The Sharpest Lives

Chapter Three: Mistakes

Gerard]

I made the mistake of looking in the mirror before I got into the shower. What I saw wasn't a surprise, but I felt so sick afterwards, I felt like taking a razor to my wrist.

My eyes were bloodshot, I had bags under my eyes so huge, panda bears would die of jealousy and my whole face looked like I'd aged ten years. I don't know how the hell Frank stood me.

I sighed and got into the shower. I'd have to get used to that face. If I kept this up, it'd be the face I'd die with.

The shower helped a little, loosening up my muscles, calming me down, giving me something else to think about. I concentrated on washing the dirt and sweat off me and trying not to the get the bandages on my arm wet. My hair was disgusting and nigh well impossible, but I fought with it until it was somewhat subdued. That wasted another ten minutes, which was enough time for me to be able to wake up a little and for my head to stop pounding.

I finished my shower and got dressed, feeling kind of happy for once. It'd been a long time since I'd felt this good. And I knew exactly what the cause of it was.

I went to look for him once I was done, and found that he'd moved himself and his coffee to the sitting room. He didn't seem to be watching anything, or even looking for something to watch. He was flipping through channels too fast to be really interested in what he was looking at.

He looked up when I walked in and smiled at me, lifting my happy mood up a little higher. "You sure you took enough time to pretty yourself up, Princess?"

I rolled my eyes and sat next to him. "Shut up," I laughed, leaning my head against his shoulder without thinking. But he didn't push me away or shrug me off, so I let my head stay there. I also noticed that my hand was dangerously close to his, which was distracting.

"You know, I'd make breakfast, but it's kind of hard to make something decent out of beer and granola bars," he said, reaching the end of the list of channels and starting to flick through them again from the start. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday," I said automatically. It was true; I'd grabbed a burger while I was out yesterday.

"I mean a proper meal where you sat down, ate it, and didn't have to worry about all torture it went through to be on that plate for you?" He was starting to sound like a mother now. It was pissing me off a little.

"If I cook it, it all still goes through torture of some sort," I pointed out.

"Gerard," he sighed, annoyed.

I didn't really want to answer. He'd worried enough; any more of this and he'd end up being the one needing therapy.

"I don't…I don't really know," I confessed. I braced myself for the lecture I was going to get.

But I didn't get one. "You are such an idiot," he said, and I could hear a hint of a smile in his voice. He was still angry, but was at least happy that I was being honest.

I felt his hand in my hair and I jumped a little, but he didn't seem to notice. I shut my eyes let myself relax. I had to let go of all the pent up stress and emotion I'd locked inside of me. This helped, just a little. Even if it meant nothing to him.

He finally put the remote down and gave up on finding something vaguely interesting to watch. I concentrated on his steady breathing and his familiar smell, while his fingers undid the knots my hair had curled itself into. I didn't know how long we sat there, but it was a long while. I wished it could stay like this forever, no matter how sappy and cliché that sounded. This moment was so perfect.