FicWad

Gerard Arthur Way was staring at the ceiling of the shady hotel room. The blue flourescent glow of the neighboring strip club cast an eerie blue hue on the spider-web-clad ceiling fan. His throat hurt like he wanted to cry. His thoughts made him LONG to cry. His eyes felt like wells, like sacks of pending tears waiting anxiously to spill. But he didn't cry. The tears had stopped flowing when his beautiful Lyndsay had stopped looking at him the way she did when they first met. The way that made him smile with his eyes, not just his mouth. The way that made his brother look up to him for the first time in years, instead of it being the other way around. The day Bandit was born, it was the most beautiful he'd ever seen Lyndsay. Then she changed. The doctors, the shrinks, the nurses, they all said that it would go away. The pregnancy took a toll on her, they said, and she was suffering from depression. When she tried to overdose on Mikey's pain killers, the mood shifted from hopeful to panic. She told him to get out. He told her she needed to talk to someone. She told me it was his fault she was this way. He told her he was so, so sorry. She told him she knew, but she couldn't love him any more. IHe told her He'd wait. She told him not to bother, and slammed the door. He never smiled again.
Gerard's head was so full of pain, and so empty of love. Lyndsay took his heart out and broke it into two peices. She held one half, and Bandit held the other. Without them, without his girls, he was empty and incapable of love. With this thought in mind, he stood up and walked, fully clothed (the way he slept) to the dingy bathroom. His eyes were beads of hazel surrounded by blood red lines and pink-ish-whiteness. He attempted a smile. Not only did it hurt to do, it scared him to see. It was the smile of a madman.
Finally the tears started to fall. And once they did, they didn't stop. He picked up the safety razor that was complimentary of the hotel. Through calm, yet endless tears, he broke the brittle plastic away from the blades, managing to slice his fingers to shreds. He held up his prize, one single razorblade, gleaming with red blood in the blue light of the hotel room. He pressed the cold metal to his wrist, enjoying the cool feeling, and pushed down as hard as he could. Before the blade broke the skin, he pulled quickly, feeling the rush of pain engluf his arm, chest, torso, body, head, eyesight. Then everything turned red, like the blood gushing from his arm. The world spun, the ground flew at him, and it was blackness. Familiar, quiet, beautiful blackness.
When they found his body, he'd been dead for 25 hours. Not 24, 25. It was more than a full day before anyone thought to check on the troubled Gerard Way, more than a full day before suspicions were even considered. Lyndsay had cried by his corpse, begging him to please come back, she was sorry, she didn't want him to go, she was confused. His brother, Mikey, had watched from afar, holding his neice in his arms and trying not to get his tears on her. And, beyond and above it all, Gerard sat watching, a faint smile on his face. He looked at the spot next to him, where Lyndsay was supposed to belong. He sighed the sigh of a man matured too soon, and smiled the smile of a man that couldn't find any joy in the world, but smiled anyways. He suddenly realized, as he looked in the mirror across the ghostly hotel room at his reflection, that this wasn't heaven. Not yet. He couldn't have heaven without his heart. And his heart, he thought, as he looked at his un-smiling eyes, was still with his wife and child, still waiting to become one again and come back to him. And here he would wait until that day.