When We're Both Thirty

Gerard’s not sure how many days he’s actually spent in his bed. He’s pretty sure it has to be more than a week because he’s got a really annoying neck beard thing and stubble, because he hasn’t touched a razor in a while.

He hasn’t felt the need to get out of bed though. He knows that there’s literally no chance of him ever getting a job when he’s this messed up and depressed. No one in their right mind would hire him, so he’s decided not to put any effort to waste in trying to find a job at the moment. He’s got to get over this slump before he can even think about a career.

Gerard’s eaten mainly what Mikey force feeds him. Mostly soup from the bread shop a couple blocks from his building. Also quite a few granola bars. That’s about it though.

He’s also made a habit of rejecting any phone calls that anyone tries to make. Every single time he hears his ringtone, he jumps up so fast that you’d think he’s on a spring, but as soon as Gerard checks the caller ID, he slumps back to his original position and mopes at an even higher rate as he had before. With every phone call that comes in with someone on the other end who isn’t Frank, he gets more and more sad about his life. It’s pretty much ruining him.

Gerard groans, reaches over to his night stand for his phone, and he almost lets it fall to the ground, but manages to catch it before it does. He has to pick his face up out of his pillow to look at it though and when his eyes find the screen he has to squint at how bright it is. The screen is blurry for a couple of seconds as he blinks his eyes rapidly, before having to rub some of the drowsiness out of them. He always gets insanely sleepy when he’s depressed about things. The annoying thing is that the more he sleeps, the more awful he feels and the more tired it makes him. It’s a vicious cycle of Gerard piling dirt on top of his own grave.

Gerard checks the date, does quick math and groans when he realizes that Frank’s birthday is only nine days away. He’s not sure how the days have passed him so quickly, but he knows that it’s almost past the date of the contract.

The contract has been the foremost thing on Gerard’s mind besides Frank for the last week. He’s been thinking a lot about that contract, and what it means that they’re almost past the deadline. Some part of him is terrified of the fact that he’s so royally screwed everything up, and it’s all going to feel infinitely worse in just over a week. He has nine more days before depressed turns into whatever is worse than that, and it sounds miserable. He’s miserable as it is, he is not at all excited to see what comes next.

Gerard messes around looking through his contacts for a couple of minutes before he lands on the one he’s been trying to keep himself from calling. Unsuccessful in this endeavor, Gerard props himself on his elbow which puts a strain on his neck, but he doesn’t’ care. He puts the phone to his ear and listens to the bland ringing in his ear. It rings once, twice, three times, with no answer.

Finally he hears the familiar voice message which he could recite verbatim by now, followed by the beep.

“Hey Frank, it’s me again. I think this is, like, the twentieth or something message, and I know you’re not going to listen to this, because you probably haven’t listened to any of these, but, on the off chance that you are there I just want you to call me back or pickup your phone next time. I know that’s too much to ask, and I’m being really pushy, but I just want to talk? I want to talk about what you said, and what it means... because like, I think it’s important that we talk things through. You left before I could even respond, and that’s my fault, not yours. I’ve been thinking about that night a lot though, and I should have followed you. I know I should have, and I’ve been beating myself up over it, because, I just, I fucking should’ve! I should’ve followed you even if there was a fucking hurricane outside, because, the thing is, I think I’m in love with you too, but I just wasn’t sure of my feelings when you said it. It all happened so fast, and it was, like, I don’t know. It was stupid. You were just saying all these things that it took me too long to process and I was such a bitch to you, because I kept calling you a bitch, when we both know that, in the end, you did what was right. Like, if you’re not in love with someone, you shouldn’t marry them, because then you’re hurting them less in the long run. I get that now when I didn’t the first time I thought about it. But, I mean, I do love you and... and who am I kidding, you’re not there. You’re not listening to this, I’m basically just talking to myself. Why am I still bothering to leave you messages?

“Just, Frank, I need you to know that I’m about a million percent sure I’m in love with you, and my life is eating me up because I fucked it up between us. This is just so stupid, because, you are my high school enemy. I hated you so much, and here I am sadder than I’ve ever been because you won’t return my calls. It doesn’t make sense, and I know it doesn’t, but no one ever made the claim that love was easy, did they? So I’m sorry for wasting the battery on your phone, because it’s a shitty thing to do, but you’ve probably just turned the phone off completely because you’re sick of me calling, and I guess I don’t blame you for that, but I just want to talk things through. That’s all. I just want you to hear it from me, in real time, that I’m in love with you. Sorry for everything, and, on the off-chance that you do hear this and you’re just angrily shaking your head and gritting your teeth at the sound of my voice, I want you to know that, whatever you do, if you decide not to let me back into your life, which I wouldn’t blame you for, just know that I hope you have a nice life anyway. So yeah, have a nice life, and bye. Also, sorry for the fact that I’ve left basically the same message over a dozen times, and sorry in advance for a dozen more to come.”

Gerard sighs before putting the phone down and hanging up. He’s getting kind of sick of this leaving messages thing. He knows Frank’s not going to call back, but he’s running into that dilemma of hoping too hard again.

The more he hopes, the harder it is to accept that Frank is never going to answer his phone calls. The more he hopes, the easier it becomes to pretend that things are going to be alright, but it makes for this painfully unpleasant cold realization every thirty minutes that his efforts are pointless. Frank is not going to call him back. This is a fact. He is not going to call back, and he will never call back. That realization is one he still refuses to face head on, so he keeps calling. He keeps hoping, and he keeps dying on the inside.

The phone rings beside him and Gerard jumps up, looks at the caller ID, and his heart falls as always. He seriously thought it might be Frank. Again.

It’s his mom. Gerard really doesn’t want to talk to her. Technically, this is all her fault. If she hadn’t insisted that he spend time with Frank than he never would have realized that he might be slightly extremely in love with him, and he never would’ve pissed Frank off and he wouldn’t be sitting in his bed right now dreaming about making pancakes on a Sunday morning with Frank.

Gerard can’t stop thinking about every little thing that Frank does. He keeps thinking about that one face he makes where he looks off into the distance, purses his lips and squints one eye like he’s thinking about something really hard. He doesn’t know why he even noticed that face in the first place, but it was so adorable in a weird way. That big honest grin he gets when someone starts talking about something he loves. The look he’d had in his eyes the last time Gerard saw him like a wounded puppy. How could Gerard have just left him go when he looked like that? He looked so innocent and hurt, how did Gerard just let him leave? He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for that.

He won’t forgive himself for a lot of things. He’s not sure what at all has happened recently. He’s not certain what the feelings he has now are, or where they came from. Gerard’s not sure if he’s had these feelings for Frank for a long time and they resurfaced after seeing him, or if Gerard truly did happen to start falling in love with him over the course of a couple days. It’s probably a combination of both. Gerard’s always been pretty oblivious of his own thoughts until they slap him in the face repeatedly. That’s how most of his life tends to go. He doesn’t pay any attention, and then, out of nowhere, his life is turned upside down.

Gerard’s pulled out of a reverie by the sound of Mikey at the door. He knows it’s Mikey because he’s the only other one person has a key.

“Gee?” Mikey calls. Gerard neglects answering because he knows that Mikey knows precisely where he is. He’s only left this spot for one reason and that’s to pee. His bed sheets are starting to smell like him which isn’t a great smell because he hasn’t showered in a couple of days. He rationalizes this because he hasn’t actually done anything, so he hasn’t really accumulated any dirt or sweat, because all he has done is lie here. He’s listened to every single album he owns at least twice. It’s not helping any. Billy Corgan can only provide so much peace to his restless mind.

Gerard’s also been very torn on what type of music is better when he feels this shitty. The problem is that sad music makes him sad, and nothing really changes in his feelings, but happy, bubbly music makes him sad because he doesn’t feel that way, he’s sad. And then there’s angry music which just makes him feel hurt and it makes him think about how angry Frank is, and it’s just not an easy thing to do.

He also hates himself for being this torn up over a boy. He cannot believe that he is lying in his bed buried in blankets just because of a boy. Sure he’s a cute boy, but that’s all he is. He’s just a boy. There are more important things. Gerard can’t be this sad based on nothing but Frank being angry at him. And this is Frank, a guy who has always and will eternally be angry at him. It’s true that Gerard always feels guilty whenever anyone is angry with him, but never this guilty. He usually just feels kind of crummy, but this here, this is not crummy. This is far worse than that.

His lungs feel like he’s underwater every time he tries to breathe. Every time he stops crying and has a moment of peace, he loses it again when he remembers that everything still hurts and nothing has changed. There’s such a finality in everything he feels and with every moment that he realizes how much it hurts. The way his soul and heart feel weighted down is like he’s been anchored in place where he lies in his bed. Gerard’s sick of not being able to control the way his life is going, and he’s sick of the grief, the guilt, and all of the pain it’s causing him. He’s just sick of everything.

“Gee,” Mikey calls again, and Gerard hears him creeping nearer, so he buries his head a little further into the blankets, even though there’s really no hope in hiding, as he is a giant lump in an otherwise unoccupied bed. Frank was here only a week ago. He was lying only an inch from where Gerard is now. Gerard smacks that thought out of his head as soon as he has it.

“Hey,” Mikey says, peaking into his room. “So I googled what you’re supposed to do when you have a broken heart, and the most popular cure that people suggested was ice cream. I think most of the tips were for ladies on HBO shows, but I still think ice cream isn’t a bad idea. Maybe you need a Star Wars marathon too.”

“I don’t want any of those things,” Gerard groans.

“Well I got you ice cream anyway,” Mikey says holding up a small container and a spoon.

“You are the sarcastic best friend that every chick flick has,” Gerard groans, “You know that character, right? The one that everyone knows is prettier than the lead actress but for some reason isn’t the one who gets the guy in the end. Jesus fuck, my life is a romantic comedy starring Katherine Heigl.”

“Well, but in all of those movies she was in, she got the guy in the end. James Marsden’s a good looking dude, you could do worse.”

“I don’t want him!” Gerard groans.

“I was using that as a metaphor!” Mikey says, “I thought that was the point. Like, if you’re Katherine Heigl then you get the guy in the end and that would be Frank, because he’s the counterpart. Right? Am I lost? Did I even get the right movie?”

“You’re such a dumbass,” Gerard groans, “gimme the ice cream.”

He holds his hands out and Mikey walks over and hands it to Gerard, probably having expected Gerard to say something along those lines in the first place.

“I am totally a mind reader.”

“Mikey, everyone likes ice cream,” Gerard says, scolding.

“Yeah, but I can also sense that you’re thinking about watching Star Wars right now,” Mikey says.

“Yeah, but when don’t I want to watch Star Wars?” Gerard says, taking the lid off of the ice cream, and snatching the spoon from Mikey’s hand. Maybe it is a cliché but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with binging on ice cream when it feels like his heart is burning a hole through his chest.

“Should I go put on episode five?”

“No, if we’re going to marathon Star Wars, we’re going to do it right,” Gerard says, “We’re going to pretend the first three don’t exist and watch four through six.”

“Alright,” Mikey says, rolling his eyes,” I have work tomorrow, but fuck it. I’ve got like seven vacation days to use up by the end of the year anyway. I might as well spend the time helping you since this is mostly my fault anyways.”

“It is mostly your fault. You’re a jerk, and I hate you,” Gerard says.

“Yeah, I figured,” Mikey says, shaking his head. So are you going to get up? Like, have you stood up at all today? And when was the last time you took a shower. You smell like something died in your hair. And you really don’t grow facial hair well so that sad impersonation of a man old enough to have stubble is making you look like a kid who drew marker on his face. Basically, you look like you’ve been living out of a gas station for a week.”

“Wha... I thought this was meant to be a pep talk!” Gerard says, burrowing even further into his pillow.

“It is, but you need a little tough love, and Gerard, you smell like a shoe. I mean, I love you bro, I do, and I will support you through whatever, but you smell hella rank.”

“But I want to eat ice cream,” Gerard says, “I don’t have enough energy to move or shower or, like, cry myself to sleep. Can I just stay here for a while? Like maybe for forever?”

Mikey looks at Gerard with a look in his eye that you never want to see on his face, and it almost scares Gerard out of his socks, but he is not wearing socks.

“Okay, I’m miserable, could you maybe not give me the look like you’re preparing to kill my first born?”

“You are going to get the fuck up, and I am going to put the fucking ice cream in the fucking freezer while you take a fucking shower, because I swear to fucking god, smelly fucking socks guy who lives across the fucking hall smells better than you,” Mikey says in an attempt to break the world record for the usage of the word ‘fucking’ in a sentence.

“You’re so mean, can you not tell that I am dying in my own disparity here?”

“Yes I see that, and later I’ll let you write all about it on your old Myspace page, but right now, you’re going to shower, and then we’re going to watch Star Wars and you’re going to annoy me with dumb facts about the movie while you mope in your own melancholy,” Mikey says, swiftly grabbing the carton of ice cream from him which forces Gerard to make a weird whimpering sound.

“I have an alternative proposition,” Gerard says, “how about you give that back and leave me be.”

“Not going to happen. Do you want me to put my foot down?” Mikey says, crossing his arms. Gerard suddenly realizes that resisting isn’t going to help him if he is murdered by his brother. So he decides to get up, mainly because he’s not entirely sure that Mikey isn’t related to Medusa, and that look in his eyes could definitely kill.

“Alright fine,” Gerard says, reluctantly rolling himself off of the bed. He knows he looks stupid, but he doesn’t really have the effort to try to get up any other way. He almost falls onto the floor, but he stops himself, and when he looks up he sees Mikey looking at him like he’s some sort of slug, and Gerard really doesn’t want to try to picture what he looks like. He probably looks like that one Peanut that is always followed by his own personal dirt cloud.

“Good,” Mikey says firmly.

Gerard slouches, but pulls himself out of the sheets anyway and trudges out of the room, feeling Mikey’s eyes follow behind him, carving a hole in the back of his head. Mikey may have a weird way of getting things gone, but it can never be said that his techniques are ineffective.