Telephone (Frerard)

Chapter 12

After Frank was home and alone, he went up to his bedroom and threw himself down on the bed. He was so glad he had Gerard. After all the shit with his previous relationships, he really saw something different in Gerard. Maybe it was the look in his eyes when Frank was hurting. How much he cared.

He sighed and picked up his notebook from under his bed. Sometimes he liked to sketch and write when he had the time. He rifled through the papers on the ground, looking for his book. He couldn't find his, but he found Gerard's. He must've left it last time he was over.

"He probably wouldn't mind" he thought as he opened up the worn notebook. The first page was a drawing of a handgun with the word revenge printed in thick letters underneath it. The next was a woman in a long, black dress holding a single rose. He flipped through dozens of pictures Gerard drew himself. They were all beautiful.

He came to a page of writing.

I can't take this anymore. I'm sorry for being such a waste of space. I'm sorry for taking up your time. I'm sorry I'm such a burden. But I'm not sorry for this. Please don't be sad. Don't feel bad. It's not your fault. I promise. I just don't want to live in a world where I do nothing but screw up and hurt people. I can't take another day knowing what I've done to you. Remember, I love you.
-Gerard.

Frank was crying. He found Gerard's suicide note. It was dated October second, the day before the telephone call. One, single day. The phone call saved Gerard. What if Frank hadn't picked up? He would be dead. The boy who brought his life meaning would be dead. He wouldn't know what his love felt like.

And the worst part is, he would be dead without him too.