Beautifully Broken

Degausser

Frank

For the next two days, I don't let Ashley out of my sight. It brings me comfort to have her there, side stage, jumping around to the songs we play. Being able to look over and see her beaming back at me makes being on stage next to Gerard easier. No matter how sweaty I am, Ashley is always there to pull me into a hug, to tell me what a great job I did. Sometimes, if no one is looking she'll even sneak a kiss on my cheek. I love being able to wrap my arms around her, to feel her heart pounding along with mine. It's familiar and no matter what kind of day I'm having, it brings me comfort. We fall into her bunk every night and even if I'm still gross and smelly she'll let me curl up next to her. I don't want tour to end, not now, not when it feels like it should just be starting.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye." We stand outside the buses, ready to take one final drive on this whirlwind of a tour. The drive home.

I nod, clumsily taking Ashley's hand, holding it between mine, "Guess so."

A thousand words sit on the tip of my tongue, pushing desperately against lips that refuse to open. Once again I nod, watching as Ashley turns to open her bus door. I follow suit, glancing back over at her one final time. We share a glance that says far too little yet far too much. The glance between two cowards, two people desperately in love but too scared to voice it. Two people for too terrified to ever admit that the hateful words and angry stares mean nothing anymore. Two people who just can't seem to rid themselves of a life they've been trapped in for much too long. Ashley offers a smile and I do too before sealing myself inside the bus. Suddenly, I feel worse than I have in months. This feels too final. Too much like closing a book I only got halfway through.

For the first time in a long time, I find myself shoved into the corner of the bus couch. The window is thrown open, a cigarette held loosely between my fingers. I imagine Ashley going the same, full lips pulled into a pout. The world moves past me slowly, morphing into shapes and colors.No one says much, everyone lost in their own heads. The words that need to be spoken sit in the silence, they swirl to life in subtle glances only to be snuffed out by a pathetic sigh, a sad frown, and the pitiful shake of a head. I'm not sure we're going to make it back from this one.

A blink and I'm standing in front of my apartment building. The trees have started to bloom, the leaves casting tiny shadows against the dirt-streaked sidewalks. I know this is where I belong, that this is home, but it all feels wrong. I'm a stranger in a strange land, left with nothing but a parting wave and the promise of a call with updates. The blue paint on the door is peeling, the little silver number plate rusting around the edges. Just how I left it. A pang of sadness radiates through me as I sink to the kitchen floor.

I expect her to call, but she doesn't. No matter how many times I flip the phone open, my finger hovering over the green button, I just can't do it. I want her to want to talk to me. I want the phone to jump across the worn kitchen linoleum, her name lighting up the screen. Maybe it was all a dream, some kind of pill-induced euphoria I made up in my head.

Wandering into the bedroom, I stare down at the rumpled sheets, the comforter kicked down onto the floor. The indent where Gerard used to lay his head is still there, forever burned into the pillow. A few of his shirts sit by the hamper, his belt looped over the bathroom doorknob. Pushing my fingers into my eyes, I let the patterns dance before my vision, enjoying the lightheaded feeling that sinks in. I'm not sure how long I stand there, but my arms begin to scream, feet too heavy in my shoes. The light that filtered in through the front windows is gone, shrouding the space in unfamiliar shadows.

Shaking fingers pick up the edge of the sheet, pressing it to my nose. Cigarettes and spearmint gum. A thousand memories come flooding back. All the love, all the times he would jump in his sleep, only comforted by my touch. It's not just him though. These blankets hold her too. Her fingers working to tuck the sheet under the mattress, the little stain from where she spilled coffee, the lipstick smudges. The way she would drag the blankets off the bed, wrapping them tightly around her shoulders as she got up to get coffee or have a cigarette. This room isn't mine. It's theirs, their fingerprints pressed into the walls and the clothes. The dip in the mattress where they both slept, tucked up into me.

Damn me and my stupid fear. She should be here. We should be ordering takeout. She should be complaining about how drafty the place is. I should be offering her my flannel. We should be drinking and dancing through the apartment. We should be falling into bed, laughing in between kisses, fingertips dusting over the other's exposed skin. We should be rebuilding our little world. She should be making this place feel like a home. I shouldn't be standing here alone, not knowing where I belong or how to make my limbs move. 

I sleep on the couch, unable to lie next to a ghost. Not quite ready to strip the sheets, tearing away all the memories they hold. The cold, plastic leather is uncomfortable against my exposed skin. I miss the way Ashley felt curled up with me, her fingers tracing patterns against my skin. Shutting my eyes, I trail a finger up my arm, humming gently to myself. I want to hear her voice. I want her to be squatting down next to the couch in the morning, a steaming cup of coffee held between her hands. I want to feel the press of Gerard's lips against my temple, to hear his gentle snoring. I want to watch him tear through the apartment, trying to find his other shoe or those one pair of boxers he's emotionally attached to. I don't want to feel alone. I don't want to be finding solace at the bottom of the bottle some shitty gas station alcohol. 

My fingers hit against the keys of the phone, typing out a text I'll never send to a girl who probably doesn't even care. I miss you. Please come home.

The coffee pot chimes too loudly. The toast tastes burnt. My cigarette feels too heavy against my bottom lip. The noise from the television is too harsh, too metallic. The chords that spill from my brain out into the silence sound off-key, no harmonies coming gracefully together. My world is tipped sideways, remaining the same, but still too different to bring comfort. I can't get comfortable in my own skin. I don't have the energy to move the furniture around, trying to make it right. It hurts to blink, to breathe, to just sit. 

I stare at the oil painting hanging above the television, imprinting the dark lines into my mind. Ashley doesn't feel the same way. Swallow. Gerard left. Inhale. Forgive yourself. For me? Twitch. I love you. Blink. That fucking girl is more of a man than you'll ever be. Swallow. You'll never be enough. Screw up. World destroyer. Worthless. Fuck up. A girl like her could never love a guy like me. A guy like him could never be with a guy like me. My fingers rub over the spot where Ashley tattooed me. The little bat with its fangs and blood drips. I feel that spot over and over until the skin is red and puffy and irritated. My fingertips press into the spot, wishing I could draw it into my soul, make her a part of me forever. If I press just hard enough, blunt fingernails dipping into the agitated flesh, I can almost feel her lips against mine, can almost see her eye crinkle up, almost hear her gentle laugh. Almost.

Locked in my self-created prison I almost don't hear the soft play of knuckles against the front door. I almost don't hear the voice on the other side. I almost don't get up. Almost.