Follow me home (Frerard)

Pain in my heart for your dying wish

Gerard's POV

I curse under my breath, dropping the pencil and opting for my kneaded eraser instead. I absently pinch it between my fingers a few times, studying the image that decorates the white page. The only light comes from my dim desk lamp, illuminating the black and white comic. In this picture, Frank is in a hot dog costume chasing a small dog, also wearing a hot dog costume. Well, that's what it was supposed to be anyway. Except, as of now, the dog looks more like a burrito with a legs.

I begin digging the eraser into the page, angrily eliminating the walking Mexican food from the picture. A slight grumble arises from my brother and I glance over my shoulder at his sleeping form on my bed. He's strewn out, lanky legs spread open, his slender hands grabbing at the blanket. He mutters something incoherent before shoving his face into the pillow and letting out an obnoxious snore. I roll my eyes and stand up. Moving to the side of the bed, I fix the blanket over his thin frame. I then remove his glasses so the dumbass doesn't break them in his sleep. Folding them and setting them on the nightstand, I hear my phone as it vibrates back on my desk.

I quickly grab my cell phone from the desk and hold it against my stomach, silencing it as much as possible as to not wake Mikey up. Casting one last glance at him, I leave the room, quietly shutting the door behind me, before looking at the ID. At first, I figure it's just a wrong number, or maybe even a shit-faced Frank drunk dialing me. But when the small digital letters show Jamia's name on the screen, my stomach flutters with worry. Why is she calling me? It's well after two AM by now. Maybe something's wrong...

I press the answer button and hold the phone to my ear, stepping into the kitchen and speaking in a low voice, any noise seeming too loud in the silence.

"Hello?"

"Hey Gerard." Jamia says on the other end. In the distance, I can hear muffled music. It sounds like the party is still in full swing, but her voice is tense. "I was just making sure you were still awake."

There's a deliberate casualness to her tone and it only makes me worry more, especially when Jamia sighs and says, "I'm going to need you to stay calm for the next several minutes, okay?"

Did something happen to Frank? Or to Bob? Worry knots in my stomach and I lean against the kitchen counter, bracing myself for the worst. I want to demand that she just spit it out and tell me what the hell is going on, but I only wait.

Without any further explanation, she leaves me with a heavy sigh and hangs up. Confused, I set my phone down on the counter and pour myself a mug of cold coffee. I take only a sip, grimacing and placing it in the microwave, before my phone buzzes to life again. I press the one minute button and open the new message, which is actually a collection of a few pictures and a video. I scroll through the photos first, unclear and dark on my small screen, but definitely visible. There's a boy I almost immediately recognize as Frank, his body pressed flat against that of another person. A girl. In one image, where her head is thrown back and his lips are attached to her neck, I recognize her, too. It's the friend of Frank's that I met-- Jenna. The one that kissed and then threw up on Frank. He hadn't much mentioned her since the incident and I figured maybe he didn't see her very often anymore. But the pictures are proving that untrue, as he's clearly making out with her right now.

My stomach twists. Right now, Frank is with her. He's kissing her, touching her-- Just the thought of it is enough to make my blood boil with envy, but now I have photographic evidence. And then I open the video.

I watch the small screen as Frank presses her body down onto the mattress of a bed, lips attached in a clumsy kiss. After a moment or so, he sits up, pulling off his shirt to reveal his olive-toned chest, the distinct tattoos that adorn the flesh. When the shirt is thrown off, he dives back in for another kiss.