Le chapitre dernier.
Don't hate me for doing a suicide chapter.Sometimes things that happen in your life come out in your writing.I've learned that over the past few months in writing Full of Holes.I've loved every moment of it,and you guys have been so utterly brilliant.I know this is cutting the story short-but fuck,if I do say so,this was pretty damn hard to write.I didn't know if you guys would like,whether ye'd hate it...anyway,I hope this isn't a total failure,and I'd like to thank every single person who rated and reviewed this story,who took time out of their lives to write.Even fucking Suzy;I love every single one of you guys,and I simply can't thank you enough.Seeing green strips around my work gives me a certain type of pride that nothing else has ever given.
So,I think it's time I tell you two things.One is that I am hyperglyceamic;basically I'm skinny as fuck,sweating constantly,dipping in and out of conscienceness.I'm dying.I know it;hospital nurses can whisper sweet nothings in my ear all they like,I'm gonna die.And soon.But hey,I had a fairly good life.I've had the thing for about two months now;I didn't want to tell you guys cuz I didn't want sympathy.I don't need anyone's sympathy;I've gotten it my whole life,it's mindless shite.
The second thing is that I'm gonna do another story,probably a Frerard.I've written it already,it's grand-nothing as near as good as this.I've grown to love this shit.Fucking addicted.
So,hear it is.The fruit of my labours,the finished product,the big shit,whatever.It's told in third person,which is weird,but I couldn't really get into it doing it in a certain person's P.O.V.Brief warning:this chapter is very weird,and has certain little areas where you need to work it out yourself.
So,turn off all the lights,take your laptop and sit in your favourite chair by the big lamp the corner of the room.I'm pretty sure I can convince you that true love exists.
Lorna Ni Ionnrachtaigh,May 2011.
"Life is like a movie, if you've sat through more than half of it and it's sucked every second so far, it probably isn't gonna get great right at the end and make it all worthwhile. No one should blame you for walking out early"-Doug Stanhope,stand up comedian
"Suicide is man's way of telling God,"You can't fire me - I quit"-Bill Maher,actor and author
"The game of life is hard to play
I'm gonna lose it anyway
The losing card I'll someday lay
so this is all I have to say
Suicide is painless
it brings out many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please"-Johnny Mandel,singer,from the song "Suicide is Painless"
"suicide ain't so fucking painless,ya twat"-Anonymous,scraped into my desk in high school
Saturday,May 13th 2006,roughly eleven p.m.
Bob fumbled with the lock in the dark.He sighed and realized his girlfriend was right-dammit.Gia had been nagging him for weeks,saying how she couldn't just keep the latch off all night,Bob,it's not like we live in fuckin Abu Dhabi,we do live in the absolute anus of the world.
"Honey?"He called tentatively,tapping on the glass in the door."Y'there?"
Through the cracks in the faded stain glass-ah,he saw what she meant about the whole "anus of humanity" thing-he could make out the barely audible gush of air as she sighed,and the scuff of her slippers as she came to let him in.
"Robert Corey Bryar,"she started,face cream on and hair curlers in tact,"what have I told you about that mothershitting lock-"
"Baby,relax,"he soothed,kissing her briefly and then progressing to the living room,where he fell onto the couch.She followed him in,still looking disapproving...but he could tell she was weakening.
"I got Haagen Dazs,"he said,one eye open.Jesus,what was he,fucking four years old,falling asleep at like ten o' clock in the evening?This was an embarrassment.Ah well,he would make up for it going touring later on in the year.He and Frank had had a record of seven all-nighters last tour-in two weeks.
Gia's eyes lit up.Amongst the pale green of her face mask,it looked oddly beautiful and alien-like.
He laughed at her childish questioning.
He lay on the sofa as she ran into the kitchen.He switched on the TV,which landed on FOX News.
"Gia,what the fuck?"He spat angrily,as she returned into the kitchen,armed with the tub of Haagen Dazs and one-yes,one-spoon."I thought it was an established rule that under no circumstances that the devil's channel be exposed in the Bryar household."
She shrugged."There's been a bomb in Ethiopia and CNN are just covering Slutty Spear's marriage to some gay back-up dancer."
"Britney Spears,baby,her name's Britney."
They observed the reporter,who looked rediculous in war-torn Darfur,with his fucking freshly shaved mug and fucking suit-and Oh My dear Jesus is that a fucking Rolex?!
"I'm gonna go to bed,"she yawned-so it sounded like I wanna wowa wed-"cuz I'm tired as fuck."She pressed her lips briefly to his forehead,and Bob noted she smelled faintly of German ice cream,which,to some men may be a turn-off,but dear fucking Lord,to Bob it smelled better than the shit perfume they lather themselves in."See ya in the morning,honey."
"Mmm-hmm,"he responded,his eyes barely on the screen,just watching the little bar on the bottom of the screen flash breaking news.Goddamn,did those Republicans make sure they were barely visible to the naked fucking eye.
Then,suddenly,something shot across the screen that grabbed Bob's peripheral vision.He didn't quite know what it was,or whom it concerned,but he figured that if he tuned back in soon enough he'd catch it.
He decided to go get some Haagen Dazs,and sloped off into the fridge.He stuck his hand in-and felt nothing.Goddamn,did Gia like that German shit.
With slightly impressed annoynace at his other half,he noticed a note stuck to the yoghurts.
Thought I'd actually let you alone,in a kitchen with the Haagen Dazs?
Ha,better luck next time,chum...p.
He returned to the living room,and fixed his eyes on the screen.
Hmm...Iraqi POW tried for crimes against humanity..no,that's not it...Liverpool beat West Ham FC to win FA Cup..not that either.
And then he saw it.
And then,for the first time since Friends had ended two years earlier,Bob Bryar,drummer of My Chemical Romance,began to cry,and would continue to cry all night long.
Saturday,May 13th 2006,ten thirty p.m.
Lea sighed.It had been a long,tiring day.She now lay,no,she now sprawled-on the bed,cucumber slices on her eyes,and an cocktail in her hand.Well,actually,no.She had covered her forehead with a damp cloth and was clutching a vodka and Coke.
Well,a girl can dream,can't she?
"Better?"She heard a noticeably chirpy Ray ask.
"Mmm,"she replied,taking a sip from the glass.Sugar and alcohol mixed in her mouth,a taste she loved-a love she probably shares with most of the earth's population.
"Such a way with words,"he remarked,chuckling."Think I'm gonna head out for a while,go for a walk.Y'know,clear my head or something."
She nodded,not too much notice.Lea worked at her own salon,and goddammit if Ariel had fucked up a simple cut and dry once she'd done it a million fucking times.
I mean,a simple fucking cut and dry?Jesus,the retarded cat down the street could probably manage that without too much trouble.
"See you later."
Lea thought he said something else;she tuned out.Her mind was now a pretty shade of white,soft and uninhabited.She was falling asleep.
It was the glass.The glass fell from her hand and broke on the floor,shattering into a million pieces,and flying into the unconscious Lea's leg.
"SHIT!"She yelled,sitting upright.
"Aw,c'mon now,"she groaned.She hated blood.She hated bleeding.She couldn't even watch Scrubs with a straight face.She dared to peak at the superficial wound and winced.
"Ick,"she commented and walked over to her make-up table,and pulled out her tweezers.
NO!One part of her mind screeched.
Do you have another idea?
No answer.She took that as a pretty good sign.
Carefully-and oh-so-slowly-she reached down,and,with a shaking hand,poked the tweezers near her leg.She looked,and almost laughed-but didn't;she felt like throwing up-when she saw that she was nowhere near the actual cut.
"Come on,"she willed,and plucked the shard out of her epidermis with a shocking fluency.She gasped at her own bravery,shaking,but still impressed.
She slipped off of the bed and hobbled tot the kitchen,grabbing a bandage and applying it sloppily.Fuck it.She'd embarked on enough medical endeavors for one day.
Then the phone started to ring.
Great,she thought,gritting her teeth.If it's some telemarketing kid offering a penis enlargement product,someone's man is gonna get jumped.
She dragged herself over,thinking how bloody convenient it was that Ray-the man,albeit,did not have a PhD in medicine but he could at least put on a plaster-was out for a walk.Probably having ice cream.
The shrill ring blasted through the house.
"ALRIGHT!"She groaned."ALRIGHT!My leg is gonna have to be fucking amputated after this shit-"
She grabbed the phone from it's receiver,and pulled it to her ear.
"It's Maria.You won't believe it."
Saturday,May 13th 2006,nearly ten p.m.
This was it.Was it gonna end here?Yes,it was.All the hate,the fear,the constant self-loathing-this was where it ended.What did that old dude from NBC once say?"Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem."
That angered him slightly.What did that old fuck know about his life?
He would have bet a million dollars that stupid old shit never had some disorder,and had crippling stage fright,despite being in a pretty famous band.
Nah,he never had that.
Or did his emotions completely fucking swing every five minutes?Did he struggle with five different coloured pills every day?
It's funny really-you're not really a person when you're on meds,are you?Just this mindless zombie who floats around gobbling up little blue and yellow ovals.You're whoever the pills make you.You're no longer a mother or brother or friend or lover;you're this little encased human being with no fucking goal or aim in life.
Isn't that funny?
Hahaha,yeah it is.
The deafening silence reminded him of the silence when he had been in the doctor's office.
He fucking hated doctors.Stupid sadists who just love to see people squirm.They acted all ballsy and brave,all brash,telling you what to do,and how much to take-and they certainly weren't fucking helping!If they were,he wouldn't be in this little shindig,now would he?
Fuck no he wouldn't.
That little twit from NBC didn't have fights with his family every day,just over little things like passing the salt or having the remote or punching someone in the face.
He hadn't meant to do it;
oh,so you just jabbed your fist in his eye,eh?
it just kinda...happened.
Well,they couldn't really blame it on him,could they?
No.They'd have to blame it on the pills.Because,as we discussed in the previous argument,he's not a person.
Back to now.He shook his hair,trying to shake himself free.
He looked at the table.
A stick of gum.Five of his pills:pink,yellow,red,and two blues.
And a revolver.
He lifted it.It was lighter than he expected,anyway.In the movies,they always made it out to be some heavy burden the carrier huffed and sighed over.Now it wasn't much heavier than a book.
Now his mind buzzed and whined,as if trying to stop him.No way.He wouldn't-couldn't-give up now.
He wondered in those final moments how many people would commit suicide that night.
more than one soul dies in a suicide
That was his last thought.Then Mikey Way put the gun to his temple,and fired.
Friday,May 12th 2006,roughly eleven p.m.
"Sir?Are you alright?"
This question might as well have not been asked.It certainly would've made no difference to Frank Iero.
If Frank's mother was there,she would have thrown a fit.Her only son was now bathed in his own and his lover's blood;his hair was matted in the later;he was staggering along the corridor,mumbling brokenly and whimpering in pain.
Two men ran from the door and caught Frank before he fell.They writhed in horror when they became soaked in the warm red liquid.
"Gerard."Frank bleated,falling to his knees.His heart was becoming heavier and tighter by the minute."Gerard's...gone."
"Sir?"One of the guards questioned.He had assumed the graveyard shift at the hospital would be a doss,just relaxing while the patients slept.And now this lunatic was ruining his plan,coming in here.
"Sir,please come with us,"the guard offered.
"No,I-I-"Frank's eyes were wet and innocent."I-I-I need to go with him."
"Sir,maybe if we-"
Frank somehow wriggled out of their grasp and struggled toward a nearby counter.
"We were just driving."His gaze was still on them,the guards,who,by now,had abandoned thier posts and were watching the young man in awe.It was like a trainwreck.A good-looking young guy covered in blood.His arms and his neck were slit and bruised-like a twisted game of x's and o's,really.
"Just drivin,and then..."his brow furrowed,and then he pounded on his chest quickly.He paused,and continued on.
"So much shit together,"he started to get angry,"and then a fucking tree kills my life.My life.That's it.I have no purpose."He eyed the guards."I'm gonna need your guns."
"Woah now,"one of them chuckled,"we don't need any rash decisions here-"
Frank looked at him evenly.
"If you have any consideration for me whatsoever,you will give me that gun,and allow me to die.Please.My fiancée is dead."He crawled toward one of the guards,Mark,and grabbed the hem of his shirt."My reason to live is gone.I must be with him."
Mark's hand wavered,and then drooped.Tears were starting to form at his tear ducts.
"Fine,"he croaked."Take it."And,without thinking:"But don't tell anyone."
Frank smiled a grim,twisted smile,curving his hand around the pistol."I won't."
He walked away from them.Funny to think it an oddly private affair.
"In the words of the late and great Sid Vicious,"the kid said,placing the butt to his temple,"bury me next to my baby."
"I confess that I love him,I rejoice that I love him,I thank the maker of Heaven and Earth that gave him to me.The exultation floods me"