A strange Implied Frerard. Please read :)
Your body lies beneath my feet, almost mutilated beyond recognition. Your blood is oozing out of all the cuts, and is sticky beneath my feet. Blood is matted in your hair, and your eyes are half lidded. You almost look like you're just sleeping. Except your mouth is contorted into a scream, your teeth glinting in the harsh light. I guess God realised he'd fucked your life up so much, he decided to give you incredibly great genes. Sharp, hazel eyes, defined cheekbones, perfect teeth. Beautiful smooth body. But you never realised how special you were.
The knife slips out of my hand, and I break from my reverie, dazed. These bright lights are blinding me, so I turn to leave. Then I swiftly turn, stride towards your twisted body, and kiss your chapped flaking lips. You taste metallic, and bloody. A tear splashes down from my eye, landing on your cheek. Words run through my mind, words I couldn't say when you were alive, and not even now in death. So I walk away, running my hands through my dripping hair.
I don't turn back until the building is far off in the distance, and I have to squint to see it. Except all I can picture is your body, laying there. So I run, run so fast. Back to the shelter in the park, with the metal roof. Back where we first awkwardly made love. Oh christ. I pull my hoodie up, and clamber onto the sodden wooden bench just outside the shelter. My eyes flicker closed, and I am enveloped in darkness.
I sleep, but am plagued by nightmares.
I'm expecting the knock. I've been sitting, a recluse, in my shoddy flat, for two weeks. Surviving on simply oxygen. I don't deserve food or drink. Lacerations are on my body, from nights of agony, trying to will away your face. I get up and look through the keyhole. Two poilce officers. I'm sorry Gerard. Walking into the kitchen, ignoring the rapid knocks emanating from outside. Choosing a knife roughly the same as the one I used on you. Your face haunts me, and I cry as I thrust he knife into my body. Gerard Arthur Way. I feel so regretful, so force myself to think of your face. It hurts so bad, Gee. Blood trickles from a gash on my hand I don't recall making, and I stare, fixated, at it, as my world goes hazy.
And now I'm with you, and nothing hurts anymore.