It Ends Tonight!

The top of the pumpkin shaped birthday cake was adorned by twenty six candles. These candles lit the darkened sitting room, yet, had no impact in lightening HIS mood; Frank Anthony Iero; a successful guitarist and a budding song writer. Anything he could want in life, he had. But, because of a fateful night, exactly one year ago to the day – happiness had been extinguished in his life.

"Come on, Frank. Don't be such a pansy!" Ray Toro whined, waking Frank from his reverie. Frank shook the black hair off his handsome Italian features and blew out the candles, the tears that had built in his hazel eyes obscuring his vision slightly.

Two of those gathered around Frank sensed that something was troubling their friend; Gerard and Mikey Way – possibly the closest friends Frank could possibly have wished for. In the far corner of the room, beside a mountain of presents was Frank's bodyguard – Bob Bryar.

Someone, Frank neither knew nor cared who, had switched on the lights; throwing the small sitting room into a glow of fluorescent light. Sinking into the fabric of his sofa, Frank watched his four friends clamouring over the oversized fruit shaped cake and thought back over the past twelve months of his life.

It had started much life any birthday; she, the bewitching goddess of Frank's life, had woke him with breakfast in bed. Frank should then have noted that there was something unusually frosty about the woman he loved. The day passed and the evening came. The young couple walked the streets of Belleville; Frank remembered in particular how the air had been cold and harsh against the uncovered flesh that was exposed through the large slashes in his skin tight jeans.

The mood that had been seemingly peaceful all evening changed as suddenly as the weather when the two headed onwards through the deserted streets. Her face, the perfect face of an angel, was streaked by tears; black tears that had gone unnoticed by the normally attentive lover.

He tried to question her as the tears fell steadily and increasing in severity, however, received no coherent reply, other than three words, falling as easily from her lips as the rain falling from the gathering clouds above,

"I love you," She whispered, pulling from inside her jacket pocket, the glimmer of silver. The weapon, a deadly 9mm… Without knowing what he could do, Frank was helpless as she placed the cold barrel to her temple and pulled the trigger. Blood seeped from the self-inflicted wound as Frank held his broken angel to his chest, anguished screams for help resounding through the empty streets, echoing back as a harsh as the fatal gunshot that had killed his beautiful wife. In the moments that her golden brown eyes lost their final shadow of life, Frank's heart crashed in pieces at his feet.

Even through his tears, Frank noticed a slip of white paper peering from out of her pocket. He withdrew it and caught sight of his name and quickly stowed it in his pocket.

It was on that day, that Frank had vowed, he would be with her again, to end the pain, to end the heartache.

And, this was the night. Frank wanted nothing more than for his friends to leave him in peace. Alone with his thoughts. He sat patiently and opened the pointless gifts with a forced glee and enthusiasm. None of them knew, that, by the time the morning came, he would not be there to continue on the pitiless, monotonous journey that was life. It ended that night; he knew it. It was really only a matter of time before they did too.

The final gift in the pile was from Ray, Frank's more talented, fellow guitarist. A brand new Epiphone Les Paul guitar in black. Similar to all of Frank's other guitars, and yet, this one was different, in place of the name 'Pansy' that was emblazoned on several of his others, was the name that was life a knife to Frank's heart; 'Crystal'.

He ran his fingers lovingly over the name, earning himself a small smile from Ray. No sooner had this smile passed Ray's face, than he was deep in conversation with Bob.

"It ends tonight, Crys." Frank whispered out loud, knowing that none of those around would have heard him. He was never really listened to. In front of the cameras that intruded their lives, Frank portrayed the lovable rouge, the joker. In reality, Frank's life was anything but this. He was the polar opposite to his comedic persona. It was for this reason that he was being forced, under the guidance of his doctors, to medicate himself with a cocktail of anti-depressants.

Finally, after countless birthday well wishes from his friends and a reassuring hug from Gerard, Frank was free. He slammed the door to his apartment shut and headed immediately for his bedroom, where, hidden in a box beneath his bed was the letter Crystal had written for him. He smoothed the paper out on the bed and read again, having read it so much that, despite the ink smudges, he knew what it said.

My Frankie,
I wish I know how to tell you this. But, I guess I've got no choice; A few months ago, you'll remember I spent a lot of time either at the hospital or at the doctors – I was pregnant, Frank. I say was. I lost our baby! I hate myself for not having told you, but, it was not your fault, baby. I never wanted you to think any different. If it makes you feel any better, you would have been an amazing father to our little girl. By now, you'll have realized that I can't live with myself knowing that I can never give you the family and the life that you deserve, which is why, tonight, it's the end. In a way, this is my birthday present to you; an end to my pain – a chance for you to start again.

Never forget; I love you, Franklin.

Your angel, forever, Crystal xoxox

In addition to the many smudged in the ink; there were now several new splashes of tears. Wiping the tears away was a mere habit; Frank was proud of the fact that he was able to show his true emotions, not mask them under levels of humour and other such impersonal traits.

Frank took a tour of his prison, stopping in the kitchen to collect the tools he needed; the bottle of Vodka had been hidden in the back of a cupboard for months. Next, he took one of the bottles from the bathroom counter. It didn't matter which. He stopped at his bedroom door, hoping to fool the harsh mistress of reality into allowing him to see the sleeping form of Crystal Iero, however, he knew that nothing would change the fact that she was indeed gone.

With a heart heavier than a lead medallion, drowning him in a pool of his own misery, Frank slipped the battered sneakers onto his feet, zipped up his black hooded jacket and collected his pad of paper from the table in the hall and was gone. The bottle of pills was a noisy reminder of what needed to be done.

The night air whipped about his face as Frank started on his final journey. His feet, unworthy of conscious thought, carried him thought he wrought iron gates of the cemetary. The added angel to her grave aided Frank in his search of the graveyard. This addition had proved expensive, yet, for her, Frank had been more than willing to spend the amount needed to make her grave as unique as she herself had been in life.

He sat upon the cold earth and took the paper and marker pen from his pocket and wrote three words, repeatedly on the paper; 'It ends now, Crys.' He popped the lid from the pills and unscrewed the vodka bottle. Frank threw the contents of the pill bottle into his mouth and washed the deadly pills down with a 'healthy' measure of vodka. Finally, Frank attempted to form the words that he so desperately wanted to hear from her; closing his hazel eyes, he visualized her angelic form in his mind's eye and, his hand succeeded in writing his final statement on earth, 'I love you.

It had already ended as Frank's heart had pumped a final ounce of blood to the dying organs; his eyes rolled skyward and his hand fell to the ground in a state of peace. Finally.

The next day, his body was discovered by Gerard and Mikey. The brothers were visiting their grandmother who lay within the same graveyard. They say he lay with one hand lying inches from the gravestone in front of him, his other on top of a piece of paper, adorned by Frank's hand, however, the ink fresh on four words, 'I love you, too.'