the persistence of memory ♤ frerard

night//twenty-one

I sat on my porch, I had been for three hours, and it was nearly one A.M., which made me worried. Gerard promised he'd be here, and I didn't peg Gerard as the type to break promises, especially ones to me, but perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps he wouldn't come and I'd sit here all night waiting, just to fall asleep when the sun appeared, knowing it was too late to see him.

The sky was clear, but the air still smelled like rain, and the moon shined down onto me with all her exceptional beauty. I sipped the coffee I held in my cold hands, peering over the top of the mug, looking for any sign of Gerard, any at all. But I saw nothing. Not for a couple more hours.

When I saw him, I could tell, even from a distance, that he was bruised, possibly even bloody, but I didn't even know how his body worked, I never thought much of it. I set my now-empty mug down and rushed over to him, sitting him down in the damp grass.

"Gerard- oh my god! What happened?" I exclaimed, running my fingers over his swollen eye and bloodied lip, although it wasn't blood, it resembled black paint more than anything, it was the color of his sky-black hair. He leaned into my side, so I was supporting all his weight.

"I told you they were angry," He told me, wincing as I touched a spot on his ribs. I frowned and helped him stand, and moved him closer to my porch, but I still made sure he was in the moon's light. 

"Let me go get some stuff to fix this up, fuck- maybe just some bandages and rubbing alcohol- fuck!" I rushed inside and grabbed what I needed, before going back outside and helping him out of his shirt, which seemed to be stuck to him. I cleaned off his skin with a wet rag, before pouring a bit of alcohol into his wounds.

"Who did this?" I asked, wrapping a wound on his ribs in bandages, since that was all I had. He didn't answer me until I had cleaned and patched up all of his wounds.

"They didn't mean to, you'll be mad at them, I can't tell you," He told me, wincing as he tried to stand. I helped him over to my porch and sat him on the porch swing next to me. I tucked some hair behind his ear and kissed his forehead.

"Whoever wounded you this badly. . . they deserve to have someone be mad at them," I said, pulling him into my side so I could hold him. "Do you really love me?" I asked him, my voice wavering.

"Yes, so try not to fall in love with me now," He whispered, holding me close to him.

"If I could control it I wouldn't. But our hearts choose who we fall in love with, if our minds could choose, then there would be no broken hearts." After that everything went silent except the soft buzz of the street lamps.

Gerard and I held each other until he had to go, since his brother peaked over the horizon, lighting up the land.

My heart tugged as he left, and I started crying. I missed him already.