The Sharpest Lives

Chapter Twenty-One: Words Are More Powerful Than You Will Ever Know

[Frank]

I'm not sure when he left. I remember saying something or other through the heavy haze of sleep that tried to overwhelm me. I just wanted to keep him there beside me for as long as possible. Things were getting better. I could feel that. And I felt him there beside me, the warmth of his breath on my face, his fingers softly caressing my face, memorizing the shape of my cheek, my eyes, the bruises that stained my skin…

Apart from the two or three words that I wasn't even sure I said, neither of us spoke. This was our moment together, as it should have been. No words had to be said yet. There were so many that could be said, so many that I wanted to say…but right then, they didn't have to be said. I took in every part of him with my eyes, as he did to me. His eyes were calculating, thoughtful…and as I finally drifted off, they held a tiny smile, a promise that things would get better from here…that he already had a plan that we would follow…that I shouldn't worry anymore…that smile…

That smile was the last one I saw from anyone for a long, long time.

My Gerard.

He disappeared.

I woke up to a vacant plastic seat and the coldness that he left behind. I wasn't upset that he'd left without saying anything at first. I just sighed, sure that he'd come back once the doctors were done feeding him pills I wished he didn't need…

And then I noticed the hastily folded sheet of paper peeking out under my pillow.

My heart did a backflip, stopped, and then started up again in double time.

Why did I have to assume that everything I saw lately was a bad thing? I was so paranoid…I told myself that it was probably something harmless…

But why would I listen to the rational part of my brain that tried not to panic?

I ran through the possibilities and I tried to reach for the note, ignoring the protests of my weary arms.

A letter of rejection. An apology that he couldn't reciprocate my feelings for him.

A love letter? How sappy could that be?

A note to say goodbye….

A suicide note.

I knew that as soon as I got to my last conclusion, I had to calm down. I was blowing things way too far out of proportion. This was ridiculous. If I kept this up, I'd be the one on the pills next…

Mouth dry, hands trembling, I finally opened the note and began to read.

What I read…I don't know which was worse. Knowing he was dead…or going to die.

Or not knowing where he'd be when he finally did what he thought was right.

Right for us. Right for everyone.

Right for me.

Frank, he began, his handwriting messy and hectic as always…

I figure this would probably be for the best. I don't want to hurt you anymore. It's my fault, and don't you dare try to fucking tell me otherwise. You know it's true. Or you will, once you sit down and think it through.

I have caused you, and Mikey, and the rest of the guys so much pain, and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of hurting everyone I love. Especially you. I'm so sorry. I don't know why you put up with me. Remember when I got this bad before? How you didn't judge me? How, when you found out, you didn't hate me for not saying anything to you? You didn't hate me for being weak. You stayed with me.

I love you, Frankie. I have for a long time. I'm sorry I didn't say this sooner. But maybe it's better off this way .

Frank, I'm leaving. I don't know what else to do. If I stay, I'll have to watch the consequences of everything I've done unfold, and…I'm so sorry. I'm too much of a coward to stay and watch you suffer through what I've done to you. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for what I've done to you. But I think the best way would be if I left you and didn't interfere anymore. I've been thinking about leaving for a while and…if I stay any longer, I won't be able to and I'll just ruin everything.

I'm no good for you, Frankie. I ruined you, I ruined everything. What we created, the band, the music we made, that was beautiful. I want to leave you and everyone else with those memories of the moments we created, the people we helped through their darkest times, all of that.

I want you to forget me. I hope that won't hurt you. Please forget me. Please be happy without me. Please find someone to be happy with. I want you to be happy. I never deserved to be, but you do. Please. Not for me…just be happy.

This is the last you will ever hear from me, Frankie. Please don't look for me. I just want to disappear…I don't know how long I'll keep living for but…keep living without me.

I love you

Gerard

How do you react when the person you love tells you that they don't deserve to be happy?

How do you react when they tell you that it would be better off if they just…disappear?

How do you react to your life being suddenly ripped off its track and set down in a new, foreign land that you never wanted to be in, but are promised 'is better for you'?

How do I react to the person I love leaving me behind?

It took me years to finally understand why he did this to me. It took me even longer to realize that it really did help, but maybe not in the way he intended.

I think I knew, from the very beginning, that it would be dangerous. That from the moment we became close, my life would change. I had to deal with the risks before I'd fully accepted them.

Given any other way, I would do it the exact same way. I am not the kind of person who regrets falling in love. I do not regret the pain that comes with love, because those are the conditions that come with it.

But there are no conditions with love…there are risks, yes, but love is…part of life. Life is hard. Life is a complete bitch.

But that's beside the point. My point is, that I love him. By God, he could be a dick sometimes. He spent ages getting ready for shows and hogged the bathroom. He could be annoyingly vague. He had terrible hygiene issues. He could be self-centered and narcissistic, and happily talked over me.

He had the most beautiful imagination I had ever seen. I loved watching him perform. I loved his voice, the expressions he put into every word he sang, the lyrics he wrote. His love of comic books. His love of music. His love of art. How he was like a living painting that coloured everything he touched.

Destroyed everything he touched. Made everything he touched  beautiful.

He didn't have to destroy. I don't think he understood that for a long time.

And for a long time, I didn't understand. For a long time, I let it destroy me.

Until I realized, this kind of destruction wasn't so bad after all.