Friday, June 29
(Franco)
The flight from Philadelphia to London is only seven and a half hours. Seven and a half hours in first class is cake. Sleeping is how I spend ninety percent of the flight. I should've taken advantage of all the amenities first class has to offer, but the tour is starting to take a toll on me physically. I never sleep well on the road, but it's been weeks since I had a good night's rest.
There's a dude in a suit holding a sign outside customs with our tour manager's name on it. He loads us up in a bus and drives us from Heathrow to the O2 arena in southeast London.
It's gloomy, rainy, and chilly outside, despite it being summer. It reminds me of the day I arrived in Manchester to visit Gemma a few months ago.
Soundcheck is routine. Doing it every night for the past few months, we can do this shit with our eyes closed.
The show is fantastic. European crowds are different than American crowds. I would never say one is better than the other, but the contrast freshens things up. I think it gave us all a boost we didn't think we needed, but that made a difference in the energy we brought out.
The crowd was fierce.
We were fiercer.
That's the perfect storm.
We sign some autographs after the show for VIPs, and Gus, Jamie, and Robbie decide they're too amped to go back to the bus just yet and are going to a pub around the corner. I'm in.
Until Gus pulls me aside and tells me he forgot his cell charging on the bus and could I go grab it for him while he takes a piss so we can go.
I open the back door of the venue to rain. A goddamn downpour. Running through it, I'm cursing Gus, and getting wet. At the door, I stop.
My heart stops.
Everything stops.
Because Gemma is standing, soaked to the bone, next to the bus.
I knock on the door and the driver quickly opens it. When we step on, he steps off. Convenient. I also notice Gus's cell isn't plugged into the community charger. I've just been set up.
"Hi, Gem." It's only a whisper, it's all that shock will allow.
"Hiya, Franco," she whispers back.
"Gus set this up?" I ask.
"And Scout." Her head moves in the affirmative.
I nod. Standing this close to her feels fantastic and horrible all at once. Fantastic because I love her and it would be so easy to say it right now. And horrible because I know I won't and I know this is goodbye. It has to be. She needs to move on to something real.
"Franco?" I know she's staring at me. But I'm staring at the floor, until I close my eyes and refuse to open them. The unease is hanging over us like a dark, stormy cloud. The shift from the last time we were together noticeable.
"Yeah?" I'm a perceptive guy. And my guts are clenching, preparing for the delivery of crushing words we can no longer ignore.
"I'm not good at this, but I think we need to..." She pauses, but leaves the thought unfinished when she speaks again. "My heart already hurts." The words hurt her as much as they hurt me, I can hear it.
Opening my eyes, I look at her and immediately want to look away. Her eyelids and lips are pinched tightly attempting to dam her emotions. They're failing. Big tears are leaking from the corner of her eyes and the pained expression tells me her soul is leaking out with them. I don't want to say the words, but they come anyway.
"We end tonight, don't we, Gem?" I want to snatch the words from the air and swallow them back down inside where hearts and minds can't acknowledge them. But I can't. Reality is a motherfucker.
A sob erupts from her, confirmation that all good things must come to an end. And it kills me, for so many reasons it fucking kills me. Pulling her to me, she burrows her face into my chest and clings like she never wants to let go. And she cries. She cries like she's mourning the past months: the laughter, the companionship, the friendship, the intimacy. Not because she regrets it, but because she's grateful for it. And doesn't want to give it up. Even when it was awkward or the past week that we haven't talked.
I know, because I feel the same way.
Somewhere in the midst of her tears, mine join in. Silently, an impossible future with her is slipping away like smoke.
This is goodbye.
A fucking miserable goodbye.
Tipping her chin up, I'm met with blurry, gorgeous, heartbroken eyes.
Her hand strokes my cheek once, and I can't help but press it to her warm palm. How is it that in the moment touch can feel permanent even when it's fleeting? Long after she's gone, I'll feel her like a ghost.
Tears streaming, she's shaking her head. Defiantly rejecting everything in existence, except us, like our temporary is eternal.
I stop her with a kiss. Because touch is the only way we're going to be able to convey what we're feeling. We're past words; words will only make this worse.
Emotion has heightened all of my senses.
Her lips are soft, so soft, and shudder against mine.
The mixture of our tears is salty on my tongue.
The sharp inhalations of breath feeding her tears and sadness are all I hear.
She smells so damn good, forever and always Gemma.
I open my eyes, and despite her crying, or maybe because of it, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Vulnerability opens up the heart, and hers is as big as it is radiant. She fucking glows from the inside out.
I'm so lucky.
We're so lucky.
Until the moment she walks out the door, we're going to revel in it.
I lead her to the back of the bus. We take our clothes off. And climb in bed.
Rolling her to her back, I climb on top. And the final dialogue begins.
Both of our bodies have a lot to say.
Touch starts as a whisper. Lips nudging. Tongues brushing. Fingertips ghosting.
Whispers notch up when tongues begin to clash, and hips begin to grind.
And before we know it, our bodies are shouting over the top of each other, and it's way too much and not nearly enough. I need fucking relief. I'm settled in between her legs; a breast in each hand being paid special attention; my mouth on her mouth, neck, anything within reach. The tip of me is nestled against her, the slightest bit of entry is heaven. But when she wraps her legs around me and pulls me in, I swear I see stars. The moan that escapes us both is guttural. Pleasure has never sounded so damn good. Pleasure has never felt so damn good. Skin on skin. Fuck, I never want this to end.
Let it kill me.
Let her kill me.
And soon, too soon, she's crying out. No words, because our bodies are still doing all the talking, just sounds. The sexiest fucking sounds that a woman's ever made are spilling from her kiss swollen lips while she shatters underneath me.
And that's all it takes. I erupt inside her.
She's mine.
For this moment in time, she's mine.
Images start racing, uninvited, across my mind.
Watching her walk down the aisle toward me in a long, white lace gown.
Growing old with her.
And just as quickly, the picture perfect life evaporates into nothingness when I hear her sniffle back tears.
Moment over.
She's not mine anymore.
I kiss her gently on the forehead, holding back my tears, roll off of her, and watch her climb out of bed and walk to the bathroom.
I'm numb as I listen to the water run.
Numb as I dress.
Numb as I watch her dress.
Numb as we take each other in with our eyes for the last time. One blank stare taking in the other, unblinking. Loving, cataclysmic shock.
Numb as I walk her to her car.
Numb as I squeeze her to my chest and knot the back of her jacket in my hands.
Numb as we kiss.
And kiss.
And kiss.
When she backs away and unlocks her car door, she raises her hand in an attempt to wave.
I raise my hand too.
Our waves are shit because it hurts.
Our goodbye is shit because it hurts.
We haven't talked except when we first saw each other, and I think that's how it's going to end.
How we're going to end.
"We end today, don't we?" was the last thing I said to her.
It was a question that wasn't really a question.
Until she answers it while she climbs in her car, "I don't want to. I really don't want to. But yes, naughty American boy, we end today. I don't want to be your burden," with tears streaming down her cheeks and drives away.
And suddenly I'm not numb any longer.
But I wish I was.
Because everything hurts like hell.
I'm screaming, "You're not!" but her car has already pulled out of the lot.