Breaking Hearts Still Looks Pretty Cool

Part 10

  The sounds of American Idiot drifted to the room we were sitting in, so it sounded as though we were listening to it turned up loud on cd as we sat around chatting. The second MCR set of the tour had been and gone, and we were another anonymous venue, with the same yellow lighting, broken down furniture, and rabbit warren backstage corridors.

Since Annabelle and I's morning argument I found myself thrown into a pit of fluctuating inertia. I had called Reagan, only to remember that she had classes all day on Thursdays, I had attempted reading magazines, started re-reading Jane Eyre, and even started composing a text to send to Annabelle saying 'sorry' – it still sat stagnant in my drafts folder though, unsent.

"What's up?" a soft voice in my ear asked, and I turned to smile at Frank, who had just sat next to me on the particularly uncomfortable forest green sofa.

I smiled sadly and shrugged my shoulders. Around us, everything seemed to be whipped into frenzy. Gerard, Mikey and Ray were still high from performing, and were punctuating their animated chatting with occasional outbursts of song or chords on the guitar or even, I shuddered as I saw Ray do it, dancing around the room. Bob and Annabelle were making their own fair share of noise as well, sitting on the other couch squashed in the room, talking and laughing loudly as if they had never had a funnier conversation in their lives. That, added to the music coming from the stage (now 'Minority' was the song), made it near impossible to hear yourself think, let alone hear someone talk to you.

Frank rolled his eyes, "let's chat outside," he said, and I shrugged once again, nodding gently.

Outside the night was a rarely mild one, with misty grey clouds shrouding the stars in their mystery.

"So," said Frank once we were standing quite alone. He glanced up at the sky, and pulled a cigarette elegantly out of his hoodie pocket, "there's something wrong, isn't there?"

I couldn't help but grin; Frank never failed to astonish me.

"How did you know?" I asked, not really that surorised,

"Twintuition," was Frank's only answer,

I sniggered, "Frank, you do realise that we're not actually twins right?"

"Shut up," he said, nudging me, "that doesn't mean that we can't have twintuition,"

I nodded, "I know," I agreed. It was true; Frank was easily the closest person to me in the whole world, and we did have an indelible connection.

"So, what's up?" he asked, and we sat down against the cold brick wall overlooking the darkened and deserted parking lot,

"Annabelle and I had a fight," I confessed, running an anxious hand through my hair,

"Oh," He said softly, "I thought so, you guys seemed really distant with each other..."

I nodded, "Yep,"
"What was it about?" he enquired, taking a drag of his cigarette and putting a brotherly arm around my shoulder,

"What happened between her and Gerard three years ago...I think," I said, shaking my head slightly as if to convey my confusion through physical movement, "or maybe about how she's trying to push me and him together now...I don't know, Frankie, it's like she feels so guilty that we broke up because of her that she will stop at nothing to get us together again, just to make herself feel better,"

Frank bit his lip, "I think she probably just means well," he started to say, "do you want to get back with Gerard?" His eyes were inquisitive but also apprehensive at the same time,

For the first time in a long time, I actually thought about the answer, "I don't know," I mumbled,

Frank bit his lip; I knew that he probably knew everything about Gerard's feelings, and for a minute I had the girlish urge to beg him to tell me everything (if anything) Gerard had said about me.

"Honestly, Connie, Gerard's a shut book when it comes to romance," he said.

How did he know that I wanted to know what Gerard thought? That's twintuition, I guess.

"I mean, the girl he's seeing, they've been on like four dates over 3 months or something and its impossible to even tell if he likes her! And if he's closed about her, he's even more closed about you. All he ever says is that he's missed your friendship and that it's nice that you're starting to hang out again...but as far as romance is concerned..." he trailed off, looking at me apologetically, as if he was sorry he couldn't say 'he told me he wants to be with you,'

"What?" I asked Frank's puppy-dog eyes, "I didn't say I wanted to be with him," I said quietly, "I just said that I'm not really sure,"

I shrugged for emphasis.

"Just wait and see, I guess..." said Frank, "I mean...it's just..." he trailed off,

"What?" I asked eagerly, probably sounding a little too eager.

"It doesn't matter," said Frank with a grin, "It's nothing,"

I sighed; I hated having things kept from me, but I knew that when Frank decided not tell me something, he had a good reason.

"Ok," I sighed back,
"Are you going to make up with Annabelle?" Frank asked quietly, now slipping a hand into mine as I let my head drop a considerable height to his shoulder,

"I have to," I said lightly, sighing. I didn't like how life was taking a sudden confusing turn. That was why I had avoided going on tour in the first place.

"Let's go back in," said Frank, standing up and pulling me with him.

________________________________________________________________________________

Later on that night, when the after party and the after-after-party were both taken care of, and Annabelle and I had made up, and everyone had tumbled into bed in exhaustion, I stirred in my bed and sat up. I couldn't have been asleep for more than half an hour, and I felt wide awake.

'There's no way I'll get back to sleep now,' I thought to myself, rubbing my eyes and running my hands through my hair as I habitually did. It was also becoming a slightly unsettling habit, I noticed, that I glanced automatically to Gerard's bed whenever I got up. I saw that his bed was completely vacant though, and I frowned slightly. My eyes performed a rapid scan of the darkened dormitory, and I couldn't see him anywhere. There was, however, a faint light creeping up the stairs. For no apparent reason, my heart leapt; he was awake and I was awake, and that was at least one connection.
My feet took control, surpassing my head, and suddenly I was creeping down the stairs in my pyjamas, with no idea what I might say when we were alone together once again. Somehow, it just felt like the right thing to do.

"Hey," his voice croaked slightly as he said the word,

I jumped a little; he had caught sight of me before I expected him to,

"Hi," I answered, suddenly appreciating how much colder it was downstairs without my blankets; my pyjamas were only short ones and I started to shiver, but I ignored it and silently joined him on the couch.

"You're cold," Gerard observed, studying my quivering body intently,

"Yeah," I agreed, "not too much though,"

He laughed a little, "You always have to be so self-sufficient don't you!" he observed, with something like fond reminiscence in his eyes, "never actually saying what you feel 'til you have to,"
I nodded, inwardly cursing him for knowing me so damn well, and for having such perfect eyes. "God, how do you know me so well?" I asked, not expecting an answer,

"I haven't forgotten anything," he whispered quietly, touching my bare arm. Our eyes met, and I felt the heat rise on my cheeks as I started to blush.

"You've got Goosebumps," he observed, "put this on,"

He tossed his hoodie that he had discarded earlier on towards me. I knew that resisting would be futile, and I didn't really want to refuse, so I pulled the soft item over my head and paused for just a few blissful seconds to take in his natural smell that was still clinging to the fabric.

We sat in a comfortable silence for a few seconds. I had forgotten how it felt to be in his presence – the quickening pulse, the racing heart, pounding blood, had all been a memory to me, and now it was real again so quickly.

He took a breath as though he was going to say something, but he clearly decided against it because he stopped and just leaned backwards on to the couch, turning his head lazily to look at me. I tried to analyse his facial expression but it didn't work; it never did, he, like Frank had said earlier, was impossible to read. I hoped that I saw at least some form of affection there, but as hard as I tried, I couldn't categorise it.

"Gerard," I said suddenly, as a recent enigma rushed back to my mind, "can I ask you something?"
"Anything, Sugar," he said idly, and I felt a secret rush, remembering all the times he used to call me Sugar when we were together. I realised that for the first time in a long time, Gerard's love letter was not on my person, it was upstairs, hidden in the jeans I had been wearing during the day. I felt lost without it; I needed a physical reminder that he had once loved me at all times.

"Why did you chuck Matt out of the band?" I asked, for some reason fearing his response. Would he be angry with me for asking?

"Why would you ask?" Gerard mused,

"Well, he just disappeared! No one told me, I haven't heard from him since before he left, and whenever I asked anyone about why, they just told me that it was between you and him..." I trailed off uncertainly,

"It was," said Gerard thoughtfully, "between me and him, I mean," he paused, looking at me as though he was trying to work out whether or not I was worthy of the knowledge.
"I need to show you something," he slid off of the couch and disappeared briefly upstairs.

While he was gone I pummelled my pail leg with my contrastingly dark nails and wondered what he could possibly be showing me.

I heard his returning footsteps before I saw him, and something like a wave of affectionate warmth washed over me pleasurably.

He was brandishing a slightly scruffy black book that looked a bit like a scrap book.

"What's that?" I enquired,

He didn't answer, but sat back down next to me, closer, I noticed, than he had been last time.

"I found this in with Matt's stuff," he said, handing it to me.

I looked at him sceptically, wondering why on earth an old scrap book would be a cause for Matt to leave the band.

"Look in it," he encouraged, so I opened the first well-worn page.

On it was a large picture of myself, smiling horribly, pasted slightly off-centre in the page. "What?" I said out loud, but more to myself. I hastily turned over the next page, and saw a sort of collage made up of various pictures of me. Some were pictures I knew existed, some had taken myself, and some were scarily unfamiliar. There were even some in which other people had been cut out.

"What is this?" I murmured, looking frantically at Gerard, who had a grim smile on his face.

"It gets worse," he said with a pained expression,

I warily turned the page, to see that Gerard was right. As the pages went on, the pictures became more and more voyeuristic. Most were just from parties, but instead of documenting the evening, they documented me, my every facial expression, my every move. And then on the next page – I gasped in abject horror- there was a picture of me standing innocently in my room at home in the process of taking off my top; another of me walking towards the window to draw my curtains; another taken in the daytime, of me on the phone, walking past the window and playing with my hair.

"He was-he was..." I spluttered, letting the book fall from my hands as the pages and pages of pictures taken of me in my bedroom, walking to the shop, arriving home after a party became too much for me to see.

Gerard gently took the book back and placed it on the couch next to him, "stalking you?" He suggested, without a hint of irony, "Looks like it, doesn't it,"

I was speechless.

"I don't believe it," I managed to choke out, "It's just – I never imagined-"

"I know," said Gerard in an understanding voice, placing his hand on my arm comfortingly,
"What did you do when you found it?" I asked hoarsely,

"I confronted him about it," Gerard explained, "because you don't go having pictures like that of any girl, let alone the love of your friend's..." he trailed off and hastily took his hand off of my arm, "anyway," he continued quickly, breaking eye contact with the speed of a hare, "at first he denied it, then he caved and said that he'd been in love with you for years, and that he would stop at nothing to be with you,"

"I can't believe it," I whispered quietly, silently trying to guess why something like that would make Gerard want to chuck him out of the band.

"Neither could I," agreed Gerard, "and then it turns out that...well...do you remember when we were...together, and someone turned me in to the cops?"

Comprehension dawned on me, and I turned my shocked face to Gerard, "No!" I exclaimed, "he reported you?"

"Yeah, he thought that if your mom pressed charges we'd break up,"

We sat in mutual disgust for a few minutes, both contemplating Matt's shocking actions.

"So," continued Gerard, "I couldn't have someone like that in the group – I mean, back-stabbing, obsessive, creepy, in love with my- he just had to go,"

"I quite agree," I said, realising how sleepy I was.

"You look tired," He said softly, "You should probably go back to bed,"
"So should you," I told him, but submitting to his will and standing up to go to bed,

"Goodnight," he said, patting my hand awkwardly by way of goodbye,

"Goodnight Gerard," I replied, wanting more than a hand-pat.

He spontaneously stood up and wrapped me in a brief, but close hug.

"Night," he said again, the tiniest bit of colour rising in his cheeks.
I started towards the staircase, "Gerard?" I asked, as I put my foot on the first step,

"Yeah?" He said, looking around as he walked back to the couch,

"Why did you take that book with you?"

He shrugged, "I don't know..." he looked down, "to protect it, I guess,"