Stopping in the middle of the room, he let out a snort. It was a sarcastic, hopeless, miserable sound which told him he couldn’t change anything, so why bother trying?
The dark, beautiful eyes of an angel were the only thing in Gerard's field of view. The background and its face were all just a blur. It reached forward to him with soft hands to cradle his face in. Its touch brought forth pain; a penitent sort of ache which he felt in his heart more than anywhere else. He couldn't remember what for...but there was probably a lot he had to be sorry for doing. In the midst of his remorse, he suddenly felt a new sensation. A million red blood cells rushed to his cheeks, realizing that the angel had kissed him. Still, its face remained hidden by Gerard's clouded vision. He strained himself to sit upright but succeeded in falling... safely back into the angel's arms. Moments later, everything faded to black. Then, he heard the angel speak; a soothing sound. The words were unclear to his ears but its speech must have been full of emotion because in an instant, he felt a wet droplet on his cheek. The angel was crying. Gerard had made it cry. An item was added to his long list of sins; all punishable by death. One more tear plopped down on his face from above and the angel told him it loved him. Silence filled the long space which followed.
Time passed. Who knew how long? Every minute felt the same to Gerard; black and dull. Then, the two curtains atop his weary eyes drew open. He stared up into the heavenly image of the angel. His thoughts were all jumbled up beneath his skull but he could recognize who it was. It had always been there, for as long as he remembered; for as long as he wanted to remember. Of course, it was his guardian angel. Gerard struggled to say something, but was quieted with a finger to his lips.
"Sleep," Frank whispered.
Gerard obeyed almost immediately. When his eyes flickered open again, everything seemed much clearer, brighter. Memories slowly flooded back into his mind, stomping out this light. He sat up, rubbing the crustiness off the corners of his eyes. Gazing around the surroundings, he came to the realization that he was inside the tour bus, still. His bottom was cushioned by a soft mattress and a thick comforter covered his legs. He hugged it to his chest, feeling unusually cold. It felt like he was dead or something... It was then that he remembered his slashed arms; the vision of blood was far too close in his mind. He lifted up his arm to stare at netted gauze wrapped around the wound. A sigh of relief left his lungs, thankful that it hadn’t disappeared; that would have been freakishly similar to his nightmare.
Then, a though struck him hard on the side of his head. What if it hadn't been a nightmare? What if this was just the continuation of something frighteningly real? His head snapped from side to side, examining the bunk room. His eyes fell to Frank's bed, which opposed him diagonally. It was deserted and free of Bert McCracken, thank God. Sighing once more, he rested his head onto his hand. He wondered how long it would take for someone to realize he had awoken. If his wish would come true for once, never. He didn't want to see his friends; they'd want to talk about what he'd done. He didn't want to think about how unsuccessful the attempt had been. He wished he could just start his life all over and patch up all his mistakes, like a scab. A permanent scab which would never be picked off.
The enormous lump camped out in his throat threatened to make him cry. He made an effort to swallow it, but it resulted in creating a dry feeling in his esophagus. He needed a drink. The beer cooler in the back of the room was instantly brought to his attention. It took quite a bit of energy for him to flick the covers off and jump down off his bunk. Not only was his arm throbbing, but his whole body was being strangled by immense pain. Unsteadily, he began to walk, but not towards the cooler. In fact, he walked in the other direction. He was determined to keep away from alcohol. Never in a million fucking years would he want that nightmare to become real...and if it already had, well...then he was going to change it into a dream. Change himself. Change everything.
Stopping in the middle of the room, he let out a snort. It was a sarcastic, hopeless, miserable sound which told him he couldn’t change anything, so why bother trying? He slowly pivoted on his heel.
"Gerard?" the sound broke his eardrums.
He had been so close, so fucking close. To getting caught red handed, to getting drunk again, to making the nightmare real? He couldn't decide what he had been close to; or rather, which was the worst. Turning around, he stared at Mikey. His little brother, his mind told him, as if he didn’t know; as if he was stupid. He wanted to bash his own head into a million tiny pieces...for scorning himself. If his thoughts weren't completely against him, maybe his actions wouldn't be so stupid. Maybe he would have never broken his promise to his brother. He swayed on the spot, threatening to fall. Mikey raised his eyebrows expectantly. Gerard couldn’t bring himself to do anything, say anything. Stupid, stupid, stupid, a voice in his head kept yelling at him. He wished he could just block himself out somehow. His face must have looked like a rotting lemon.
"Gee, are you feeling okay?" Mikey asked with concern embroidered in somewhere in his tone.
It was mostly just anger inside the skinny man; Gerard could hear it just waiting to pounce at any second. He expected his brother to even throw a punch. He kind of looked forward to an attack, so that he would know how he had made Ray feel. A tiny, weak, whimpering creature inside of Gerard grew larger. Its size only maximized the helplessness he felt. And he still wasn't saying anything. The voice in his head added a new term to its dictionary. Pathetic loser.
As if to just scratch out that annoying taunt, he blurted out a quick, "I dunno."
"I read your note..." Mikey said slowly, cutting to the chase quicker than Gerard really wanted, "Your suicide note, I think..."
Gerard said nothing. It had hardly been a suicide note. Excluding the closing it was only a word. It was one fucking word long, because he was too much of a stupid, pathetic loser to think of anything else to say. The large, weak creature argued with a small, Nuh-uh. Gerard felt like a two year old all of a sudden. He stared at the ground
Mikey frowned at the silence, "Are you gonna say something? Can't you at least tell me now, to my face, that you've been taking drugs? Do you know how ridiculous I felt when it turned out Frank wasn't just jumping to conclusions? Can't you say anything? Are you fucking stupid?"
Gerard's head shot up all of a sudden, weak creature roaring along with him, "I'm not! I am not fucking stupid, Mikey!" His voice subsided to a determined mumble, "I'm not." The spiteful voice was finally shut up.
Mikey's eyes clouded over with tears. His arms reached out and circled Gerard, hugging him tightly for a moment, "I...I know...sorry...I just got mad..."
The two Ways separated and faced each other with tense, silent air between them. Gerard drummed his fingers on his thigh, a nervous habit. In his head, there was an organized list which conveniently listed everything Mikey would force him to do before this conversation could just end and Gerard could get a drink. The first item, 'get harassed with rhetorical questions' was crossed off. The remaining items on the list were menacing ones which Gerard didn’t even want to think about. He wished for a sudden miracle, like a cow falling out of the sky, to distract his brother. However, judging by the serious look on Mikey's face, it would take more than a flying cow to divert his attention. Gerard would have to take matters into his own hands.
He cleared his throat, which made it scratchier. Despite this, he continued, "So...what exactly happened? How'd you guys find me?"
Mikey seemed glad to talk, "Oh, well, Bert went into that room you guys were sharing with Frank to take all his stuff, saying he was gonna switch rooms with Ray. Apparently, he said he was gonna cancel all the joint concerts we had because he hated you..."
He bit his tongue upon noticing the upset look on Gerard's face. How could he have blurted out that piece of information? It must have been the most insensitive thing to say, ever. If there was an award for worst brother on the planet, he would probably have won it.
Quickly trying to cover it up, he continued, "But that's just what Frankie told me, I don't know if it was true. Anyway, Frank got worried about what exactly went on down there. I mean, you obviously wouldn't be thinking of playing croquet after a fight with your..." He paused again, trying to find a suitable title for Bert. He settled with the simplest, "...with your friend. So he got Ray and Bob and since I was with Ray, he got me too. There was this whole search party going on and then Bob said we should look in the bus. So we all piled into here...Ray found you in the bathroom and you were bleeding. After we all finished panicking, we bandaged up your arm and put you on your bunk. You were asleep for four days..." Gerard's eyes widened, "Oh, but it's all right. Bert cancelled the shows anyway," Mikey didn't want to end on that note, especially not since his brother looked ready to burst into tears, "Uh...yeah, we were gonna take you to the hospital, or call Ma, but Ray said we shouldn't because they'd freak out about your um...suicide attempt and send you to a mental institute." That, too, seemed like a horrible ending to his explanation so he lamely added, "We're in Wisconsin right now."
Gerard's lips had been dried of all moisture. He knew Mikey had only summarized what happened, although his speech had already been extremely long. He also knew that his brother had scraped away most of the painful parts like the crust off of bread and left only the nice, soft, white part. But, just like bread, the soft part was of no use to his body unless the crust was with it. Thinking about his food related simile made him realize how hungry he was. Hunger immediately coincided with thirst, making his stomach rumble and his voice hurt. Before he could ask for any nourishment, he heard Bob's voice from the other room.
"Hey guys! I think Gerard's awake!" the drummer yelled.
Ray and Bob rushed into the room, followed by that one other guy whose name Gerard had conveniently brushed away from his mind until now. He was in a frozen state even when Bob crushed him with a bear hug. It hardly bothered him at the moment that Ray's face was looking awfully similar to what it was in his nightmare. His eyes refused to jerk away from the small man, who stood as far away from him as possible.
Sensing awkwardness, Mikey nudged Ray. The guitarist frowned for a minute and then nodded, understanding. They both wordlessly dragged a confused Bob out of the room.
Gerard wasn't sure whether he should have appreciated this gesture of extreme kindness. He stared at Frank, his angel, standing there with a large hood covering half of his face. All he felt was shame. His parched throat was only strong enough to croak out an apology. Frank's head jolted upwards while his hood fell backwards, revealing a watery mess. The tears never surprised Gerard anymore; they had almost been welded into his brain to associate with Frank. However, he was shocked to find a raging fire between the teardrops. His stomach and heart clenched inwards simultaneously. The angel was angry.
Sorry it took over a week for me to update...I was busy with these little devils called my cousins.