Breaking Hearts Still Looks Pretty Cool

I surveyed the perfect, cloud-like bright white cream that was settled atop of the gorgeous frappucino with hungry eyes. It had been a long time since my last crème caramel, and I was thoroughly looking forward to tucking into it in a fervent manner.

Annabelle rolled her eyes at me, stirring her hot chocolate. “I don’t know how you can drink something that cold when it’s not summer!” she exclaimed – “you do realise that it’s crushed ice!”

“I don’t care,” I told her in mock defiance, with a happy grin; I took a deep mouthful of the heavenly drink, “because I absolutely love it,

She blew over the surface of her hot chocolate, clearly hoping to cool it down, “You’re absolutely mad!” she said, but a twinkle in her eyes told me that she meant it in the best sense.

“Whatever,” I took another gratifying sip, allowing the pleasure on my tingling taste buds to mingle with the suspense that rises inside you when you are about to tell someone a particularly interesting piece of gossip, and you know that they will enjoy it.

“So,” said Annabelle, and I was slightly bemused to see that she looked as though she had something urgent that she wanted to talk about,

“So what?” I asked,

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you get up late last night and go down to Gerard!”

My mouth fell open, “you were awake too?” I asked in a high-pitched voice,

“Yeah, don’t you realise how hard it is to sleep in those beds?”

I shrugged; I found mine rather comfy.

“Anyway,” she continued, leaning in, as she usually did when she was passionately interested in something, “what did you guys talk about?”

I smirked, “I did find out an interesting piece of gossip,” I informed her happily,

“What?” she gasped, drinking her hot chocolate eagerly, and then spluttering as she burnt her tongue,

“I asked Gerard why he threw Matt out of the band,” I began, with the air of someone beginning a thrilling story,

Annabelle’s mouth full on dropped open theatrically, “What did he say?” she demanded immediately, “why??”

“He was like,” it sounded so bizarre actually saying it, like I was making the whole thing up, “like stalking me,”

“No!” breathed Annabelle, completely enthralled,

“Yes,” I said, uncharacteristically revelling in the sheer impossibility of the situation, “Gerard showed me this scrap book with all these creepy pictures of me in that he found with Matt’s stuff...” I was in full flow and ready to continue, but Annabelle interrupted me,

“Wait a second,” she said urgently, “Gerard still had the book with him?”

I felt slightly wrong-footed, “yeah, why is that important?” I asked,

Annabelle drew a deep breath in to respond, but then stopped completely short, “It doesn’t matter,” she said.

I knew that our disagreement from the previous morning was weighing on her mind, and that she was trying to placate me by keeping quiet, but oddly enough, her silence was more irritating than her constant impossible assurances.

“Annabelle...” I began, but I stopped myself. It would be beyond hypocritical to tell her to carry on, when I knew full well that I regularly complained about her claims of Gerard’s alleged ‘love’ for me.

“I’m trying not to get involved,” said Annabelle delicately, with a faintly apologetic smile, “I just think it’s highly significant that he chooses voluntarily to keep anything connected to you with him, like he’s trying to...I don’t know, protect you in some way,”

The word ‘protect’ struck a chord in my brain, and I knew that it was because of Gerard’s words the previous night...

“Why did you take that book with you?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know...” he looked down, “to protect it, I guess,”

A mental battle then ensued; did I tell Annabelle about this, and let her go into ‘Connie-and-Gerard-innuendo’ overdrive, or did I keep it to myself and try my best not to over-analysed. My brain was occupied in private turmoil for all of a few seconds before I opted to just tell her; it was practically spilling out anyway...

“Well, well, well! Look who we’ve found!” A male voice called from somewhere vaguely behind us,

I tore my eyes from Annabelle’s freckled face and turned to see three men winging their way towards us through the crowded room. Annabelle turned too, and was agog at what she saw.

Billie Joe, Tre and Mike were grinning jovially at us, waving their arms in a friendly way.

“Hi,” I said as brightly as I could muster with my face flushing redder and redder.

“Hi,” squeaked Annabelle in exactly the same way.

The members of Green Day took seats around Annabelle and I’s tiny table as though it was the most natural thing in the world. I felt butterflies jump into action in my stomach; we were just about a week into the tour, and Annabelle had very little interaction with Green Day, just a few minutes before shows, and maybe an hour or so after.

I gazed at Billie’s vividly messed up black hair and pale green eyes, hardly able to believe that I was actually in his presence; the whole band had that effect on me every time.

After just a few days, the tour was certainly shaping up to be a surreal experience.

“Have we interrupted ladies’ gossip time?” inquired Tre with an ironic grin,

“Not at all,” said Annabelle a little too quickly, immediately giving us away,

“We did!” chuckled Mike, “I bet that they were talking about-“

“Gerard,” filled in Billie immediately, making me feel like he was x-raying me with his eyes, “or Mikey,”

“You and those Way boys,” said Tre with a mock ‘tsk’ sound,

“What about us?” I asked, raising my eyebrows,

Annabelle took a conspicuous swig of her drink and caught Billie’s eye for a little too long – they both quickly looked away.

I narrowed my eyes and shook my head, “what?” I asked again,

“Nothing,” said Tre, “you’re just great friends with them both, that’s all,”

It certainly did not seem like that was ‘all,’ but I let it drop I had long since accepted that there if someone did not want me to find something out; I was definitely unlikely ever to.

“Why aren’t you at sound check, like MCR?” I asked, changing the subject in a painfully obvious way. I was scared that if we let the conversation linger too long on anything remotely related to Gerard, that someone might throw around the idea that I still had feelings for him...And if someone made that suggestion, then I was going to have to ask that question of myself. That was the last thing I could face.

“We had our one first and finished first,” explained Mike, giving me a benevolent smile. I returned it, realising for the first time that the star-struckness was finally starting to wear off.

“Oh,” I sighed softly,

“Well,” said Billie Joe, slapping his hand on the table abruptly, “it’s been wonderful to talk, but we really must be off – I have to call my wife and boys, and I have sleep to catch up on,”

Tre and Mike rose with him, nodding profusely.

“Ok...” Annabelle sounded slightly confused. Who goes to all of the effort of finding people to speak to them for all of 15 minutes?

“Bye,” I said, with no fluttering in my stomach whatsoever,

“See you at the show later,”

“Right,”

I was left with the uncanny feeling that they had been trying to hint something to me, and I just had no idea what...