Gerard's lying, lying about eveything.
Gerard and I fell into a pattern. We didn't talk, didn't so much as glance at each other during school hours. Outside of school wasn't much different, he was often with his popular "friends". Or so I thought.
Have you ever met those people who act completely sober even when stoned? Who you really just can't tell if they've they stolen the vodka from the cupboard? Gerard is one of those people. I didn't tell my parents when I smelt the alcohol on his breath. The first time I thought it was a mistake. The second time, well, I was curious.
It's fairly easy in a school filled with idiots to find out the latest gossip and news, especially that concerning one of the "lions", the super populars like Gerard. All I had to do was sit behind the orange girls in art class and I heard their gossip. I learnt that Gerard hadn't been hanging around with the "lions" as much anymore, that he would disappear every now and then and go home. The girls thought nothing much of it, but it was discussed merely because there wasn't much interesting going on at the moment.
That made me beyond suspicious. If Gerard wasn't with his friends, where was he? Was he getting someone else to buy him alcohol? Was he out drinking by himself, or with others, trying to forget his problems? Was he trying to invisibly drown himself in alcohol, trying to wash away all his problems with a liver-destroying substance?
It annoyed me, it really did. Gerard was so strange, so hot and cold. Preppy, then punk.
At school, Gerard was his usual dickish self. He stayed with his usual group of friends, laughed at their cruelly made jokes and sang along to their music. I wasn’t surprised that he ignored me, though.
He was filmed over, there was a net between him and the world that I didn’t think he could handle loosing.
He was so fake, he was so artificial and yet only I could see the plastic wrap drowning out his other self, the person I actually didn’t hate. It was amazing, actually. The change in Gerard from week to week-end.
On the weekends, sometimes he’d hang out with the popular crowd from school, and sometimes he’d sit in his room, and just stay there all day, dressed like the kids who get bullied by the popular crowd, not one of the popular boys.
I saw him dressed in black, I saw him dressed in white. I saw two sides of Gerard while almost everyone else only got to see one. I knew there were more sides in Gerard, I knew that he’d never let anyone see three of them, I knew he wouldn’t share another side with me for the world.
At least, he wouldn’t do it consciously.
I knew that I’d have to rip Gerard apart to ever learn anything about him, that I’d have to sink my teeth into his flesh and tare at the skin before he ever submitted to my will, and he would hardly do so without reluctance.
Gerard would not be an easy case to crack, he would be biting and kicking and screaming as I dragged him to the edge and pushed him over, he wouldn’t want go down. Maybe, though, I could push him over the edge without him noticing, without him feeling the world rush up underneath him and spew him across its barren lands.
He was the type of person who would cross his ‘I’s and dot his ‘t’s when he could get away with it, fake ignorance to the pain and hate burning inside him when he could. He had weak moments, no doubt those moments alone in his room, the moments that stained alcohol to his breath.
It was something so strange, it was so weird to catch Gerard in a memory, his eyes glazed over at tears spilled down his cheeks, the tears almost seeming ashamed to be there as he didn’t notice them.
Gerard didn’t take any notice of the neglected tears, letting them slide down his face as he kept his head slightly angled down, his face completely blank as useless tears drip down it awfully, but his eyes betrayed his nearly undefeatable poker face.
“Gerard?” I asked, walking into his room.
He didn’t hear me, he was too caught up in drowning under his own thoughts and the music I could faintly hear from across the room. It wasn’t the stuff his friends liked, it was Slayer pounding into his head. It made me smile a bit, and frown a bit, knowing that Gerard could lie so well to everyone.
That Gerard liked both pop and metal, listened to the emotionless peppy voices of mainstream “popular” artist and the powerful guitar of shattered souls, that Gerard could be so popular yet so hated, hold such a deep loathing.
And God, it was such a beautiful lie.
It was perfectly crafted of hate, pain and an eating emptiness that could easily devour souls. Gerard was filled with hate, filled with pain, filled with unnamable emotions. Yet somehow he was so empty.
It was easily mistaken for being wretched, but that’s not what his lie is. Some say lies are horrible, despicable things that really need to stop being such a common occurance. I agree, to some extent.
Lies are twisted and deformed by those who have no reason to lie, or aren’t artists. So many try to grasp the art of lying, but mostly it just slips through their fingers.
“Gerard?” I call again, seeing if he’ll notice me. He doesn’t, his soul crushing music blaring too loudly in his ears.
I smile softly, letting this chance to discover more about him pass. He’s so full of emptying, heavy emotions. And for now, just a little longer, I don’t want to destroy a near perfect lie.