She wrote a lot of amazing fan fictions; she's a hell of a writer. But this is definitely my favourite from her, and it is for sure the best My Chemical Romance fan fiction I've ever read. And I've read quite a few. So, I thought I'd share it -again- with the World. Cuz it's awesome, and it deserves to be read.
I stood at the front table later that night, self-conscious in a dark purple dress Mom picked out for me. It actually wasn't ugly or anything, it just showed a lot more skin than I'm comfortable with - yes, that out of the mouth of a model.
Darren, you know the gay ex-boyfriend, was looking at me from across the room, a pretty boy, who looked to be only eighteen, by his side. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I thought, downing a flute full of champagne. That stupid fuck Darren had better fucking not try to talk to me tonight. I'll fucking remove him of all appendage that he'd use to fuck his teenaged date if he tries to.
"You know," a female voice said from behind me, making me jump, "just because he's gay doesn't mean you have to glare at him like that."
I spun around and glared at the speaker, Miranda, instead. "I am not glaring at him because he screws the same gender; I am in no way homophobic. I'm glaring at him because he's my asshole of an ex."
She smirked at me. "You dated a homosexual?"
Deciding that answering her would be fruitless, I turned around the way I was facing before and suggested coldly, "Why don't you do check people aren't choking on the food you made?"
I looked over my shoulder after a few seconds and grinned triumphantly when I saw she's left. I bent over the table to do what I'd first intended on doing upon coming over, checking the seating chart Mom had put out. Frank and I were at the first and biggest table with other names I either didn't know or were only familiar with (other than my immediate family). I didn't see 'Robert McCracken' on any of the tables.
"Carrie! Carrie, Carrie, Carrie," Frank's voice chanted anxiously over and over. I turned around and saw him standing there, wringing his hands and breathing short and fast. All I noticed that he was wearing a tuxedo.
"Fuck me," I said under my breath, looking him over, and then exclaiming so he could hear, "Frank, you look so handsome!"
"Yeah, um, that's great. So do you," he added without really looking at me at all. He looked so nervous and panicky it would have been cute but it wasn't fake anxiousness so I was concerned. "Carrie, there's been a crisis at home and I need to go back or Gerard's whole life will be ruined, Mikey will be brother-less and you'll be girlfriend-less. So I think I should go back, save yours, Gerard's and Mikey's life, while you stay here, smooch with everyone and make me look good so we can avoid the awkwardness that occurs when your parents meet my Mom. So goodbye and please, please, don't-"
"Whoa!" I cut him off, holding up my hands. "Your Mom's here? My Mom invited yours and they're going to meet tonight?"
"Yes! So I have to leave-"
I grabbed his jacket collar and told him, "You're staying, Frank. We've got to face this sooner or later."
"But - but Mom's not used to your kind of people!" He protested.
"I know but Linda can hold her own, don't worry about it."
He rubbed a large hand over his face and muttered, "I can't believe she came. I don't even know if she has something to wear to something like this."
"Sh, breathe dipshit, she'll be fine." I licked and then reached out my thumb for his face. "Come here, you smudged your eyeliner."
'Oh crap. Is it bad; do I look like Benji Madden?" He pretended to panic.
I quickly fixed it up for him and smiled. "There we go, all better. You look great."
He finally looked me over and I took his big smile and a hug as a sign that he liked how I looked too. "So do you." He pulled away after whispering, "Bert's a lucky guy."
Gah, why must he keep on creating all these moments? I have no idea what to say when he says stuff like that! Luckily, Mom swept past and looked at us (standing close and both smiling), approvingly.
"You two look adorable," she said in an undertone, giving us only the slightest flicker of a smile. "Now, come with me and we'll find your seats before the entrees."
"Um, Mom," I sang quietly as if I were five again, "why wasn't Bert on the seating chart?"
"Because it was made yesterday afternoon, honey. You don't need to fret, he has a seat."
I bit my lip and unsurely sat in my assigned seat. Frank was opposite me; next to my old, cat-smelling aunt and Linda, his mother; while I was in between Mom and Daddy. I felt like banging my head against the white table-clothed table when Bert finally entered.
There were hardly any people standing, just some press people and older relatives who had to walk slowly because of recent hip replacements and whatnot, so I could easily see him from my position.
His hair was combed and he too was wearing a tuxedo, but his was too short in the leg for him, and I'm not saying he didn't look good because he did, but he was also looking awkward and out of place. I felt bad for him.
He was looking around the room and, when his eyes finally found mine, a smile finally formed on his face. It was slow and hesitant but it was at least a start and I smiled back in a reassuring way. Bert started walking over to our table when a waiter stopped him and said something, then guiding him to the only spare chair in the entire room. At the end of the buffet table.
I felt like crying when I saw him sigh and sit down by himself, placing the napkin from his plate onto his lap, and look around, a rejected look on his face. Anger rose in my throat and I found it hard to talk when I turned to Mom.
"Why-the-fuck-is-Bert-sitting-with-the-food?" I hissed quietly. I was pissed off with her but I didn't want to attract too much attention.
She looked at me, surprised. "Carrie, did you just swear at me?"
"Yes. Why the fuck did you put Bert on the end of the buffet table with no one else?" I'd raised my voice very slightly, in a threatening way to warn her I would let the whole roomful of people hear this if need be.
"Oh, honey, I didn't want to-"
Here I thought, You did it on purpose you judgmental bitch!
"-but he's here on such short notice and we didn't have anywhere else free."
I reached for my water glass and told her while sipping, "I will never forget this," before turning to Frank's mom. "Linda, hi. Have you met my mother?"
"Hello Carrie, dear. Yes, I've met Hannah," she replied in such a way I knew Mom had not made a good impression. She rarely does.
Mom tried to be nice. "I love your dress, Linda. Who was the designer?"
Linda flushed and smoothed down the blue fabric of the skirt of the dress and jacket set. "Oh, I don't really know. I'm not really one for labels."
"Me neither," I quickly agreed before Mom could say anything else - which I knew she would.
"Me neither," Frank added, grinning. Mom glared at us both.
"I hate labels," Daddy said his bit and I felt like whooping.
Mom quickly changed the subject. "How many people have you put on the wedding's guest list so far?"
Crap, oh shit, fuck it and wank! Quick, Carrie, just think of some random number ... 12345!
"Um.." I muttered. Somehow I didn't think 12345 would be realistic.
Linda frowned and turned to her son. "Frank, how much of the day have you and Carrie actually planned? It's only a month away."
"I think you two should tell us exactly how much of the wedding you have set in detail," Mom said firmly.
I hesitated before saying, "No. I refuse to talk about the marriage until we move to the buffet table, to sit with Bert."
"Carrie-" Daddy started to protest.
"No," I confirmed, pushing out my chair as Frank did the same, and standing up. "If you want to know anything about it, you will move over with us to Bert. You know, one of your guests and my friend?"
Frank and I carried over our chairs to Bert, who looked happy for the company, and, reluctantly, the parents followed. Needless to say, they weren't very happy when they found out they'd come over for no reason since we'd not given a single thought to the wedding for months. So, Mom and Linda decided that they'd be planning the event, lifting any and all responsibility off Frank, Daddy and I.
I was throwing up again that night/early morning, still in the revealing dark purple dress. I looked around and chuckled to myself. Oh yes, very glamorous, very rock star like. A girl of twenty three years, this year twenty four, in a big mansion wearing a stylish, slinky dress... half in a toilet bowl, barfing in a most unlady-like manner. I'm a fucking mess, I thought, chuckling a little bit again.
"Why the fuck are you laughing?" Frank said from the bathroom doorway. I startled, having not known he was there. "You look like shit."
I looked over at him and tried to glare but could only manage a drowsy look. "Just wait until you're on your deathbed, buddy. You'll be all like 'Hey, look it's Carrie, that chick I was engaged to once. Let's ask her for something since she obviously came here to see me before I die to do whatever she can'. And then I'll be all like 'No, sorry buddy. I was being all sexy that one time, throwing up in my Mom's toilet, and do you remember what you said? Yep, that's right, that I looked like shit'."
He scratched the back of his head. "Hell Carrie, how much alcohol did your parents force down your throat?"
I waved my hands in dismissal. "None, I only have one it tasted like crap. I mean, why drink something bubbly? It's basically like farting in a bath and then drinking the water."
"I am so glad you always have showers."
"I could use one right now. Oof, help me up," I grunted, holding out my hands and pouting. I'd used toilet paper to clean up my face before so I knew that I at least didn't have vomit splattered over my chin.
He obliged and half dragged, half slid me into the shower. "Do you want me to wash your back?" He asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
"No, just ..." I turned my back to him and arched it "...unzip me."
He quickly did so. I breathed in sharply when I felt his fingertips deliberately trail ever so softly over the skin of my shoulders as he slid the straps down for me. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck and I closed my eyes as my breathing increased. He'd better fucking stop teasing me soon or I'll mangle his balls and trick Ray into eating them.
I was just about to give in and jump him when all of a sudden I couldn't feel him so close to me anyway. He cleared his throat and his voice came out thick and husky. " Um, you'd better have that shower now ... ... ... you smell pretty damn bad."
I raised my eyebrows and looked over my shoulder at him but he avoided all eye-contact and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him. I leant against the shower screen and panted. God, get a grip on yourself, I thought. Just because you're in love with the guy...
I stayed under the hot water for fifteen minutes so that there was a thick layer of steam clouding the air and I didn't bother to wipe the water off the mirror until after I'd brushed my teeth vigorously four times.
You look like shit, I told my reflection, looking over my damp hair, tired eyes and very thin frame.
Yeah? Well so do you, I imagined my reflection would say back.
I quickly looked around in all the cupboards for something which might help put a little more life and attractiveness into my appearance but all I could come up with was a dozen freshly washed and fluffy yellow towels, deodorant, soap, astringent, moth balls, detergent, clear lip gloss, cotton wool balls of white fluffy heaven... Oh wait, the lip gloss and deodorant. I hurriedly used them and pulled back on the dress. Thankfully, it was still completely clean apart from one spot which I figured I could keep hidden anyway.
"What's taking so fucking long?" Frank called from the other side of the door. "Don't make me come in there, Carrie, because you know I-"
I opened the door. "What're you still doing here? I though you would have gone to bed."
He grabbed my hand and started to tug me with him in the direction of the third floor balcony. "Shh. I want to show you something."
Sure enough, he took me to the balcony and I nervously looked at the love seat down near the railing to overlook the view. Frank was looking at the loveseat too and still holding my hand so, stupidly, I pulled away and said, "What did you want to show me? That pot plant over there? It's very nice - looks a bit like an asparagus but, still, very nice. In fact, I bet-"
"Carrie, shut up and sit." Frank shoved me over until I was sitting down on the love seat and he took the place beside me. He looked over the railing, at the sky, so I did too, craning my neck to see anything but the bright mother fucker of a full moon. I then opened my mouth to query what he was looking at when he said, looking at his watch, "Should be soon. Just keep on looking at the sky, Carrie-bear."
My insides squirmed; he hadn't called me that in weeks. "Er, but what for? Is the sky going to change colors to mauve - Ah! It's a shooting star and another one and -"
Frank grabbed my hand and squeezed it until I shut up, my eyes watering from the pain. We watched the natural phenomenon in silence, my mouth open in awe of the beauty and length of the meteor shower. When it ended, I looked over at Frank who was already looking at me in the way he had that made me want to forget about Bert. "Did you make a wish?" I whispered.
He nodded. "You?"
"Yes but I'm not allowed to tell you or the stork will never come with my delivery of Johnny Depp, now will he?" I answered, looking back at the sky. The stars shone brighter and there were patches of a very deep purple showing through areas of cloud and blackness. We sat in a comfortable silence until Frank broke it abruptly.
"Carrie, I got your cell before I came looking for you, you don't mind do you?" He asked, holding my phone up. I smiled to let him know it was okay and he paused before continuing. "So, um, did you ever get that voice mail I left you one day on tour?" I nodded. "Did you listen to it?"
"Yeah but not all of it. Only enough to know that you were alright."
"I thought as much because you never said anything - and if you had listened to the whole thing, you would have heard, without all the trouble, what I've been trying to tell you since I got back. Did you save it?"
"Yes."
"I'll play it for you then," he said, tinkering with my phone. How he knew my pin number was beyond me.
Moments later the message played.
"Carrie-bear, I'm so sorry it's taken this long for me to call you. I've been sick and the doctor we saw last week thinks it's an iron deficiency problem and I've got pills now. So, I didn't mean to not call and I definitely wasn't avoiding you or anything. In fact, the reason I'm calling now is mainly because I miss you - I have no one to share a bed with anymore unless Mikey's already out of it and I carefully climb in his bunk with him. The other part is because I told Gerard something awhile ago and, being the shrewd and crude little bitch that he is, he says that I should stop 'fucking the hell around and fucking call you instead of being a sulking shit which is depressing the fans'. I, uh, I'm not that good with words so I'm kind of stealing this off of someone else. But it fits pretty well..."
There was a few seconds' pause and then an acoustic guitar was being played and Frank was singing.
"Oh shit, that chord was wrong wasn't it? Oh fuck it, I'm not playing for TRL or anything... Ahem, here goes:
Fuck, I'm running out of the credit on Bob's phone…"
The message ended and I looked up at Frank who'd been singing along to his own voice and was now staring at me. Trying to make light out of the situation, I said, "You sung me a Nickelback’s song to-"
"Tell you that I love you," he finished, seriously.
My breath caught in my throat, making that loud and annoying gasping sound come out. "Um ... I don't - I don't know what to say." I looked at his face and his eyes were silently pleading me so I tried again. "I mean, what I want to say, I can't."
"Bert?" Frank asked.
I confirmed it with a nod and a sigh. "It was beautiful though - even though I'm not a fan."
He ignored my pointless statement. "But if you were able to say something back, would I ... like it?"
I nodded and he smiled the sweetest smile ever. I started to panic though, thinking of betraying Bert, when Frank's lips came at me. But they landed on my cheek instead in a short and innocent kiss. He stood up, setting my cell in my lap and, before leaving, told me, "I'll wait then."
27
I stood at the front table later that night, self-conscious in a dark purple dress Mom picked out for me. It actually wasn't ugly or anything, it just showed a lot more skin than I'm comfortable with - yes, that out of the mouth of a model.
Darren, you know the gay ex-boyfriend, was looking at me from across the room, a pretty boy, who looked to be only eighteen, by his side. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I thought, downing a flute full of champagne. That stupid fuck Darren had better fucking not try to talk to me tonight. I'll fucking remove him of all appendage that he'd use to fuck his teenaged date if he tries to.
"You know," a female voice said from behind me, making me jump, "just because he's gay doesn't mean you have to glare at him like that."
I spun around and glared at the speaker, Miranda, instead. "I am not glaring at him because he screws the same gender; I am in no way homophobic. I'm glaring at him because he's my asshole of an ex."
She smirked at me. "You dated a homosexual?"
Deciding that answering her would be fruitless, I turned around the way I was facing before and suggested coldly, "Why don't you do check people aren't choking on the food you made?"
I looked over my shoulder after a few seconds and grinned triumphantly when I saw she's left. I bent over the table to do what I'd first intended on doing upon coming over, checking the seating chart Mom had put out. Frank and I were at the first and biggest table with other names I either didn't know or were only familiar with (other than my immediate family). I didn't see 'Robert McCracken' on any of the tables.
"Carrie! Carrie, Carrie, Carrie," Frank's voice chanted anxiously over and over. I turned around and saw him standing there, wringing his hands and breathing short and fast. All I noticed that he was wearing a tuxedo.
"Fuck me," I said under my breath, looking him over, and then exclaiming so he could hear, "Frank, you look so handsome!"
"Yeah, um, that's great. So do you," he added without really looking at me at all. He looked so nervous and panicky it would have been cute but it wasn't fake anxiousness so I was concerned. "Carrie, there's been a crisis at home and I need to go back or Gerard's whole life will be ruined, Mikey will be brother-less and you'll be girlfriend-less. So I think I should go back, save yours, Gerard's and Mikey's life, while you stay here, smooch with everyone and make me look good so we can avoid the awkwardness that occurs when your parents meet my Mom. So goodbye and please, please, don't-"
"Whoa!" I cut him off, holding up my hands. "Your Mom's here? My Mom invited yours and they're going to meet tonight?"
"Yes! So I have to leave-"
I grabbed his jacket collar and told him, "You're staying, Frank. We've got to face this sooner or later."
"But - but Mom's not used to your kind of people!" He protested.
"I know but Linda can hold her own, don't worry about it."
He rubbed a large hand over his face and muttered, "I can't believe she came. I don't even know if she has something to wear to something like this."
"Sh, breathe dipshit, she'll be fine." I licked and then reached out my thumb for his face. "Come here, you smudged your eyeliner."
'Oh crap. Is it bad; do I look like Benji Madden?" He pretended to panic.
I quickly fixed it up for him and smiled. "There we go, all better. You look great."
He finally looked me over and I took his big smile and a hug as a sign that he liked how I looked too. "So do you." He pulled away after whispering, "Bert's a lucky guy."
Gah, why must he keep on creating all these moments? I have no idea what to say when he says stuff like that! Luckily, Mom swept past and looked at us (standing close and both smiling), approvingly.
"You two look adorable," she said in an undertone, giving us only the slightest flicker of a smile. "Now, come with me and we'll find your seats before the entrees."
"Um, Mom," I sang quietly as if I were five again, "why wasn't Bert on the seating chart?"
"Because it was made yesterday afternoon, honey. You don't need to fret, he has a seat."
I bit my lip and unsurely sat in my assigned seat. Frank was opposite me; next to my old, cat-smelling aunt and Linda, his mother; while I was in between Mom and Daddy. I felt like banging my head against the white table-clothed table when Bert finally entered.
There were hardly any people standing, just some press people and older relatives who had to walk slowly because of recent hip replacements and whatnot, so I could easily see him from my position.
His hair was combed and he too was wearing a tuxedo, but his was too short in the leg for him, and I'm not saying he didn't look good because he did, but he was also looking awkward and out of place. I felt bad for him.
He was looking around the room and, when his eyes finally found mine, a smile finally formed on his face. It was slow and hesitant but it was at least a start and I smiled back in a reassuring way. Bert started walking over to our table when a waiter stopped him and said something, then guiding him to the only spare chair in the entire room. At the end of the buffet table.
I felt like crying when I saw him sigh and sit down by himself, placing the napkin from his plate onto his lap, and look around, a rejected look on his face. Anger rose in my throat and I found it hard to talk when I turned to Mom.
"Why-the-fuck-is-Bert-sitting-with-the-food?" I hissed quietly. I was pissed off with her but I didn't want to attract too much attention.
She looked at me, surprised. "Carrie, did you just swear at me?"
"Yes. Why the fuck did you put Bert on the end of the buffet table with no one else?" I'd raised my voice very slightly, in a threatening way to warn her I would let the whole roomful of people hear this if need be.
"Oh, honey, I didn't want to-"
Here I thought, You did it on purpose you judgmental bitch!
"-but he's here on such short notice and we didn't have anywhere else free."
I reached for my water glass and told her while sipping, "I will never forget this," before turning to Frank's mom. "Linda, hi. Have you met my mother?"
"Hello Carrie, dear. Yes, I've met Hannah," she replied in such a way I knew Mom had not made a good impression. She rarely does.
Mom tried to be nice. "I love your dress, Linda. Who was the designer?"
Linda flushed and smoothed down the blue fabric of the skirt of the dress and jacket set. "Oh, I don't really know. I'm not really one for labels."
"Me neither," I quickly agreed before Mom could say anything else - which I knew she would.
"Me neither," Frank added, grinning. Mom glared at us both.
"I hate labels," Daddy said his bit and I felt like whooping.
Mom quickly changed the subject. "How many people have you put on the wedding's guest list so far?"
Crap, oh shit, fuck it and wank! Quick, Carrie, just think of some random number ... 12345!
"Um.." I muttered. Somehow I didn't think 12345 would be realistic.
Linda frowned and turned to her son. "Frank, how much of the day have you and Carrie actually planned? It's only a month away."
"I think you two should tell us exactly how much of the wedding you have set in detail," Mom said firmly.
I hesitated before saying, "No. I refuse to talk about the marriage until we move to the buffet table, to sit with Bert."
"Carrie-" Daddy started to protest.
"No," I confirmed, pushing out my chair as Frank did the same, and standing up. "If you want to know anything about it, you will move over with us to Bert. You know, one of your guests and my friend?"
Frank and I carried over our chairs to Bert, who looked happy for the company, and, reluctantly, the parents followed. Needless to say, they weren't very happy when they found out they'd come over for no reason since we'd not given a single thought to the wedding for months. So, Mom and Linda decided that they'd be planning the event, lifting any and all responsibility off Frank, Daddy and I.
I was throwing up again that night/early morning, still in the revealing dark purple dress. I looked around and chuckled to myself. Oh yes, very glamorous, very rock star like. A girl of twenty three years, this year twenty four, in a big mansion wearing a stylish, slinky dress... half in a toilet bowl, barfing in a most unlady-like manner. I'm a fucking mess, I thought, chuckling a little bit again.
"Why the fuck are you laughing?" Frank said from the bathroom doorway. I startled, having not known he was there. "You look like shit."
I looked over at him and tried to glare but could only manage a drowsy look. "Just wait until you're on your deathbed, buddy. You'll be all like 'Hey, look it's Carrie, that chick I was engaged to once. Let's ask her for something since she obviously came here to see me before I die to do whatever she can'. And then I'll be all like 'No, sorry buddy. I was being all sexy that one time, throwing up in my Mom's toilet, and do you remember what you said? Yep, that's right, that I looked like shit'."
He scratched the back of his head. "Hell Carrie, how much alcohol did your parents force down your throat?"
I waved my hands in dismissal. "None, I only have one it tasted like crap. I mean, why drink something bubbly? It's basically like farting in a bath and then drinking the water."
"I am so glad you always have showers."
"I could use one right now. Oof, help me up," I grunted, holding out my hands and pouting. I'd used toilet paper to clean up my face before so I knew that I at least didn't have vomit splattered over my chin.
He obliged and half dragged, half slid me into the shower. "Do you want me to wash your back?" He asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
"No, just ..." I turned my back to him and arched it "...unzip me."
He quickly did so. I breathed in sharply when I felt his fingertips deliberately trail ever so softly over the skin of my shoulders as he slid the straps down for me. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck and I closed my eyes as my breathing increased. He'd better fucking stop teasing me soon or I'll mangle his balls and trick Ray into eating them.
I was just about to give in and jump him when all of a sudden I couldn't feel him so close to me anyway. He cleared his throat and his voice came out thick and husky. " Um, you'd better have that shower now ... ... ... you smell pretty damn bad."
I raised my eyebrows and looked over my shoulder at him but he avoided all eye-contact and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him. I leant against the shower screen and panted. God, get a grip on yourself, I thought. Just because you're in love with the guy...
I stayed under the hot water for fifteen minutes so that there was a thick layer of steam clouding the air and I didn't bother to wipe the water off the mirror until after I'd brushed my teeth vigorously four times.
You look like shit, I told my reflection, looking over my damp hair, tired eyes and very thin frame.
Yeah? Well so do you, I imagined my reflection would say back.
I quickly looked around in all the cupboards for something which might help put a little more life and attractiveness into my appearance but all I could come up with was a dozen freshly washed and fluffy yellow towels, deodorant, soap, astringent, moth balls, detergent, clear lip gloss, cotton wool balls of white fluffy heaven... Oh wait, the lip gloss and deodorant. I hurriedly used them and pulled back on the dress. Thankfully, it was still completely clean apart from one spot which I figured I could keep hidden anyway.
"What's taking so fucking long?" Frank called from the other side of the door. "Don't make me come in there, Carrie, because you know I-"
I opened the door. "What're you still doing here? I though you would have gone to bed."
He grabbed my hand and started to tug me with him in the direction of the third floor balcony. "Shh. I want to show you something."
Sure enough, he took me to the balcony and I nervously looked at the love seat down near the railing to overlook the view. Frank was looking at the loveseat too and still holding my hand so, stupidly, I pulled away and said, "What did you want to show me? That pot plant over there? It's very nice - looks a bit like an asparagus but, still, very nice. In fact, I bet-"
"Carrie, shut up and sit." Frank shoved me over until I was sitting down on the love seat and he took the place beside me. He looked over the railing, at the sky, so I did too, craning my neck to see anything but the bright mother fucker of a full moon. I then opened my mouth to query what he was looking at when he said, looking at his watch, "Should be soon. Just keep on looking at the sky, Carrie-bear."
My insides squirmed; he hadn't called me that in weeks. "Er, but what for? Is the sky going to change colors to mauve - Ah! It's a shooting star and another one and -"
Frank grabbed my hand and squeezed it until I shut up, my eyes watering from the pain. We watched the natural phenomenon in silence, my mouth open in awe of the beauty and length of the meteor shower. When it ended, I looked over at Frank who was already looking at me in the way he had that made me want to forget about Bert. "Did you make a wish?" I whispered.
He nodded. "You?"
"Yes but I'm not allowed to tell you or the stork will never come with my delivery of Johnny Depp, now will he?" I answered, looking back at the sky. The stars shone brighter and there were patches of a very deep purple showing through areas of cloud and blackness. We sat in a comfortable silence until Frank broke it abruptly.
"Carrie, I got your cell before I came looking for you, you don't mind do you?" He asked, holding my phone up. I smiled to let him know it was okay and he paused before continuing. "So, um, did you ever get that voice mail I left you one day on tour?" I nodded. "Did you listen to it?"
"Yeah but not all of it. Only enough to know that you were alright."
"I thought as much because you never said anything - and if you had listened to the whole thing, you would have heard, without all the trouble, what I've been trying to tell you since I got back. Did you save it?"
"Yes."
"I'll play it for you then," he said, tinkering with my phone. How he knew my pin number was beyond me.
Moments later the message played.
"Carrie-bear, I'm so sorry it's taken this long for me to call you. I've been sick and the doctor we saw last week thinks it's an iron deficiency problem and I've got pills now. So, I didn't mean to not call and I definitely wasn't avoiding you or anything. In fact, the reason I'm calling now is mainly because I miss you - I have no one to share a bed with anymore unless Mikey's already out of it and I carefully climb in his bunk with him. The other part is because I told Gerard something awhile ago and, being the shrewd and crude little bitch that he is, he says that I should stop 'fucking the hell around and fucking call you instead of being a sulking shit which is depressing the fans'. I, uh, I'm not that good with words so I'm kind of stealing this off of someone else. But it fits pretty well..."
There was a few seconds' pause and then an acoustic guitar was being played and Frank was singing.
"Oh shit, that chord was wrong wasn't it? Oh fuck it, I'm not playing for TRL or anything... Ahem, here goes:
'On my knees, I'll ask
Last chance for one last dance
'Cause with you, I'd withstand
All of Hell to hold your hand
I'd give it all, I'd give for us
Give anything but I won't give up
'Cause you know, you know,
you know
That I love you
I have loved you all along
And I miss you
Been far away for far too long
I keep dreaming you'll be with me
And you'll never go
Stop breathing if I don't see you anymore' ..
Fuck, I'm running out of the credit on Bob's phone…"
The message ended and I looked up at Frank who'd been singing along to his own voice and was now staring at me. Trying to make light out of the situation, I said, "You sung me a Nickelback’s song to-"
"Tell you that I love you," he finished, seriously.
My breath caught in my throat, making that loud and annoying gasping sound come out. "Um ... I don't - I don't know what to say." I looked at his face and his eyes were silently pleading me so I tried again. "I mean, what I want to say, I can't."
"Bert?" Frank asked.
I confirmed it with a nod and a sigh. "It was beautiful though - even though I'm not a fan."
He ignored my pointless statement. "But if you were able to say something back, would I ... like it?"
I nodded and he smiled the sweetest smile ever. I started to panic though, thinking of betraying Bert, when Frank's lips came at me. But they landed on my cheek instead in a short and innocent kiss. He stood up, setting my cell in my lap and, before leaving, told me, "I'll wait then."
xo-
~ My Chemical Romance is done. But it can never die. Because it is not a band- it is an idea. ~
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