Song of Pain (BOOK THREE)

Chapter 30: Aftermath

The cold fluorescent lights above flickered as the group sat in the sterile hospital waiting room, their faces tired and worn. The last few days had felt like an endless war—battles fought in the shadows of their minds, each of them carrying scars, both physical and emotional. Frank was gone, but his influence had left deep marks on all of them.

Rosemarie lay in a hospital bed, her hand tightly clutching Erron's, her breaths shallow but steady as she labored. Her body was exhausted, drained from the fight, but she was determined. She couldn't afford to lose her child, the tiny life she had fought so hard to protect.

Sophie paced the waiting room, her thoughts scattered and distant. Her once bright eyes had dimmed, her face drawn with the weight of everything they had endured. She had lost so much in this war—her old sense of self, the light she used to carry. Now, she was just a hollow shell, trying to figure out where she fit in this world.

Aaron, meanwhile, sat in a chair, his head in his hands, nursing a bottle of cheap whiskey. His hand trembled as he brought the bottle to his lips, the bitter taste numbing the ache that had taken root in his chest. He wasn't sure where the line had blurred between drinking for fun and drinking to forget, but it didn't matter now. The alcohol was a temporary escape, a fleeting reprieve from the dark thoughts that haunted him.

Eric and Kendrick's absence lingered like a thick fog in the room. They were supposed to be here, supposed to be part of this moment, but instead, they were nothing more than memories etched in stone, a painful reminder of the price they'd paid.

Erron's voice broke through the silence, low and soothing. "She's doing fine. The baby's almost here."

Sophie looked at him, nodding slowly, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "You're doing good, Erron."

The nurse stepped into the room, her face bright but professional. "It's time," she said softly.

Rosemarie looked at Erron one last time, her eyes filled with love and fear. "I'm scared, Erron. I'm scared I'll mess this up."

Erron leaned down and kissed her forehead gently. "You're not alone in this. I'm right here."

And with that, the room became a whirlwind of doctors, nurses, and frantic activity as Rosemarie pushed with everything she had left. There was no turning back now.

Hours later, the air in the room grew still, and Rosemarie's cries of pain faded into soft, relieved breaths. A tiny, wriggling bundle was placed into her arms—a daughter, their daughter.

"She's beautiful," Rosemarie whispered, tears streaming down her face.

Erron looked at the baby, his eyes wide with awe. "Aurora", he murmured. "Her name's Aurora."

It was a name full of light, full of promise, like the dawn after the longest night.

A week later, the police arrived at their door.

The interrogation was long, tedious, and suffocating. The officers were kind enough, but the questions never stopped, each one prying deeper into their past, their decisions, their involvement in Frank's twisted empire. The trial was just as exhausting, a blur of legal jargon, testimony, and accusations. But in the end, Frank's empire fell completely apart. "The Right Way" website was finally shut down, its corrupt roots exposed for the world to see.

But even as justice was served, the group felt no relief, no sense of triumph. Frank was gone, but the damage had been done. They were left to pick up the pieces of their broken lives.

Days turned into weeks, and the group's moods shifted. Rosemarie returned to school, and the students treated her with surprising respect, offering quiet smiles and gestures of support. But despite the support from those around her, Rosemarie could still feel the weight of everything that had happened. She had fought so hard to protect her child, but now, she was struggling to protect herself.

Sophie, on the other hand, was a shadow of the person she once was. The girl who once wore a mask of rebellion and defiance had crumbled under the weight of everything they had gone through. She found herself more alone than ever, drifting between numbness and regret, trapped in a dark, endless cycle of nihilism. The pain of losing Kendrick, Eric, and the parts of herself that she would never get back was too much to bear.

Aaron's addiction deepened, and his spiral seemed endless. The alcohol was his constant companion now, a numbing agent that dulled the pain but never made it go away. The dark circles under his eyes grew darker, and his smile had become a rare and empty thing. But he kept drinking, hoping to forget, hoping for something to fill the empty space left behind.

Erron took care of everything. His focus was on Rosemarie and their daughter, Aurora, who had become the light in their dark world. He helped her through the days, the sleepless nights, the exhaustion of motherhood, and the weight of their shared trauma. He knew they had a long road ahead, but for now, he was content to be there for her—his love, his family, his everything.

Kimchi disbanded the gang. She burned her old tattoos, cutting ties with her past in a desperate attempt to shed the skin she had worn for so long. She wanted to be someone new, someone better, but she didn't know if she could ever outrun the ghosts of who she used to be.

And Ava? Ava stayed indoors for five days straight. She didn't speak to anyone. She didn't interact with the outside world. She was still processing the trauma, still trying to piece herself back together after everything she had endured. Her silence was her way of coping, but it only deepened the chasm of isolation between her and the rest of the group.

Friday night came, and they all stood before the graves of Kendrick, Eric, and Felicia. The winds blew softly, a chill in the air, but no one moved. The group had been through so much, and this moment was a silent tribute to all they had lost.

Aaron stood before Eric's grave, tears streaming down his face. His body shook as he cried. "I love you, Gerard Way," he sobbed, his voice thick with grief. "I would love to be your friend again in a heartbeat."

The others stood quietly, each of them processing their pain in their own way. The grief of their fallen friends weighed heavy on them all, but they didn't speak. They didn't need to. This was the only place where their silence made sense.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The world around them faded, and all that was left was the group—broken, bruised, but still here, still together. They would never forget the ones they had lost, but maybe, just maybe, they could learn to live with the ones they had left.

And maybe, that was enough.