[No A/N at the end, epilogue up soon!]
"I want to go home."
Gerard froze, his mug of coffee halfway to his lips. "Huh?"
"I want to go home, as in...I want to go to my mom's house."
He frowned. "Why?"
"Because...I just do. I want to move back in with my mom for a while until I sort myself out with a job and an apartment of my own."
His mug slowly lowered, his face falling. "Oh."
Maybe he got it straight away, maybe he didn't. All the same, he finished his coffee and took our stuff out to the car.
I'd barely slept at all for the past five nights, even with Gerard's slow and soothing breathing beside me. We'd been out to dinner, had sex in the bed, in the shower, in the car at one point, and we'd been shopping - and I loved him, but it didn't feel quite...right. You know when you truly love someone, but the relationship doesn't feel the way it used to? It's a complicated emotion, and it hurts. I'd accidentally made myself sick last night, worrying and thinking about it.
The journey back to Jersey was silent, and Gerard barely let up his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. We ended up, not at my mom's house, but outside the cemetery in which Ryan and my father were buried.
"I'm going to take a walk." He said, his voice shaking. "You do what you want."
He left the car, heading through the gates and up the path. I followed, but went the opposite way, towards Ryan's grave. The cemetery was quiet and warm, and I found myself wishing I'd left my jacket in the car. There were flowers on almost every grave I passed, messages from loved ones or acquaintances or even complete strangers. Young, old, somewhere in the middle...you don't know it will happen until it happens, I guess.
There was someone already at Ryan's grave when I got there, and that someone was Brendon.
"Hey." I said, approaching him. He looked up, smiling despite the tears in his eyes.
"Hey, Frank." He said, before patting the space beside him. "You here on your own, or...?"
I shook my head, sitting down. "Gerard's around here somewhere, but, uh, things aren't good between us right now."
He didn't ask why, nor did he act like he was surprised. He simply nodded slowly before giving my hand a squeeze. "It'll be okay, no matter what you decide to do."
"But it hurts, and it'll hurt even more, no matter what I decide."
"Only for a little while. Everything hurts less after a little while, unless you choose to submerge yourself in the memories and continue to hurt yourself." He exhaled, glancing at the slab of black marble, and he twisted his fingers together. He raised a hand and pushed his hood back, running it through his hair. "God, this is fucking weird." He said, breathing a laugh. My fingers reached out to brush against the cold gravestone as I nodded. "Fuck..." He repeated, rubbing his palm against his knee. "Fuck."
"Fuck." I agreed, smiling the tiniest bit.
"I'm never gonna be used to waking up without him." He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of Ryan's favorite scarves, holding it in both hands and lifting it to his nose and mouth. "Ever. Even if I...marry someone else...I just..." His lower lip trembled and his eyes filled with tears. "Never mind."
I took his hand, just as I had at the funeral. "It's gonna be okay." I promised.
"Just as it will be for you." He smiled, even though tears ran down his pale face, and I wiped them away with my free hand. "Have you made a decision?"
I hesitated, my hand on his cheek. "I think I have."
"And?"
I shrugged. "There's only one thing I can do."
"No, you can fight, or you can give up.
"I'm not giving up, Brendon. I'm admitting defeat -"
"Which is giving up."
"- which is acknowledging that the battle can't be won. There's no point in fighting when you know you're just going to be shot down."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's the thought that every single soldier in the world has ever had."
"There's nothing to fight for, Brendon. You can't bring back something that's dead."
He fixed me with an unwavering glare, his eyes filling with yet more tears. "I think you're being selfish. You're giving up on a perfectly good relationship just because you don't want to do it anymore -"
"Fucking hell, Brendon - I wouldn't be here if everything was fine and fucking peachy like it was supposed to be!" I ripped my hand from his, turning to face his side. "Do you want to know what it's like knowing that the one you love doesn't love you back, even though they've been saying for months that they do?!" He remained stony-faced, and I sighed. "It hurts. It hurts so much. And I can't keep doing this. We're not going to work."
"It seemed to be working fine."
"Yeah, and then he fucked his ex and went back to drinking."
There was a pause as he turned to face me, taking both of my hands. "Do what feels right, Frank. If it's hurting you this much, then..."
"Everything was so much simpler and easier when he was my teacher."
He smiled briefly. "Dude, you've no idea how weird that sounds." I shrugged. "Like, you were screwing our art teacher. That's kinda gross."
"Oh shut up, you would've done the same if Ryan was our teacher."
He waggled his eyebrows. "I probably would've."
There were footsteps then, and I glanced up to see my scowling boyfriend. "Am I interrupting?" He said darkly, and I shook my head.
"No. But we do need to talk." Brendon gave my hands one last squeeze before I stood up, and we walked away.
I led him in the direction of my father's grave; I had a feeling that was where I'd need to be after this. I shoved my hands into my pockets, my head down - it wasn't that I couldn't look at him, it was just...I couldn't look at him.
"You don't have to do this." He said, making me stop.
"I do." I replied, my voice quiet.
"No, Frank. You really don't."
I swallowed heavily, screwing my eyes shut. If he knew what I wanted to do, wanted to say, then it seemed like it would be so much easier. But it wasn't. It still hurt, and there was still room for him to try and convince me otherwise.
I raised my head, meeting the eyes I'd fallen so stupidly in love with. They were pleading, his face begging me to change my mind. But living a lie is pointless.
"Look me in the eye and tell me that you love me, that I'm all you want and have ever wanted." My voice was almost demanding, cracking on the last few words and betraying me.
"Frankie..." He bit his lower lip, stepping closer to me. "Please..."
"We need to break up, Gerard. I can't do us anymore."
It was like I'd detonated a bomb on his entire existence, and that was what he had done to me, leaving me in the wreckage to fend for myself. He shook his head, as if the action would render my words false and their meaning nonexistent.
"Why, Frank? Why? I don't understand -"
I rolled my eyes, letting out a sigh as I rummaged in my pocket for a smoke. "Think about it."
"I'm trying! I'm trying to comprehend what you just said and I can't!"
"I can't - and won't -" I paused, lighting up a cigarette. "- be with someone who doesn't love me."
"But I -"
I placed a finger against his lips, giving him a warning glare. "Don't you dare say it."
He grabbed my hand, locking our fingers together. "I think you're the one that doesn't love me. I think you're just trying to ease your own conscience."
I scoffed. "Oh yeah, because I'm the one that slept with my ex. I'm the one that relapsed."
He snorted, and I clenched my jaw. "Are you sure about that, sugar?"
I ripped my hand from his. "Perfectly."
"Don't lie to me, Frank. Not about something like this."
We stared each other down, until I threw my hands up in frustration. "Okay, so I relapsed too. Happy?"
"Of course not, don't be so fucking stupid."
"Yeah, well you're acting it now."
"Oh shut up! You haven't even denied that you don't love me -"
"I love you with everything I have, but do you know how hard it is to be with someone that doesn't love you?!"
"I do love you, will you stop saying that I don't!"
"Because you're lying to me!" I practically screamed, dropping the half-smoked cigarette and grinding it under my heel. "And you haven't stopped lying to me since we met!"
"Oh will you stop being such a fucking drama queen!"
"Excuse me? I am not the one begging for something that won't work!"
"And you were the one always begging to be fucked, so really -"
"That has nothing to do with it! We are done, Gerard! Done with a capital-motherfucking-D!"
He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, the fight seeming to leave him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders slumping, and he exhaled heavily.
"Frankie, please..." He begged, sounding like he was just about to cry. "I love you, I love you so much, please, you have to believe me. I need you."
"No, you don't." Before he could protest, I continued, with a sad smile on my face. "But that's okay."
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