"His memory was blank. He had no idea why or how he ended up in the bathroom, of all places."
Gerard felt his body move without any conscious effort from him. His back was against a hard surface, bouncing up and down uncomfortably. Loud pounding noises drilled into his ear. Repeatedly, his stomach would lurch up into his throat, only to fall back into place painfully seconds later. His eyelids flickered open. Clutching his stomach, he sat up. Bright yellow light-bulbs glared into his tired eyes. As he grew accustomed to the light, he realized he was in the bathroom of the tour bus. The pounding noise came from the outside. It must have been one of his friends against the door.
His breathing was uneven as a shaky palm gripped the counter. The mirror greeted him, with that ugly face that he hated to see. He pulled up the faucet and wet his hands. He splashed the cold water onto his overheated face. His memory was blank. He had no idea why or how he ended up in the bathroom, of all places. The last thing he could recall was Mikey and his sharp words to Frank. His eyes scanned the countertop, searching for clues. A small, uncapped bottle sat on its side, spewing out white pills. He immediately recognized Lithium. He wasn’t sure why the bottle was open or what it had to do with waking up on the bathroom floor. Quickly, he scooped all the tablets back into the open container. He pulled open the medicine cabinet and shoved the bottle into it. He prayed to God that was where it had been originally. The pounding beside him, only through a barrier, grew louder. By the sound of it, whoever it was must have started kicking as well.
“Gerard! Open the fucking door!” a voice commanded harshly.
Gerard immediately recognized the speaker as Frank and groaned. He recollected all the suspicions the guitarist had made clear last night. This only made it all worse. None of the others would expect a detailed explanation, but he knew Frank would. A complex excuse started to form itself in his mind as discomfort swam through his veins. However, it was not lying to his friend that bothered him. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember what had happened, not even if he wanted to. Biting his lip nervously, he turned the metal doorknob. His mouth stretched into a fraud grin when he saw his midget standing there, with crossed arms. Lifting his head, he noted his other friends were there too, peeking over his shoulder, curious and worried
“What the fuck happened, Gerard?” Frank asked with sincere concern, “You were in there all night. We were all worried sick.”
Before Gerard could start on his cleverly thought out lie, the room began to spin. He gripped onto the counter. His head was in a cloud of confusion, unsure of what was happening to him as his vision blurred. It was obviously not the bus going out of control, because everyone else seemed to be relatively fine. He felt his stomach jump up again, but this time it refused to ease back down. He turned around quickly, so as to not vomit all over Frank. In a futile attempt, he staggered to the toilet. His vomit flew out of his mouth and onto the floor. He heaved again, leaning forward on his toes.
A nauseating aftertaste of stomach acids was left in his mouth. He tried to gulp it down with saliva, but failed. He stared at the puke. An embarrassed blush shone on his cheeks. His friends had all seen him throw up. They were probably wearing disgusted expressions. He did not want to see them. He wished to be alone, somewhere filthy, anywhere but here.
A comforting arm fell around his shoulder, “It’s okay, Gee...you’re fine...you’re okay...”
Hearing his brother’s voice increased the humiliation. It was obvious that this had to do with the drugs he had promised not to take. Probably the Lithium that was on the counter. It made him want to cry. He stayed strong and gripped Mikey’s arm for support. The bus had come to a halt, which helped him a lot. But after a few minutes of silence and peace, he still felt dizzy. Mikey’s arm finally drew away from him. He swayed slightly, ready to fall any second without the support.
“Here, Gerard, I got you some water,” Bob’s voice came from behind him.
A glass of water was held out. Gerard took it, refusing to meet the drummer’s sapphire eyes. He took a sip, slowly regaining his balance and eyesight. He turned around, taking small steps. Frank was the first one to catch his eye. He leaned against the doorway, shaking his head. Gerard looked down, not liking the disappointed face one bit. Ray entered the bathroom, carrying a mop and a bucket of water. None of the five men spoke for a short while, the silence as awkward as it could get. Then, Ray’s afro bounced as he moved forward, mop in hand.
“Hey, stop it, Ray,” Frank jeered, “We’re not his personal maids. Let him clean it up himself.”
Mikey replied for Ray, “Shut up, Iero. He needs to rest, he's sick.”
Air tensed between the two youngest members of My Chemical Romance. Gerard was responsible once again and he knew it.
Frank spoke softly, but with an edge to his voice, “Well if he didn't keep getting high, maybe he wouldn’t—”
He could not finish, because Mikey decided this was the last straw. With a snarl, he swung his fist and hit Frank in the eye. The short one stumbled backwards, away from the door. Gerard gasped and watched as Bob rushed to help him. He was paralyzed, though, and couldn’t bring himself to do anything. Mikey panted in and out deeply and approached Gerard.
“Gee, you know I trust you right? Don’t worry, bro, I don’t believe a word Frank says, okay? I don’t know what the hell has gotten into him, but I’ll always be on your side, no matter what. Don’t forget that. Go, get outta here. I’ll take care of this.”
Gerard Way was a coward. He couldn’t confess, even then. He simply nodded and smiled appreciatively. Trying not to look as guilt-ridden as he felt, he strode out of the bathroom and into the central area of the bus. With a sigh deep enough to suck in everything in the room, he plopped down onto a seat. Bob was slowly helping Frank get up off the floor. Tears were streaming down the guitarist’s face again and a hand was covering one of his eyes. Again. Further away, he could spot Ray and Mikey trying to clean up the mess he had left for them. He moaned to himself, telling himself that he deserved to be stabbed to death.... slowly. There needed to be intervention, and soon, or he would continue to feel like shit. He wished he could turn invisible and just rush to his cocaine.
A calm voice surprised him, “Gerard. I need to talk to you.”
Glancing up at Frank's face, he flushed red once more, “Um...okay.”
With his free hand, Frank pulled Gerard to his feet. He tugged slightly, directing the way to the bunk area. They stopped at a bed. Frank gently pushed Gerard down onto it. Despite his current listless behavior, he was beyond angry at the man sitting in front of him. In fact, he had to try really hard to make sure he did not do something as drastic as shake him by the shoulders until he passed out. Yet, he could never in any way bring himself to physically hurt Gerard. It was like he had an electric collar that would zap him every time he even had the thought. He knew he had to speak his anger out instead. He opened his mouth.
Gerard stared up, awaiting, widening his hazel eyes and looking angelic without really intending to. Frank dissolved into a mess of giddiness and love upon seeing that cherubic expression. It was now officially impossible to raise his voice even the slightest bit. He sat down quickly next to Gerard.
“Go on,” the singer mumbled, staring at the floor, “Get mad. Say what you want to say.”
Frank considered it, but... no... “I just wanted to tell you... that we’re doing the next couple of shows with The Used.”
Gerard’s head shot up with surprise. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that this wasn’t what Frank meant to say in the first place. This, nevertheless, was a lot better than the storm of angry insults he knew he deserved. His mouth stretched into a smile, a real one. The Used meant Bert McCracken. Bert McCracken meant fun. And fun meant new drugs.
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