Cupid De Locke | Frerard

[22]

a/n: hihihi. not very proud of this one, but if you could leave a comment and let me know what you guys think of the story so far, that wud be v cool of you <3

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Gerard's POV

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I thumb the corners of the slightly tattered photo in my hand, staring at it intensely, tears in my eyes.

I'm sat on the bedroom floor, hunched over a box of pictures of me and Frank from before the accident. Two years worth of memories lie scattered in front of me. I fear this may be one of the few things I'll have left of him.

Along with the photos are his old songs. There're hundreds of them, mostly only half-finished and scrawled down quickly. He only ever played a few of them to me.

I put the photo I'm holding back in its pile and pull a song out of the box. Its title- For Gerard.

Underneath it reads: 'Note to self- only play this when it's the right time.'

"So, have you ever written any songs about me?" I say.

"I might have done that... a few times. I shall never reveal them, though. Not until the time is absolutely right." He grins.

I smile shakily, my tears beginning to fall onto the paper.

The realization hits me that he never got to play that song to me. He probably never will.

He'll never get to listen to me telling him how happy it made me after he'd finish playing, or how talented I think he is. We've had those moments ripped away from us and it's not fucking fair. The thought is ever so slowly killing me.

"Oh, baby," I whimper. "I wish I could have saved you."

I yearn to hear him play that song.
This isn't fair. I want him back- no- I need him back.

It's tearing me apart.

If we had made it home that night, he'd have probably performed it for me in the living room after the concert.

He'd finish playing the song and place the guitar back on its stand. "Did you like it, Gee?" he would have probably said.

"I loved it so much. You're so talented, Frankie." I'd smile, wiping tears of joy from the corners of my eyes, before taking him in my arms.

And we'd just sit there all night. He'd eventually curl up beside me and fall asleep, then I'd have to carry him to bed, bridal-style.

Instead, I was left choking back tears in an ambulance as he fought to fucking breathe.

It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault.

I bury the song back into the box, making sure I can't see it, and pick up another photo.

This one's of us last winter, when we were out in the snow. Frank got on his tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek whilst I was posing for the camera, in front of some kind of snow-creature we'd built; Mikey managed to catch a photo in time.

We both look so fucking happy here. It almost hurts to look at.

It feels like I'm being mocked by my past self; like he's telling me I deserve to be sad.

I don't want us to suffer through this any longer. Nothing feels right.

I need to fill the hole. I need to fill the hole. I need to fill the hole.

Pushing the box aside, I make a beeline down the stairs and to the kitchen, pulling out the now half-empty bottle of vodka from one of the cupboards.

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My head spins once again. I haven't gotten drunk since the incident with Bert. It doesn't feel right, yet it doesn't feel wrong anymore.

The thought of Frank begging me to stop doesn't inhabit my thoughts tonight. I just drink. It pains me to do so, but I'm sure this won't happen again. I don't want it to. I just want to end this impending heartache for one night.

I pull all of Frank's songs out of the box and scatter them across the floor.
I don't know why. It hurts even more than it did the first time I read them, but something tells me to do it.

I scan each line over and over again, trying to get them to settle into my mind. Nothing goes through. My tears fall upon the paper each time I try to re-read one. The ink blotches on every page, teardrops soaking right through.

Everything aches. I drop the stack of songs and curl into a ball on the floor, screaming until my heart feels like it's shattered inside my chest.

"Wake up, baby! I can't do this. I can't. I'm fucking exhausted."

He's never going to be the same. He won't be able to sing for me again, or curl up beside me, or kiss me on the cheek every morning when we wake up. I'll never be able to tell him I love him without breaking down.

We'll never get to start a family, like we said we would.

That was one of the only things Frank wanted to do after he'd settled down with me.
He was so excited about it. He'd talk about it like it was his all-or-nothing.

"Aren't you excited, Gee? I can't wait to adopt a kid, and maybe get a dog and- shit, why am I talking about this now?"

"No, it's okay, you can talk about it as much as you like. Of course I'm excited, baby. It'll be amazing. I just really love seeing you being enthusiastic about this. You'll be a great dad, my dear."

I look down at my hands and see them bloody and stained, like the night I almost killed Frank.

But when I blink, the blood is gone.

These memories are damaging. I feel so weak. I'm lay on the floor, crying my heart out, and there's nothing I can do about it.

All I can ever think about is whether he's going to wake up or not. Or how he's lying in the hospital right now, so fucking unaware; innocent to all that goes on around him, living in his own comatose-induced state of reality.

"Please, please, please be okay. I- I don't want anything happening to you again," I wail. It feels like I'm lying in a pool of my own tears, wishing I could drown. "Don't let it get to six months..."

All I can hear is the sound of my heart, pounding in my head, and the ringing in my ears.

"Where did you go, Frankie?"