Stockholm Syndrome (Frerard)

16: Snuff

Media: Gerard

I was half awake when I felt the bed dip down three hours later. I hadn't been in a very deep sleep, but enough to keep me down until Gerard came to bed. I was facing the outside when he laid down, but I turned around to place my head on his chest, my arm slung over his waist lazily.

"See anything on the news?" I asked sleepily, my eyes still closed as I felt the rise and fall of Gerard's chest as he breathed.

"Nope, nothing." He confirmed, placing his closest arm around me. "Hey, Frank?"

"Mmh?"

He paused for a moment. "What if- what if the police take me in for lying to them about knowing where you were?"

"They won't. I'm sleeping, don't make me worry." I mumbled, snuggling in even further into him.

"Sorry, you're right-" Gerard sighed, and I felt him move as he reached for something. I heard a drawer open and close and then the sound of paper unfolding filled my ears. I opened my eyes slowly to see what he was doing, and he folded the paper again so I couldn't see.

"What's that?" I nodded at the paper, raising an eyebrow at him. There was a small smile lingering on his lips as he looked from the paper to me, and then to the paper again.

"Oh, it's nothing-" A light pink colour tainted his pale cheeks and he placed the paper onto the nightstand, probably hoping I'd forget about it.

"Is it a drawing?" I asked, remembering back in the hotel when he mentioned that he was artist indirectly when I had asked him why he killed for a living. 'Can't make it as an artist.' He had said. He shook his head at my question, then looked at me again.

"A song." He corrected, and my interest skyrocketed.

"You write songs?" I asked. "Can you sing? Play guitar?" The sleepiness was slowly ebbing away, and I propped myself up on my elbow, no longer snuggled into Gerard as I awaited his answers.

"Ah, I'm shit at it. And I don't have a guitar or anything, so-"

"You should show me the song."

"I was planning to, eventually..." He explained, reaching over to pick up the paper again. "Remember when we stayed in the motel? I uh... This is what I was writing in that phone book..." The pink colour flushed to his face again as he slowly moved his hand closer to me, the once folded paper in between his index and middle finger. I took the paper from him and looked at it.

His handwriting was very small, and just at the turning point of 'legible' and 'non-legible'. I could read it, though. I looked at him one more time to give him another chance to object, but he was just laying beside me with his head turned away, eyes fixated on the 'Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars' poster he had up on the wall. I didn't think he was interested in it, he was just distracting himself while he let me read one of the most personal things he's given me.

My eyes flicked back to the paper, and I began to read.

'Early Sunsets Over Monroeville'  was the title.

'Late dawns and early sunsets, just like my favorite scenes
Then holding hands and life was perfect, just like up on the screen
And the whole time while always giving
Counting your face among the living
Up and down escalators, pennies and colder fountains
Elevators and half price sales, trapped in by all these mountains
Running away and hiding with you
I never thought they'd get me here
Not knowing you'd change from just one bite
I fought them all off just to hold you close and tight'