Beautifully Broken

The Next Best American Record

Ashley

Pete shakes his head, shoving his hands into his back pockets. Mikey hovers behind him, fingers drumming against Pete's shoulder. "I don't know. They got into some big fight and then he just ran away. People are out looking for him."

"I've tried calling him, but he won't answer. I just keep getting voicemail," Mikey frowns, the expression harsh on his youthful features. "He's been so fucking moody lately."

Sighing, I begin to pull on my shoes, lacing them quickly. Frank gets mopey but I've only heard of him running away a handful of times. He's usually one to sulk in the background, licking his wounds in hopes someone will question him. "I'll go look. I might know where he went."

Being at the same venue for a few nights in a row has its perks. I know where everything is. I've found out everyone's favorite spots to try and hide from the chaos taking place around us. Pushing through the red emergency door, I mount the rusting metal ladder leading up to the roof of the venue. Frank sits with his back to me, a cloud of smoke creating a halo around his jet-black hair. We came up here last night to look at the stars and watch the snow fall. We talked about Ronnie and old times for hours before our fingers grew numb and our bodies shook so bad we could barely get back to the buses. I'm glad Pete came to me. I'm not sure the others would have thought to look up here.

"This whole running away shtick is pretty fucking childish, Frank."

The guitarist keeps his back to me, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug, "He's getting married."

"What?" I drop down next to Frank, unsure if I heard him correctly. There was never any talk of marriage. Where the hell is this coming from? This better not be some kind of pity ploy to try and rope me into one of his twisted games. "When?"

"Right now. He's getting married right now to Lindsey. That girl who flew out to spend some time with him. That girl who is just a friend. The one he's known for less than a month."

"He's known her longer than that."

Frank turns to face me. His cheeks are stained with tears, eyes puffy. Frank spits, shaking his head, "Barely. I guess now he won't get hurt. He bailed before that could ever happen."

I want to lash out, ask how it feels to get an unhealthy dose of his own screwed up medicine. I can't find that much venom inside. I can see the way his jaw quivers, the way his fingers work angrily at eyes that grow glossier by the second. I watch as he curls into himself, rocking back and forth, his body desperately trying to dispel the emotions coursing through it; eating it alive. Frank's hurt and not just in a sleep it off and move on type of way. It all hits me at once, my knees giving out, my butt hitting the cold metal of the roof. My head is spinning. I have to suck in deep breaths, forcing myself not to vomit. All this time I thought it was Gerard who was head over heels for Frank. I was wrong. Frank isn't just using Gerard to play out some twisted fantasy. Frank loves Gerard. Like rip my heart out, take a bullet for you, till death do us part love.

"Fuck."

"Yeah fuck," Frank snarls back. "Do you wanna know how many times he said that would be us? How many times we'd get off stage and barely make it back to the bus? And then what? All of a sudden I'm not enough? He's worried about what people will say? He isn't sure if that's really who he is? I helped save his life! I sat through all the bullshit! I was there for him when no one else could stand to be in the same room as him! I gave up so many opportunities, gave him all the time and space he needed to figure his feelings out. I humped his face on stage and now he's throwing me out like last week's trash!"

"Frank," I gently press my palm to his heaving chest, trying to capture the firing burning behind his eyes in mine. "You wanna drink about it?"

As he sits there, shaking under my touch tears begin to spill down his face. The shell of a once vibrantly alive man. "Yeah." He nods, allowing me to help him to his feet. "Yeah, I do."