The World is Ugly (Frerard)

29: What a Catch, Frankie

My pride is no longer inside
It's on my sleeve,
My skin will scream
Reminding me of who I killed
Inside my dream
I hate this car that I'm driving,
There's no hiding for me
I'm forced to deal with what I feel
There is no distraction to mask what is real

Frank's POV

I lay on the bed, in the same position I was in hours ago, and so does Gerard.

I slowly roll so that my back is facing him, and bury my face under the covers. I know he won't be leaving me alone in a long time, so I guess I'll have to find myself alone moments even when I'm with him.

I sigh as quietly as I can, letting out with that single breath everything that's been troubling me since that goddamn moment.

I know it's weird but I don't really feel like myself since then. Or I don't know, I keep switching between feeling like I'm different now and completely denying it was me who did that.

I snort. Me killing a man? That's ridiculous. I'm a little, nice vegetarian. It's just impossible.

But as the flashbacks come to my mind once again I know I can't keep denying it happened. Why else would I be so traumatized? Why else would I even be having these flashbacks if they were not real?

I bite my lip, and I feel a painful tug at the stitches as I do so, but I don't really care. My mind is busy with something entirely more important and painful than that. Next to what I did, everything else seems unimportant. The bad things, that is. As for the good things, they all seem utterly meaningless.

Don't get me wrong, seeing Gerard again and just generally being with him does indeed bring my mood up, but it feels like it's not real. I don't know how else to explain it, but it feels like I'm watching a movie and feeling good for the character instead of for myself. It's all duller, the good and the bad.

But I can't show that, can I? Not when yesterday I just saw how excited Gerard was to see me alive and well. Or so he thought.

I think it would be selfish to bother him with my troubled thoughts and matching self-esteem. I just can't do that to him. So, I think, I'll just be happy around him and give myself time to either forget or get over the matter, if it's even possible to get over the blood on my hands over time.

I've been a couple minutes under the covers, and the air around me is warming up and running out of oxygen. I slowly move the covers back down, careful not to wake up Gerard, and take a deep breath of the cool air in the room.

You know how they always say you don't appreciate something until you have lost it? Well the same principle applies to my recent lack of air, only inverted. I was running out of air, so when I finally breathed, normal air felt like glory to me.

And the same principle also applied to the kidnapping. I had innocence and now I've lost it. And I do really miss it. The only difference with the air thingy is that this I know I'm never getting back.

I hear Gerard's breaths behind me and I notice they're no longer heavy. He must've woken up as well. I know that's not proof enough, since there are different stages of sleep and all that crap, but I just know he's awake. It's like his presence has just filled the entire room since he came back into consciousness.

I keep staring at the white wall in front of me, not really wanting to talk to him right now. And it's not like he did anything wrong, but it's just that I know that if I speak to him, I'll have to put on a smile again and act happy for the rest of the day for him, and I'm not ready for that to happen.