Never Coming Home // Frerard

Chapter 7

Frank Iero was hiding something.

He was always nervous. He tapped his foot, he bit his nails and his lip constantly, and he always seemed jumpy. He subconsciously pulled the sleeves of his hoodie or jacket further down all the time. They were nervous tics more than anything, but I still wondered why he acted that way. Maybe it was just new friends and a new school.

Something told me, however, that it had to do with his hospital visit.

He still didn't know that I knew he was there. He never talked about it, but he sometimes left school in the beginning of the day and came back with the steril scent of a hospital, telling me he went in for check-ups or something.

He was opening up to us, though. He was constantly a part of conversation, now.

He would sometimes engage in debates over which horror movie was better, which band was better. (this type of debate was common between him and Ray. Frank worshipped The Misfits, whereas Ray lived off of Iron Maiden.) And sometimes he would tell stories about his old friends, almost laughing too hard to finish them.

And damn, did he have a beautiful laugh.

I thought about him as I walked to the cemetery.

I didn't attend Lindsey's funeral. She always hated funerals. She said it was fucked up that we celebrated people entering this shitty world and then we cried when they left it. I didn't want to go, I didn't want to speak, so I didn't.

I had a bouquet of roses, wrapped in black tissue paper and tied with a red ribbon. I always brought her flowers like this when we went on dates. I figured I should bring them today, as well.

I had dressed up in black skinny jeans, a black dress shirt and a red tie, complete with converse and eyeliner. Lindsey hated things to be too formal.

I stood in front of the cemetery gates for a few minutes, gathering the courage to enter them and look for Lindsey's grave. I sighed and pushed them open. I scanned the gravestones, and I found the newest one with the name 'Lindsey Ballato' engraved into it.

"Hey, Linds," I smiled as I sat down in front of the stone. "I brought you flowers. Just like when I took you out. Remember that? It was never somewhere too nice, usually it was a picnic in the woods or by the lake."

I smiled at the memory. "Remember when your sister died? Remember when you told me it gets harder? Well, it did. It fucking hurts, Lindsey. The only person I want to help numb the pain is you. You'd wrap me in your arms and run your fingers through my hair, and keep whispering that you loved me, over and over, until I calmed down.

"You did that when my grandma died. I told you not to come over, but you still walked all the way over, just to hug me and kiss me and keep me from crying."

I wiped tears from my face, but more formed, spilling over, and I ignored them. "God, Lindsey. I miss you so fucking much," I whispered. I cleared my throat and continued.

"Mikey's worried. I heard him talking to my mom about getting me a therapist. But no one-hour session once a week is going to make me feel better" I wiped my face again, took deep breathes, and continued. "When they said you were gone, I cried because I couldn't believe it.

"Now I'm crying because I have to relive these memories alone." I gave a week smile. "Mikey misses you. He told me the other day he missed when you taught him how to play the bass. He said he misses you teasing him and scruffing up his hair when you would leave our house." I broke down and started crying harder, tears dripping onto the grass between my legs.

I had to take a few minutes to get it together enough so I could keep talking. "I remember when your sister passed away. You spent the week at our house because you couldn't take watching them pack her room up and get rid of the traces that she was ever there.