Beautifully Broken

House On A Hill

Ashley

The weeks fly by, the end of tour looming ahead like a light at the end of an incredibly long, uncomfortably dark tunnel. My body aches, new injuries appearing, mingling in with various other bumps and bruises in various stages of healing. My ankle heals. Frank and I fall into a kind of routine. As we wander the venues, all beginning to look very much like the last, we talk and smoke. Slowly, I'm beginning to let him back in. We talk about the past, the happy moments, neither quite ready to have heavy conversations. Frank tells me about Gerard, about what led up to the blowout on stage. Despite desperately wanting to put everything behind us, I just can't. I'm still hurt. I still hold him at arm's length, not certain I'm ready to fully put my trust in him.

The album gets recorded, the songs coming together to tell a story of hurt and betrayal, the loss of love, the loss of self, but most of all, healing. It's a coming of age story set to screaming guitars and old school drum beats. It's more than any of us could ever imagine. We leave Richard behind. This album will officially be put out on Bastard Sounds, Andrew record label. It felt right. We weren't willing to give up creative freedom. We didn't want to make the changes. We wanted the record to be us, fully, without outside influence. The last piece is the album artwork. Nothing seems to fit. Matt and I spend hours hunched over his laptop screen, trying, and ultimately failing to get something to work.

Frank tugs his jacket tighter around his shoulders, hands shoved deep in his pockets as we begin our walk. With an eye for finding beauty in the mundane, Frank helps me on my quest to take the perfect picture. Sometimes we spend hours shooting little blades of grass or flowers that dare to pop up through the snow. Other times we just talk, the camera completely forgotten. Each day feels like the day I get the album cover. Each day I come back with something just short of what we're looking for. Today, I'm taking a different approach.

Leading Frank back through the forest that lines the venue, I chew at the inside of my cheek. He's never going to agree to this. I should've asked one of the guys. Hell, even Bert, who can't take a decent picture to save his life, would've probably been a better option. Yet, as I hand the camera over to Frank, beginning to slide out of my jacket, he doesn't protest. I keep my back to him, slowly disrobing. The winter chill eats away at my skin, begging me to scrap this idea, to just keep muddling through crappy shot after crappy shot.

"Ash," Frank pipes up as I go to unclasp my bra. I'm left standing in nothing but my underwear and biker boots.

Tilting my head back, I let my hair fall down over my shoulder, exposing the phoenix that curls over my back and ribs coming up to lick at my neck. The camera clicks. Snow coats my skin, turning it rash red. Little flakes litter my hair, quickly melting. Click. Wrapping my arm over my breasts, I try and relax, stretching out. Click. My head falls back, hands coming up to encircle my neck. Click. Shaking fingers gently sweep my hair back over my shoulder, tilting my head off to the side. Click. Warm arms embrace me, hot breath creating a sheen of condensation against the nape of my neck.

It feels like an awakening. I can have him touch my bare skin without the hot pokers coming out to play. The gentle caress of his fingers against my arm sends my heart off like a horse at the gun. The walls begin to crumble as he hums against my neck, the vibrations raising blood to my cheeks. I can touch him and not feel dirty, not feel like I need to rub myself raw to get rid of the diseased mark. Perhaps, for this slice of a second, I can let the walls completely crumble, turning to sand to be swept away by the tide. His finger tangle in mine and I'm thrown back through time, lurching into myself. Perhaps not yet.

"Get dressed. You're shivering."

Once I'm clothed, Frank and I continue our walk. He keeps his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched up around his neck. Allowing me to ramble on, he keeps his eyes trained to the snow laid out before us. Sighing, I stop walking, Frank nearly running into me. "What?"