as it rose up and down.

“Please talk to me…”

Gerard’s gaze now locked onto Frank’s long, boney fingers that were positioned in his lap, and ran his eyes over the ink that adorned them for what felt like the million and seventh time in his life. So much talent those hands held. Lately, though, the only talent those hands held were the talent of a vodka bottle late at night, or early in the morning, or before work, or on the drive home.

In the last three weeks, Gerard had watched the love of his life slowly drink himself out of his job, out of all of his musical equipment, and out of the person he used to be. Frank’s slow degeneration had left Gerard in a hopeless place, forcing him to pick up one hundred percent of the bills and to fight to keep them sheltered and fed.

“Frank, will you fucking talk to me?”

In the span of three weeks, Frank had single-handedly destroyed everything he had worked to build in the last twenty-four years of his life. Gerard, having just turned twenty-nine, knew he was too young to support both of them, no matter how much he wanted to. It was last night that Gerard had finally thrown the towel in when Frank had come home wasted into oblivion again when he was supposed to be at a job interview. Gerard had dumped all the alcohol in the house and left Frank to pass out on the couch as he pleased, and as far as Gerard could tell, he’d hardly moved, if at all.

“If you won’t talk to me then I’ll leave.” Gerard had never thought he’d say those words in his life, had never wanted to say them. “I can’t…I can’t…”

Gerard looked over to his left where, on a shelf, sat three picture frames, all containing pictures of him and Frank. His gaze landed on the one in the middle. It was their wedding photo. They hadn’t taken traditional wedding photos, but had hired a photographer to take some shots as candidly as possible throughout the ceremony, and the one that they had chosen had stood out from all the rest in the set. It had been taken just outside the doors of the church as they were leaving, having just said their vows and been pronounced husbands. Frank’s face was red and puffy from crying, and Gerard’s was slightly pink from excitement, but they were both smiling brightly, their eyes sparkling as they looked at each-other, hand-in-hand, as rice flew all around them, landing in their hair and on their suits.

In one swift move the frame flew across the room and smacked the wall with a sickening crunch, finally sliding down to meet the floor.

Gerard felt his fists flex with fury, and hot tears burn at his eyes.

“How could you do this to yourself, Frank?!” Gerard shrieked in a voice that sounded so unlike his own it would have scared him if he hadn’t been so angry. “How the fuck could you throw away everything you’ve built for yourself? How could you do this to me?! How am I supposed to sit here and watch you destroy yourself, and you won’t even let me help you?! Huh?!” Frank continued to stare, seemingly unphased, and Gerard’s pulse quickened. “Fucking answer me for Christ’s sake!” Another toss and a sickening crunch, and another frame landed next to their wedding photo already on the floor.

The next thing Gerard new, he had grabbed his keys from the kitchen table, swore one more time at Frank, and left, slamming the door shut behind him. Tears finally fell down Frank’s face at the sound of Gerard’s car pulling out of the driveway.