Beautifully Broken

Impulse

Frank

She's breathtaking. Sitting under a single spotlight, dust swirling around her, legs dangling over the edge of the stage. I grin as her fingers work over the strings of the last good thing I ever did for her. That guitar is my little glimmer of hope, the one thing that lets me know she's not completely shut me out of her life. Ashley's smooth voice cuts through the crowd, everyone in the audience hanging onto her every word. She's got a way of taking you on a journey with her songs. That's a talent Ashley's always had, the envy of all artists. You feel the pain or the rage she's feeling as she sings. You can't fight it. Ashley demands that you don't. Watching her play forces you to think and to experience and to change if even for a moment.

My eyes follow her as she bows, hand clasped over her heart, the other extended out towards the crowd. I'm envious of those in the crowd who get to experience this for the first time. It's a thrill I'll be trying to recreate my whole life. Ashley begged me not to go to that first show. Despite playing in nearly a dozen bands together she said that knowing I was in the crowd would make her nervous. I snuck in as the house lights dimmed, sticking toward the back by the bar. She stormed out onto the stage in a set of leather pants, shaking up a bottle of champagne. "We are Claim of the Broken. Go fuck yourselves." Frothy liquid coated the front row as she tore into the first song. Ashley has always been one for a dramatic greeting.

I should've been nicer this afternoon. Bringing up Ashley's past addictions was a low blow. The lowest I could have possibly gotten. At least I can only go up from here. I was grasping at straws, trying to get the upper hand. Ashley's mention of Gerard threw me off; he's a sore spot between the two of us. Bert didn't help either. No matter what I said he'd paint it in a negative light, twisting my words so that they sounded like poison to Ashley's ears. It appears I don't require Bert's assistance; I did a fine job of crushing Ashley all by myself. I need to lay off the pills, they make me foggy; make me say stupid things I don't mean. They take the sting out of real life, no consequences if it's all just a big joke. Maybe I'm the joke.

I shouldn't be putting this much effort into her. I should be focusing on Gerard. He is what I ruined everything for. He's the one I wanted. He's the one I thought about constantly, pulling my attention from Ashley. Gerard is who I want. Gerard who has his arm slung over my shoulder. Gerard who presses his lips to the top of my head every night before we go on stage. Gerard who lets me squeeze myself into his tiny bunk just so we can sleep next to each other. Gerard who willingly shrugs out of his jacket when I forget mine and start complaining about the cold. Sweet, gentle, compassionate Gerard who is muddling through his own identity, trying to be brave, trying to be what he thinks I need. He should have my undivided attention. I need to stop thinking about her or I'll ruin this too.  I can't fuck this one up. Please don't let me fuck this up.

As Ray plays his solo, I stride across the stage, letting my guitar hang limply at my stomach as I take Gerard's face in my hands. He looks at me; so much trust in his eyes. Slowly I move my face closer to his, trying to communicate that what I'm about to do is okay. The fans will still be there; they'll still love him just the same. Absolutely nothing has to change. There will be no judgment or harsh criticism. If there is, I'll handle it. I'll take the bullets. I'll be the one that bleeds out to save him. My lips crash against Gerard's, fingers tangling in his hair. For a few seconds, the world falls away, Gerard and I the only two perfectly fuck up souls in the whole world, our lips creating a perfect melody. He backs up, scooting away from me as he sings out the final lines of the song.

I wait for the blowback, his cold shoulder, the comments from my bandmates. My stomach churns, heart picking an unfriendly rhythm. Fingers curl around my throat, threatening to cut off all breathing. I'm thrown into a pool and have forgotten how to swim. It never happens. Gerard wanders up from the back of the bus, coffee cup held tightly between his hands just like usual. He sinks into the couch, draping his legs over mine. "You kissed me."

"Yes." I don't know what else to say, mind going completely blank. This is it. He'll tell me it was too much too soon. We won't talk for weeks, skirting around each other, trying to force a sense of normalcy. Stupid. So fucking stupid all the time. Why do I have to be so impulsive? Why can't I just be okay with keeping it simple and quiet, only between us? I fucked it up. This time it won't just be a complete cut off for a few days, it'll be total isolation. I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat, burning me from the inside out.

"In front of all those people."

"Yes."

Gerard takes a sip of coffee, adding anticipation, building up to his fatal blow, "You've never done that before."

"No." This is painful, like slowly peeling off your own skin. My fingers twitch, going for the bottle that isn't there. Why won't he just spit it out? I can feel my brain pushing against my skull, heart pounding in my ears. "Gerard –"

He leans forward, snuffing out my next thought with his lips against mine. His hand slides around the back of my neck, holding me to him. His teeth nibble at my bottom lip, eliciting a moan. The Devil taught Gerard how to kiss. His lips dripping with honey, fingers doing magic tricks against my skin. His touch puts me in a trance, soft lips working against mine leaving me warm and buzzing. This is better than any high. We pull apart, panting; my forehead finding it's way to the crook of Gerard's neck.

Gerard's voice cracks, words coming out in a hoarse whisper, "You're lucky I didn't do you right on stage."

I choke on the saliva I'm trying to swallow. Coughing I beat on my chest, wiping away the water that's filled my eyes. This can't be real life. This isn't real life. Gerard's okay with this? The guy who won't let me hold his hand during an interview is fine with me kissing him on stage in front of thousands? Laughter bubbles up, slipping through my swollen lips as I lift my head, staring at Gerard. "You're too much, you know that?"

"Oh shut up," Gerard rolls his eyes, giving me a playful wink. "You love it."

I hum, nuzzling Gerard's neck with my nose, grinning into his shoulder, "Maybe."

Clothes litter the center aisle of the bus, sunlight pouring in through the window, burning tired eyes. Groaning, I stretch my arms over my head, fingers brushing against soft material. Rubbing at my eyes, I pry them open, staring up into Gerard's sparkling hazel ones. "Good morning."

"Morning sleepy," he waits for me to sit up, pulling the blanket I don't remember grabbing last night, up over my lap before handing me a cup of coffee.

For a few minutes we sit in silence, each enjoying our breakfast, "Are we still driving?"

"No, we pulled in like fifteen minutes ago. Everyone else is out at the tent getting food. Mikey said he'd bring us something back."

"No more bagels. I can't eat any more fucking bagels," I grumble.

"Someone's grumpy. I thought you'd be in a good mood after last night."

Leaning my head on Gerard's shoulder, I press my lips to his neck. "I'm in a fantastic mood." He's got a sketchpad resting on his lap, the beginnings of a drawing dusting the paper, "Whatchya working on?"

Gerard flips the pad shut, setting it to the side as he slides an arm around me, "Well, I was trying to draw you sleeping, but you woke up." 

"Terribly sorry."

Gerard kisses my temple, giving me a wink, "That's okay, you can make up for it tonight."