Cruel Amore

Frank’s Point Of View

I poured the cold coffee down my throat hurriedly, already late for work. I scurried into the bedroom to grab my jacket, noticing Gerard finally awake.

“Where are you going?” He croaked.

Oh, here we go again. I’m surprised he’s actually talking to me after completely ignoring me last night. I bet he’d forgotten that.

“Why would you care? If you didn’t get so fucking high last night you would remember that somebody in this place has to work to get money, which, surprise surprise, you just spend on fucking drugs and booze!”

It’s true, I have to work nine to five every single day because of him. If he wasn’t so high he could get a job and help pay rent. The reason we can’t pay the bills is because he uses my money to fuel his fucking addiction!

“Frankie, don’t be like that, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry is meaningless now, you’ve said it so many times that I just don’t believe you. If you really meant it you wouldn’t just go and do it again.”

“I am sorry, and if it makes you happy, I’ll get clean and sober.”

“Don’t lie to me, Gerard, you know as well as I do that’s not going to happen. Can you not see you’re ruining our relationship?!”

I really didn’t need this before work, especially not when I was late. My boss was going to kill me!

“It’s not me ruining it, it’s you! You’re never home anymore, you just work work work!”

“Why do you think I have to do that?! Somebody has to pay the bills.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse; the bills don’t get paid anyway.”

“That’s because you use the money to get off your face every night! You know what, I can’t be bothered with this, I’m already late for work without you fucking shouting in my face,” I screamed, stomping off towards the door.

I didn’t even bother going back for a coat or umbrella even though it was tipping it down with rain. Just as I was about to shut the door I heard a faint ‘I wish you were dead’ uttered angrily from Gerard’s mouth.

“I love you,” I muttered back.

Nice to feel wanted isn’t it?

Gerard’s Point Of View

Frank slammed the door after telling me he loved me, making the walls shake all through the house. Sighing, I dragged myself out of bed, noticing I was naked. I wonder if Frank and I got up to anything last night. I can’t even remember. I picked up the jacket I was wearing the night before and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, gingerly lighting one up before pulling on some boxers. They looked clean enough to wear.

I automatically stumbled into the kitchen for coffee.

Damn, Frank must have been really pissed off at me, he didn’t make me coffee. He always makes me coffee.

I boiled the kettle and made one myself, setting it down at the table and grabbing yesterday’s newspaper.

Mmm, coffee good.

I heard my cell phone ringing quietly in the bedroom so I quickly got up. I bet it was Frank. Either wanting to have another go at me or giving me some shitty sob-story. Well, I wasn’t standing for it.

I picked up the phone, noticing on the caller ID that it was indeed Frank.

“What?” I muttered as I answered the call.

There was a couple of second’s silence.

“Gerard!”

He sounded kind of distressed, yet terrified at the same time. My guess is a sob-story.

“What?” I repeated coldly, but the line went dead.

I guess whatever he wanted to tell me wasn’t that important. I decided to go and see him at work after concluding that his manager probably told him to get off the phone. There was no need to rush though, I had all day.

After I finished reading the newspaper and drinking my coffee, I had a cold shower to wake me up and put on some clothes that were lying on the floor. I lit up another cigarette as I scribbled some eyeliner over and under my eyelids.

As I opened the front door, I realized it was raining. Damn, I never knew where Frank kept all his stuff … where would he keep an umbrella? Oh fuck it, if I came into his work soaking wet then at least it would show I’d made an effort.

I stepped reluctantly into the pouring rain, immediately being drenched to the bone. I began the half an hour walk into town where Frank worked as a body piercer.

I didn’t mind walking in the rain that much. I used to do it when I was a teenager; if I ever felt the need to cry I would walk in the rain. I guess it felt like somebody was crying for me.

I turned onto a road which would lead me across the park, to town. It was a rough part of town, probably quite dangerous for me to be on my own but I’d lived here all my life, I didn’t see why anything would happen to me now.

After another ten minutes, I reached the park, noticing that there was a vast crowd gathered around some mysterious object, screaming until their lungs would not let them scream anymore.

What the hell was going on?!

I caught sight of a police inspector, so I assumed it was just another crime and kept walking, trying to avoid the mass of people.

But suddenly something caught my eye.

A cell phone lay shattered in a muddy puddle, but it wasn’t just a cell phone, it was Frank’s.

I picked it up carefully. It was definitely his as it still had my number up on the screen.

I immediately found myself running towards the crowd as I dropped the phone, uninhibited thoughts circulating in my head.

As I got there, I pushed the hysterical witnesses out of the way, climbing through the swarm of people to get to the front.

What I saw will remain engrained in my brain till the day I die, tormenting and haunting me for eternity.

Frank … like a bloody ragdoll …

There was so much blood … a knife sticking out of his side, pouring blood … a gash from his forehead right across his eye down to his mouth, pouring blood … his neck cut to a point where his head was almost severed, pouring blood.

Perhaps the most agonizing of all, a gunshot to his heart.

Police were holding back the mourning crowds, sirens lighting up the cloudy daylight as paramedics pulled up in ambulances.

I hit one of the police officers arms out of the way when he wasn’t looking and launched myself at Frankie, throwing myself onto the floor next to him, whimpering as I felt pain sear through me.

No. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair!

I grabbed on to him as if my life depended on it, ignoring the blood seeping through onto my soaked skin.

His lifeless body didn’t move, his arms not finding their way around my waist. In that moment, I realized that they never would again.

All of the things I had lost … my life. He was my life. The only thing I lived for.

Tears were saturating my face.

“Ge-Gera-” A weak voice choked.

“Frankie?!” I cried, noticing the blood dribbling out of the corners of his mouth as his head rolled from side to side.

His eyes opened briefly; for less than a second, locking with mine as they drooped shut, slipping any life he had left in him away.

“Frankie? No!” I shrieked, as I was pried away from his lonely body.

Paramedics ran straight over with a stretcher, hauling the body onto it and rushing off to the hospital.

I stared on in horror, my life crashing around me. All eyes were on my blood-soaked body as tears streamed down my face.

“Excuse me, Sir, who are you?” A police officer asked.

I gormlessly pointed my finger to where he had been laying and whispered ‘my husband’.

I can’t form words properly. I can’t breathe properly. I want to be sick. I wish this was all a nightmare and I’d wake up and it would all be gone, but that wasn’t going to happen.

I looked up at the mob of swirling emotions, envying them for still having their lifelong love. As I glanced around, one particular man stood out from everybody else.

He was smiling.

~*~

After everything that happened on that tragic day, I was taken to the police station. They accused me of your murder, baby. They said that they had found my fingerprints on your cell phone which made me a suspect. They haven’t found the guy who did it yet. They say he was too clever, left no evidence other than the knife, and there are no fingerprints on that. They can’t find any DNA or fingerprints or anything, they don’t think they’ll catch him.

The pain, baby, it hurts so much, yet I feel so bad for saying that as I can’t imagine the pain I put you through that morning, and the pain you endured through the vicious attacks. You didn’t deserve that.

I miss you, baby, so much. It hurts. I cry for you, every day, every night. The doctor prescribed me some anti-depressants but I won’t take them, I told you I’d get clean and sober, and I did baby, just for you.

I can’t stand the silence. I haven’t seen my family or friends since and it’s been exactly a month. I didn’t go to your funeral; I just couldn’t watch you disappear off the face of Earth. It would have meant you were well and truly gone. Instead, I just sit here and stare at your guitar for hours, tears whispering down my cheeks as I remember how you’d sit there for days, making up romantic love songs for me.

I can’t smile though. It doesn’t feel right. Nobody should be allowed to smile anymore. It’s not right to be happy. And it reminds me too much of that man in the crowd who smiled. I’m convinced it was him, baby, I just wish you were here to say. In fact, I wish it never happened in the first place …

Mikey’s coming over today. He said he’ll help me sort all of your belongings out, but I don’t know if I can. I go over to your wardrobe apprehensively, opening the doors to reveal all of your clothes and shoes. There’s a box in there too. Curiously, I take it out and open it cautiously. There are several sheets of paper, all with writing on. I recognize them as the songs you wrote for me. I lift out a sheet and press my face to it, trying to smell your sweet fragrance. You had never sung me this one before, but it was beautiful. Too beautiful. I’m not worthy of it. A tear dropped onto paper, staining it slightly.

I’m so sorry, baby. I can’t stand thinking that you died in agony, not just physically, but mentally too, and it was my fault.

Just thinking about the last words I said to you breaks my heart.

“I wish you were dead.”

They always say be careful what you wish for. Now I know that’s too true.

And even then, you replied ‘I love you’.

I never even said it back. I never got to say it back, I was too stubborn. I can’t even remember the night before. What kind of husband was I? I didn’t deserve you for sure.

I miss you so much, baby, and there’s only one way to be close to you.

I grab my phone, punching in Mikey’s number.

“Hello?” He answers.

All I can sob is ‘I’m sorry’ before hanging up.

I read and reread the song you wrote, my fingers gracing the page, knowing that you would have done the same.

After a few minutes, I hear someone frantically banging on our front door, probably Mikey.

I get up calmly, locking our bedroom door. I look under the bed, pulling out a small cardboard box. I lift the lid, almost excited by the prospect of seeing you again. I miss you so much, baby.

I take out the pistol, running my finger along the top of it. I hear Mikey shove open the front door, his feet clambering up the stairs. I swiftly open the window, and climb down the pipe next to it, landing on the ground with a worthless thud. I start running, running away from my life, running away from my friends and family. Running towards you.

I sprint towards the cemetery, pistol firmly in my hand. As I arrive there, I search impatiently for your grave. When I find it, I slow to a walk and stop in front of it. A salty tear falls elegantly to the ground, unlike my inelegant fall from grace.

I lie down over your grave; sick to some people, but I think I am already sick. I just want to be as close to you as possible when I die, and then I can be with you.

Your bloody limp body blazes in my mind; it’s so hard to forget, I remember every single detail.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pick it up.

“Gerard where are you?” A worried Mikey asks.

“I’m sorry,” I sob, a fresh set of tears cascading down my face.

“Please –“

I don’t let him finish, I want to be with you.

I lie back, putting the phone back in my pocket and raising the gun to my heart. Right where he got you.

“I love you too, baby,” I whisper.

Bang.