When We Part (on hold)

372 Days

"Gerard," I said, trying to shake him awake. "You have support group today."

He groaned deeply, tossing my hand away from him. He burrowed under the covers, and went back to sleep.

"Gerard," I sternly repeated. "You have to get up."

Nothing.

I ripped the blanket off of him. He shivered, but acted as though he didn't care. And went back to sleep.

"For the love of god," I sighed. I leaned down to his sleepy little face and kissed him on the lips. Ah, now I had him. Without thinking about it, he returned the favor.

"God damn it Frankie," he said, yawning awake. "That's really not fair."

"You never wake up on time," I chuckled, rolling my eyes.

"I enjoy sleeping," he answered. "And you should get ready too, you have to come with me today."

"Why?" I asked. I'd never been asked to come before.

"Today we're supposed to bring in someone who's been affected by our addiction," he explained. "I didn't think you'd want to come, but everyone else I've affected no longer speaks to me."

A wave of guilt spread through me. He knows it affected me. I haven't been discrete enough for him to not worry about it.

"I'll come," I said. "I really don't mind."

"You sure?"

"I'm positive," I reassured him. "It'll be fine."

"Alright," he said, shifting out of bed. "I'm going to go shower."

"Mind if I join?" I joked.

"What?" he yawned. "Oh-- Oh you trickster you."

I giggled, plopping a kiss on his cheek.

"Go cleanse yourself," I whispered in my creepiest voice.

"Weirdo," he laughed, walking into the bathroom.

"You love it," I said.

"True."

I pulled on a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a cancerslug shirt, and my ratty chucks. Punk. Oh yes, I am punk.

We left twenty minutes later.

+++

We sat down in our plastic molded chairs and watched as everyone introduced themselves, and their guests. A horribly tedious task seeing as I didn't care about them.

A lot of the older people sat with their kids or even grandkids, waiting quietly as the youngsters recounted their plights with drunken and sober relatives.

It came time for Gerard and I to finish the loop. He stood up, saying, "I'm Gerard, I'm nineteen. I started drinking when I was fourteen and I've been sober for just over two weeks." Everyone clapped politely. "And this is Frank," he added.

"Oh," said the group leader. "Is Frank your brother then?"

Ew no.

We like kiss and stuff.

"Boyfriend," Gerard corrected immediately. Some of the older and-slash-or more devout support groupers looked bewildered or disgusted. One woman even tsk-tsk-tsked at us. I didn't like her, she was the kind of person who could be shamelessly rude. Brendon's look of embarrassment was telling.

"Oh, sorry about that," he chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. His forehead was abnormally big. "Frank, do you have anything to say?"

I sighed and stood up.

"Well yeah, I'm Frank," I said. "I've known Gerard a while now, but it seems like I've known him much longer. In the past there have been a few incidents where he had relapsed and done things that weren't smart. A few weeks ago actually, he smashed a beer bottle over his head. We had to go to the hospital to get stitches. He slept the rest of that day."

"And how did it make you feel?" Brendon asked.

"How did it make me feel?" I repeated. "Scared. I was scared. Not for me or my safety or whatever, but I was scared for him. I was afraid he wasn't going to be able to get better." I paused. "It's like every time he's drunk, he's not there anymore," I explained. "I'd be scared for the person I fell in love with, scared that he'd slip away."

Brendon nodded, and moved on to the next pair.

"I'm so sorry," Gerard whispered to me, his lips mere centimeters from my ear.

"It's okay," I whispered back.

"I didn't know I made you feel that way," he replied, his response sounding pained.

I kissed his cheek, and murmured, "What's past is prologue."

He smiled slightly, and slipped his hand into mine. I didn't really listen to the rest of the group. I just sat there with his hand in mine and the hope that things would get better.

Why does Brendon have such a big forehead?

+++

We sat in the living room, eating ramen and watching animes. It was nerdy, but we didn't care because it was just nice. Like the kind of nice that makes you feel nice inside.

It was very late, almost midnight, when there was a knock in the door. It was odd, because we never had visitors, and the seventy year old taxidermist who owned the complex kept the mail. We checked with her for packages instead of having them delivered from apartment to apartment.

"I'll get it," he said, taking his ramen bowl with him. He lazily walked to the door, and when he swung it open, he was in shock. The glass bowl clattered to the ground, breaking off into shards across the floor. His eyes grew wide.

"What's wrong?" I asked coming to stand by him. "Are you oka-?"

I saw a girl standing at the door. She had short, cropped blonde hair, pale skin, and wore nice clothes. Clothes you'd see in a movie.

"Aren't ya gonna let me in, Gee?" the girl smirked. Silence fell over everyone. The tension was unbearable. After what felt like forever, Gerard finally spoke.

"Emily?"

A/N

AHAHA PLOT TWIIIIST YO

lol wow okay

So yeah that shit happened. Damn.

Anywho everyone who applied will be put in the story, so if you haven't seen yourself yet, please do not get your knickers in a twist. You'll be in there in the future. It's just that as of right now, I haven't found a place for you in the plot.

Patience, my friends, is a virtue you must have when dealing with me. Also I just started high school so I'll definitely need time to work and study and such. I'll always try to update regularly but please be understanding of the situation.

Thank you for reading!

-maddie