Somewhere In The Back Of Our Heads
A Frank/Mikey My Chemical Romance FanFic
By MC Bella AKA MC Way
Written for MCR 3Fan 3Fics Contest.
FRANKIE'S POV:
I never expected everything with Jamia to fall apart over the last six months like it did. I know Mikey never expected shit to go wrong with Alicia. And I know for a damn FACT that neither one of us ever thought for a second that if our women ever left us that it would be for each other.
Yes. Jamia and Alicia left me and Mikey to go live in New York together. Stop laughing.
Ok, I may have lied when I said neither of us ever thought this would happen. We'd been seeing the signs for awhile. It's just that I never thought Jamia would act on it! It freaked me out for a little bit, and I know Mikey nearly fainted the night the two of them came up to us on the tour bus holding hands, but somewhere in the back of our heads we both knew. And, in the same place as our suspicions, we both know that the girls are happier together. Jamia is just too much of a free spirit for me to hold on to. As crazy as I am, I pretty much always knew she was going to slip away from me. I'm glad she slipped to Alicia, though. There's not a girl in the world better for Jamia. She's grounded and solid, sweet and caring, and I know she'll take good care of my ghost girl. My Jammi.
Mikey's still trying to handle it though. There'll be nights when he goes to his bunk as soon as we get on the bus, and he'll just stare at the ceiling. He'll blink once in awhile, but he just stares. I know exactly what he's doing, too. There used to be a picture of Alicia on the ceiling above his face. He took it down, and now he's just staring at the empty space where it used to be, trying to wrap his mind around the thought of both of them together. Alicia was pretty much the first love of his life, and I know he must be having a really tough time.
I'm actually really concerned with why I'M not a wreck. Mikey even asked me, "Frankie, how the FUCK are you taking this so well? Our wives just divorced us to go live with EACH OTHER! Doesn't that like, BOTHER you? At all?"
I just said "No… not really… but if it's any consolation to you, that's worrying me."
He grumbled something about "short and psychotic" and went back to his bunk. I'm used to it by now. I'm just trying to figure out why Jamia leaving me hasn't really gotten me too worked up. I cried the first night, but after that, nothing. I miss her, I miss how she made me laugh and how she wasn't afraid to tickle Bob or try and take pictures of him, but I miss her in the same way I miss Alicia and how she would kinda punch Ray if he messed with me because I'm short and he's a frickin' giant, and it's the same way I miss Brian and all the cool guys we met on Warped Tour.
It's like I lost a friend. It's so weird. I'm just so happy she's taken care of. I see the letters and pictures she and Alicia email Bob. It's mostly just them hugging in this adorable little loft in New York, talking about how both of them have jobs and they're so happy. Technically, all the letters are addressed to Ray, Bob, and Gerard… I don't know if it's because the girls don't want us begging them to come back, or maybe they just don't want to upset us, but we've never really gotten mentioned directly. It doesn't matter to me, I'm just glad they're doing well. But Mikey never reads the letters. Every time he sees Alicia in those pictures he almost looks like he wants to cry. We try and keep him away from Bob's laptop whenever he gets a message from them, but he always finds it and looks anyway. It's pretty much killing him inside. And lately, it's just been so much worse.
I think that's the only thing I hate those two little girls for right now. I don't care that they left us on a tour bus in the middle of Texas or wherever we were, I don't care that they're lovers now, I don't care that Alicia gets to kiss and care for my Jamia now, I don't care that they went to New York City so that Jamia could waitress a little and Alicia could work at a guitar store. All I care about is that horrible look on Mikey's face when he spies a digital image of Alicia cuddling up to little Jamia in front of an apartment building that's something like a million miles away from here.
Seeing his baby brother like this is really worrying Gerard, too. He tries to be there as much as he can, but his three new comic books are coming up off the ground and at the same time he's managing THAT he still puts every ounce of heart and soul he has into singing at shows. That's what has me in the situation I'm in now; Gerard having to be such a damn good brother, and Mikey Way's adorable face.
Last night we played a show in Colorado Springs, Colorado. It was blasted fucking cold. It's actually COLD in March there. We've been really spoiled, going through Southern states where it's warm enough to kick it outside on the grass with a short-sleeved shirt on. We rushed out of the back of the stadium to get into the bus and almost immediately I was frozen to my bones.
I remember Toro complaining about it too. It was funny; he said something like "Oh FUCK this," and ran for the bus, hair bouncing all the way. Mikey ran after him, somehow turning it into a race to get to the bus first, and they ended up fighting to get through the door. It was dark and I was trudging along through the slushy snow with Gee and Bob, and what I heard was something like this:
Mikey: "I WIN! I'm- OW RAY THAT'S MY FOOT!"
Ray: "Well it serves you damn right! I was here first now MOVE, I'm gonna freeze to death!"
Mikey: "YOU'RE gonna freeze to death?? You've said so yourself, I'M the damn toothpick- OW!"
Ray: "OK THAT WAS NOT ME!"
Mikey: "You're a damn liar!! OW!"
Ray: "Mikey- NO NOT ON MY SHOULDER- OW!!"
They both hit the floor, laughing their asses off, and by the time we got to the bus, Gerard had almost completely lost his shit he was also laughing so hard. Mikey and Ray had to sit in the front of the bus with dirty snow-slush all over their jackets until we were damn well done laughing at them. Then, as soon as Mikey did his thing where he hit the bunk, Gerard pulled me aside up in the living room part of the bus.
Bob was playing a video game, and he almost tripped over himself leaving the room. It was obvious that I was at most the second person to be told whatever was coming next.
It was almost suffocating when Gee bear-hugged me, a habit he'd picked up from a fan who'd stuck around with us for a little bit on the Warped Tour the previous summer. She'd been the tackle-hug type and it'd kind of rubbed off on Gee. He said something hyper like "MIKEY LAUGHED I'm really happy!"
I coughed and replied, "I know, I heard him. The kid's really been worrying me lately. I mean, he hasn't been this bad since right after Alicia and Jamia left."
All of Gerard's happy hyper disappeared and he was serious again. "I know… that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You know how tomorrow we have a rest day in Denver before we play the show? I… kind of have a meeting with people about the comics…"
I grimaced. Mikey and Gerard always hung out on rest days, alone for at least half the day. In the back of my head I knew what was coming. But I asked anyway. "Well… what do you wanna do about it…?"
He sighed and gave me a weak little funny smile. "I was wondering if you'd keep a little eye on Mikey Mouse for me. Hang out with him. Don't go running off to bars or something with Toro like you did that one time."
He was referring to an ISOLATED INCIDENT about a month beforehand in Phoenix, Arizona where Ray and I had gone out to a local bar after a show and… all right, we got a little more plastered then we should have. I came back to the bus and the only ones there were me, Ray, and Mikey and all I remember was getting the wrong bunk about five times and Mikey shoving me onto the floor and then I think Torosaurus stepped on me. One-time thing. And I paid for it with the biggest headache I've ever had in my life.
I was thinking about this and glowering when Gerard started giving me the eyes. I knew when he started that I was done for, but it's pretty much a rule: When Gee starts the puppy eyes, it's your duty to hold out as long as you can. I blame that one fan I talked about earlier; Gerard could NEVER do puppy-eyes right before her. And now, I don't know how he does it, he sticks out his bottom lip and his eyes get all big and shiny and before I know it I'm saying "All right, I'll stick by him tomorrow, just STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!!"
The one thing I think I hate about Gerard is that once he gets his way, he's intolerably happy for about an hour and a half. He BOUNCED back to his bunk. BOUNCED. It pretty much annoyed the shit out of me. But, once everyone was more-or-less asleep, it was a tolerable time to think about what I'd promised.
Sticking by Mikey for a whole day isn't really posing a problem. We're all together, all day every day, and we all love each other, but something about Mikey makes me feel funny. Like, deep down in my gut. Something about how his hair hangs over his forehead all messy, something about how his eyes get all dark and sad when he looks at the pictures of those two little girls in New York City, something just makes me want to either hug him tight or crawl into my bunk and pull the damn sheets up over my head.
Somewhere in the back of my head, I'm sure I know what's going on. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know why I use the little pocket flashlight on my keys to bounce light over the wall and onto Mikey's face so I can look at him while he's asleep. It's not just curiosity. It's not just worry. It's not just wondering why on earth our wives would run away with each other.
I think I'm in love with Mikey James Way. God… that's terrifying.
MIKEY'S POV:
I wake up in the morning, and the feeling settles over me again as I stare up at the blank place between my eyes, where the picture of my wife used to be. The feeling is as heavy as lead, like pouring mercury on my skin and drowning me in it. Its depression, but it's different than the kind of depression I felt at The Paramour House. This depression is heavy and deep, like the flow of a bass beat through my veins. It's not a wild wolf clawing at the inside of my skull, wanting to break out through my head, telling me to let it out by blowing my brains out all over the walls because then everything will be better.
Yes, I'm still a little sad about Alicia. Once she left, though, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. We'd both been lying for a long time to save face. The truth is that we'd never really loved each other to bits like we'd seemed to, not as spouses anyway. We're both just great actors, I guess. Alicia is like my baby sister and my best friend all rolled up into one, and as much as I wanted to love her like a big man and keep her as my wife, my heart was just never in it.
In the back of my head, I'd always known that she didn't believe me, me with my fake kisses and lies I'd disbelieved with every bit of my coward's heart. When she ran away with Jamia, I was surprised. But after I'd cried for a little, I was all right. All I wanted, all I hoped, was that HE would be broken up too. But he never was. It makes me a little mad. He didn't even cry a little. So of course, he didn't need my shoulder.
I've been in love with Frank Anthony Iero since our tour with Green Day. I mean, there was never a time when I didn't think he wasn't cute or hilarious or kind of amazing, but my little crush was kind of just a crush until that time. I couldn't quit thinking about him. I watched him during sound check. I watched him all the damn time, actually. I couldn't keep my shit together during shows. There was this one show, just this one, where he turned to me in the middle of his playing and winked, right before he jumped away into the crowd. With his white shirt, floating around out there, he was just a ghost. But I'd stopped playing because my heart was going a few million more beats a second than it should have.
It's all just a blur to me. Revenge Era, Alicia, Jamia, touring, interviews, antidepressants… and then The Paramour. There is no way in heaven, hell, or anywhere in-between that I will ever be able to forget what happened to me there. That too, is a bit of a blur unless I sit and pick it apart, but it's all just a hellish smear of gray-and-red paint across my memory. I remember falling. I remember picking up a bottle of vodka in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. I remember the bathtubs, how they would fill up even without anyone turning on faucets. I remember doors slamming, I remember Gerard screaming and gasping in the middle of the night as that ghost attacked him. He wasn't the only one who had nightmares. His had Joan of Arc in them, and that one pretty little fan he met and pushed away a few summers ago that he hasn't quite forgotten.
All of my nightmares centered around one thing: Frankie. I would see him dying, time after time, I would see him try and gasp out his last words to me through a mouthful of blood, something terrible like that, but I'd never hear. I'd wake up shaking and crying, and Gerard would always be there, or Bob, or later, Stacey Fass. I think Stacey and Bob are the only ones who know that I'm in love with Frankie. Stacey knows because I explained it to her. Bob knows because one desperate night I was going to take my life at the Paramour, and he's the one that threw my bottle of pills out the window and then listened to me as I cried my eyes out into his shoulder.
This is why Alicia leaving was not a surprise, nor a great pain to me. But Frankie still doesn't want or need me. He never has, and most likely never will. Thus, the great, silver-heavy depression that rests on my chest like a weight every time I wake up in the morning and see no picture where Frankie Iero's picture ought to be.
"Hey, what are you gonna do today, kid?" said the soft voice of my brother as he settled himself on the side of my bed, breaking my musing. He's all dressed up; his hair brushed back, minimal eyeliner, dark gray suit, and a black tie. I blinked.
"Nothing… why… why are you dressed all formal, Gee?" I asked him, frowning a little. He made an apologetic face.
"I didn't tell you… I have a freakin' meeting today about the comics… I made sure that Frankie has some time to hang out today though so you're not all alone." My heart skipped a beat. Two. And suddenly it's gone double-time as he continued, "I'm sorry, Mikey." He looked ashamed of himself, but I want to jump on him and hug him and tell him what a great brother he is for what he's just done.
I settled for sitting up in bed and hugging him across his shoulders. "It's all right, Gee, go do your thing and make me fuckin' proud, OK?"
"Fucking right," Gerard said, and he ruffled my hair in that annoying big-brother way before he ran off the bus to go get in the car the firm had sent for him.
Rest days for us are anything but. There's a lot of running back-and-forth but at least we can sleep any damn time we want to, and there's no show to play. It makes me feel weird not to play bass at least once a day, though, so as soon as I stop in front of the mirror and wet down my hair I'm all right to go. I never care if I go in the recording room in my pajamas because the only person ever up and in there at this hour of the morning on a rest day is Toro. Me and him have been close as brothers since practically forever, so what does he care if I'm in gray sweatpants and an old The Smiths t-shirt that has a huge hole in the side?
Of course, I'm an idiot and didn't notice that Ray's guitar was still sitting on its stand and there were sounds of a guitar coming from the room. As soon as I got in there and shut the door I said "oh, shit" under my breath and tried to run away, because there's Frankie, looking perfect, playing Sinatra and just completely cool for eight in the morning on a foggy, cold Denver day. He looked up and grinned at me, and I was suddenly totally paralyzed with my back against the door. I shut my eyes and breathe in, and for a second I missed my glasses with a fierce passion because right then having something to mess with that would require my hand to go over my eyes would've been really great.
"Mikey… are you ok?" Frankie asked me. He actually sounded concerned and stuff. My poor heart has already been through a lot this morning, and it seems like break time is nowhere near.
I opened up my eyes and Frankie had left Sinatra on one of the chairs and come over to me, and for no apparent reason I just opened up my mouth and started babbling. "Um. Um. Oh, shit Frankie can I ask you something? It's like, weird, and fucking important. But really weird. And maybe kind of gross."
Frankie raised one of his eyebrows at me. "Sit down," he said. He took a chair and moved Sinatra to the ground beside him, his fingers curled around the neck of the guitar, stroking the strings and the frets absentmindedly.
I sat down uncomfortably, both my hands in my lap. I fidgeted until awkwardly beginning, "F-Frankie, d-did Bob ever tell you what happened to me at the Paramour house the night before I left?"
I was looking at him at the exact moment when his eyes widened and he bit down on his lip. I knew then that Bob had only told him half the story. "Thank you, God…" I thought as Frankie shook his head.
"All he told us, me, Gerard and Ray, was that he had to throw your antidepressants out the window into the pool. That, and you were a wreck and maybe couldn't go on."
I nodded. "That's true. But… I was having nightmares. They were… just fucking awful… I mean, if you've ever had one, where every single thing that's happening feels so real, like pavement under your knees that actually scratches and hurts your hands when you fall and you can actually smell the blood…"
Frankie nodded again, and it might have been my imagination but he scooted his chair a little closer to mine. I took a deep breath, sure that I was about to ruin my life, break up the band, scare the shit out of my older brother, best friends, and the love of my life.
"Well… my nightmares, they just… were taking over my head because they were so horrible to be in… because they were about you." I could envision the look that he had to be giving the top of my head as I looked down at my hands again. "d-Don't think that you have to like, be OK with anything I say b-but I've kind of a-always had a little b-bit of a thing for you and, um, when we were on tour with Green Day it j-just all of a sudden hit me all at once, and I…" I looked at Frankie then. He had the most shocked look on his face imaginable, and I was sure I was done for, but I continued anyway. "I… I guess I'm t-trying to say that I love you, Frankie."
It was done. I sat there in my pajamas, in the cold recording room, waiting for a reaction from Frank Iero, the love of my life, to my confession. I could already see the yelling, the packing of things, the dissolution of the band. And Frankie sat there. He blinked. Twice. And then he did something I never in my weirdest nightmares or my wildest dreams ever thought he'd do.
Frank Anthony Iero jumped out of his seat, let his guitar slide onto the floor, pulled me by the arms up out of my chair and kissed me. He kissed me good and hard, his tongue sliding into my mouth as I clutched helplessly at the front of his Misfits t-shirt. When he pulled back, he was breathless as I was, and his eyes were sparkling.
"I love you too Mikey, I love you too…I can't possibly explain right now but I swear I will… I just… god I love you so much."
And as we stood there, holding each other, I knew that all the little suspicions that both of us had ever had somewhere in the back of our heads were all true, and nothing would ever be better.
The End.