Fever Dream || Frank Iero

.16.

MELISSA

A week had passed and I still hadn't spoken to Jessica. The boys were kind enough to let me stay on their bus, Ray switching spots with me and sleeping on Fall Out Boy's bus. A few days after the incident, I was encouraged to try and talk to her, but I couldn't bring myself to do so without taking a swing at her face. Anger swallowed me whole that week, and although I hated the person it made me, I didn't care.

At every show since, I would see her on the other side of the stage, and she would wave to me, but I wouldn't wave back. Messages from her would be relayed from someone else, and i'd have nothing to say in return. A part of me felt terrible, knowing she was my best friend. Watching her face sink as I ignored her small gestures hurt me until i'd suddenly remember why I was mad in the first place, and quickly I retracted back to my crass state every time.

In the meantime, I felt I was forming a great bond with the rest of the boys, considering I was now living on their bus. Though he initially came off shy, Mikey warmed up to me rather quickly. That, and he was a dynamite Checkers player, which gave me something to actually do during the long drives.

Gerard and I managed to become each others' venting trap within a week, on the other hand. The comfort I felt with him and vice versa allowed a few long conversations about life and everything in between, which had helped me immensely. Often I wondered throughout that week if I could have gotten through it without him. It was nice knowing that I had a friend to fall back on, even when it felt like everyone else around me didn't know I existed. Although I did worry about him- it seemed the more time that passed, the more reckless he became with drinking. There was a strange sadness about him that I couldn't quite figure out, though I didn't want to overstep boundaries and ask what it was. One of us just talked, and the other listened. It felt good to feel trust.

As for Frank- I wasn't exactly sure what "normal" was for him, so I couldn't tell if he was back to it or not. His late-night romps with random girls seemed to become less frequent, which surprised me. Our interactions were fairly brief, other than some pathetic attempts at getting me into bed with him here or there when he was drunk. The strange note I found in his flannel was kept safe, pressed in a book buried in my things. I hadn't brought it up to anyone, but it was still on my mind even though I didn't want it to be.

Truthfully, the only exciting thing that came from that week was a new friend. In the midst of a drunken kick-ball game in a venue parking lot, I collided with another body in attempt to steal third base. It was a roadie named Sam, who I had only seen around a handful of times during the hustle and bustle of the tour. He was cute, admittedly. Tall, a mess of dirty blonde hair. At the time, I remember thinking for a moment that I was surprised Jessica hadn't tried to set me up with him yet.

We hit it off after the game finished, and many clumsy apologies. I found that we actually had quite a bit in common, and part of me wished that I could have met him before that terrible night in our bus the week before. Through the rest of the week, we'd talk here and there and sometimes eat lunch together outside. It was nice to have someone that wasn't in one of the bands as a friend, because he had more time to hang out when everyone else was running around.

The week felt like forever, still feeling emotionally distressed, but I had two goals moving forward: One, get to know Sam a little better. Two, find out what that note in Frank's pocket meant.

.

"Okay, favorite color, go."

The sun beat down viciously on Sam and I as we sat at a picnic table in the lot, enjoying the cliche ice-breaker talk that new friends tended to have. As awkward as those conversations could be, we decided to make a game out of it to pass the time, trying to guess each others' favorite things.