Gerard talks to Frank and Mikey and things end badly...
Chapter Eight- Famous Last Words
I'm sitting by my tree and by the sound of things break has just started. As I wait for the clearing to fill up with familiar yet unfamiliar faces, I hear the voice in my head.
Sat all alone again?
"Why are you back?"
Oh, you know. The same reason as last time. You shouldn't be alive. Look at you, you're a pathetic excuse for a human being, and a disgrace to anyone who knows you. You should have taken my advice all those months ago. Before that, even. Then I wouldn't have the painful task of having to convince you to end your sorry little life.
"You don't know what you're talking about. Mikey needs me. I'm his brother, he loves me."
If I don't know what I'm talking about then how do you? We're the same person, dipshit. Mikey doesn't need you. He wants you to feel useful. He doesn't love you, he feels sorry for you.
"You're lying. He loves me, I know he does."
You keep telling yourself that, but you know deep inside that I'm right.
I am about to reply to my own bastard mind when I hear someone clear their throat. "Gerard?" I look forward to see Frank sitting cross legged in front of me. Oh God, did he just hear me talking to myself?
"Hello, Frank." I try and smile, but I know it looks forced and it doesn't convince Frank.
"Gerard... Are you okay?" I consider lying to him, but I don't see the point. He already knows what a messed up motherfucker I am. With a sigh I run my hand through my shaggy black hair and rest my chin on my knees.
"You know what? No. I'm not o-fucking-kay."
"What's wrong?" He asks, looking genuinely concerned.
"Where to start?" I say quietly enough that Frank doesn't hear. When I speak next, I raise my voice so Frank can hear me. "You know what? It doesn't matter." He sighs, clearly hoping that I would tell him more.
"Oh, I see." He pauses, thinking over what to say next. "Hey, Gerard can I ask you something?" My eyebrows knit together in confusion.
"Umm... Sure?" I reply uncertainly. "Shoot."
"Well, I just wanted to know what I've done wrong." He looks hurt and embarrassed. I feel a little guilty, but try and play dumb anyway.
"What do you mean?" I ask, rubbing my neck. "You haven't done anything wrong, Frank."
"Then how come every conversation we have ends up with you pissed off with me? That kinda makes me feel like I've done something wrong."
"Shit. I never meant for you to feel that way, Frank. But you have to understand that I literally haven't spoken to anyone besides my brother in fucking ages. I kept telling myself that if I spoke to people they would end up hurting me in some way. Speaking to you makes me feel vulnerable. I don't want to get my hopes up because I know you'll turn out like the others. You'll end up hurting me." Franks eyes are watering by the end of my rant. "Frank, you okay?"
"You're asking me if I'm okay? Listen to me. I'm not going to hurt you." I scoff, but Frank holds a hand up. "You can keep fucking telling yourself that I will, but I know that I won't. That's a promise. So, Gee. Looks like you're stuck with me." I want to believe him, but he's going to have to work harder for me to trust him.
"Thank you for saying that, and I believe that you will try not to hurt me. But it's still going to take some time for me to feel fully comfortable around you. So I could still freak out over stupid things and then eventually you will get fed up with it and leave. And I won't blame you for it."
Frank runs a hand through his fringe and looks to his right. I follow his gaze and see my brother arriving at his little group of friends.
Our conversation now forgotten, Frank turns to me. "I'll be back in like two minutes." I nod and he heads over to Mikey.
I try and read their lips to find out what they're saying, but they're talking too quietly and fast, their lips barely moving. After a short while, their conversation is over and they say goodbye to the others before walking back towards me. I just sit there quietly, waiting to see what lecture they've got in store for me. They both take a seat across from where I'm sat, staying silent the whole time. Mikey looks up at me.
"Where did you go last night?"
"Out. You know I like being outside at night. I did come home, but I went out again before you woke up." I say dismissively.
"Oh... Well, why did you walk out of Science? You can't keep doing that, Gee."
"I've already kind of explained that one to Frank, so he can tell you later. Is that all you came here for?" I know I sound a little harsh right now, but it's for the best.
Mikey turns to Frank. "Could you maybe give Gerard and I a minute alone? I need to say something to him." He sounds serious. Shit.
Frank gets up and walks away, leaving me alone with Mikey. He doesn't look as pissed off anymore. I notice he isn't looking at my face, but lower down. I look down to see what has caught his attention, but I see nothing. Feeling confused, I wave a hand in front of his face.
"Mikes?" He reaches over and pokes my squidgy collarbone.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?" I sigh and ruffle my hair with my hands awkwardly.
"Not this again, Mikey. We've been through this, it doesn't need to be brought up again." He always does this. He always tries to guilt trip me, but nothing he can say can convince me that I'm not fat. He just wants a peaceful life, and the way to get that is by lying to the crazy person.
"Well, obviously it does, because I still don't understand what's going on in your head. I mean I honestly don't see how you can consider anything about yourself to be fat in the slightest." He poked my collarbone again. "Look, you're skin and bone." He looks annoyed, and he glares at me.
"You know, it's things like this that make me want to look different. People can't just accept you for who you are, nobody is ever good enough for them. We've all got to fit into the same category. Well, I'm fed up of being the fat emo kid who no one likes. This will make me happy, don't you see? Don't you want me to be happy Michael?"
He shakes his head. "This is not going to make you happy. The more you do it, the more you'll see yourself as fat. Your mind will never let you see what you really look like. It's a never ending cycle. If you carry on like this, you're practically killing yourself." I smirk at the thought.
"Maybe that's what I've had planned right from the start, Mikey. Ever thought about that? Maybe that's what I'm looking for, some kind of sweet release from this so-called-life that I lead. Just stay out of it, this doesn't concern you. You think that by doing this over and over again, you're helping me get over my problem but you aren't! If anything, you being this way is making things worse!" That last comment comes out of my mouth without even thinking about it, and I don't know why I said it. It's not true, and I can see the hurt on Mikey's face.
I stand up and walk away from him, followed by his shouts of "That's not what you want, Gee. I won't let you do this!"
The smirk is still present on my small, chapped lips as I mutter to myself. "Try and stop me."
Okay, maybe I feel a little bad about what I said to Mikey. Now he probably feels guilty for things that don't even concern him. But I had to say that, because he just doesn't understand what I mean. He thinks that I'm being stupid for wanting to be thinner, he wants me to do what he thinks is right. It's like what I think doesn't even get a look in. I'm not letting anybody change me, or my thoughts. I refuse to conform to what others view as 'normal'. If they have a problem with the way that I live my life, they can shove their opinions up their asses. I don't care anymore. All I care about is being perfect.
Right now I'm sat on my bed in silence after leaving school early. I didn't want to stay there because I knew that Mikey would try and find me again and I can't deal with any more lectures. I am a little disappointed though, because I had Art today but now I'm going to miss it. Although there is an upside to leaving school early, and that is the fact that I miss French. Which means no interrogation from Frank. But now I have a lot of time to kill, and I don't know what to do. So in the end I just decide to try and have a quick sleep.
I've been awake for about an hour and I've just been sat here listening to my iPod. I stare down at my body, which is spread out in front of me on the bed, and frown at it. I lift my shirt up a little bit to look at my bulging stomach. I poke at the flesh on my hips, trying to find any signs that I've lost weight. I guess I have lost a bit, but nowhere near the amount of weight that I need to lose. I honestly can't see what Mikey is talking about. Skin and bone, my ass! Obviously I haven't been doing enough. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, I haven't eaten anything for the past four days, and even before that I only had a slice of plain toast. All I've been putting into my body is coffee, but that isn't fattening. God, I can't even starve myself in the right way. I'm just such a fuck up.
I keep looking towards my chest of drawers, desperately yearning for my little metal saviour hidden inside it. The only reason I haven't used it yet is because I know how upset Mikey would be... But sometimes it's just so hard. I NEED to do it, I can't cope without it. I try not cut to but the urges are just too strong sometimes. My fingers are literally twitching, wanting me to succumb to what I really want. I sit up against the wall and bang my head against it five times, hands gripping onto my hair. I need this. Mikey will never know.
"Fuck it." I throw myself off of the floor and towards the drawers, sifting through the clothes frantically until I find it. I pick up the small, bloodstained piece of metal and stare at it . I walk into the bathroom, razor in hand, and sit on the floor against the bathtub . Placing the razor on the floor, I pull my jacket off for easy access to my arms. I look at the deep gashes from yesterday and feel oddly proud. I can't find an unmarked piece of skin on my either of my arms, so I pull off my shirt, hoping to find some there.
Ignoring my flabby stomach, I gaze at the pink lines covering parts of my torso. Seeing all of these scars makes me think how pathetic I am. I can't sort things out like a 'normal' person so I just slice myself over and over, hoping the pain will go away. Regardless, I pick up my razor and run a hand over the smooth skin on my stomach, feeling for the perfect place. I move my finger up my stomach one last time before pressing the razorblade against it. As I press harder, I feel the skin break and the feeling of sick pleasure washes over me once more. I slowly drag the blade across my stomach, moaning slightly at the feel of the skin tearing. When I remove the blade from the cut, I'm already craving more and I quickly move the razor back to my skin. With each cut I make, I speed up, losing control. When I'm feeling satisfied I look down to appreciate my work. All I see is a mess of blood, so I grab a flannel and wipe away some of the blood. The sting of the flannel against my broken skin is agonizing, but it's worth it. I look back down, however, and see that even more blood is gushing out of the cuts. I start to feel light-headed and I start seeing black spots, swaying slightly on my feet as I try to stand up. I drop the razor and hold onto the wall, trying to keep my balance. But then I hear a voice again. That voice.
This is what you've been waiting for. A way out of here. Take your chance, it's best for everyone.
For the first time ever, I think the voice in my head might be right. I lose my grip on the wall and fall to the floor. Even though he's not here, I say aloud
"I'm sorry Mikes."
And with those last words, I embrace the darkness.
So... how was it bro's? Sorry for leaving you on that depressing cliffhanger... On a lighter note, R&R for skittle pie and Lightning Thunderstein-uhhh. YEAHHHHHHHH!!!!