Frerard fanfic. Chapter eight.

Despite his bawling and brooding when Gerard had left the first time, Frank had completely changed this time over. The pain was there, searing through him, but his outside layer stayed numb. He found he could put on a straight face and get through what he had done. Only because he knew Gerard had accepted it too. Frank had barely even given a care to his ex-boyfriend’s first confusion. Though he still wondered a little why Gerard hadn’t seen what was wrong. The note had said enough, Frank had thought. Still, maybe Gerard thought Frank wouldn’t notice that he wanted nothing like that. Maybe he would have left him hanging…
The other band members had noticed his numbing too. It was pretty obvious. Frank just… wasn’t Frank anymore. He didn’t speak, didn’t react.. He just stayed silent and thought. He had sat in front of the television, but Mikey had checked on him. His eyes were completely unfocused, and he was murmuring things under his breath. It was like living with… well, a zombie. A living body with no soul. Not only was it deeply disturbing, but upsetting for the band. Bob especially. Completely off-character for him, he had cried. Mikey had never seen him do it before, but he had, trying to choke out he was sorry but not quite managing. Afterwards he had told Frank he was sorry properly, and Frank had simply told him it wasn’t his fault. But his voice had been so bleak, it was hard to tell whether he meant it or not.

With a small cry of pain, Gerard’s back smashed against the wall. He briefly wondered how he got there, then opened his eyes, gazing across the well-lit but still dreary alley. He frowned, looking up. Oh, there was the sun. Was it morning? Had he slept? He grinned. It didn’t matter anyway.
Only a few moments later, he realized his hand was hurting really badly. It stung like crazy. Gerard looked down at his blood-covered hand, lifting it to shake off the flowing liquid. Fragments of glass were still in his wound. His eyes trailed across the injury, and his smile faded. Glancing down, he saw the smashed vodka bottle at the side of his thigh (he therefore noticed he had either fallen or sat down on his own will).
“Aw, shit..” he slurred, quite obviously intoxicated. Of course, he was complaining over his broken bottle rather than his bloody hand. Slowly he stood, causing his head to spin uncomfortably. He automatically put a hand to it, getting blood over his hair. He felt it’s warmth seep through to his scalp and pulled it away quickly. He leaned back against the wall, resting on the balls of his feet. He stayed there a while, trying to remember. He wasn’t as drunk as he felt, and that was good. Well, not his definition of good right now, as he slowly started to remember.
“Oh..” He managed, realizing what Frank had done to him. He frowned, wondering if he had dreamed that, because Frank wouldn’t do that to him… Again, he felt his head spin. As things slipped into place, he finally realized why he was out. He remembered the note he left saying he would be back about now. He groaned, not wanting them to see him. Well, that one was easy, even to his drunken mind. He’d call them and say he was okay. Which he wasn’t. Then he’d say he’d be gone for longer. After Gerard had sorted himself out he would go back and…
The male winced into the light, finding his mental block irritating. He’d… what? What would he do? Letting out a short breath, he thought again. So, Frank had broke up with him… So he had left.. Suddenly, he let out a gasp, putting his bloody hand over his mouth, biting down on the wound to stop himself crying out with agony. Frank had left him and… had he even asked why? Yes… no, he must have asked that. Suddenly, he felt too drained to wonder the reply. He slumped back down to the floor, feeling the glass dig into his side. It didn’t matter. That pain was minor.
Having enough sense to do so, he used his good hand to pull out his phone and quickly looked down his line of numbers. He should call Mikey. Mikey would tell him what to do. He shivered gently, seeing Frank’s name. If he just called for a minute, just to tell Frank… Again, a mental block came. Like a brick wall, stopping the answer from getting to him. It was infuriating. Sighing heavily, angrily, he pressed down on enter and put the phone to his ear, only noticing he was balling up his injured hand when it began to burn with pain.

Breaking out of his thoughts was probably the best thing that could happen now. He’d already been there for roughly two hours, mind wandering. He wasn’t even sure if he’d accomplished anything, but his phone still annoyed him to no end. How could someone call him now? He was trying to think. Swiping it from his side table, he let out a short breath, bringing it to his ear as he answered. “Hello?” he asked. His voice sounded bored, uninterested. Dull.
Gerard stayed silent a moment, wondering what was wrong with his voice. Was it the phone? He knew it was Frank on the other end, but.. He sounded weird.
“Frank? Is that you?” he asked, seeming genuinely curious.
Almost dropping the phone in his shock, his eyes widened. He swallowed quickly. This was probably the most emotion he’d showed since last night.
“Gerard?” He paused only slightly. “Why are you calling me?” he demanded, though his tone wasn’t rough, just burning with desire for an answer.
That one took a bit of thought, and Gerard paused for a few moments, looking down at his blood-stained hand. “I dunno. Did you break up with me?” he asked, his tone light and bizarre.
Frank frowned deeply, hand tightening around the phone. For a moment he wondered if he had. If Gerard didn’t remember, then maybe it never happened… “Yes… Gerard, what’s wrong? Did you bang your head or something?” he asked, standing up and walking across his room, pacing.
That made Gerard upset again. He felt tears welling up but ignored them, still gazing at his hand. “No. I cut my hand pretty bad though… I don’t think it needs stitches. Do you think I should go to the hospital anyway?” he asked, as if having a perfectly civil conversation.
Now Frank was utterly confused. How had he cut his hand? Where the hell was he? But mainly, what the fuck was wrong with him?
“Seriously, Gee. Have you…taken something?”
“What? Like stole? I wouldn’t do that.”
Frank stopped walking, something finally clicking. “You’ve been drinking.” He said simply, something between guilt and despair washing over him.
“Oh, yeah… but it broke.” Gerard answered, frowning again at the bottle, crying but not remembering what made him upset.
“It broke.. Okay. Gerard, I’m gonna come and find you, okay? Do you know where you are?” He asked gently, though he was scared as fuck. Of course he knew Gerard was big enough to take care of himself, but he’d already been cut somehow and it might be more serious than… No. Of course that wasn’t the reason. He just wanted an excuse to see Gerard. To help him. Plus excruciating guilt probed him. Was it his fault Gerard had drunk?
Gerard looked around, squinting slightly. He leaned forwards and check the faded sign on the wall. “I think it says… London Road” he paused, shaking his head lightly. “I don’t want to see you.” he added, a bit confused, but knowing he was upset at the other and crying.
Frank felt his heart ache and clutched his chest gently, eyes filling with tears. “Sorry, Gerard. I have to find you. I won’t expect anything, though.”
Gerard moaned, shaking his head more violently and moving his head down to the floor so he was lying on his side. “Don’t. I don’t want to see you.” he emphasized, causing Frank to let out a small noise of pain. Gerard didn’t notice the pain he was causing. He was too wound up in his own clouded and odd thoughts.
“Gerard, please-”
“No. Leave me alone..” he let out another moan of irritation, trying to wipe off the blood from his hand as it was stinging him badly now. That didn’t help, it just made it worse.
Frank shivered, knees threatening to give way. “I’m sorry… I don’t understand why you’re..” his voice broke and he stopped talking for a moment. “I-I’m sorry. I’m coming…bye.” he shut off the phone. He couldn’t handle anymore. He was almost gasping for breath from the pain to his chest. It was like suffocation. Who cares if Gerard was confused and drunk. He’d still said it. ‘I don’t want to see you. Leave me alone.’ Frank began to get changed, the throbbing in his chest making his double over every now and then.
As the dial tone rang through his ear, Gerard closed his eyes gently. He simply put the phone down next to him, curling his legs up slightly to his chest, just wanting to sleep.