Dreams

Chapter three: From backstage to the doctor

I don’t know what time it is when I wake up, but evidently I did end up sleeping last night. I roll out of my bunk and pull on a pair of jeans before walking out to the kitchen. It’s still moving, although I don’t know where we are. And after just waking up I don’t much care. Frank’s sitting at the table, blankly eating a pop tart as he reads a magazine, his legs curled up underneath him. I wish I could take a picture of him right now. Just to capture the stupid vacant look in his beautiful eyes as he dumbly misses his mouth, stabbing himself in the chin with strawberry-ness. How more incredibly perfect could he be?

“Hey.” I say, pouring myself a nice cup of coffee and grabbing my own pop tart. I look in the fridge to discover that the milk is gone, and I sit opposite Frank with a sigh.

“You know you moan in your sleep?” He asks, turning his attention away from the misfits article. Not knowing what to say I just simply shake my head at him. “Well you do. I think you said my names a few times as well.”

“Bullshit.” I tell him, the hot red blush already filling my face.

“Ah-Ha! You’re blushing!”

“Only because you’re accusing me of something embarrassing that never even happened. Asshole.”

“Oh you know you love me. So…What was the dream like?”

“Shut the fuck up dumb-ass. I don’t moan in my sleep, and I don’t moan your name either.” I wish I could’ve said, ‘yes, I do love you. More than you could know’ just like I have in so many stories I’ve read. Where we’re head over heals for each other, but totally oblivious to the fact. I wish it was that way. But it’ not.

“Sure…” He says, rolling eyes at me and I decide to just drop the subject. “Ungh…Jesus. Mmmm…Frank. Oh yea, oh mmmmmm. So close.” It’s incredibly fucking hot and I just want to jump on him and make him feel how much I love him. But I have to pretend I don’t like it.

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Close enough.” He retorts with a smirk. Yea I walked right into that one.

“Shut up.” I tell him, not harshly. I could never be harsh with him. Never. “Where the fuck are we?”

“Wyoming I think.” His attention’s focused back on his magazine. “I don’t really know.”

“I didn’t think so.”

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About an hour later we pull into the parking lot of the venue we’re playing at. It’s big but we sold out so I can’t bitch. Turns out Frank was right and we are in Wyoming after all. We got here just in time for sound check, the five of us walking into the building as our personal servants (yes that’s what I call them) carry in all our instruments in behind us.

I don’t know why we even come to these things. Everyone else checks shit for us anyways. Michael and Frank usually just end up talking on cell phones with their girlfriends and Ray and Bob are always fucking in some storage room. Leaving me to sit around by myself listening to ‘testing one, two, testing’ over and over, followed by a few twanging guitars. After half an hour of debating weather or not to kill the sound guy, Frank comes bounding in, beaming with happiness and just seeing him smile makes me feel a little bit better.

“We’re getting married!” No…I can’t have heard him right. “Me and Jamia are engaged!” It’s at that particular moment in time, when the pressure on my chest becomes too great and I can almost hear the crack of my heart being broken. “Gee?” I love it when he calls me that, but I’m too hurt to even smile. “Are you okay? You don’t’ look too well…”

“Yea…I’m fine I just…I’m tired.” What a lame fucking excuse. “That’s good to hear though, you know. I’m happy for you.” No I’m not. I feel sorry for him really. Being blind to her intentions and letting himself fall victim to her cold heart. What a poor misfortunate boy.

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I sing the words to the songs so blankly not even sure if they’re the right ones. Frank walks over to me as he jams away on his guitar and I walk away from him, ignoring his plea for attention. I don’t know why but I feel angry at him. Like it’s his fault that I haven’t told him how much I love him, or what Jamia’s really like. Like it’s his fault he doesn’t know, when it’s mine. To nights show defiantly isn’t as homoerotic as they usually are. We finish our set, throwing water bottles into the crowd of screaming fans who will no doubt lick the shit out of them, trying to get all our sweat and spit.

I don’t take the time to talk to fans, wave, sign autographs or hang out backstage. I need to be alone. How the fuck could he do that. It’s bad enough he’s with her in the first place but now he’s engaged to the bitch? Everything I ever lived for has just been ripped out of my hands. I get on the bus and slam the door behind me, walking to my bunk and starting to go through all the pill bottles. Xanax, welbutrin, prozac, everything. A whole pharmacy of medication at my fingers. How could this be happening to me? I grab a beer our of the fridge and down the pills, one bottle after another, taking at least a hundred pills. I hope I don’t fucking live through this.

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“Gee! Shit call a fucking ambulance.” I can hear my brothers voice, so distant and far away. It figures that he’d have to be the one to find me. I wish he knew how sorry I am for leaving him. “Gerard wake up please!” I can’t. I don’t want to.

“Jesus Christ.” It’s Frank. I can feel his hands on me, propping me up and the cold we cloth being pressed against my head.

“They said they’ll be here as soon as possible.” It’s Ray. I’ll miss him a lot. “Do you think he’s gonna be okay?”

“He fucking better be.” Bob. “If he lives through this I’ll fucking kill him.” Yup, that’s Bob. Not to good at dealing with dramatic issues at all.

I’m going to miss them all so much. But my angel flies on broken wings, belonging to someone else and I have no reason to be on this earth any longer.

I feel like I’m sleeping. It’s dark and quite. I can’t open my eyes. I guess this is death.