0% Waycest. "His band was slowly being torn apart like...like...chicken wings!"
Gerard found himself sitting on his bunk bed in the darkness, with two cans of beer beside his left thigh. His friends were still outside, which was great. He didn’t want to see or talk to any of them. Upon making his way indoors, he had grabbed his pack of cigarettes and a couple of beers. Yet, he could not bring himself to take a sip, or a drag. Obviously, words had an amazing impact on his life since he was a lyricist. But the words he was thinking about were the ones that had left Frank’s mouth a few minutes ago. That rewound him back to what the girl had said. Jerks like you just aren’t attractive. He wondered what she could have meant by “jerks like you.” It would have been understandable if he knew her. He did drugs, he smoked, he stank, he cheated during card games, he was a bit of a slut, he could be as stubborn as a mule, he held grudges...the list of his bad qualities could probably fill up an entire novel. However, there was nothing he had done in front of the fans that could cause one of them to say a thing like that. He blew his jet black bangs out of his face in an annoyed movement. No amount of booze or drugs could cure the feeling in his heart that said everything was about to go terribly wrong.
He decided that what he needed right now was some rest. His golden-speckled hazel eyes shut as he laid down. Beneath his back, he felt a soft bump. Annoyed, he reached underneath himself and pulled out the pouch. It begged and pleaded for him, but he set it down near his pillow. There would always be some time tomorrow for him to spend with it. Just as his eyelids drooped once more, he was jolted awake. His ears picked up the sound of a metal door being slammed open. He took this as a signal of his band mates returning. He groaned, hearing one of them shout out his name. With a swift hand he pulled the covers over his head. Why couldn’t they all just leave him alone?
He heard multiple footsteps enter the room. His friends must have thought him to be asleep because their loud, obnoxious noises died down. Someone walked quietly to his bedside. He felt them feel around near his foot, where the beers now were. A deep sigh left whoever took it. After this, feet shuffled out of the room. Gerard frowned under his sheet. None of them had gone to bed. Why could that be? In a few minutes, his curiosity got the best of him. He slowly sat up and rubbed out the little amount of sleep left in his eyes. Being sure not to make a sound, he crept to the entryway between the bunks and the other part of the bus. He peered outside to see his friends sitting around in a circle.
Frank was the one speaking, “...so worried. He’s not himself, seriously. I think we should tell Brian about this. Something’s going on.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Frank,” said Bob, the matter-of-fact one of the group, “I mean, you saw those beers. Maybe he just had one can too many.”
“Don’t be stupid, Bob!” Frank snorted, “He was fucking depressed during the show, and then he magically disappears into the tour bus. After that, boom! He’s all sunshine and unicorns. He’s not drunk, I know it. There’s something else”
“Frank...” Mikey seemed to be struggling to keep his voice steady, “Are you suggesting that my brother is on drugs? Because if you are, I’d really want to knock you out. He wouldn’t take drugs again; he hasn’t for five whole years. I trust him. Why don’t you?”
Gerard’s heart sank a little as he remembered the promise he had made to Mikey. He had broken it time and time again, but his little brother still had faith in him. It was a little depressing. He listened on, though, to hear Frank’s response.
“Look, I want to trust Gerard, I really do. But I can’t, okay? I just know he’s up to something. When I went inside to get him earlier, he was putting something back under his covers. I swear to you that I’m not lying, Mikey. Ray, Bob, can you help me out here? Don’t you guys think he’s been acting weird?”
“W-well yes,” Ray stuttered, “But I don’t know if you should just—”
Frank stood up and interrupted in a loud voice, “Am I the only one who cares about him anymore? What the fuck are you guys on? It’s so obvious that he’s—”
Frank was cut off by Mikey, “Don’t ever say that I don’t care him! Just to remind you, I’ve known him way longer than you have.”
He flailed his arms about in an annoyed motion, “Just go taste your brother, Mikey. You’d know exactly what I mean. I can smell something in his breath, okay?”
Mikey rose gruffly. He pushed his glasses up from the bridge of his nose. With jerky movements, he approached Frank. Gerard could see that his fists were balled, ready to attack if necessary. This was a truly frightening sight to him. Mikey often had mood swings but he was never angry enough to even think about violence. But there he was, looking ready to punch Frank’s guts out. And all Frank had done was suspect the truth. Gerard chewed on the inside of his cheek as he continued watching the scene.
The spectacled boy spoke in a snarling tone, with sharp words lashing out at the guitarist’s sensitive skin, “Shut the fuck up, Iero. You’re just a melodramatic little kid who can’t handle the fact that my brother doesn’t love you like you want him to. You’re a pathetic excuse for a friend. Go burn in hell.”
Gerard’s breath hitched, wondering how much that would have hurt Frank. His heart set off on a rollercoaster ride when he saw the reaction he feared the most. The small chin only quivered at first. The rest came quickly. Tears slipped down that beautiful face, speeding up as the seconds proceeded. The cute little butt fell back onto the seat. His magnificent emerald eyes hid as he brought his knees to his chest. Gerard prayed that Mikey would apologize, make this all better. However, considering his horrible luck and that sinking feeling in his stomach, he predicted that his wish would not be granted.
Unfortunately, he was correct. As Ray and Bob rushed to comfort the weeping boy, Mikey let out an arrogant breath. He pivoted and marched towards the darkness of the bunk area. Gerard nearly screamed. The roller coaster inside him had reached its peak, preparing for that four-hundred feet drop. His mind raced while Mikey neared him. Quickly, he backed away from the entry, trying to stop his chest from heaving in and out so fast. The moment his brother came into the room, he began to stumble forward in a just-got-out-of-bed manner. Mikey said nothing, but brushed past his shoulder to the beds. Gerard was pretty sure God had paralyzed his body so that he could talk to Mikey, explain the truth. Yet, he simply waited for himself to be unfrozen.
Frank was curled up into a tight ball, sobbing against either Ray’s or Bob’s chest. He felt like a total wimp, bursting into tears like this. He knew he should have been used to insults like that. Abuse was what he’d received all throughout his high school life; rude names, disses, punches and unidentified flying shit galore. Nevertheless, it was not something he’d expected from one of his best friends—especially not Mikey. So he clutched Bob/Ray’s shirt and cried harder like the pansy he was. In the far corner of his brain, he knew that these tears had more to do with Gerard than Mikey.
Ray looked up sharply as he heard someone make his way into the room. His chocolate brown eyes narrowed as he saw the root cause of the fight that had just taken place. It started with a Ge- and ended with –rard Way. He left Frank in Bob’s capable arms and walked to “the problem.” He hissed an accusation into “the problem’s” ear before following in Mikey’s footsteps to a restless sleep.
Sooner than Bob too could increase the scariness of his roller coaster ride, Gerard rushed to the bathroom. His worn-out reflection stared at him with disappointment. This was entirely his fault, he knew it. His band was slowly being torn apart like...like chicken wings! Sharp teeth of some gluttonous carnivore were ripping them apart. He didn’t care if the simile made no sense. All he knew was that he was that gluttonous carnivore. He never should have made that promise to his brother, he never should have kissed Frank. His desperate body begged for a cure, a better cure. That intelligent brain of his popped up an idea. Using unsteady hands he pulled open the drawer to his right. Inside, he spotted the bottle of pills he knew would be there. He also knew what the label pasted on the front would read:
Lithium -Michael Way
Take two tablets when necessary.
He screwed off the top and rolled three of the small pills onto his cupped palm. After filling up one of the Dixie cups with water, he dropped the pills into his mouth. Prior to gulping them down, he wondered what would happen. He did not have bipolar disorder like Mikey did, so he knew this might be fatal. He worried for a moment, and almost spit it out. Then, the image Frank’s crumpling face haunted his brain. His throat let down the miniscule tablets. He deserved whatever was coming.
This story is no longer "Some Frerard", but "Mainly Frerard." Fuck yeah.