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

Twenty-two - I Thought I Loved You

I was in a shabby coffee shop when he arrived, unkempt as always. I'd been tapping my fingers restlessly on the table, trying to avoid connecting the smell of the clothes I was wearing to my boyfriend and feeling my stomach churn with guilt. I felt sick, as if I was going to throw up any second - that, or pass out. I didn't know which was worse.

This was probably the worst idea in the world, because I knew that we could never actually be friends, and we both desired the same thing. Except one of us had it, and the other didn't.

He didn't even bother ordering anything before slumping into the seat in front of me, brushing his hair back. "I fucking hate people." He grumbled, resting his chin in gloved palms, his elbows on the chipped table.

"Sorry." It was a half-hearted apology, accompanied by a half-shrug.

He scoffed. "Yeah, you don't mean it." I raised my eyebrows briefly, acknowledging the truth, and he smiled. "So."

"So."

Bert arched an eyebrow. "Why did you want to speak to me so badly?"

The silence was fifteen seconds long, and he lowered his gaze to stare at my hands. I kept my eyes on him, listening to his breathing, to the regular hustle and bustle of the shop. In fifteen seconds, the door chimed, someone's phone rang, and a dog barked.

"I know you fucked my boyfriend." I spat the words out as if they tasted foul, the bitter truth settling on my tongue like a pill and making my stomach churn. I was going to throw up I was going to throw up I was going to throw up I -

"I didn't fuck your boyfriend." He said, and my hands clenched into fists on the table. I'd been waiting for these words, and I had a retort ready. "Just hear me out, okay? I didn't fuck him."

"Yes you did, Mikey told me you did -"

"To start with, he fucked me - because even though he bottoms like a goddamn bitch, when he's wasted he makes a very convincing top - and second, I know you probably want to roast me on a spit or something right now, but seriously, hear me out. Because your boyfriend isn't as innocent as you want him to be."

My jaw clenched. I knew that Gerard wasn't innocent - far from it - but hearing him say it hurt a whole lot more. I'd spent the last day in New York without him, and it was just the weirdest thing. Bert had left a note to say that he was staying at a friend's - hence why I hadn't spoken to him until now. But seriously...

"Fine." I exhaled through my nose. "Fine."

He licked his lips. "I'm not trying to shoulder the blame, or, y'know, make excuses...because I know how much you hate me and this is my fault as much as his. But Frank - I - he - we -" he swallowed heavily. "If you think that my intention was to break you up or something, then you're wrong." I snorted. "No, I mean it. I just...I...fuck, okay, I'm gonna tell you about that night, and I want you to listen to me and not say a word. Got it?"

My gut twisted. I really didn't want to hear about the night my boyfriend cheated on me, but if this was ever going to be fixed, I guess I was gonna have to.

"Yeah." I choked out, my heart thrumming at an irregular rhythm. "Okay."

He kept his eyes on the table as he began to speak, frail fingers tracing patterns on the wood in front of him. "It wasn't long before you graduated, actually. I...I'd had one hell of a bad day, stuck inside the house, inside my head, while Gerard was at work, and...when he came home, the pot I'd smoked was wearing off, and man, he was so pissed. Like, I don't know why, but he was pissed, so he had some of the leftover pot, and he decided it would be a good idea to drink.