When you lose someone close to you, someone you love, it hits you hard. "I'm sorry. They didn't make it." They say, and sometimes you burst into tears and sometimes you stand there, numb, trying to process it.

You wake up the following morning, expecting them to be there, or on the other end of the phone, and then it hits you the minute you open your eyes. They're not going to be there. Maybe you think it's some kind of dream, or that you just won't be seeing them for a while for whatever reason. Anything is better than the truth.

For example, when they told me my father was dead, I lost it. I screamed, I cried, I punched the walls and broke my hand. I couldn't believe it. It was like a hole had been drilled into my chest and I couldn't breathe. My mom, on the other hand, just looked numb. In the fleeting minute I saw her before I rushed upstairs to empty my emotions on my room, she had the expression of someone who'd had the very air taken from their lungs. It was as if she didn't know what to do.

When you lose someone, it doesn't go away. Three days, three weeks, three years. You get over it, but it's still there, in the back of your mind. You may think something about them one day and then that starts a whole flood of memories cascading upon you. When you're at your worst, you want them with you, and when you realise that that's impossible, it kind of destroys you a little.

They say that there are five stages of grief. I never really paid attention to it, but I know that I haven't accepted the fact that my father's dead, not quite yet.

So when Gerard found me sat on the bathroom floor a week after Ryan's death, my back against the bathtub and my knees against my chest, I didn't think he was at all surprised. It was our bathroom floor, because even though we were staying at Mikey's, we needed clothes and stuff. A week ago I wasn't thinking about what I was wearing. Now, however, I didn't really want to be borrowing Ray's clothes. I didn't think Ray wanted me to be borrowing his clothes, but he never said so. Besides, they were much too big for me.

Gerard sat down beside me, crossing his long legs. I could feel his eyes on the side of my head, but I stayed staring ahead, at the wall. I had questions for him, and I wanted them answered. I knew that we had to get back to Jersey, because Brendon had locked himself in his room and his mom still couldn't get him out. But...

I took a deep breath. "Who trashed the house?"

"What?" He replied, sounding almost shocked that I'd asked the question.

"I asked you who trashed the house."

He sighed, and when I looked at him, his eyes were on his knees and he was running a hand through his hair. "I don't think you're ready for this conversation yet, Frankie."

"What do you mean, I'm not ready for this conversation? This isn't going to be 'mom, I'm pregnant', or 'sweetie, we're getting divorced' - I asked you a question -"

"And I can't give you an answer."

Our eyes met, and even though his were soft and pleading, my glare was unrelenting. "Why not?" I demanded, after several seconds' silence.

"Frank - just - listen to me, okay? Listen to me. I can't - we can't have this conversation yet."

"Why not? All I asked was who trashed the house, and you won't give me a straight answer. That's one of the easiest questions in the universe, because if it wasn't Bert, it was you, and -" I cut myself off, staring at him in disbelief. "It was you, wasn't it." It was a statement, because deep down in my gut I knew that it had been him, and I didn't want to admit that I knew why, as well.

He didn't reply for three and a half minutes, ending his silence with a deep sigh. "We can't talk about this right now. There are things that I've done that you'll hate me for, and I don't want to hurt you so soon after Ryan."

I stared at him, my eyes filling with tears. "Gerard -"

He quickly got to his feet, brushing off his jeans. "I've packed everything we need. We can leave whenever you want."

He left the room without another word, and instead of following him, I folded my arms over my knees and rested my forehead on them. So it had been Gerard who made all that mess...but why? I didn't understand why he'd do such a thing. It didn't make sense. I could understand if it had been Bert - Bert liked to get drunk, Bert liked to mess things up, Bert liked to scare me - but Gerard?

I didn't want to think about why. I didn't want to think about the state he'd been in when he did it. It made me want to throw up, want to cry. It scared me.

~

"He's still not out of his room, Frank."

I sighed a little as Brendon's mom stepped back to let me in. Gerard had gone to Mikey's, dropping me off at Brendon's along the way. I needed to see him.

I shot his mom a glance before heading up the stairs, to his room. "Brendon?" I said, knocking on the door. "C'mon, it's Frank. Open the door." I tried the handle and found it unlocked, swinging open easily.

But Brendon wasn't inside.

"Is everything okay?" Mrs Urie asked, and I shrugged.

"I don't know. He's not inside." I headed back downstairs, just as the front door opened.

In walked Brendon, who looked more than a mess. He didn't even spare either of us a glance as he shuffled past, clutching the banister as he ascended the stairs.

His mom shot me a pleading look - please go talk to him - and I followed him upstairs, stepping inside his bedroom before he could slam the door.

"What's going on?" I asked, and he rolled his eyes.

"You say that like you don't know." He spat, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, my eyes closing.

"You know what I mean."

"No, Frank. What do you mean?"

I opened my eyes and looked him over, saw the limp, greasy hair, the bloodshot eyes, the bags, the waxy skin, the creased clothing. He pulled his shirt off, and I saw bruises on his hips and waist. Whatever he'd been doing, it hadn't looked fun.

"What's going on with you?" He flopped, face-first, on his bed, and there was minor bruising on his back, too. Scratches, even. "Brendon, what the hell -"

"It comes with being so drunk you don't know you're making out with someone until he sticks his hand down your pants." He grumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. I sighed, and before I could speak, he beat me to it. "Don't start. Don't give me that 'you shouldn't be doing this' bullshit, because I don't want to hear it. You've got your perfect relationship, I don't have one anymore. So save it."

"I wasn't going to say that." I lied, because I actually kind of was. "And my relationship isn't perfect."

He turned his head so he was facing me, his cheek sort of smushed into the pillow. "Really? You mean you've stopped deluding yourself?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I was immediately defensive, folding my arms.

"Oh come on, Frank - ever since you fucked off to New York without a second glance, you've been trying to kid yourself into thinking that you and Gerard have the perfect relationship, when everyone knows that it's destined for flames."

"I don't - what the fuck are you on about? I haven't been kidding myself anything!"

He scoffed, rolling onto his back. "If you pulled your head out your ass, things aren't as sunny as they seem. Gerard isn't the knight in shining armor you want him to be. He has his own problems - he's a grown man, for fuck sake. You were screwing your art teacher!"

"Why are we bringing this up now? What has this got to do with - with you?!"

"Because you came marching in here acting like you really cared, ready to give me a lecture on getting drunk and making out with random guys a week after my fucking husband has died, when really I'm just doing the same thing as your wonderful boyfriend."

"You don't know a thing." I took several steps forward. "I came here because you're my best friend and I care about you, and I cared about Ryan -"

He sat up, pointing at me. "Don't you dare say his name! Don't you dare!"

"What the fuck is your problem?!" I yelled, getting seriously pissed off with his shit.

"You think you're God's gift because you've got a nice attractive boyfriend that would fuck you in public at the drop of a hat! You think you're soooo high and mighty you can swan off to New York and leave your friends - your dying best friend - behind!" He swung his legs off the bed, standing up, and I actually backed away because I'd never seen him so angry before. "And then as soon as Ryan wants you, you come back!"

"Because he was my best friend and he was dying! You should be grateful that he wasn't alone!"

The punch was kind of expected; I thought that he might lash out sooner or later, due to the state he was in. Still, it was a blow to my jaw that made me stagger slightly.

"He wasn't alone!" He almost screamed. "He had me!"

"You were fixated on the fact that he was going to die!"

"Because he was going to die, and guess what? He did! He was the most beautiful boy in the entire world and he died and you don't know what it's like! You don't know what it's like to lose one of the people you love most in the world! You parade around with your adult boyfriend and your perfect little life -"

I cut him off, shouting almost as much as him. "I never married my father, but I do fucking know what it's like!"

He stopped, his shoulders shaking, his breathing heavy. Tears welled up in his tired eyes, and he sank, almost falling, onto the bed. He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head, letting out a sob.

"I don't know what to do." He mumbled. "I don't know what to do."

I hovered for a moment before sinking onto the bed beside him, ready to leap up if he decided that my face was a good punchbag for the second time. The pain in my jaw was a dull throb, but I'd had worse, that was for sure.

"There was this guy, at the bar I went to. He was really sweet. I was too fucking hammered to care how sweet he was or remember his name, but I think I went on and on and on about Ryan for hours, and he just...listened."

"Why did you go to a bar?" I asked, and he shrugged, his hands falling to his lap.

"To forget. To feel human again. To feel something, because I've felt numb since Ryan died."

I paused. "So who was this guy?"

He took a deep breath. "I don't know. I was doing shot after shot after shot at this table at the back, spending all the money I had on me - and more - and he comes up and says 'slow down, you'll end up killing yourself'." He laughed, the sound empty and hollow. "I told him good, that I wanted to, that I deserve it. And I think he asked why, and I kinda just...just...launched into a dramatic monologue about my dead husband and how much I missed him."

"Did anything...happen?"

He shook his head. "No. I was way too drunk and probably crying enough to make a teenage girl look like a sociopath, nothing could happen. Besides, he was pretty much sober after he met me...I think. I don't know. It's all hazy. Like, I don't remember much, only little parts that are probably incredibly insignificant." He sighed, falling silent, jumping as his phone went off nearby. He pulled it from his pocket, stared at the screen for several seconds, and then it stopped ringing. When it went off again, he got to his feet, mumbling something about having to take the call, and he left the room.

I gingerly touched my jaw, wincing slightly. I knew he'd be bad, but fuck...he was so much worse than I'd thought.

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Hey guys, just a quick (surprise) update before I go to bed - early up tomorrow eugh >.<

Sorry to keep you waiting, but it is Wednesday, so I'm off the hook:')

Not much else to say, except I went and saw Black Veil Brides on Saturday and met HappyChickens and ahhhhh it was one of the best nights of my life holy shit I absolutely loved it:') Fearless Vampire Killers played too whom I love and two of Ashestoangels were roaming around and ah I miss those guys xD

Okay I'm gonna leave you with this, hope you liked it, and thanks so much for 4K votes! :')

Thanks Pete,

-xøcharr <3