Breaking Hearts Still Looks Pretty Cool

Being back in my room at Columbia was like being forced into the open clearness again. Suddenly my mind was clear, and I was in a completely Gerard-free zone. No one else even knew that I had been in a relationship with him, no one even knew who he was. Despite the bitterly cold air outside, I thrust the window open and took a deep breath in through my nose. The sound of the rushing traffic outside soothed me, because it was a hallmark of living in the city, inescapable. As long as I heard the traffic dashing down the street outside, I was in New York City and away from Gerard.

“Hello darling,” said a loud voice from the doorway, and I turned around to realise that my good friend Reagan had invited herself in, and was waltzing through my door.

“Hi,” I called back, relieved at seeing a friendly face. It was nearly impossible to procrastinate in company.

“Did you have a nice time with all of your old friends last night?” she asked, sitting down on my bed and helping herself to a chocolate bar out of the bag I had carelessly left there.

I pursed my lips and sighed, “yeah it was great,” I half-lied.

It had been great. I loved hanging out in the old group again, and having a proper catch up with everyone. I loved meeting Bob, he seemed like he fitted in perfectly. We had just hung out like we always did, and for a few hours I genuinely felt like I was 17 again. There had just been one tiny blot on the evening, but I had every intention of ignoring that.

“Really?” asked Reagan, with her mouth full of Reese’s Cups, “because you sounded oddly tense when you just said that,”

“Tense?” I questioned, trying to sound as innocent as possible, “I’m not tense, I had a fabulous time,”

I joined Reagan on my bed and pulled out some chocolate for myself,

“You’re lying,” she replied accusingly, “you raised your eyebrows a tiny bit,”

“So?” I asked, self-consciously clapping my hand to my eyebrows, “my eyebrows have a mind of my own; it’s not my fault,”

Reagan chuckled, “I know it’s not your fault, stupid,” she said, giving me a shove that made me nearly lose my balance and fall off of the bed, “but when you raise your eyebrows a tiny bit it means you’re lying,”

This was certainly news to me. “No it doesn’t,” I scoffed,

“Look! They rose again!” pointed out Reagan, giggling as she jabbed a finger towards my brow,

I rolled my eyes at her jabbering, but underneath I was slightly unsure. What if Reagan really had discovered a secret way to work out if I was lying? I physically shook my head and looked at her seriously.

“Whatever,” I started, wondering whether or not to tell her about Gerard. I had made a point of telling no one about him, so it would involve dredging up all of the painful back story I thought I’d left behind. Suddenly I became very conscious of the box I kept under my bed containing my precious memories.

A part of my mind had just made the assertive decision to remain quiet, but my mouth seemed to take on a life of its own to pour out every single piece of information and emotion within me.

“You might be a bit right,” I said in a rush, and Reagan lent a little bit closer towards me, “but it’s a long story.”
She held out her hand and gently touched my arm in an encouraging manner. “I’ve got time,”

For a minute I marvelled at how fortunate I was to have such a supportive and loving friend, but I didn’t dwell on Reagan for long.

As I began to launch into the Gerard tirade, my mind rejoiced because I was finally expressing myself.

“It’s my ex-boyfriend” I said slowly, “last night was the first time I saw him in three years,”
“Wow,” breathed Reagan, but a stern look from me told her not to speak again until I was entirely done speaking.

“The thing is, how we left things. Before I met him, I thought that I was emotionally retarded – I was actually convinced that I was never going to fall in love. I was getting lonelier and lonelier, but I was the ultimate cynic. Then I met him- Gerard on Christmas Eve and – BAM. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but I think that that’s as close as you get to it. I was drawn to him, he had effects on me that no man ever had done before, or since. I was just this naive 17 year old and he was my friend’s 20 year old older brother so I was certain that nothing was ever going to happen, but I just became consumed by my feelings for him. Then, of course, we started to hang out, we got closer, people started to predict that we would end up together, my feelings got deeper; and then one day he turned up in my house, and confessed everything. We were together secretly for a while, but when we went public everyone was happy. He was my first...he was my first everything, and my everything in general. Those 6 months we were together were the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. I was totally, irrevocably in love with him. But then...” this was the hardest part to say out loud.

‘Just do it’ my inner voice told me. Reagan sat there looking enthralled, like a child being told a particularly dramatic bed time story.

“But then he cheated on me,” I continued, “with my best friend – one night, they were drunk, all the usual excuses. The thing is, she was going out with his brother, my friend Mikey, and then she found out that she was pregnant, and she didn’t know whether Gerard or Mikey was the father...so then everyone hated her and she had no one to go with her to the abortion clinic but me so I went with her and then Gerard came to try and get me to take him back but I couldn’t and” I paused, realising that my words had been tumbling out of my mouth in a dramatic garble and that tears were flowing down my face without my even noticing it.

“And that was the last time I saw him before last night, crying forlornly in the parking lot of an abortion clinic after I told him I could never trust him again. After that, everything else went back to normal. It took a while, but I gradually forgave Annabelle, and so did Mikey. They got back together, and our friendship group resumed normalcy; except for me and Gerard. I just couldn’t ever face him, I suppose because of how badly he hurt me. I just pretended like it had all been a dream and never let myself think about him. Of course, that all had to change when Frank told me about the Green Day thing and how they’re all sick of Gerard and I not speaking, and then last night was – hell. We spoke, and I just crumbled. I didn’t know what to do, I don’t know what to think...I’m just so confused.”

The tears were in full flow now, and I was sobbing on Reagan’s shoulder.

“I had no idea,” she said softly, “it doesn’t sound like you’re fully over him yet...” she added calmly.

Somewhere inside a part of me stirred in irritation at that statement, but I didn’t act on it.

“Look,” I said softly, for the first time since I had moved in, withdrawing the memory box from under my bed.

It was fairly small and made of dark mahogany wood. With inexplicably trembling hands, I slid the lid off and allowed the photographs and letters it contained to float gracefully onto my bedcovers.

Reagan picked up a picture of Gerard and I at one of MCR’s early gigs. I was on stage next to him, kissing him on the cheek, and he had one arm around me, the other holding the microphone he was shouting into. You could see the other members assembled in the background with their instruments. I could remember the moment well...

“Before we play our last song,” Gerard practically screamed over the enthusiastic crowd, “I just want to get a very special girl up here so I can show her off!” he motioned towards me, and with a spirited push from Annabelle, I found myself being helped onto the stage by Gerard’s slightly sweaty hand.

“She’s gorgeous, she’s amazing and she’s my girlfriend!” Gerard called out, wrapping an arm around me, allowing me to kiss his sticky cheek. I was blushing, but underneath the embarrassment I was incredibly proud to be there, to be declared Gerard’s girl to the whole place.

“Yeah, good looks run in the family,” Frank said into his microphone, and everyone laughed. I hopped of the stage in a daze, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world...

I quickly discarded the picture. I didn’t want to remember the best times in too much detail. As far as I was concerned, I simply couldn’t deal with it.

“Wait a minute,” said Reagan, examining the picture herself, “all of your old friends were in a band?”

“Still are,” I answered, “Frank’s the guitarist,” Reagan knew Frank well, he visited me so much, “the guy with the curly hair holding a guitar is Ray, the skinny one with the bass is Mikey, the drummer is Matt,” saying his name reminded me of his unceremonious departure from the group and lack of contact with me. I made a mental note to try and find more out about that.

“Wow, they’re brave to be in a band,” commented Reagan, “I mean, I’m sure they’re great – but how many bands ever actually make it?”
I chuckled at the irony of it all.

“They almost have made it,” I said, unable to prevent myself from smiling widely, “they’ve recorded an album with a minor label, and they’ve just found out that they’re going to be supporting Green Day on tour in a few months...”

I could practically see the cogs turning in Reagan’s mind as she took in the impressive information.

In the intervening time, I absent-mindedly picked up a crumpled piece of white paper. As I scanned the scrawled hand-writing, I gasped. I had forgotten that I’d ever received it.

20th September

Dear Connie,

Happy 18th birthday, I hope you have an incredible day. It’s also one month and one week since we ended. I’m a wreck. I don’t just want you back, I need you back. I’m not sure how things are going to go if I keep missing you like I am. I don’t know how you feel, but for me its a constant ache. I’m sorry for bringing this up on your birthday, but this is only going to get given to you if people think it’s birthday greetings. You will never know how truly sorry I am for the horrific thing I did to you. Please forgive me.

I need you to forgive me, or else I will never be able to forgive myself.

I love you.

Your Gerard.

I had to bite my lip incredibly hard to keep myself from gagging on sobs. The many creases on the paper showed me that I must have read it and immediately scrunched it up, discarding it in my memory box. Or maybe it should be called my Gerard box.

I closed my eyes and tried not to cry. The problem was, that one question was revolving around my mind: why didn’t I just forgive him and take him back? No doubt I would have been happier.
My thoughts shocked me, but I wasn’t permitted to dwell on them for longer than a second because Reagan began to speak again, but obviously still fixed on the rising success of MCR that she had only just learned of.

“That is so exciting!” she squealed, “I mean, you have to admit that it’s exciting! Sure, it will be a little awkward sharing the confined tour bus space with Gerard, but you’ll have your other friends with you; and GREEN DAY!”

I smiled sadly at the slightly manic glint in her eye that showed when she said those things.

“Calm down Reagan,” I said quietly, but it seemed that she could not resist talking over me.

“Oh my goodness!” she squealed, “You have to introduce me to Billie Joe! Or at least let me speak to him on the phone! And get me his autograph! I’m so jealous of you!”

I shook my head at her childish excitement.

“Reagan,” I said loudly to silence her,

“What?” she asked, still grinning like a child of 6 who had just been told that Christmas was coming twice that year, “I’m not going,”

“What?” she asked, her grey eyes suddenly growing theatrically wide,

“I’m not going,” I repeated,

“Your own cousin and all of your high school friends are in a band going on tour with green day and they didn’t ask you if you wanted to go?” she asked incredibly, “well that’s just rude!”

I sighed again, “of course they asked me if I wanted to go,” I told her. I bit my lip and braced myself for her reaction as I continued, “and I told them that I didn’t want to...”

“WHAT?” she demanded, “why don’t you want to go?”

I didn’t even get the chance to articulate an answer, though, before she ploughed on.

“Oh I know why you don’t want to go! You don’t want to be in an enclosed space with Gerard!”

I hung my head; that wasn’t totally true.

“No!” I denied flatly and unconvincingly, “the real reason is that I don’t think it’s appropriate to miss so much school!”

Needless to say, Reagan did not look convinced.

“You know that if you asked, they would let you take the books, do the work, and submit it via email,” she told me,

“It’s not the same,” I moaned,

“No,” she agreed, “it’s far better!”

I shook my head and shoved the shabby piece of paper with so much meaning attached to it that I was still holding into my pocket. I didn’t know why, but I wanted to keep it close to me, to remind me that he had loved me once.

I started to gather up all of the pictures and other notes to shove them back in the box.

“You are one crazy girl, Constance Mance,” she said.