Oneshot.Gerard's life has spiraled out of control. So why is Bert the only person who noticed?
My tongue is heavy in my mouth, numbed by many alcoholic beverages, as I sit and watch them. Sit and watch his beautiful face flash all over the screen because let’s be honest, I don’t really give a rat’s ass about the other members of My Chemical Romance.
The already crumpled can of larger falls from to the floor, contents spilling out over the vermillion carpet as he collects his fifth Grammy with a million dollar smile and a vintage tux that’s probably worth just as much as that grin. Their critics said it couldn’t be done. Said that nothing could beat Black Parade, or Danger Days, ever. That Danger Days was the high point in their career, and it was only downhill from there.
They were wrong.
Somehow My Chemical Romance had become huge.
Towering over their competition, they were the new Justin Bieber. Charting higher than Adele. Acting even crazier than Lady Gaga. Winning the hearts of the masses. Faces painted over every newspaper and teenage magazine you could find, frequently on the front cover of girlie mags such as J-14, and Sugar. The band parents and kids alike loved, the band that always said the right thing at the right time.
Somehow, My Chemical Romance had become a complete joke.
Kerrang! Called them a train wreck. Rock Sound dubbed them the sell-outs of the century. Rolling Stones had rated their newest album a shocking 23 out of 100. Even AP, the one glossy rag which had their backs from the very beginning, refused to acknowledge their very existence in the rock scene.
Almost their entire original fan base had disappeared when they had released ‘We Party Harder Than You’ into the biz. I’m not sure what hit the nail in the coffin, the collaboration with Nicki Minaj, or the music video for ‘Scream, Bitch’, which featured a very drunk Gerard falling over in his own vomit for a good five minutes while he sang about raping a girl down an alleyway. It was a live video, and the shocking thing was, they’d apparently picked the least offensive clips possible while editing it. I shudder to think what one of their live shows is actually like.
They’d completely abandoned everything they had ever stood for. I wonder if the man I used to call “best friend” is even behind those eyes anymore. I doubt it. Anything good inside him died the night LynZ got in that car crash. The night where the paramedics couldn’t do a thing to save the poor baby girl trapped inside the womb of a dying woman. These days his women changed every few weeks, each as famous and talentless as the last. Bile rose in my throat as I thought of all the girls he’d bedded. All of the girls that should have been me.
I look at the clock; 3AM. He’s probably home from the award show now. I rise to my feet, stumbling a little as the alcohol makes me woozy.
It’s cold outside, but I can’t feel it. I’m numb. I’m the only man on the street, save from the tramp who lives on the corner. My fingers become stiff and unresponsive within five minutes of walking to his house. I should have brought a jacket.
I still remember where he lives.
And surprisingly, It only takes twenty minutes to reach his house.
It’s only temporary accommodation. He’s moving into the 2.4 million dollar home he got himself as soon as he moves everything out of this current “doss hole” living.
I remember how proud he was of that house when he and LynZ scraped the money to buy it together. I remember being oddly happy for them, even though that silly girl had stolen what was rightfully mine. LynZ made him happy. I didn’t. In the end, I realised it was for the best, even if I did resent her.
Now? I’d do anything to get her back.
I find myself at his doorstep, and I bang loudly. I hear voices, a feminine giggle, and the door swings open. For the first time in my life, I’m genuinely speechless.
Apparently, his newest bitch is Rihanna.
The smile fades from her face, and she lets out a little frightened squeek.
“Gerard! There’s some sort of…….Freak at the door!”
She retreats back into the house, screaming for her boy toy. I decide not to follow her. I mean, I don’t want to get tazered for fucks sake. I hear her bitch at him, and smirk, knowing that I’ve caused a little crack in their relationship.
“I thought you’d stopped having friends like this Gerard! He’s all sweaty, and he’s covered in tattoos. Tattoos I tell you!”
“Rihannhhha, if ‘ou ‘on’t shut the fuc ubb, I swear I’m gonna go al’ Chris Brow-”
“WHAT WERE YOU ABOUT TO SAY?!”
He comes to the door, and stares at me with an odd expression.
“Em…..do I know ‘ou?”
Wow. He dated me for five years, and he doesn’t even recognize me. I decide to make it a little easier for him. I sing him what used to be his favourite song. It’s sad, knowing it applies to him now. I modify the lyrics so he knows just how pathetic he is.
“Just look at you, look at you now……you’re a fake, you’re a fake, you’re a fake, you’re a fake.”
Realization spreads across his face. For a split second, he obviously forgets the phoney image he’s giving the rest of the world. And what he does next shocks me.
He pulls me into a hug.
“Bert! I thought I’d neva shee you ‘gain! Oh god, I’ve mished ewe so much. I tried calling, but ‘ou never picked uhhp. I asshumed ‘ou never wanted to see me ‘gain. ow’s Alison? ‘yurr kid? Arthur? ee’s four now, innie? Did ‘e get the fort I sen’ ‘im this year?”
I’m frankly, astonished. And confused as to why he’s not speaking properly, as I can’t smell any alcohol on him.
“Y….you sent him that play castle thing? Alison left me last month, and took Arthur with her. Gerard, that must have cost thousands! We assumed it was some rich fan or something!”
“I am a rish fan.”
I roll my eyes, smiling in spite of myself. Maybe he isn’t as much of a douche as I thought he was.
Sadly, this opinion doesn’t stick for long. My smile fades as my eyes once again meet with his.
And I’m confronted with two little pin picks for pupils.
He’s high. I stagger back, like his touch burns me. He frowns.
It’s a long time before I can control my emotions enough to speak. Tears sting in my eyes, distorting my vision.
“You’re on drugs.”
My heart pangs as I see the familiar old defiance flash in his eyes.
“So waa’ if I am?”
This statement makes me angry. Like he doesn’t remember the pain he put us all through the last time this happened.
“So what if you are? Gerard, the last time you were on drugs, you were fucking suicidal! You almost fucking overdosed! Do you want that to happen again? Do you?!”
Gerard just stares at me.
“To bee ‘onest, I don’t carree.”
He goes to slam the door shut, but I stop him by grabbing onto his wrist. He cries out in agony. I frown as I let go of it; a mixture of makeup and congealed blood stains my hand.
Suddenly, realisation hits me. Ignoring his complaints, I grab his arm and roll up his sleeve. Seeing nothing, I spit on his arm, wiping it and trusting instinct.
The spit cleans off a thick layer of skin coloured make up.
And I’m met with a labyrinth of cuts on his arm.
I swear, my heart stops. I look up at him, and his face is devoid of all emotion. My voice cracks as I ask one simple question.
His reaction breaks my heart.
“B…..because I miss her. Because of t-t-the awful thing my ‘b-b-b-and’ has become. Because I h-h-ate Rihanna. Because I hate myself.”
I hug him, realising just how frail and weak he feels in my arms. He shakes, Silently sobbing into the crook of my neck.
“I j-just w-wrote the music I d-did so people would l-l-love me ‘gain. I’m s-s-sorry Bert.”
I comfort him, stroking his hair.
“Shh. It’s okay Gerard. I’m here.”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
We jump apart, and I look at Rihanna’s furious face. I open my mouth to speak, but she cuts me off.
“Get the fuck away from my fiancé!”
Why? For gods sake, why?
I don’t need telling twice. Gerard’s hopeless eyes meet mine, and he opens his mouth to say something but I cut him off.
“Come to mine tomorrow, okay? We need to talk about this, I’m not going to fucking lose you again.”
A single tear runs down his pale cheek and he nods sullenly. I’m practically kicked away from him by the she devil, and I start to walk away, looking back at him as I do so.
For the first time in a while, I’m worried about someone. I let my fears slip away as I walk.
I’ll be able to talk things through with him tomorrow, and then everything will be okay. Maybe we can start again.
Twelve hours later.
My tongue is heavy in my mouth, numbed by many alcoholic beverages, as I sit and watch them. Sit and watch his beautiful face flash all over the screen, because let’s be honest, I don’t really give a rat’s ass about the other members of My Chemical Romance.
The already crumpled can of larger falls from to the floor, contents spilling out over the vermillion carpet as the reporter spills out those venomous lines all over again with a forcefully saddened expression, lines that have been buried into my head since the very second I heard them. I stumble up from my seat, and go in search of the gorgeous little life taker I keep hidden away for a day just like this one. I don’t want to hear this again. I don’t bother turning the television off. It’s not like I need to worry about electricity bills where I’m going.
A sick smile crosses my face as I finally find the little beauty, and load it. I bring the barrel to my head with a shaking hand.
“For those of you who are just now tuning in, I’m here in LA at the household of the late Gerard Way who passed away at 4:15AM this morning. The lead singer of popular band, My Chemical Romance, was found hanging from the light fitting of his living room by a distraught Rihanna, who discovered the singer when she went downstairs to get a drink. The singer was also found with multiple lacerations on his arms, and with a shockingly high amount of heroin in his system. Police reports confirm that there was nothing suspicious about this death, and Gerard Way did indeed.....