The music, the fans, the emotions, that was all the surface. Nobody ever saw the pain.
Gerard's head was so full of pain, and so empty of love. Lyndsay took his heart out and broke it into two peices. She held one half, and Bandit held the other. Without them, without his girls, he was empty and incapable of love. With this thought in mind, he stood up and walked, fully clothed (the way he slept) to the dingy bathroom. His eyes were beads of hazel surrounded by blood red lines and pink-ish-whiteness. He attempted a smile. Not only did it hurt to do, it scared him to see. It was the smile of a madman.
Finally the tears started to fall. And once they did, they didn't stop. He picked up the safety razor that was complimentary of the hotel. Through calm, yet endless tears, he broke the brittle plastic away from the blades, managing to slice his fingers to shreds. He held up his prize, one single razorblade, gleaming with red blood in the blue light of the hotel room. He pressed the cold metal to his wrist, enjoying the cool feeling, and pushed down as hard as he could. Before the blade broke the skin, he pulled quickly, feeling the rush of pain engluf his arm, chest, torso, body, head, eyesight. Then everything turned red, like the blood gushing from his arm. The world spun, the ground flew at him, and it was blackness. Familiar, quiet, beautiful blackness.
When they found his body, he'd been dead for 25 hours. Not 24, 25. It was more than a full day before anyone thought to check on the troubled Gerard Way, more than a full day before suspicions were even considered. Lyndsay had cried by his corpse, begging him to please come back, she was sorry, she didn't want him to go, she was confused. His brother, Mikey, had watched from afar, holding his neice in his arms and trying not to get his tears on her. And, beyond and above it all, Gerard sat watching, a faint smile on his face. He looked at the spot next to him, where Lyndsay was supposed to belong. He sighed the sigh of a man matured too soon, and smiled the smile of a man that couldn't find any joy in the world, but smiled anyways. He suddenly realized, as he looked in the mirror across the ghostly hotel room at his reflection, that this wasn't heaven. Not yet. He couldn't have heaven without his heart. And his heart, he thought, as he looked at his un-smiling eyes, was still with his wife and child, still waiting to become one again and come back to him. And here he would wait until that day.