Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > I Think I'll Blow My Brains Against The Ceiling

Another Night And I'll See You

by AlteredStateOfMind 4 Reviews

Memory loss at its best.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama,Romance - Characters: Gerard Way - Published: 2012/03/25 - Updated: 2012/03/26 - 2096 words

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I apologize for the shortness of this.
But at least I got a chapter up sooner this time, right? :s


-ASMx3




Gerard's POV



Before I even open my eyes, I can feel the steady, insistent pounding in my head. So, it's no surprise that when I do finally manage to pry open my eyelids, the room spins and my vision is blurred by the intense migraine that has formed. I know I'm hungover, the nausea and grogginess is enough to give that away, only problem is, I don't remember anything past leaving the hotel room last night. There are bits and pieces that come back to me when I think hard enough, although that's hard to do when you feel like your head is about to explode and leave an impressive mushroom cloud around the room.


Walking aimlessly through the streets. Ordering a beer at a cheap bar. A stranger with stringy, brown hair. Downing an obscene number of pills. Frank laying me down to sleep.


Wait, what?


At the thought of Frank, I become aware that I'm the only body stretched out on the queen sized bed, sheets tangled around my knees. I quickly jump out of bed and realize that might have been a bad idea somewhere between my stomach lurching and me hitting the carpeted floor face first. I might as well take advantage of the fact that I'm up now and make my way to the bathroom before I make a mess that a poor room service made will have to clean up later. The minute I reach the door I swing it open, not bothering to switch on the light, and throw up the contents of my empty stomach into the opened toilet. I haven't eaten anything since early yesterday, so all that comes out is bile that burns like acid as it comes up my dry throat.


After giving a few more dry heaves, I flush and close the lid in order to rest my still pounding head against it. The cool surface feels good against my cheek and I almost commit to never moving from there ever again until I remember Frank. I can't muster up the strength to get up right away, instead, I attempt to call out his name.


"Frank?"


My ears perk up in expectance to hear his voice, but the room stays quiet and all I hear is the low hum of the air conditioning and the sound of traffic in the distance beyond the window. I clear my voice and try again, maybe he didn't hear me.


"Frankie?" 


My voice sounds a bit stronger this time around, but I still get no answer. A long, excruciating five minutes pass by while I try to compose myself enough to at least stand. My body apparently has other plans. My joints ache in discomfort at the awkward position I fell asleep in, my head has a whole drum line rehearsing for a parade inside of it, and I can already feel the familiar urge for a fix. Shit, it's never been this strong before. I used to be able to get by on a couple pills every couple days, but lately my body has been craving it immediately after the high burns out. It's not an over whelming need, more like an itch you can't scratch, but I know what a thin line there is between the two. Regardless, I feel around the counter above my head for the bottle of pills I left there last night. My eyebrows pull together in confusion when I can't find it. 


Like a bucket of freezing cold water being poured on an unsuspecting victim, I recall some of the events that took place last night. Stumbling into the room and waking Frank up. Frank's strange anger to the state I was in. Offering Frank some pills. Fuck. Did I really do that? Once I force my body into motion and inspect the floor near the bed, finding the bottle thrown there, my suspicions are confirmed. I don't remember anything past Frank throwing the bottle back at me, and I'm not sure I want to. 


I don't even have to look around the room and discover that his things are missing to know he left. Of course he left, any sane person would do the same. My parents, my friends, even Mikey, have proved that enough. Okay maybe that's not fair, Mikey did leave me all those voicemails begging me to go home, but I think that's just his guilt getting the better of him. He probably feels bad for telling me all the things he did that night in my basement, although it was a hundred and ten percent of the truth. I made the right decision not going back home. Mikey might be worried now, but guilt fades. So do memories of a suicidal, good-for-nothing older brother. He might not know I'm suicidal yet, but eventually he will, if the news ever gets back to him. And at that point he'll have moved on with his life and not so much as bat an eye in reaction.


Thinking about Mikey has made my craving even worse, so I give in to my inner demons and pop a few white ovals into my mouth. I swirl them around with my tongue for a while, surprisingly getting use to the bitter taste, before swallowing them. I almost take more when I start to feel better in the matter of minutes, but decide against it and save them for later. 


It's good that Frank left, things are better off this way. He can move on with his adventures and I am left alone to continue my downward spiral. I only wish I would have known last night that was going to be the last time I ever saw those sparkling, blazing hazel eyes that hold a genuine and good natured soul behind it's irises. I would have committed his image to memory, said a proper goodbye, maybe even told him about what I am planning. Wait, no, I couldn't tell him. People who share their plans of suicide to others are only screaming for attention and are looking for someone to save them. I sure as hell am not looking for attention, and I don't want to be saved, not that I even can be. There's no saving someone from their own mind. A mind infected with venomous webs of depression that poison each and every scarce positive thought left, leaving nothing but misery and darkness in it's path. I just want an escape, and the only obvious answer is to end all thought process once and for all.


It suddenly feels like the walls of the small, stuffy hotel room are closing in on me, so I begin to pack up my things with the intention of getting the fuck out of there as soon as possible. It's not until I check the time on my cell phone that I realize I've slept most of the day away. It's almost six now, shit. After returning the room key and checking out, I board a bus in hopes that I'll end up someplace where I can grab something to eat. If a nice greasy burger doesn't cure my hangover right now, nothing will. Except for maybe Frank, but I consciously destroy that train of thought before it can go any further.


The sun has begun to set, casting a soft, golden glow on the city. The downcast light reflects off of small fountains and puddles of water every now and then, making the streets look like they're sparkling with fairy dust. As the bus guides us more into the depths of London, the scenery changes from subtle and rather peaceful, to loud and full of life. Night clubs and restaurants are scattered on either side of the street, all flashing bright signs to get each passer-by's attention. Even the stores and boutiques that are found on this street are decorated in strips of golden bulbs. 


The bus comes to a halt and mostly everyone begins to depart. I figure I should too, considering I don't know my way around at all. I've never been good with crowds, so I quickly make my way through clutters of families, groups of friends, and couples holding hands. All this laughter and happiness is too much for my painful headache and growing depression. Once I reach the end of the street and turn right onto a quieter one, I allow myself to breathe again. It doesn't take me long to find a mediocre restaurant and practically run towards it in anticipation for something, anything to fill my empty stomach.


While fantasizing about milkshakes and curly fries, I distract myself enough to forget how to use my legs properly, and bump into someone walking opposite me on the sidewalk. The guy grabs my arm before I can face plant on the concrete and steadies me while laughing to himself.


"Woah, easy there speed racer. Where's the fire? I'm surprised you can even walk this fast after how hammered you got last night."


The stranger in front of me is striking up conversation as if we've met before, when in reality, I have no idea who he is. He must notice the utter confusion on my face because he steps away and pats my shoulder as he laughs light heartedly at my expression. 


"You don't remember last night at all, do you?"


I rack my brain for any stray memory that may be hidden inside of it, but come up empty handed. I can't remember where I went last night, or who I was with, but the more I study this guy's features, the more familiar he seems. Long, thin, dark hair, scruffy beard growing on his oily face, wide eyes with slightly dilated pupils.


"Um, not really."


"Can't say I remember much from last night either, but I do remember a pretty face when I see one. Hell of a dancer too. Gerard, right?"


He winks at me and I automatically feel myself flush red. What the fuck did I do last night? I'm usually the definition of anti-social, but apparently  I interacted with other people enough last night that they remember my name and danced, danced?, with this guy. 


"Y-yeah. Not to sound like an asshole or anything, but I don't remember your name."


He smiles, amused and not bothered by that fact at all, before responding. He takes a few steps forward into my personal space which makes me a bit uncomfortable, and says,


"Bert."


-before leaning in and leaving a wet, sloppy kiss on my cheek. I freeze, not knowing what to do when Bert's still standing so close to me. Thankfully, he pulls back, allowing me to breathe again, and laughs obnoxiously. 


"Jeez, lighten up, I'm just messing with you. I think I liked you better drunk."


He smiles as he says it to show he's not serious, but something tells me that he is. I can't say I blame him. From what I've heard, I'm way more like-able drunk. That would depress me even more if I wasn't already so far down. 


"I was just heading to a cafe down the street to grab some dinner. Wanna join me?"


Bert seems like a good enough guy, but something about him is unsettling. The fact that I met him at a bar should be reason enough. I never had any friends to go out and get trashed with back in Jersey, so I don't know what a life style like this would be like. The more I mule this over in my head, the more I realize how little this matters. Who cares what kind of people I get mixed in with? It's not like I'll be sticking around long enough to suffer the consequences.


All I'm looking for now is a good time. I plan on packing in as much partying, fun, and just actual living into the next few weeks as I can. And Bert may be just the accomplice I need to help me with this goal. Without further hesitation, I put on my best fake smile and nod in Bert's direction.


"Sure."



Just out of curiosity, who's POV do you prefer reading in?
Gerard's or Frank's?
From now on most of the chapters will be half Gerard's POV and half Frank's POV,
incase you were wondering.
As always, let me know what you think of the story so far and the characters that have begun to enter it :)
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