"You're a bastard, Gerard Way. I can't believe I ever thought you were my friend. And in all honestly, I don't your care if your drugs kill you."
Frank, in fact, was angry. He knew he should have just been happy that Gerard survived. His heart should have filled up with joy when he saw his friend, awake and alive. Instead, his fists were itching to punch the guy right in the face. Gerard had selfishly attempted to kill himself, forgetting all about his friends and family, and now all he could say was sorry? Frank felt a need to tell him off, but his mouth was pressed shut. If Gerard was dead, he never would have felt this. He would have only felt pity and sorrow. He would have felt upset at himself for not having found Gerard soon enough because if Gerard was dead, there was no point in becoming angry with him. Frank was quite confused now. In the deep wrinkles of his mind, did he want his friend to be dead? This thought provoked the tears which were now sliding down his face. His shoulders trembled with emotion.
Gerard continued to stare at the shorter man, waiting patiently for him to say something. He wanted Frank to shout something out; shout that he hated Gerard. It would have been better than seeing the disdain and disappointment in his friend’s eyes. But the guitarist just stood there, shaking uncontrollably. Gerard knew that if he wanted this conversation to begin, action would need to be taken. Partly because he still needed a drink, he turned around. He hobbled towards the beer cooler, glancing over his shoulder to see Frank’s response.
Frank’s jaw had dropped, nearly touching the floor. That was it; that was the last straw. His angry side won out over the tears. Taking large strides, he marched towards Gerard and grabbed his arm; his injured arm. Frank squeezed on the cut, determined to make Gerard yelp. He only tightened his grasp when he received the response he wished for.
“Oh, that fucking hurts, doesn’t it?” he snarled through bared teeth, “Well you should’ve thought of the consequences before you did something like this.”
Gerard needed to answer, but his throat was now officially dead, just like the rest of him should have been. His hand desperately reached out to open the cooler; he didn’t care if it was alcohol in there. He didn’t care if this whole thing happened again. Frank dragged him backwards with surprising force.
“Don’t you dare take a beer, Gee; I’m trying to talk to you. Do you have any idea how we all felt when we found you bleeding like that? Of course not, because you’re a selfish bastard who only thinks about himself! Mikey cried for twenty four hours straight. He loves you, you know? The least you could do is pretend to love him back. And how about me, Ray, and Bob? We’re your best friends. We were worried too,” he gulped, pausing for a moment and loosening his grasp around his friend’s arm, “Do you care about any of us, Gerard? Or are we unimportant compared to your drugs?”
Gerard roughly snatched his arm away. Ignoring all of Frank’s annoyed comments, he rushed to the cooler. His fingers grabbed onto a slippery ice cube and slipped it into his mouth. He sucked on it, relieved when coldness and comfort reached his throat. Spinning back around, he faced a frowning Frank.
Spitting out the ice cube, he finally managed to say more than one word, “Frank, I love you...”
Frank’s green eyes widened. His anger slowly drained away from his body, replacing itself with a dazed sort of joy. He wasn’t sure if he had just imagined those words; after all, there were plenty of times during which he dreamed about this happening. Feeling a little stupid, he pinched himself. Ouch! It was real.
“Uh...I-I...uh...what?” he stammered.
Gerard bit down on his lip, regretting his decision to say that. However, it was an easy statement to cover up, “I said I love you...I love all of you guys, I do care about you. Don’t ever think that I don’t.”
Frank was mildly disappointed, even though he had no reason to be. Of course, Gerard loved him like a brother; after all, they’d known each other for over seven years. It was only logical... Blood rushed to his cheeks and he looked down, embarrassed that he had thought of it as some other type of love. His lips were only able to whisper a small, “Oh...yeah...”
Gerard nervously switched his weight from foot to foot before continuing, “Listen, I understand if you hate me, Frankie. I mean, I guess I should have agreed to getting rid of my drugs. But I just didn’t want to make a promise I knew I wouldn’t keep.”
Frank’s head shot up suddenly, “And why the hell wouldn’t you keep it?”
Gerard took a deep breath in and let it out with a sigh, “I need my drugs.”
Frank felt like his brain was being squished between two pressuring arms. His prior anger was no match for what he felt now. God, why did Gerard have to be like this?
Trying to keep his voice steady, he said, “Why the fuck do you need them?”
Gerard felt his chest fill up with the familiar rage; directed at nobody in particular, “You don’t know what it’s fucking like, Frank. You don’t know how it feels to totally screw up at life itself. You don’t know because your life is perfect. If you were a fuck-up like me, you’d need drugs too. They make me feel happy, for once in my entire life. I don’t care if they kill me.”
Frank’s reply came out soft, yet like blade, slicing steadily at Gerard’s heart, “My life is perfect? Yeah, sure, that’s right. I guess that’s why I grew up without a father, huh? That’s why me and my mom lived alone, starving sometimes because we had no money,” he let out a dry, high laugh, “That’s why all the kids in school hated me and pushed me into lockers and beat me up. Oh, and don’t forget about how they made fun of how short I was. And it was great how they called me a faggot, wasn’t it?” tears slowly began forming themselves in his eyes, “It’s just perfect how the first few bands I was in never worked out, and how we even got some of our songs stolen by big-shots who thought we were a bunch of worthless kids. Everything was fucking perfect. At least you had a job before this, at least you were drawing like you wanted to and you were making money. At least you tried to make this band and it worked out immediately. Now, you’re telling me I don’t understand? You tell me you need drugs more than I do? I think the only thing I can say now is fuck you. You’re a bastard, Gerard Way. I can’t believe I ever thought you were my friend. And in all honesty, I don’t care if your drugs kill you either.”
Even though his last sentence came out harsher than he intended it to, he spun around at his heel, retreating into his hood once more. He brushed away the tears in his eyes and stomped towards the exit. Outside, he saw Mikey. Ray, and Bob. They stared at him with wide, sympathetic eyes. They all felt fucking sorry for him; sorry that his life hadn’t been perfect like Gerard said it was. He shook his head, telling them it was fine. However, on the inside, he felt the opposite way. Nothing was turning out all right; not this band, not his life, and not his best friend...his best friend whom he had just wished death upon. Sighing and blinking back more tears, he walked to the heavy metal door which led him to Who-Really-Cares-About-The-City, Wisconsin.
Bob, Ray, and Mikey looked at each other worriedly. Coming to a unanimous decision, the sole blond man of the group ran out, following Frank. Ray and Mikey, on the other hand, rushed to Gerard.
The singer leaned against a bunk, his entire face crumpled into a mess of tears. Ray approached him, comfortingly resting a hand on his shoulder. Gerard cried harder, pulling Toro into a tight hug.
“I-I’m sorry,” he sobbed, “Sorry, sorry, sorry...”
Ray held him tighter, looking to Mikey for some consoling words.
The younger Way sighed, “Gerard, I love you but you really have to stop apologizing and just do something about this. You have to stop taking cocaine, and whatever else Bert gave you. You know that, right, bro? You know Frankie's right.”
Gerard broke his embrace with Ray and sniffed in the mucus running out of his nose. He looked from his friend to his brother. Silence filled the room as he breathed in and out deeply. He had messed up everything but strangely, he felt good. He felt like this was his chance to fix things.
“Y-yeah...” he finally said, forcing a smile, “I'll stop...I promise...”
Read. Rate. Review. Do whatevah you feel like.