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.
"Carrie, what the fuck are you doing? Stop trying to undress me and let me get some sleep," Frank groaned, rolling over and hugging his pillow to his torso.
Oh, if only all the fan-girls could see him now - in disheveled T-shirt and boxers I'd been tugging on, hair sticking up every which way to the effect they'd no doubtedly call 'sex hair' and the ever so attractive evidence of drool on the corner of his mouth and making a wet patch on the pillow. They'd attack me if they knew I'd slept on the otherside of him.
"I said stop," he growled dangerously, kicking out a leg, when I kept on shaking him in an attempt to fully rouse him.
"No, you have to get up, dipshit. You have a meeting to go to."
He shot up in bed, his hair even more mussed than I'd initially thought it was and his eyes bloodshot and heavy-lidded from sleepiness as he looked at me blearily. "Shit! I do? What's it for and where are my pants?" He was nearly toppling off the side of the bed as he scanned the floor for his favourite pair of jeans.
"Your pants are over in that corner," I answered and watched in satisfaction when he stood up, wandered over to said corner and pulled the pair on.
"Am I late?" He asked me, anxiously, pulling off the shirt he'd worn to bed and shrugging into another, cleaner one.
I tried to suppress my smirk. "No, you're not late."
Frank narrowed his eyes, his hands still buckling his belt which he'd only just found. "What's that look for, what did you do?"
I inconspicuously moved backwards so I was closer to the door. "Um, me? Little old me has done nothing but, I should probably tell you, there is no meeting." I dodged the pillow he'd stolen from my side of the bed and thrown at me.
"Carrie-"
"I had to get you out of bed somehow," I told him. "I mean I shook you, kicked you, sat on you, practically pulled all of your clothes off but it didn't work so I had to make up a meeting. You understand, right?"
"Carrie, you suck so bad," he murmured, wandering back over to our bed. "I'm so tired."
"Well it's not my fault you're tired-"
"Yeah, it is."
"How is it my fault?" I demanded.
"You made me stay up to play three games of Monopoly with you."
"Frank, don't you dare get back into that bed. Mikey's coming home tomorrow and, if we don't clean up today before my shoot, he'll kill us."
He looked at me indignantly. "You want me to clean?! Well, I'm sorry, but if the only reason I'm awake right now is so that Mikey doesn't come back to a dump then I'm going back to sleep."
I threw the pillow he'd thrown at me back at him but he simply caught it. "So, what, cleaning is beneath you? You'd rather not help and let me do all of it?"
"Carrie, it's as simple as 'I don't care'. I don't care how rat and roach infested, how messy, untidy or dirty the apartment is. So, since I don't care, why should I have to clean it?"
He should have known, from the furious look on my face, that just standing there wouldn't be a wise choice. It gave me the chance, opposed to him running, to walk over, snatch the pillow from his hands and beat him repeatedly over the head with it. He didn't even fight back.
When I was finished, I blew some hair, which had come loose from the ponytail I'd previously had it in, out of my face and told him simply, "You're helping me, dipshit."
"Okay," he relented. "But can I go and pee first?"
I nodded before heading to the kitchen to get started on the dishes which had started to pile high. After awhile, I wondered if Frank had flaked out on me and gone back to bed but then he appeared and started drying everything I'd already washed. Then he wiped off all the counters and tables while I dusted. It wasn't until we were making beds that he started complaining and we began to argue.
"What the hell is a 'hospital corner' anyway and is it an important part of a bed or something you've just made up to make me seem incompetent?"
"Frank, sweetie," I said patiently, fluffing his pillow for him, "I showed you how to so do it properly please."
"I'm trying," He grunted.
"No you're not. You're deliberately being lazy so you can go off and sleep -or eat or fart- or whatever it is the male species do when not being made to contribute to the household."
"Ha, you admit it! You're forcing me to - I'm being made to contribute to the household!"
"Well, you shouldn't need to be forced; you should want to help me!" Shit, I was shouting now.
"Carrie, would you listen to yourself?! We're not married, why the fuck are you picking on me?!"
"I'm not picking on you, you're being an ass!"
He glared at me and kept quiet, viciously tearing back the sheets, placing them back on the mattress and tucking them away in no particular order, until he was finished and stood up straight. "There. Done. Happy?"
"You just fucking made it bloody worse, didn't you?" I shouted after him as he threw down a pillowcase and left, slamming the door. "Stupid fucking fucker," I muttered about Frank to myself with no one but poor Madonna to hear. "Doesn't want to help around the fucking house. Acts like a fucking chauvinist. I'm the woman, I have to clean the apartment, wash his smelly fucking socks and make his bed? My fucking ass I do." I paused for a minute to breathe and saw Madonna slowly walking out of the room. "Madonna, come here," she paused at the sound of her name being said in such an abrupt, snapping way, "I need a hug."
I spent another couple of hours sulking (while thinking about how I've been doing an awful lot of sulking lately) before pushing Madonna out of my lap and getting up to get ready for the photo shoot. When I'd managed to get both shoes on, I nudged the dog out of my way and got to the end of the hallway before remembering and turning back. "A pen, a pen ... I need a pen. Why the fuck can't I find a pen when I need one but, when I don't, I'm tripping over the left, right and center? Fucking Frank probably hid all my pens away from me. Chauvinistic prick- Ooh, a pen!" I picked up the red pen which had been in front of me the whole time I'd been rummaging throughout the kitchen. I used it to write Frank a note about how I couldn't be back until after dark and that he needed to make something for dinner, for once, because I wouldn't be able to before setting it back down on the table and leaving.
Pierre
"Please, just cooperate," Rhiannon, one of the other models, said as she kneeled in front of me. "I mean, I'm sure he didn't mean it."
"Anorexic. bad posture. bug. Nicole Richie." I paused to see if she was getting my point. "Nicole Richie. anorexic. bad posture. bug... Nicole Richie-"
"Okay, Carrie, okay! I get it! He was being a douche but it's nothing personal, he's just in a bad mood."
"I don't care if he's in a million people's bad mood; he doesn't have to take it out on me!"
"And you don't have to take yours out on me."
"Sorry," I muttered.
"You're both having a bad mood but you're professionals and you have a job to get done. Get along with him just until you have half a dozen good photos, okay?"
"Stop being all reasonable, you're making me feel like a brat." I sighed before looking up at her. "I don't want to apologize."
"You have to."
"But if I apologize then I'll have to do what we were fighting over in the first place. He's the photographer, he doesn't get a say in whether I'm too thin or not and need to be weighed."
Rhiannon was wearing her awkward face. "Well. Don't take this the wrong way or too personally, please for fuck's sake don't, but you are looking like. Well, you know." I glared at her and she flinched.
"No. Like what?"
"Like you've lost a lot of weight."
I blew up at her. It wasn't very fair to her but I needed to shout at someone. "So, just because I've been stressed and lost a couple of kilos, I've got an eating disorder, now?! Is that what you all think?! Well, fuck the lot of you. If that's what you all think then I'm better off not knowing any of you and finding myself a new agency."
The hair stylists and light technicians had paused in their jobs and looked over to see what the cause of all my hysteric shouting was.
Rhiannon's eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. "No, no! Carrie-"
"So,Pierre
Trying to make sense of all my rambling, Rhiannon asked desperately, "Frank? You're stressed over your relationship with Frank?" She nudged my knee for my full attention. "This isn't aboutPierre
"No," I said quietly, all of a sudden feeling like bursting into tears. "I just really, really miss Frank and really, really need to talk to him."
She patted my knee and stood up. "You stay right here and I'll call Frank."
She came out with Mikey, Frank and I one night for a Star Wars marathon at the cinema and then beers at the nearest pub, at four o'clock in the morning, one time so her not having his number wasn't an issue.
Ten minutes later, she came hurrying back over and she smiled when I did so first. I'd, thankfully, calmed down considerably. "Hey you, you PMSing bitch. I called him and he said he's be here in about an hour and a half. I talked toPierre
I stood up and hugged her. "Thanks, that sounds great. I'm sorry."
"No problems, Carrie. You should have seen me when I was pregnant with Marc; temper tantrums, emotional and usually public outbursts all over the place. You're only human." She tucked some of my hair away and fixed the hem of my costume. "Now, stop being a little diva and do your job, okay?"
I smiled. "Okay."
Even though Pierre wouldn't talk to me except to bark orders now and then, we didn't have any problems and he finally shrieked at me to get out of his sight and to 'please grab something to fucking eat other than a celery stick' in celebration of doing so well. At least he said I'd done well; yeah, way to snatch a compliment out of the jaws of an insult.
I had just wiped off all of the makeup and slipped out of the ridiculous dress, which was too big for me anyway, and into jeans and a tank top when Rhiannon came up to me, smiling. I looked at her suspiciously, paranoid by nature, but all she did was hug me and say 'good bye', all with a disgustingly large grin on her face. I was a little perturbed but managed to shrug it off and walk out into the lobby. There Frank was, standing leant up against the wall nearest me, directly beneath a 'no smoking zone' sign, with a cigarette between his lips and his hands dug into his pockets as he stretched out his legs. He looked up from beneath the hair that, admittedly, hung quite sexily in his face, at me and the corners of his mouth tugged upwards in a half smile of acknowledgement. I nodded back and walked up to him.
He seemed taken aback by my manner and it was no surprise. Rhiannon had called him, most likely with the information I'd been crying and asking for him, yet here I was putting up a cold front. I really am a twat.
"Hey," he greeted me. I watched his hands, inside his pockets; tap a beat against his thighs. I didn't want to meet his eyes yet; I hadn't quite come up with exactly what I had to say. I didn't even want to mention it but, sooner or later, it had to be said by one of us.
"Hi. Have you not noticed the sign above your head, or do you just like annoying authority?"
He shrugged as he straightened up from against the wall. "It's not lit."
"Oh."
"Oh."
"So, uh, it was nice of you to come?"
He pulled out his lighter. "Come on Carrie, cut the crap. Let's walk and you can tell me all about how and why you needed to talk to me - I'm guessing it's not about modeling."
I nodded and followed him outside, onto the sidewalk. It was cold and snowing. Snow is pretty, I like snow. Why is Frank looking at me like that; are we having a conversation I didn't know I was a part of until just now? "Sorry, I was distracted," I said meekly," what did you say?"
"I asked if you're okay."
"No, not really. I'm actually feeling quite ill but it's more to do with the fact that I'm missing someone who means quite a lot to me."
"Really?"
"Mmhm. See, he told me he loved me but then there was this other guy, who I was involved with, so I couldn't return the favour- although I'd been wanting what he was offering for quite awhile. But now the other guy is out of the picture and this guy and I are kind of, but not really, really, getting together. But it just seems awkward between us at the moment and I really miss having the real him around since I don't think things have been right recently for some reason. I've finally figured out what might help our situation but I'm not quite sure how to do this. I mean, I've been working on it for ages, but I just can't seem to think of the perfect way to tell him 'I love you'. So, yeah, it's quite messed up at the moment and today everything just built up and exploded." I finally looked at him. "I don't know, what do you think?"
He stared at me calmly. "I think you should tell him how you feel."
I licked my lips. "I've been trying to - how do you think I should go about it?"
He pulled me out of the way of a little old lady who was using a walking stick almost taller than herself and kissed me. "I love you."
I pecked him on the lips after pulling away and smiled. "I love you too."
"Come on," he murmured into my hair as he pulled me into his side with his arm wrapped around my shoulders, "let's get home."
"Did you get the note I left you?"
"About dinner?" I nodded. "Um, well, you like Chinese take out right?"
30
"Carrie, what the fuck are you doing? Stop trying to undress me and let me get some sleep," Frank groaned, rolling over and hugging his pillow to his torso.
Oh, if only all the fan-girls could see him now - in disheveled T-shirt and boxers I'd been tugging on, hair sticking up every which way to the effect they'd no doubtedly call 'sex hair' and the ever so attractive evidence of drool on the corner of his mouth and making a wet patch on the pillow. They'd attack me if they knew I'd slept on the otherside of him.
"I said stop," he growled dangerously, kicking out a leg, when I kept on shaking him in an attempt to fully rouse him.
"No, you have to get up, dipshit. You have a meeting to go to."
He shot up in bed, his hair even more mussed than I'd initially thought it was and his eyes bloodshot and heavy-lidded from sleepiness as he looked at me blearily. "Shit! I do? What's it for and where are my pants?" He was nearly toppling off the side of the bed as he scanned the floor for his favourite pair of jeans.
"Your pants are over in that corner," I answered and watched in satisfaction when he stood up, wandered over to said corner and pulled the pair on.
"Am I late?" He asked me, anxiously, pulling off the shirt he'd worn to bed and shrugging into another, cleaner one.
I tried to suppress my smirk. "No, you're not late."
Frank narrowed his eyes, his hands still buckling his belt which he'd only just found. "What's that look for, what did you do?"
I inconspicuously moved backwards so I was closer to the door. "Um, me? Little old me has done nothing but, I should probably tell you, there is no meeting." I dodged the pillow he'd stolen from my side of the bed and thrown at me.
"Carrie-"
"I had to get you out of bed somehow," I told him. "I mean I shook you, kicked you, sat on you, practically pulled all of your clothes off but it didn't work so I had to make up a meeting. You understand, right?"
"Carrie, you suck so bad," he murmured, wandering back over to our bed. "I'm so tired."
"Well it's not my fault you're tired-"
"Yeah, it is."
"How is it my fault?" I demanded.
"You made me stay up to play three games of Monopoly with you."
"Frank, don't you dare get back into that bed. Mikey's coming home tomorrow and, if we don't clean up today before my shoot, he'll kill us."
He looked at me indignantly. "You want me to clean?! Well, I'm sorry, but if the only reason I'm awake right now is so that Mikey doesn't come back to a dump then I'm going back to sleep."
I threw the pillow he'd thrown at me back at him but he simply caught it. "So, what, cleaning is beneath you? You'd rather not help and let me do all of it?"
"Carrie, it's as simple as 'I don't care'. I don't care how rat and roach infested, how messy, untidy or dirty the apartment is. So, since I don't care, why should I have to clean it?"
He should have known, from the furious look on my face, that just standing there wouldn't be a wise choice. It gave me the chance, opposed to him running, to walk over, snatch the pillow from his hands and beat him repeatedly over the head with it. He didn't even fight back.
When I was finished, I blew some hair, which had come loose from the ponytail I'd previously had it in, out of my face and told him simply, "You're helping me, dipshit."
"Okay," he relented. "But can I go and pee first?"
I nodded before heading to the kitchen to get started on the dishes which had started to pile high. After awhile, I wondered if Frank had flaked out on me and gone back to bed but then he appeared and started drying everything I'd already washed. Then he wiped off all the counters and tables while I dusted. It wasn't until we were making beds that he started complaining and we began to argue.
"What the hell is a 'hospital corner' anyway and is it an important part of a bed or something you've just made up to make me seem incompetent?"
"Frank, sweetie," I said patiently, fluffing his pillow for him, "I showed you how to so do it properly please."
"I'm trying," He grunted.
"No you're not. You're deliberately being lazy so you can go off and sleep -or eat or fart- or whatever it is the male species do when not being made to contribute to the household."
"Ha, you admit it! You're forcing me to - I'm being made to contribute to the household!"
"Well, you shouldn't need to be forced; you should want to help me!" Shit, I was shouting now.
"Carrie, would you listen to yourself?! We're not married, why the fuck are you picking on me?!"
"I'm not picking on you, you're being an ass!"
He glared at me and kept quiet, viciously tearing back the sheets, placing them back on the mattress and tucking them away in no particular order, until he was finished and stood up straight. "There. Done. Happy?"
"You just fucking made it bloody worse, didn't you?" I shouted after him as he threw down a pillowcase and left, slamming the door. "Stupid fucking fucker," I muttered about Frank to myself with no one but poor Madonna to hear. "Doesn't want to help around the fucking house. Acts like a fucking chauvinist. I'm the woman, I have to clean the apartment, wash his smelly fucking socks and make his bed? My fucking ass I do." I paused for a minute to breathe and saw Madonna slowly walking out of the room. "Madonna, come here," she paused at the sound of her name being said in such an abrupt, snapping way, "I need a hug."
I spent another couple of hours sulking (while thinking about how I've been doing an awful lot of sulking lately) before pushing Madonna out of my lap and getting up to get ready for the photo shoot. When I'd managed to get both shoes on, I nudged the dog out of my way and got to the end of the hallway before remembering and turning back. "A pen, a pen ... I need a pen. Why the fuck can't I find a pen when I need one but, when I don't, I'm tripping over the left, right and center? Fucking Frank probably hid all my pens away from me. Chauvinistic prick- Ooh, a pen!" I picked up the red pen which had been in front of me the whole time I'd been rummaging throughout the kitchen. I used it to write Frank a note about how I couldn't be back until after dark and that he needed to make something for dinner, for once, because I wouldn't be able to before setting it back down on the table and leaving.
"Please, just cooperate," Rhiannon, one of the other models, said as she kneeled in front of me. "I mean, I'm sure he didn't mean it."
"Anorexic. bad posture. bug. Nicole Richie." I paused to see if she was getting my point. "Nicole Richie. anorexic. bad posture. bug... Nicole Richie-"
"Okay, Carrie, okay! I get it! He was being a douche but it's nothing personal, he's just in a bad mood."
"I don't care if he's in a million people's bad mood; he doesn't have to take it out on me!"
"And you don't have to take yours out on me."
"Sorry," I muttered.
"You're both having a bad mood but you're professionals and you have a job to get done. Get along with him just until you have half a dozen good photos, okay?"
"Stop being all reasonable, you're making me feel like a brat." I sighed before looking up at her. "I don't want to apologize."
"You have to."
"But if I apologize then I'll have to do what we were fighting over in the first place. He's the photographer, he doesn't get a say in whether I'm too thin or not and need to be weighed."
Rhiannon was wearing her awkward face. "Well. Don't take this the wrong way or too personally, please for fuck's sake don't, but you are looking like. Well, you know." I glared at her and she flinched.
"No. Like what?"
"Like you've lost a lot of weight."
I blew up at her. It wasn't very fair to her but I needed to shout at someone. "So, just because I've been stressed and lost a couple of kilos, I've got an eating disorder, now?! Is that what you all think?! Well, fuck the lot of you. If that's what you all think then I'm better off not knowing any of you and finding myself a new agency."
The hair stylists and light technicians had paused in their jobs and looked over to see what the cause of all my hysteric shouting was.
Rhiannon's eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. "No, no! Carrie-"
"So,
Trying to make sense of all my rambling, Rhiannon asked desperately, "Frank? You're stressed over your relationship with Frank?" She nudged my knee for my full attention. "This isn't about
"No," I said quietly, all of a sudden feeling like bursting into tears. "I just really, really miss Frank and really, really need to talk to him."
She patted my knee and stood up. "You stay right here and I'll call Frank."
She came out with Mikey, Frank and I one night for a Star Wars marathon at the cinema and then beers at the nearest pub, at four o'clock in the morning, one time so her not having his number wasn't an issue.
Ten minutes later, she came hurrying back over and she smiled when I did so first. I'd, thankfully, calmed down considerably. "Hey you, you PMSing bitch. I called him and he said he's be here in about an hour and a half. I talked to
I stood up and hugged her. "Thanks, that sounds great. I'm sorry."
"No problems, Carrie. You should have seen me when I was pregnant with Marc; temper tantrums, emotional and usually public outbursts all over the place. You're only human." She tucked some of my hair away and fixed the hem of my costume. "Now, stop being a little diva and do your job, okay?"
I smiled. "Okay."
Even though Pierre wouldn't talk to me except to bark orders now and then, we didn't have any problems and he finally shrieked at me to get out of his sight and to 'please grab something to fucking eat other than a celery stick' in celebration of doing so well. At least he said I'd done well; yeah, way to snatch a compliment out of the jaws of an insult.
I had just wiped off all of the makeup and slipped out of the ridiculous dress, which was too big for me anyway, and into jeans and a tank top when Rhiannon came up to me, smiling. I looked at her suspiciously, paranoid by nature, but all she did was hug me and say 'good bye', all with a disgustingly large grin on her face. I was a little perturbed but managed to shrug it off and walk out into the lobby. There Frank was, standing leant up against the wall nearest me, directly beneath a 'no smoking zone' sign, with a cigarette between his lips and his hands dug into his pockets as he stretched out his legs. He looked up from beneath the hair that, admittedly, hung quite sexily in his face, at me and the corners of his mouth tugged upwards in a half smile of acknowledgement. I nodded back and walked up to him.
He seemed taken aback by my manner and it was no surprise. Rhiannon had called him, most likely with the information I'd been crying and asking for him, yet here I was putting up a cold front. I really am a twat.
"Hey," he greeted me. I watched his hands, inside his pockets; tap a beat against his thighs. I didn't want to meet his eyes yet; I hadn't quite come up with exactly what I had to say. I didn't even want to mention it but, sooner or later, it had to be said by one of us.
"Hi. Have you not noticed the sign above your head, or do you just like annoying authority?"
He shrugged as he straightened up from against the wall. "It's not lit."
"Oh."
"Oh."
"So, uh, it was nice of you to come?"
He pulled out his lighter. "Come on Carrie, cut the crap. Let's walk and you can tell me all about how and why you needed to talk to me - I'm guessing it's not about modeling."
I nodded and followed him outside, onto the sidewalk. It was cold and snowing. Snow is pretty, I like snow. Why is Frank looking at me like that; are we having a conversation I didn't know I was a part of until just now? "Sorry, I was distracted," I said meekly," what did you say?"
"I asked if you're okay."
"No, not really. I'm actually feeling quite ill but it's more to do with the fact that I'm missing someone who means quite a lot to me."
"Really?"
"Mmhm. See, he told me he loved me but then there was this other guy, who I was involved with, so I couldn't return the favour- although I'd been wanting what he was offering for quite awhile. But now the other guy is out of the picture and this guy and I are kind of, but not really, really, getting together. But it just seems awkward between us at the moment and I really miss having the real him around since I don't think things have been right recently for some reason. I've finally figured out what might help our situation but I'm not quite sure how to do this. I mean, I've been working on it for ages, but I just can't seem to think of the perfect way to tell him 'I love you'. So, yeah, it's quite messed up at the moment and today everything just built up and exploded." I finally looked at him. "I don't know, what do you think?"
He stared at me calmly. "I think you should tell him how you feel."
I licked my lips. "I've been trying to - how do you think I should go about it?"
He pulled me out of the way of a little old lady who was using a walking stick almost taller than herself and kissed me. "I love you."
I pecked him on the lips after pulling away and smiled. "I love you too."
"Come on," he murmured into my hair as he pulled me into his side with his arm wrapped around my shoulders, "let's get home."
"Did you get the note I left you?"
"About dinner?" I nodded. "Um, well, you like Chinese take out right?"
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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