"Maybe I want to die." Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
I don’t like this. Not one little bit.
I don’t like that I’m leaning against Frank, who has his gentle seatbelt arms wrapped around me in a way far too similar to Ray’s for it to be enjoyable, and that Frank is tracing whimsical little patterns haphazardly on the side of my arm. I don’t like that we’re watching the same crappy horror movie that I’ve see two-hundred times before but said I hadn’t because it’s what Frank wanted to watch. I don’t like that every part of me aches from where my last two friends, Matt and Bob, finally realised what my parents always knew and decided to punish me for throwing away the life of the most amazing person that any of us had ever met.
I’ve gotten punched before, of course I have; punched by the kids at school who are all too happy to put me back in my place whenever I drift out of it, punched by my mom when I was bad, punched by my dad when he decided that I needed to be taught a lesson in response to a question that I hadn’t even noticed I was asking. But I’ve never been punched by my friends. By the two people that I thought might just care about me.
Of course they fucking don’t. They only pretended to care because Ray made them, because Ray seemed to think that I deserved to have all of the company and gushing smiles of friendship that he had even though everyone was always quick to remind him just who he was dating. A freak. A weirdo. A loser. An emo. A punching bag in need of a good besting, as my father put it. Ray told me that none of that was true, told me like he truly believed it with the same strength that a sinner believes in second chances, but now Ray is gone. And my two friends hate me for it.
I hate me for it.
I bet Ray, up there in heaven being the angel that he always was on earth before I snuffed out his blinding light with my own unforgivable stupidity, hates me for it. He sure as fuck won’t still be loving me wherever he is. Did he ever love me? Or was he just a ridiculously kind soul taking pity on a lonely loser with more bruises than hairs on his head?
No. Ray did love me. Gerard says so; he whispered it to me every time I woke up screaming the past few days, right there in his arms with the one person that I truly do have left in my sad excuse for a life. But even he doesn’t want me anymore, I overstayed my welcome like the selfish bastard that I am and so here I am in the arms of some stranger with a gleaming heart of gold, watching some stupid movie that I don’t even like and covered in half of the bruises that I deserve.
Because I honestly do deserve them. Just like I deserved everything that my parents did to me; the burning, the hitting, the kicking, the spitting, the yelling, the cutting, the throwing. I deserved all of that, I don’t care what Gerard and Ray say anymore. I might have once thought that maybe, just maybe, I was a better person than being knocked near-unconscious almost every night by two people who I just wanted to love me, but now I know better. Because Dad was right; I’m just some stupid, whiny little shit who causes nothing but a load of trouble for good people.
I should have stayed with my parents, shouldn’t I? I should have taken the punishments that I deserve for being the fuck-up that I am with at least a little bit of pride, but now I’ve got to live like a coward without the sweet release of getting what I know I should from the two people who only ever wanted what’s best for me. But I threw it right back in their caring faces like a dagger in an updraft, and because of that, because of me, Ray is dead. The best thing to ever happen to me, the saint who saw me for a sinner and didn’t care, the one person who could make me actually feel completely safe is gone.
Because of me.
At that thought I can’t help but let out a strangled sob, making me look even stupider than I do already in front of a person who has given me the sort of treatment that Ray would have; who has got me open up to him and actually want to trust him in a matter of hours. It isn’t right, is it? I shouldn’t be leaning back against Frank Iero on the soft comforts of his bed and actually feeling at peace with myself, or starting to.
I don’t understand how I’m not frightened of him, I should be petrified of him just like he should be punching me for getting blood on the bed sheets like Dad did once. Yet there’s something about Frank, or Frankie as he told me to call him, that just makes me want to melt into him like butter into the warm fluffiness of a baked potato, something about his solemn smile and cotton-wool eyes that makes me feel like I don’t have to be scared anymore. Because he’s holding me and watching a film with me, he said that I had to so that I wouldn’t fall asleep; apparently sleeping in the state I’m in, a state that I’m really quite used to by now, just isn’t a safe thing to do. Which is why he’s tickling his hands up and down my arms like the delicate feet of a dancing pixie, so that I don’t loll myself into a potentially concussion-induced oblivion.
Maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want to die. At least then I’d be with Ray, with someone who loves me.
Loved. Someone who loved me.
A cry rumbles straight through my heart like an earthquake, coursing through my veins like a formula-one racing car and forcing it’s way relentlessly through my pathetic, swollen lips; once more making me look ridiculously childish in front of someone who could very well decide to knock me clean out should he so wish. In front of someone who actually seems to care about what would happen if I were to fall asleep.
But now the sobs and the tears have started I just can’t get them to stop; I’m shuddering against him like a pram in a hurricane and crying as through a tsunami has just washed straight through my head. The cries are coming hard and fast, smashing straight out of my mouth no matter how hard I try to supress them. And, in all of this, I find myself to be curling even further into Frank, into the person who seems to have that same warm understanding about him as Ray does. Did.
“Shush, Mikey, shush now. It’s alright.” With his gentle whisper of pure, unbridled benevolence his hands move from my arms to my battered stomach, his thumbs rubbing over the ground that he’s covering in a way that makes me just want to sigh and forget everything; but I can’t. Because Ray is dead and I as good as killed him. “C’mon, it’s gonna be alright. I know that it might not seem like it now, but everything will get better.”
He sounds so sure, so Ray-like that it’s almost impossible for me to doubt him. In fact, if he were talking about anything else then I’d probably believe him; I’m infamous for being stupidly gullible, for believing everything that everyone says until I see for myself that it isn’t true. It’s just the way that I am; I don’t see the point in not believing what people say unless you have a valid reason to doubt the truth of their words. Which is precisely why I just can’t believe Frankie, the boy who is practically cradling me like we’ve been best friends for years as opposed to ‘friends’ for a matter of agony-drenched hours. He says that it will all get better and I simply can’t believe him for one, fundamental reason; I, for once, know for a fact that I am right.
There’s nothing left to ‘get better’. Everything is gone; my parents have gone because I betrayed them; my other relatives are gone due to the shame that I brought upon them; Gerard is gone too because I think that he doesn’t want me anymore, that I’m just getting in the way like the pile of shit that I am; my only two friends are gone because I’m a horrendously terrible person and Ray is gone because I pushed him out of my life by making him push me out of the way. So how can ‘everything get better’ when all of my everythings are gone, and I’m to blame? It’s impossible.
Gerard tells me that ‘everything will get better’ too, he’s been saying that a lot to me for the past few months since he got me out of my parents’ iron-grasps. And I believed him. Why? Because I had Ray, I had everything, and that was enough to make me at least want to trust my big brother’s omnipotent words. He was wrong though, wasn’t he? Because my everythings are all gone and now there’s nothing left to ‘get better’.
Maybe Frank Iero could give me something to be my everything.
No. He’s sweeter than honey and kinder than even my own big brother, but he’d never want to hang around with a freak like me. Nobody as beautiful as him would. He really is beautiful, too; eyes the same colour as the conkers that Ray and I went collecting the Fall just gone, that are perfectly framed with just the right amount of red eyeliner to draw anyone fortunate enough to see his bright orbs right in; hair the same colour as the vinyl records that Gee shares with me whenever I’m upset and in need of hearing the comfort that only the breathing of his dust-ridden record player can deliver into my heart, hair that flops into his face in such a way that makes me just want to reach out to tuck it away so that I can see his shining eyes; strong arms that feel like a fortress of safety and protection, just like my father’s did before he realised that he has a fuck-up for a son; lips that look as soft as the pillows that are surrounding my aching body, pillows that would feel oh-so-sweetly perfect brushing against the excruciating bruises and broken skin that I know I deserve.
No, Michael, no. Don’t start thinking like that. Not ever. It isn’t right; for all I know he could batter me at any given moment.
He won’t though, he wouldn’t be holding me like this if he was really intent on hurting me even more than Matt and Bob have.
It isn’t right though; my boyfriend is dead and here I am thinking about the lips that are currently uttering soothing placations to me as though my tears are as painful to him as the memories of everything over the past three years, right from the moment my dad kicked Gee out up to this second right now, are to me. Ray’s gone and I’m already finding comfort in the arms of someone else. It just isn’t right. It’s wrong. It’s bad. It’s evil.
He feels nice, Frankie I mean. All solid and warm, like a teddy bear but with danger added into the mix. Because he really could be dangerous, he could tear my split lip re-open if he were to realise just what a weirdo I am or he could yell all of the things at me that I really don’t want to hear right now.
Apart from I know, I don’t understand how just that I do, that he won’t. Something in his soft, sorrow-stricken and caring voice tells me that I really can trust him as much as I’m inexplicably finding myself to want to.
But none of that helps the fact that I am currently curled into him and sobbing like a baby having it’s favourite toy snatched away from it. None of that stops the fact that Ray is dead. That I’m all alone in world too cold for my weak heart to cope with. Alone.
“You can talk to me, y’know. Talking about things like… Things like this, it really does help. And I know that I sound like some sort of shrink or something, but it’s true; talking about things helps you to think them through and fix them.” He gently crawls out from behind me, eyes widening with concern when he sees the red-faced state that my tear-bought asphyxiation has painted me with, and rewraps an arm around my shoulders; the touch making me flinch at the thoughts of what that touch once would have meant from different hands. “Of course, you don’t have to. But just know that I’ll always be willing to listen. It’s what friends are for.”
Friends. Does he really mean that? If he does then does it mean the same as like Matt and Bob are my friends, or does it mean that he really does care, that he really never will hurt me?
Everything about the way his eyes have suddenly locked onto mine like a sniper locking onto it’s target tells me that yes, it does mean that the only pain that he’ll ever inflict upon me is from hugging me too tight. And that idea honestly isn’t one that I think I’d mind becoming a reality; he just… In the past few hours he’s made me feel safer, more valuable, more significant than anyone else has done in the past three years. Just like Ray.
And right now he looks wounded, like the fact that his touch made me jump as though someone had just exposed me to a raw electric current makes him feel as bad as it does me every time it forces me away from my big brother’s soothing embrace. I think that I know how I can make this up to him though, the idea may make my insides scream with paranoia but it’s the least I can do for the guy who’s bunking off just because I was stupid enough to get hurt.
“I just…” I let my voice trail off, hating how tear-burnt it sounds, and hang my head down in shame; what I say is going to sound dumb and he’s going to laugh at me for being so fucking babyish.
I know it.
“C’mon, Mikey, I’m listening.” At his warm-to-the-point-of-being-tangible words I feel my heart flutter like an autumn leaf parting company with it’s twins; lost and in free-fall, but completely relaxed about it because it just seems so natural for him to be holding me like this, whispering to me like this, caring about me like this.
A lightning bolt shoots through me in a strangely soothing manner when his fingers gently brush the side of my face, forcing me to look back up at the touch which should have sent me into a panic. Which would have sent me into a panic were it from anyone else. But it was from Frank Iero, a boy I’ve known for a few hours and yet trust almost more than I trust my big brother. Why? I have no fucking idea.
Yes I do; it’s because I feel like he truly does like me, not through some sense of obligation or pity, but because he’s seeing something within me that even I didn’t know existed until his hand just swooped my head skywards. He’s seeing a part of me that’s good, a part that really doesn’t deserve to get hit every night. A part that I thought died days ago.
So for those reasons, plus a few more that I can’t even begin to comprehend, I think that; no. I know that I can trust him. That I can talk to him like his worry-lit eyes and soothing embrace are screaming at me to. He won’t laugh, I trust him. I really do.
“I just feel so alone, Frankie. Ray was the one good thing I had and now he’s gone!” Before I can take any control over it, I’m crying tears anew and spluttering into his chest-
Oh god, he’s got my head pressed firmly into the soft haze of his t-shirt, his hands holding it there with enough force to make me feel held together but with such pure care that I know I can push him away from me if I want to. I don’t though, I really fucking don’t because I feel at ease with my safety for once, I actually feel like I can cry and not get smacked around like I know I should do. And I feel like I can talk, that I can tell him the things that I would never even tell Gee through fear of judgement.
“He’s gone and now I have nobody; I could die and no-one would care!”
Not that they should.
“Mikey Way, don’t you dare start talking like that; I’d care.” His voice, which started off as fright-sharp, is as soft as a lullaby to my hate-worn ears and his grip on me tightens in a way that should make me squirm; instead it makes me relax even further into his hold. Because I trust him. “I know that you have absolutely no reason to believe me and I’ll be more than happy to prove this to you, but you’re my friend, Mikey. I’ve known you for half a day and already it feels like I can trust you, call you my friend.” He pauses and forces my sorrow-streaked face out of the coffin of his chest so that I can see his own teary eyes. “Wanna know why?”
Unsure of what else I can do, I nod; fighting off the urgent need that I have to wipe those cyanide crystals from his perfect eyes.
“Because, before this morning, I was all alone too. You’re the first person to not treat me like a disease.” His icy-warm whisper slithers right through my ears and into my broken heart like glue, making my insides melt at how sincere his plea-like explanation is. He blinks a few times to smash his tears before they can fall and then offers me a small smile; the first smile that I’ve been able to return since Ray’s death.
Because he’s my friend; I trust him.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading and please review! :)