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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> My Chemical Romance

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

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Cautioners
By ticktockboom

 


The time I would spend with pictures I would not send.

They lay scattered on the floor; Polaroids. All our polaroids. I can't believe we took that much, I counted them, and there's exactly one hundred and twenty three. One hundred and twenty three photos of us, our evidence, our shame. I remember the night we took them. I remember the hotel room, how the window had a brilliant view of the New York City skyline. I remember all the lights and all the colours. I remember how soft the bed was, I remember the bottle of wine we drank, I remember the carpet, I remember the wardrobe, I remember the lounge. I remember you.

I watched you go from left to right.
I followed you all night across my blinds.

You were pacing, you always paced when you were nervous. All that pacing before playing shows, nervously strumming your guitar or bitting on your lip, pointless because when you went on stage you were perfect. You only had your underwear on, because you thought it'd make the situation easier to handle - it didn't. It didn't get rid of the fact that we had a pile of photographs of us, it didn't change that our clothes were thrown haphazardly around the room, it didn't change that we were both naked and sweating. Not even closing the blinds had changed it. We had done it, and there was no taking it back. I watched you, sitting on the bed, as you walked back and forth in front of me - running your hands through your hair, biting your nails, sometimes moaning or muttering to yourself. I kept quiet, because I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to say at a time like this.

You'll change your mind come Monday and turn your back on me.

You promised me, before we were too overwhelmed with our bodies, that you'd stick with me on this. You promised me that you'd stay with me to sort this out, that you wouldn't abandon me, not now, not ever again. You promised that you'd be there. But now, as I watched you walk, back and forth back and forth back and forth, I knew that you would be gone. Tomorrow you had to see your wife and your kids, and I knew that everything would be the same as it was before - we'd be friends, just friends, always friends. You wouldn't speak of this ever again, you'd ignore it, you'd even ignore me.

On your next lap, I gripped your wrist and stopped you.

Frankie,” I said.

You'll take your steps away with hesitance.
Take your steps away from me.

You finally stopped pacing. But when I dropped my hand, you took two involuntary steps backwards - to get away from me, to get away from us. When you realised what you had done, you tried to smile, but it was so fake. I disgusted you. No, my touch wasn't something that made would make you groan and squirm anymore. You looked at me for a moment longer, before burying your face in your hands. Maybe you cried, I don't know, I turned away and tried to stop myself from tearing apart myself. After a while, I heard you moving, and I turned back to see you dressed.

I…I'm going home,” you said, voice hoarse from screaming, “we'll…we'll deal with this tomorrow. Just…get rid of those photos. Please, Gerard.”

I didn't have the strength to reply, nor the strength to stop you from walking out the door. Perhaps if I did, perhaps if I had made you stay, grabbed your shoulder, begged you, perhaps things would have been different. Maybe things would have worked out.

I'm making my peace, making it with distance.
Maybe that's a big mistake.

We didn't deal with it tomorrow. We didn't deal with it ever. I know you wanted to talk to me, but I just couldn't handle it. I made sure that if we didn't absolutely have to be in a room together, that we were as far away as possible. I was hoping that you'd forget that I repulsed you - that you'd forget my body, your body, our bodies. Because it had to me, right, it had to be me that made you regret it so much. You didn't want to be involved with a fucked up singer with the scar-ridden thighs and the imperfect body. I got that, so I stayed away from you - and I stayed away from any chance of reconciliation we might have had. Maybe I made it worse; maybe it couldn't have been any worse.

You know I'm thinking of you.
I miss you.

I don't know why I took these pictures out. Maybe I'm lonely; with my wife and daughter visiting her parents, the house empty, and the band in their various houses. Maybe I'm just a sucker for pain. You don't know I still have these photos. I haven't looked at them since…since it happened, but I can still see it so clearly in my mind, still feel everything. My favourite picture is just of you; lying, naked, exhausted and drunk, on the bed - spread out, with the most genuine grin on your face. You were so happy then, I know you were - we were happy. For all those hours, from the evening to the early morning, we were so content and so happy. Despite our scratches and our bruises and our bite-marks, we were good. I don't feel good anymore, Frank, I really don't.

You'll change your mind come Monday and turn your back on me.

Sometimes I consider showing you these photos.

You'll take your steps away with hesitance.

But I'm so afraid that you don't feel like I do.

You'll take your steps away from me.

Maybe you don't miss it at all, because it was really just a one-off thing for you.

You'll change your mind come Monday and turn your back on me.

But I hope - God, don't I hope - that it meant something to you. That it meant everything to you, like it means to me. That for one moment, everything was fine and nothing was fucked up, because we were together, and we were perfect, and we were two people so closely combined that we were really just one. I can't handle the fact that it was just a fuck to you. I can't.

Take your steps away with hesitance.

I miss you.

Take your steps away from me.

And I guess I love you.

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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