The Sharpest Lives

Chapter Twenty-Four: Je Suis Un Mesonge

[Gerard]

It wasn't until it all happened- all of it, in one sudden, bright moment like the collision of paint cans and the explosion of colour afterwards- that I realized just how much I'd wanted this. How long I'd been waiting, without realizing I'd even been waiting for anything in the first place.

It was breathtaking.

I felt like my dead heart was starting to fix itself after being broken for so long. I started to feel the regret burn in my chest again, the regret that came every time I dared to think about what could've happened if I'd just stayed. If I'd never left for the good of everyone I loved. But as I held the person I'd waited so long as he shook in my arms, I could've help but think that a little selfishness couldn't have hurt. I could've stayed. I could've been there to have this every day. To hold him, and kiss him, and be with him, without the walls that I hated so much.

But would it have helped? Would it really have helped to push my suicidal thoughts on him? Matt showing up had been the last straw; I'd almost killed him (and part of me still didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt for doing so) and then I had run away. I had run.

I was a coward. A terrible coward.

And even though I knew Frank deserved someone better, I still wanted him to want me. And I figured that if he wanted me, I had to be the best I could be for him. I couldn't be the broken doll, the shell left over after a mental breakdown. I realized that I couldn't keep insisting that I wasn't good enough, because clearly, that wasn't working.

I'd had to hide. I'd had to beg the hospital to tell no one except Mikey where I was, and build myself up again. It was the most pathetic and weak I had ever been.

Slowly, I had built. I had pulled myself out of the person I hated and had found myself, so that now, it was possible that I could feel proud to be who I was. To be this strong, independent, sober person.

And I did it for him. I cleaned myself up, I pushed back the suicidal thoughts and pursued my artistic skills for him. I wanted…I knew what I wanted him to think of me in a good light for once. I just hoped he really would think this.

I buried my face in his hair, and tried to take in all the information my senses were bringing me. The feeling of his arms around my waist, his hair against my cheek, his lips against mine just a moment ago…the taste of his lips, the cheap coffee and cigarettes that were so familiar and had hardly changed…I felt the uneven beat of his heart against mine as I held him…it was strange for me now, being so close to a living person...I guess it would've made me uneasy, but then, it was Frank. I couldn't waste time with him. I had to take in as much detail as I could. Who knew how he would react, what he would say when…I explained myself to him?

Would he push me away? Would he be disgusted with me? Would he push me away just as quickly as he had held me?

I was afraid, so afraid of telling him the truth…that part of me, the part of me that wanted to keep all my secrets hidden forever tempted me. It would be so easy…wouldn't it? To just say nothing, tell him I loved him, and then live with him as long as he wanted to…

My world of lies looked so beautiful from this side.

"Gerard," Frank said, his voice muffled as he pressed his face into my clothes.

"Yeah?" I said, distracted. The lie I wanted to live so badly grew more dangerously appealing by the minute. The longer I held him, the more I wanted it…for him to be happy…why did I think lying would equate to happiness? When had it ever?

"You smell like a French whore," he said, lifting his head to grin at me. His eyes were rimmed with red,  but the grin on his face distracted me from the fact that he'd been crying into my chest a minute ago.