Beautifully Broken

Fake Friends

Ashley

"What are you like stalking me now?"

He lounges against the building, a smoldering cigarette held tightly between his fingers. The corners of his lips tug up into a smirk as golden eyes land on me. I hate that fucking smart-ass smile. If I hadn't promised I'd be civil I'd smack it off his stupid face, a face millions of teen girls swoon over every night. Look at Frank and his amazing guitar skills. Look at Frank in his tight jeans and sweaty white shirt. Look at how sweet Frank is. Look at how nice and caring Frank is to his fans. Look at Frank. If only they knew who he really was, a narcissistic playboy. They'd never want to look at him again.

"I see you're still paranoid."

Digging out my own cigarette, I clench it between my lips, talking out of the side of my mouth, "I see you're still an asshole."

"It's a small venue, just because I happen to be near the same building as you doesn't mean I'm stalking you." He scoots down the wall, rolling onto his shoulder so that we're facing each other. I hate the way he looks at me, his eyes still gentle and caring. He stares at me from under his eyelashes, crossing his arm over his chest to mirror my stance. "But if I was stalking you this would be the place to do it, huh?" 

Taking a long drag off my cigarette, I blow the smoke in his face, "I'm going to close my eyes. When I open them, I want you to be gone. We'll play that game through tour, okay? Just because you're parked ten steps away from me every day does not mean we have to interact. I walk into a room and you walk out. You walk out of your bus; I'll walk back into mine. Do not appear out of nowhere and try to initiate a conversation neither of us wants to have. I do not forgive you. I will not forget what you did. I never will. Give up."

"What makes you think I want forgiveness? I've gone this long without it, a few more decades shouldn't hurt." He takes another step closer to me.

My body screams, begging me to step back, to disappear inside the venue. I won't. He will not get the upper hand here. If I show even the slightest sign of weakness, the tiniest glimpse of his actions bothering me I'll lose it all. He'll have won and I refuse to let that happen. Frank Iero does not get to have any power, not now, not ever again. "You need to get your shit together. Gerard is starting to ask questions. I won't keep lying for you."

"So don't," He's in my face now, our noses almost touching. "You were the one who wanted to tell him what actually happened."

To know the truth would crush Gerard. He loves both Frank and I. For his own sanity Gerard needs to think we naturally fell apart. Not all people who were friends in high school still talk. To force Gerard to pick a side would be cruel and unusual punishment for someone with such a big heart. "That'd crush him."

"Exactly," Frank reaches up, cupping my cheek in his hand, a cloud of smoke swirling in front of our faces. "So you'll keep your mouth shut, won't you? You and your guilt. Honestly, Ashley, I'm surprised it hasn't eaten you alive yet."

I jerk my face away from his touch, "I'd say the same about you, but we both know you're unable to care about anyone but yourself. Remember your role, Frank, and we can make it through this tour and then never have to see each other again."

"Until Gerard asks you to be the opener for our next headlining tour," Frank smirks back.

"I'd rather stick a thousand razor blades under my skin than spend an entire tour with you, you fucking asshole."

"Such cruel words from such a pretty –"

"Ashley?" Bert's voice floats around the side of the building, the man appearing seconds later. He studies the scene laid out before him, eyebrows screwing together as he grows closer. "Is everything okay out here?"

Frank rolls away, his back now securely pressed into the brick wall. Bert's on Frank's shit list, permanently inked there as the man who ruined Gerard. Only further proof that Frank's jealousy knows no bounds. Gerard was solidly on the road of self-destruction before he met Bert. Bert simply held Gerard's hand on the walk. "Just having a chat, reminiscing about the good old days."

"Should be a short conversation," Bert wraps an arm around my shoulders, accepting the half-smoked cigarette I offer to him. "The way Ashley tells it there was more devastatingly terrible than good."

The guitarist shrugs, shooting me a sideways glance, "Ashley's done a lot of drugs. Her recollection of things isn't always so accurate."

"Don't you dare do that," A solid shove to the chest prevents Bert from lunging at Frank who wears an amused grin. "You're lucky she's here."

Frank chuckles, shaking his head as he tosses the butt of his cigarette to the ground, "You two are pathetic."

"Let's go, Ashley. You don't need to deal with him," Bert and I push off the wall. Wrapping my arm around his ribs, we head back toward the side entrance.

"Yeah that's right, follow him back inside like a good girl."

Burying my face in Bert's side I try to hide the pain Frank's words caused. How did we end up like this? Frank was my world. He was the person I told everything to. We were thick as thieves, basically conjoined twins. We had each other's backs, going to bat for each other at the drop of a hat. All I ever wanted to do was see him win, to see him happy. It was never enough. I wasn't enough to hold his attention. Once living on the same eccentric planet now we can't even be in each other's orbit without an explosion. He traded up for the newer, shinier, model. Boys and their toys, right? Too bad Frank has to completely break his old things to move on to the other ones.

Bert takes me by the shoulders, holding me out in front of him. Puffy eyes scan over my face; thumb coming up to catch a traitorous tear that winds it's way down my cheek. "Fuck him, Ash. You shouldn't let some pretty boy like him make you feel this way. You're a fucking legend. He has to hump his guitar to make people think he knows how to play. Dudes just pissed cause you blew up and he's still playing with a fucking tween band."

"You used to like that tween band," I challenge, giving the singer a smile. I know he's trying his best to cheer me up, Bert's way of doing that being to trash anyone who says anything bad about me. If it was anyone else I'd be pissed, but coming from Bert it's kind of sweet.

Bert rolls his eyes, tucking my neck in the crook of his elbow, ruffling my hair, "I was on a lot of drugs back then, my opinions weren't always accurate."

"Fuck off, Bert," Giggling, I press my tongue to his wrist, using his temporary shock to break free of his hold, taking off across the room toward the stage.

The roar of the crowd sends me to a new level, raising me up above the rafters, flying to undiscovered heights. I lose myself on stage, putting every ounce of energy into the performance. If you don't throw yourself into your bunk after a show, too tired to even shower, you're doing it wrong. Our set for this tour might be one of my favorites. It ends with me sitting on the edge of the stage, completely alone with the microphone and my most prized possession; a custom aqua blue Suhr electric guitar. The last decent thing my past did for me.

"I wrote this song with my brother."

The chords ring out, hanging in the electrically charged air. The crowd roars as they recognize the opening. I rip my wounds wide-open, voice mixing with those of the fans. My brother on the drums picks up the beat, his gravely voice meeting mine. Together we sing about a troubled past, a screwed up family life, about hope for the future. That final bow is everything. The lights coming up, allowing me to see hundreds of kids crying along with me, understanding, purging their demons.

"We are Claim of the Broken. Keep fighting. It's worth it."