Hey, guys :D
Lucky you, you get double updates tonight! This is an idea I've had in the back of my mind for awhile, as I've been on a Panic! At the Disco kick recently-they're really inspiring for stories xD that combined with a discussion with my good friend EmilyCarosidy and boom, this was born. This is very different from my ususal writing style-kind of an experiment, really, so tell me if you like it :)
(I listened to A Fever You Can't Sweat Out the whole time I was writing this, so anything from that album would be good if you want background music, Time to Dance of course being the song that inspired it)
It is an undeniably dramatic scene.
Red is the predominant color. Red covers the black-and-white marble checkerboard floor, vivid vermillion spilling all over the once-pristine ballroom floor. Red bleeding from the small figure splayed across the tile.
She's not bleeding on the ballroom floor just for the attention. Of course not. Amy has never done anything for attention. That simply isn't her style. She has a good reason for this scene, and the wedding party knows it.
The red continues to spread. It seeps into her impossibly long, dark hair, soaking black locks with crimson and staining the delicate tulle of her midnight-colored dress. Her eyes were the stars in that midnight, blue beacons of light in the stark landscape of her body. She doesn't want attention, but hell is she getting it.
There is a scream, and a tiny redhead faints into her boyfriend's arms. Gerard's face has gone pale. He still cares about her, even if he will never show it. Emily is feigning remorse, and to anybody else, it would be a believable act. But Emily is a very good actress when she needs to be, and I know she's always hated Amy. All I can feel is shock.
How has it gotten to this point?
Here's the setting. A warm summer's day, one of the long, hazy days in the middle of the season. It is four years previous. Amy is still a girl at the tender age of seventeen, and I am no older. She was different back then. She wasn't changed. She wasn't dark back then, hadn't been jaded. She was only my happy, beautiful best friend.
Our town had one music store, and it was our haunt. Amy loved that music store. To her, it was synonymous with safety, with acceptance. It used to be synonymous with me. With us.
I blame it on Nirvana.
She loved Nirvana, and she'd saved up for two weeks to purchase a new CD. They met when their hands brushed over the last copy. I stood next to her, watching but unable to stop what was unfolding as he smiled that sickeningly captivating smile at her.
"You take it, I can see that you love them," he said, and she was caught.
It didn't take long at all for me to be replaced—only thirteen days, by my count. I called her as I often did and told her I was coming over.
Her heavy sigh blew through the speaker. "Now's not a good time, Frank."
"But why?" I asked, confused. She had never refused my company before.
"Well, um…" I envisioned her as she spoke, leaning against her marble kitchen counter in her favorite gray t-shirt and twisting long strands of sandy brown hair between her fingers.
"Gerard's coming over this afternoon," she said shyly.
"Gerard?" I asked. Of course I knew who he was—Amy had spoken of nothing else the past week. 'Gerard this, Gerard that. Gerard did this for me. Gerard took me here. Gerard Gerard Gerard.'
"I honestly think he likes me, Frank," she murmured. The youthful innocence of her words bled through, painfully clear. She was infatuated with him.
Somehow, I always knew that infatuation would end up killing her.
I'm sure she didn't think of that as she led him into her innocently girlish bedroom that afternoon. He would have looked so out of place in her light-filled room, the walls lined with cutouts from fashion magazines. He would be like a dark spot on her yellow bedspread as she led him over to sit in that shy, lilting manner that only Amy could. Slowly, that dark spot would spread to her mentality, too, and I would be there to watch.
They hooked up only two weeks after meeting each other. He was a year older than us, already nineteen and out of high school. I warned Amy about dating a college boy, but she flippantly replied 'He's not a college boy; he's taking a gap year.'
I never liked Gerard, and he never liked me. I think he saw me as a threat to the complete control he was gaining over Amy. Long after she stopped listening to anyone but him, I was still the only other person she truly cared about. I was his only competition. What competition could I be against Gerard Way, though?
In the end, I was no competition at all. She told me she loved him in August. I told her that was stupid; she'd only known him for a month. But even then he had begun to change her. I could see it.
In September, he began dragging her to rock concerts and horror movies, leaving lasting scars on her easily-malleable teenage mind. In October, he helped her to dye her beautiful sandy brown hair jet black to match his, her won color lost under the bottled shade as she slowly surrendered her personality to him. In November, she began to sneak out to college parties with him. Sometimes she would show up on my doorstep at two AM, a drunken and unconscious Gerard hanging off her neck. Sometimes she would come home wasted herself. In December, the day she became a legal adult, he took her virginity.
She called me immediately after. "He's so perfect, Frank," she sighed. "He told me he loves me. He said we'd be together forever, and we'll go to the same college and move in together and maybe even get married. Can you believe it?"
I couldn't.
There is a gun lying next to my foot on the marble. I'm not sure how it chose this spot to fall when it dropped from her cold hands as she spiraled out of control, her body losing function. I do not want to touch it, but somehow, I feel as if I must.
Emily is sobbing now, and her friends are flocking to her with comforting words and reassurances. Even though her tears are obviously artificial, she would have some goddamned composure, if only for the sake of the man standing next to her. Gerard is shell shocked. His eyes have not left Amy since her corpse hit the floor.
Somewhere, deep down, he must have loved her once upon a time. She was always the ideal devoted girlfriend. I was forced to watch, tortured and helpless, as he shaped my best friend into the girl he wanted her to be with quick, clever hands. By December, she was no longer Amy Lee. She was Gerard Way's girlfriend. The Amy Lee that I had known would never have pierced her eyebrow, never have taken her top off at a frat-house party, never have fucked someone whenever they asked her to. Gerard had put a spell on her. It was the only explanation.
In January, it came time to apply for colleges. Amy and I had always dreamed of attending Columbia College Chicago together, for it had the best dual music and creative writing programs of all the universities we had researched. I wanted to be a music teacher, and Amy an author. Gerard, of course, wasn't sure, but when he heard of our plans, he immediately decided to pursue art, cartooning and animation in particular. It was perfect—Amy wrote and Gerard drew. The perfect pair as always.
The first thing I did when I got the acceptance letter in March was call Amy, a tight ball of excitement and happiness resting in the pit of my stomach. Finally our lives could get back on track, and we could be rid of Gerard once and for all. It would just be Amy and Frank as it had always been. He would be lost amongst the memories, a hazy remnant of summer buried deep in her subconscious.
Amy laughed with pure, genuine excitement when I told her. "Frankie, that's amazing!" she exclaimed. "This couldn't be more perfect!"
"You got in too?" I gasped happily, not even daring to believe.
"I just got the letter today, and guess what? So did Gerard!"
The ball of excitement disappeared as my stomach lurched, and I felt physically sick.
"Now I'll have my boyfriend and my best friend with me! Oh, we'll all be such great friends!" she laughed ecstatically. "I'm so happy, Frankie!"
Happiness is fleeting. I know this now as I watch the scene unfold before my eyes. There was happiness in this room for a short time, as there is at any good wedding. But it is gone, now replaced by…by what?
I study the bride's face. Oh, there is remorse, of course. But Emily has never shown real remorse for as long as I have known her. Hidden under layers of contrived sadness, I can see malice and envy, a need for the attention to be on her once again. Of course, she deserves it. This is her day. It is her day no more, though, as her wedding party is transformed into a wake.
Gerard falls to his knees next to Amy's body. Either he is not aware of the blood now leaching into the fabric of his expensive tuxedo, or his once-lover is more important than such trivial matters. There is true pain on his face. So he did care. He always must have. After all, she had been invited to the wedding. There must have been a reason besides pure jealousy and malice on Emily's part—although I wouldn't put it past her.
Amy did not choose this role. I know this instinctively. But she has played it, every moment sincere. How long has she been planning this act? Since the invitation arrived? Since she found out about the wedding? Since she found out about them? Longer, even?
She was alright for the first few months of college. Better than alright, in fact. We arrived at the college as a trio, held only together by her love for both of us, and on my half, love for her. I was Amy's protector, as I always had been. It was my duty to make sure she stayed safe. And, although I hated to admit it, I was in too far at that point and I knew it. Love is a tricky thing, and the boundaries between friendship and romance were hard to navigate. I loved Amy. I didn't realize what kind of love it was until it was too late.
I didn't have time to.
Although we were supposed to be best friends, Amy spent all of her time with Gerard, leaving me in the dust. Of course, she would still come to me whenever she needed a friend, but these instances were becoming less and less with each passing day. There was nothing Amy needed me for that Gerard could not do. He was her everything, and I was second-best, the backup to vent to.
She believed him. She believed every bit of him, right down to his assurance of eternal love. He would say shotgun, and she assumed he meant wedding. Amy was in this for life, and she assured me of this nearly every day. For the longest time, she believed with all her heart that his intentions were the same. Maybe they were for a time. I guess we'll never know, because it's time for me to introduce a new character. Her name is Emily.
I know I cannot blame Gerard fully for what happens next. It's hard for anyone to resist Emily, as she's shown on multiple occasions. She's a master of manipulation, the queen of getting whatever the hell her black little heart wants. And Emily decided the moment she saw him, in their sketching class during our first semester at college, that she wanted Gerard.
Why Gerard? Why not anyone but Gerard? I gladly would have taken his place, if it meant being able to save Amy. But it was too late for all of that now. Emily got everything she wanted.
She tried the straightforward method first. Gerard was all too susceptible to flirting, but somehow, he managed to resist Emily for those weeks. The more I look at it, the more I realize he must have loved Amy back then. Amy was an easy person to love—innocent, kind, beautiful. But that very same kind innocence would be her demise.
Emily is persuasive, Emily is cunning, Emily is manipulative and above all, Emily is ruthless. This combination is never pleasant. But God forbid you end up on the receiving end of the jealousy of such a person. She stopped at nothing in her quest to make Gerard Way fall in love with her. It started all too simply, with small, meaningless rumors sent circulating around the college. Amy Lee cheated on a test, because she's failing. Amy Lee told me she doesn't really love Gerard. Amy Lee is a lying whore and she doesn't deserve Gerard. The rumors, of course, were eventually heard by Gerard. It didn't seem like he believed them completely, but they weakened his confidence in her. The coffin was made—now all Emily had to do was lay Amy in it.
The rumors became more vicious. Amy Lee slept with Chester Bennington on Friday night. Amy Lee is pregnant; she's just refusing to tell Gerard because she's not sure it's his. Amy Lee is a slut. Amy Lee is suicidal. Amy Lee…
Amy Lee was the most popular name on campus. She would get dirty looks in the hallways, have lunch trays dumped over her head in the cafeteria, even come home to find her dorm room trashed after classes. Gerard should have been there for her during this time—but he wasn't. Because he believed them, all of Emily's lies. He didn't trust Amy anymore. I was all she had left.
And I failed her.
I thought she would be fine with Gerard. I assumed he would be able to protect her. Over Christmas break, I went home to Belleville, while Amy and Gerard stayed in Chicago. She called me on Christmas Eve. Her words are burned into my mind, imprinted forever.
"Frank," she gasped out. Her voice blew heavy and desperate through the speaker. "Oh, Frank. Frank. Thank God, Frank."
"Oh, hey Amy." I apologized to my aunt and uncle as I covered the receiver with my hand, gesturing that it would only take a minute. "Can you make this quick? I'm sort of busy."
"Frankie, I can't do this," she cried. "She—Emily—drugs—Gerard—oh, Gerard…" her words were cut off by a muffled sob.
"Do what? Amy, what's going on?" I asked, half-distracted as I realized the eyes of my entire family were on me.
"Come back, Frank," she begged. "Please, Frankie. I need you. Please. You don't understand."
"Amy, I can't just leave!" I protested.
"But they won't believe me! Maybe they'll believe you, please, you have to tell them, it wasn't me! I didn't, I couldn't! Frank, come back, please come back, Frank, I need you, Frank!"
But she was rambling and sobbing, and I couldn't understand her anymore. I tried in vain to talk her through it for a couple minutes, but she had become incoherent. I hung up. I would be home in six days—whatever had happened, I was sure I could help her then.
When I got back to the college, it was too late. Amy had been found in possession of illegal drugs and assorted paraphernalia. They had been stashed underneath her bed, and an anonymous tip had advised the administration to check her room. She was expelled from the college before she had a chance to appeal. But that wasn't even the worst of it.
The nail in her coffin was Gerard's reaction.
He broke up with her, saying he couldn't be associated with her any longer; she would only drag him down. He told her she wasn't the girl he thought he knew. He told her she had changed. At the New Year's party a week later, he was seen making out with Emily at the turn of the year. Amy returned home to Belleville in disgrace, I was left alone and confused in Chicago, and Emily had gotten everything she'd ever wanted. At a high price.
For the next three years, Gerard, Emily and I completed college as Amy went on a desperate quest to get accepted into any college she could, and when that failed, to get any job at all. But nobody would hire her, not with a federal charge against possession of drugs. She came to live with me for two weeks in the summer, sleeping on the hard wood floor in the living room of my apartment. She left soon afterwards to stay with her sister. We talked every weekend, but I didn't see her again until today. I had no idea of the extent of the damage Emily had done to her.
The wedding invitation that came in the mail confused me. I had never been close to Gerard, more an obligatory acquaintance than an actual friend. But all the same, I went. I don't know what possessed me to do it.
I'm not sure whether to be glad I did or not.
Today, I entered the reception an hour after it started, after conducting a mad dash around my town to find a tuxedo rental at short notice. Gerard and Emily were, of course, absolutely the picture of a perfect wedding couple, happy and smiling and upbeat and friendly. Emily shone in her white dress.
I knew a few people from college, but no one I was particularly interested in talking to. I wasn't looking forward to the prospect of listening to them drone on and on about their life now, and what they were doing and their new job and how this person from college went on to do that and isn't it such a shock. In an effort to hide myself, I went to stand behind the refreshments table, trying to block myself from the crowd.
"Good party."
It was the last thing I ever expected to hear—not the sentence, but the voice.
I spun around quickly. There, standing right next to me, was Amy Lee. Her midnight blue dress sparkled in the soft light from the crystal chandelier, and her black hair hung straight and free down to her waist. She stared at me with icy blue eyes—oh, those ice-chip eyes, a sight that will forever be burned into my memory. They were rimmed with an excess of dark makeup. It looked like she'd been crying.
"A-Amy?" I stuttered, unbelieving.
"Hi, Frankie," she said softly. A tiny smile graced her lips. It didn't reach her eyes.
"But—what are you doing here?" I wondered.
She shrugged nonchalantly. "I was invited. What else?"
"But—Emily and Gerard…"
"I wanted to see how they were doing," she murmured. "To see if they were happy."
Her gaze turned from me to the ballroom, where brightly-dressed couples twirled to the strains of classical music. She seemed entranced by the fairytale-like sight. Her eyes locked on the couple in the middle of the fray, one wearing a pure-black suit and the other dressed in a flowing white gown.
"I think they are," she whispered.
I swallowed nervously. "Is that…is that a good or a bad thing?"
Amy turned back to me, and I was struck speechless. There was something in those icy eyes. Some emotion, some feeling I couldn't lay a finger on. I'd never expected to see it on her face, and now it caught me off guard. It was a look that was both calm and furious, conflicted and yet completely decided as to what to do next.
"It depends how you look at it," she said, and kissed my cheek. Then she walked away, midnight skirt swishing and high heels tapping out a rhythm on the marble floor.
Thirty minutes later, I had re-emerged into the group and even struck up a conversation with Gerard's brother, Mikey, and his girlfriend in an attempt to erase the encounter with Amy from my mind. I would find her later, of course—it was still my job to protect her. I just needed time. Time to process exactly what she had become.
Mikey's red-headed girlfriend, Hayley I think she had said, was halfheartedly trying to carry the conversation, but I was too distracted to respond with anything more than a nod and an occasional "m-hm". My thoughts were elsewhere.
Suddenly, a bang filled the room, breaking us all out of our reverie. A scream, and we were running towards the center of the dance floor, where a sudden commotion had broken out.
It is an undeniably dramatic scene.
Because my best friend, the girl I am in love with, my Amy Lee is lying on the ballroom floor in a steadily-growing puddle of her own blood, which is gushing from a round hole in her head. A gun lies on the ground next to my foot.
I can connect the dots easily enough.
Hayley has fainted into Mikey's arms. Emily has gone hysterical. Gerard is entranced by the body of his former flame, kneeling next to it and staring into her eyes. They did not close as she fell. The ice blue orbs still stare up and out, into his face, but they have lost all emotion. They can no longer feel.
I am struck with the sudden urge to capture this moment somehow, preserve it as best I can. It is almost like something out of a movie. A perfect photo opportunity.
Amy's actions have redefined the words 'shotgun wedding.' And I can do nothing but stare, stare at the girl I love with all my heart, stare at the girl I should have been there to help, stare at the life I had been given the chance to save that very day. What could I have done differently? How could I have helped her? If I had only talked a little bit more, tried to be more supportive, tried to help her through…would Amy Lee still be with us?
Would I have gotten the chance to tell her?
But I never will now, because a man has felt for her pulse, and he has tried CPR, and he has proclaimed her dead, and there is nothing any of us can do now. Nothing but pray.