"There he was, sitting in a bathroom, trying to kill himself and then complaining that it hurt."
Gerard walked out of the hotel in a hazy manner, unsure of directions or emotions or anything, really. Upon reaching outside, he stared up into the sun. It glared brightly at him using all its golden rage. With a defeated sigh, he looked away. Even through all the colorful spots which now came into his vision, he made his way to the tour bus. It took an effortless pull to open the door; the lock had been screwed up for months. Gerard stepped inside, leaving his indifferent expression to cover up his face. He strolled to the bunk area and sat down...on Frank’s bed, he soon realized. In less than an instant, he was in tears. Burying his face into Frank’s pillow, he drew in the scent. This was the last time he’d smell it; the closest he could ever be to Frank again. The fabric was soaked in salty water by the time Gerard lifted his head up. Quickly, he wiped his eyes dry.
Rising from the bunk, he now moved towards the “stationary drawer.” A blank sheet of paper and a pen was pulled out. In a messy scrawl he scribbled one word onto it in miniscule lettering. ‘Sorry.’ The remainder of the sheet was left blank and open-ended. Gerard paused for a moment and added ‘Love, Gerard.’ Slowly and almost fearfully, he returned to the bunks to place the note on Mikey’s bed; face up, so he could see it immediately. It wasn’t only his brother Gerard was sorry to; he hoped his friends would realize that. Momentarily, the choice of not carrying out his plan crossed Gerard’s mind. He waved at the thought as it passed him by. Why the fuck shouldn’t he do it? Only after no reasons popped up did he begin walking to the bathroom.
The door was gently shut behind him, lock unturned. Glancing at the mirror, he froze. Pale was the only word he could use to describe himself; Pale, but dark at the same time. He made no sense. He was a freak of nature, abnormal to the bone. Such an unnatural individual didn’t even deserve to walk the earth, let alone be publicized. He was now convinced that what he was doing was right; it would restore the proper order of things. Looking down from the mirror, he spotted the drawer which held his spare shaving razor. The blade was revealed, solitary in the wooden surface. He grimaced at the cliché situation; razor blades were so boring. However, he decided that it was better than nothing. Clutching the small weapon by the handle, he now opened the medicine cabinet to pull down Mikey’s pills. Undauntedly feeling a sense of déjà vu, he flicked two pills into his mouth. No effect.
Sighing, he slid down with his back to the drawers and cabinets in the room. He brought his razor to his wrist. He sliced, then, he screamed. The pain was unbearable! A wry laugh escaped Gerard’s mouth. There he was, sitting in a bathroom, trying to kill himself and then complaining that it hurt. Shaking his head disappointedly to himself, he tried again, pressing the blade down harder this time. The cold metal almost felt okay against his unnaturally light skin. Blood spewed out of the long cut, an oxidized shade of red. A pretty color. Curiously, Gerard stared at the razor. Pieces of his skin and drops hung from the blade. It was with slight hesitation that he traced over his cut one more time, making a longer line. Somehow, the pain which he should have felt changed itself into contorted joy. He felt good...and calm...and maybe even happy. Bert was so fucking right about this.
Gerard set down his little weapon beside his thigh and simply stared at the large flood of blood flowing out of his arm and onto his jeans. His eyes felt like closing, but he wanted to watch himself get drained of life. It took a few moments for his heart to begin beating at an irregular speed. It was trying with all its power to pump blood to his entire body, but it was obviously to no avail; his profusely bleeding cut made sure of that. He was sure it would scab over...eventually...then what? His purpose wouldn’t be served. So once again, he slashed violently at his arm. God, this was better than drugs. His heart raced even faster. There was a screaming voice in his head, pleading in a rough way for him to stand up and find something to stop the bleeding. He replaced it as his conscience, because he knew it was begging him to do the right thing. Its voice...its voice was heartbreaking...why? Because his conscience had the voice of his late grandmother. The famous Helena. A few tears were jerked into Gerard’s eyes. He was defying her wishes by doing this. His eyes drooped over wet, hazel eyes. There was no way to reverse this, even if he had wanted to. This was it. He was dying...dying... dying ...dead! Dead.
Unfortunately, his eyes flickered open. He gasped in a lungful of air and panted. He gazed at his wrist. The cut wasn’t there. It was just fucking gone. Unsteadily, he stood up and pushed the door open. The bus seemed to be deserted. He walked out, frowning all the while. His instincts were sharp and acute. He wasn’t alone.
“Frank?” he called out. The sound echoed. “Ray? Bob? Mikey?” He approached the bunk area, “Bert? Anyone?”
Whoever was in the bus didn’t feel like revealing themselves. Gerard was getting freaked out now. Just as he prepared himself to turn around, he heard it. The sound was nearly silent; a giggle. Maybe there were two giggles. Gerard’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the surroundings. His eyes perked up when he heard the giggle again. It seemed to be coming from one of the bunks...from Frank’s. The singer rushed to the bed and drew away the curtains which hid the noise. For a second, it was the fact that these curtains had never existed before that alarmed Gerard. It took more than a second for him to process what he was seeing.
Frank...Bert...Frank and Bert...Frank and Bert kissing. Gerard gaped in disgust and pure shock. Frank was on top, stroking Bert’s hair while his tongue seemed to be engrossed in the man’s mouth. From beneath, Bert was letting out moaning noises, sometimes breaking into muffled giggles as well. His arm circled Frank’s waist as his hand slowly began sliding underneath the guitarist’s shirt. Gerard screamed out loud, but neither of them seemed to notice. Why would they be doing this to him? Heart beating at a pace that didn’t even seem possible, he staggered backwards. His eyes wouldn’t leave the pair, no matter how much he wanted them to...until he bumped into somebody. He nearly jumped out of his skin seeing Mikey.
“God, Mikes,” he said nervously, “You scared me.”
Mikey said nothing, but reached into his pocket to pull out a small bottle. The Lithium pills. Gerard’s jaw dropped when Mikey poured at least five onto his hand and swallowed.
After gulping down without water, Mikey spoke in an eerie whisper, “You took my pills, Gerard. You used them. You used drugs.”
“Uh...I...how you...what?” Gerard stammered incoherently.
“I fucking trusted you!” Mikey snarled, “Now you can die. Die! Die! Die!” he began to pound Gerard with his tightly clutched fists, “Die! Die! Die!”
At last, Mikey seemed to realize that Gerard wasn’t getting physically hurt at all. With an air breaking sob, he emptied the bottle of Lithium. He threw all the tablets at Gerard. They eventually reached the floor, producing a sound similar to a rattle snake.
“I hate you, Gerard!” he yelled while tears rolled down his cheeks.
Gerard’s looked like a deer caught in the headlights. No...no...Mikey couldn’t hate him. No. He hoped his brain would force his mouth to utter something intelligent and comforting, but all it did was tell him to run. He darted out of the bus and into the outside world. His eyes trailed upwards to the sky. The sun was just as bright as before and just as furious. Gerard thought he heard it say something. Something like, “Look what you did to Ray! Look what you did!” He was going crazy...his sanity was deserting him. Yet, the talking sun was right. When his gaze returned to eye-level, he was staring into Ray’s coffee brown eyes.
The area around Ray’s right eye was swollen in a mess of red-violet. Scars and bumps highlighted his chin. A dark bruise had appeared under his lip. And the way he was walking was the worst part; slouched over, holding none of the poise he maintained earlier. A bead of sweat dripped down the nape of Gerard’s neck. He couldn’t have done that...he never would have done that...but he did. He did, and it scared him to know he did. Stumbling, he rushed himself away from Toro, looking over his shoulder remorsefully. Upon doing so, he slammed into a grinning, safe, not-kissing-anyone Bob. He had never, ever been so happy to see the drummer.
“Bob! Thank God! Dude, I don’t know what’s going on. With Ray, and Mikey, and Frankie and —” he cut himself off, noting that someone was beside Bob. A girl.
It wasn’t just any girl, though. It was the curly haired bitch who’d called Gerard a jerk. The My Chemical Romance fan who didn’t want his autograph! The one who started this whole shit! He roared with anger when she slipped an arm around Bob, both of them still smiling pleasantly.
Gerard pointed to the she-devil, “You! It’s all your fault! This is all your fault! Let go of Bob! Now! This is all your fault!”
The girl moved forward and away from Bob as requested. Instead of walking away, though, she poked Gerard’s eyes with sharp fingernails and pushed him onto the ground roughly. He fell backwards, not because of the force, but because of the mere thought of a girl daring to knock him down. From the ground, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. They were a watery mess by the time his vision returned to him. He stood up shakily, glad to find Bob and the girl gone. In a dazed moment, he decided to turn around; maybe go and talk to his friends. He collapsed down onto his back again when he saw all of them already standing there, along with a few other people he probably owed apologies to.
Mikey stepped forward and kicked Gerard coldly, “I hate you,” he repeated
Except when his voice came out, it wasn’t just him. It was all of them; Frank, Ray, Bob, the girl, Bert, Quinn, the sun, everyone. They all said it in a haunting unison.
“N-no! I’m s-s-sorry!” Gerard stammered.
But they continued; it was almost a chant, “I hate you! I hate you!”
Gerard screamed, burying his head between his knees. No, no, no, this had gone terribly wrong. He never wished for this to happen. A sharp pain in his wrist jolted his head back up. His blood was pouring out again, and it didn’t feel good at all. Once again, Gerard’s eyes drooped, falling shut over his eyes. He remembered sobbing and screaming hysterically...and then, that was it...everything was just gone.
There's a shocking chapter for ya. Now where are those cookies broken_wings promised me?
Oh and I started a new story over in The Used section...being the conceited bitch I am, I'll encourage you to go check it out. But of course, you don't have to. It's called "Tales About God (Or The Closest Thing)"