The Man I Know I'm Not [Frerard] (Sequel To Tell Me I'm A Bad Man)

Nineteen - I Can Watch Your Face As I Take It All Away

I didn't think about the reaction my actions would cause; I just went over and knocked the drink from his hand. I heard the glass hit the floor and smash, and I glanced down to see shards in among the amber liquid. The conversation died down momentarily, but I kept my eyes fixed on Gerard, who was giving me a look as if I'd just killed his brother and pissed on the body. His glare said that this wasn't my funeral, but it may as well be.

There was a pause of thirteen seconds, as I felt eyes on Gerard and I, and then everyone started talking again. Not once did I break eye-contact with him, anger flooding my veins. How dare he? How dare he do such a thing? He'd been lying to me for weeks - months, probably. The blood rushed in my ears, and the word 'liar' screamed at me, over and over. Liar, liar, liar, liar -

I was going to kill him, and then I was going to kill Bert.

"What the fuck was that for?" He hissed.

"I could say the same to you." I hissed back, not even flinching when his jaw clenched. If I wasn't mistaken, he looked like he wanted to hit me. "What happened to three years of sobriety?"

"It's one drink, Frankie."

"It seems to me like it's been more than one, actually."

He rolled his eyes. "I told you this would happen." He said to the barman, who was innocently passing and looked like a deer caught in headlights the second my boyfriend addressed him.

"He's an ex-alcoholic." I spat at the barman, who recoiled, and I felt a tiny stab of guilt, because it wasn't his fault. "I reckon he neglected to tell you that."

"Thanks, Frank. I really wanted the whole of New Jersey to know."

"I'm surprised they don't know already, with the way you've been acting."

"I haven't been acting like anything." Finally, cleaners swarmed in to clear up the mess on the floor. "You're the one that came marching up like some uptight bitch -"

"Oh, so I'm supposed to just let you carry on drinking? What was it that you told me drinking did to you?"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know enough." I held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

He slapped them away. "I'm not drunk!"

"You clearly fucking are!"

"We're not having this conversation here." He slipped off the stool, grabbing my wrist and making me wince as a sting shot up my arm. He practically dragged me outside, past everyone, who was watching us by now, and he spun me around to face him once we were out in the rain. "This is your best friend's funeral! Are you determined to spoil everything? Are you determined to ruin it for everyone else because oh no, it's not so perfect anymore?!"

I wrenched my arm from his grip, holding it to my chest. "You don't feel any remorse, do you?"

"Remorse?" He scoffed, swaying the tiniest bit. I'd never seen him drunk, and I'd never wanted to. Now he was giving me exactly what I didn't want. "What do I have to feel remorseful for? I was just enjoying a quiet drink, away from everyone."

"There's a difference between enjoying a quiet drink and getting completely wrecked!"

"I'm not drunk!" He yelled, and I still didn't flinch, even when he grabbed my jacket and yanked me closer to him. "Why won't you get it into your stupid fucking head?! I am not drunk!"