Sorry, no title yet. Gerard is a sponsor for a recovering drug addict for one year. He helps her heal, but she will have an impact on his life as well. I'll try to make it a good read for you.
Deliver Us From Evil
He had been home in New Jersey, taking a break after touring for The Black Parade had finally ended. Alone, he was heart broken; his engagement ended after he found his fiancée had been unfaithful. He went through the necessary motions of life: Sleeping, waking, eating, relieving himself, washing intermittently. Hygiene and personal grooming had taken a hit when the ring was returned, and his hair was long again, to his ears and slightly past, returned to its natural black and constantly disheveled. The near constant state of uncleanliness gave it a bit of light malleability, and it stuck out in all directions. He had taken to nocturnal sleeping patterns which had the curious effect of rimming his half green, half brown eyes in red. His face looked gray with stubble, shifting to a darker charcoal as the planes changed beneath his jaw, his lower lip. He no longer laughed or smiled. In fact, he had a startlingly flat affect, greatly resembling that of a sociopath. He avoided human interaction of any kind, instead retreating to the basement room in his parents’ house he had inhabited before leaving for art school. He had also taken to walking the streets late at night, a frightening habit that only served to make his mother worry more over him. New Jersey at night was not where Donna Way wanted Gerard.
He was living for nothing.
In a state of panic over the fact that she had yet to see the face of her son in almost 6 days, Donna Way finally took action. Walking down the carpeted stairs to his room, she braced herself. She paused at the door, took a breath, and knocked. One openthedoor…two openthedoor… three openthedoor…four. And she turned the handle and pushed, walking into his room.
He was lying on his bed. Stretched out, he looked like a corpse with his pale skin and lips which had become a few shades lighter from loss of blood. Not speaking for more than a week will do that to you. The hands folded on his navel did nothing to alleviate the scene from the macabre aura in which it was enshrouded. It struck Donna once again how deep he was buried in his depression. She had to do something. She was his mother, and as such, it was her responsibility to make him better. Any doubts about what she was going to say evaporated instantaneously, and she opened her mouth to speak.
“Gerard,” she said,” Enough. You are my son, and I love you to the ends of the earth and farther on, but I cannot let you waste away in my basement just because you are content to do so.”
He hadn’t moved at all since she’d come in. Donna wondered if he could even hear her. She carried on.
“I know that you are in pain, pain that I can’t even imagine. And I know I can’t even begin to know how hard it is, how much it drags you down and pulls at you. But you are strong. I’ve seen you be strong. I have seen you beat something I thought was going to kill you. You thought it was going to kill you too, you told me so, you told me you thought you would die one day from the drugs and the alcohol. You said you thought that would be the end of you. But you were wrong Gerard.”
Her voice, which had been ringing and clear, had now turned pleading, imploring him to see. She needed him to see that this wasn’t the end. Still, he didn’t move.
“And I am so glad you were wrong. Because you are my baby, you are my son, you are my boy and I couldn’t have taken it if you had been right.”
She stopped to search for something in his eyes; apparently she did not find it, and her own eyes took on a tiny sparkling fire around the edges. She was crying. Damn it. She’d walked in here intending to be strong. How could Gerard be strong if she couldn’t? She breathed out a wet sigh. She didn’t see, she had looked down to wipe the moisture from her eyes, she didn’t notice the one tiny movement he made. His eyes slid to his left, where she had sat down next to him on the bed sometime during her speech. He watched his mother try not to cry.
He was making her cry.
Somewhere in a place he thought was long dead, some sort of emotion moved a tiny bit. He was too dazed to figure out what it was, but he thought there was a chance he didn’t quite like it. She continued.
“I have thought for a long time Gerard, trying to find a way to help you. Because this is killing me Gerard, just as much as it’s hurting you, it’s hurting me too. And I can’t bear the pain much longer.” She took a deep breath. “So I’ve found something I think might save us both. Because it doesn’t look like you can save yourself this time, and I can’t for the damn life of me seem to be able to do anything.” Her eyes were downcast again. She felt such failure at this admission. It was true. She hadn’t been able to bring him back, to raise him up to where he once was. She saw her idea as penance.
“I think…that maybe you should try helping. Someone else. It could be good for you.” She paused and looked up to try and meet his gaze, not expecting to and not succeeding.
“God knows I don’t know.” The words hung for a moment, then dropped leadenly.
He was as immobile as she’d seen him. She was almost angry at him. Almost. But she couldn’t hold his silence against him. She couldn’t begrudge him for something he couldn’t help. She stood up and turned so she stood next to his head, opposite the wall on the other side of the bed. She leaned over and kissed his forehead, stroking his hair once. Then she straightened and walked up the stairs and through the door. Should anyone have seen this morose exchange, they would have remarked that it looked like a mother giving her dead son a last kiss before she let him go.
Later that night found Donna crouched in front of her bedside table, digging through the top drawer. She withdrew a rosary of black beads with a silver cross hanging off the end. It had been her mother’s. Closing the drawer, she climbed into bed and held it tight to her heart for a moment. The cool beads clicked with her movements. She relinquished her death-hold and allowed it to flow through her fingers, sitting with it in cupped palms. The one by one she counted off the beads, remembering the prayers. Send me some sort of sign. Send me something. Someone. Tell me what to do.
You know I don’t know.
Author’s Note: When describing his hair, I pictured it looking like it did for a certain NME interview. If you type in “My Chemical Romance interview” on You Tube, I believe this is one of the first videos to come up. At least it was when I looked. I just wanted to give you a visual :] I definitely recommending watching both parts of the video as well; aside from being ridiculously gorgeous in the interview, Gerard says some pretty awesome stuff.