Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Nothing Lasts Forever~MCR~Even Cold November Rain
Amy
I hadn’t heard from Gerard, whether by IM or phone call, in a month. It wasn’t like I was worried or anything. If something had happened to him and it wasn’t already leaked to the press, Mikey would call me. Instead, I was mostly just trying to push him from my mind. Every once in a while, I would hear a clip of one of their songs or see a band T-shirt. And when I did, I couldn’t help but think of Gerard. What happened? Did he not like me anymore?
At that party, was it just the drinks that made him ask me to go upstairs with him? Did he really not have any feeling for me whatsoever? Judging by his lack of action, it had to be the truth. I had two options: accept it or push it from my mind entirely. One was extremely preferable.
But all that changed one night in August. I was sitting on my bed, click-clacking away nonsense on my laptop, when I got the call. It was on my home phone, not my cell, so I really didn’t think twice before answering. “Hel-ooo?” I called into the receiver.
I heard somewhat distant chuckling on the other end. “Amy, baby…….”
I almost dropped the phone. “Gerard. What---huh?”
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “I haven’t seen you in so long. I’m a-coming to see you.”
“When?” I asked, bewildered.
“Right now.”
I looked at the clock. It was past midnight. “Are you drunk? Where are you? Where are the guys?”
He made an indistinguishable sound. “Them. They think I should leave you alone. That’s what Mikey said. He said, he said, ‘Leave Amy alone. She’s a nice girl; she doesn’t need your bullshit.’ My own brother.”
“Gerard, you didn’t answer my question. Where are you now? Please don’t tell me you’re driving.”
He giggled. “Okay, I won’t, then.” There was a pause as I heard his heavy, obviously liquor-soaked breathing. “I’m on the interstate.”
“Shit. How far away are you now?”
Even he began to sound scared now. “Um, thirty miles. I think it says. There’s an exit coming up for some town called---”
“Okay, Gerard,” I interrupted. “I want you to take that exit and keep going until you reach the Waffle House, okay? Park in the parking lot and wait for me. I’ll be there in an hour at most. Are you listening?” He mumbled. “Okay, say it back to me.”
“I just took the exit, go Waffle House, park, wait,” he mumbled.
“Good, I’ll be there.”
*
The drive was, if possible, both achingly slow and disturbingly quick. I don’t remember any of it, save for the turn into the Waffle House where my fear reached a new height. I didn’t know what car he was driving, but I didn’t have to. There was only one car in the parking lot.
I parked next to him, got out, and knocked on the driver’s side window to alert him. He looked up at me and opened the door. “Get out,” I told him, offering my hand as help.
“You get in,” he said cheerfully.
I sighed, took the keys out of his hand, and pulled him to his feet. With a punch of his key, I locked his car. He wasn’t too hard to drag to my car. “Where are we going?” he slurred.
“Back to my place,” I muttered as I put him in his seat and strapped the seat belt over him.
“Hah, good idea,” he chuckled. I was too stressed to even bother slapping him.
The whole car ride back I found him staring at me with his fuzzed eyes. “You’re pretty,” he told me at one stoplight.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re pretty and I like you.” I turned to look at him. His wet lips were curved upward in a smile. A real smile. Not a drunken grin. Stop, I told myself. No matter what you may think, this man only likes you right now because he’s drunk. We’ve been through this before.
But still, even when my eyes were squarely focused on the road before me, I couldn’t help but picture that sweet smile in my direction the entire drive home.
When we arrived at my apartment, he was already half slumped in his seat and looking particularly green. “Shit, fuck, damn,” I muttered, simply spewing out every cuss word that came to mind. Poor sick Gerard was even sober enough to laugh.
I laid him up in my bed, stretched out with his feet hanging out in midair. “Come here,” he ordered me sternly.
Even drunk, he had hold over me. “What?” I asked when I was closer.
He leaned over the edge of the bed, his wide and bloodshot yet incredibly powerful eyes baring into my soul. He opened his mouth to speak. He lifted his lip to bare his teeth a bit, small and slightly yellowed. How beautiful he was. His tongue moved, sound coming out. What was he saying?
Then he leaned completely over the edge and puked right on my shoes. Oh, yeah, so poetic.
“Ugh,” he groaned, leaning back up. There was vomit trickling down his chin.
Defeated, I kicked off my shoes and went to the kitchen for some cleaning wipes. I heard him whisper softly as I left. “Sorry.”
In fifteen minutes, I had cleaned up the mess and had him changed into oversized jeans and a T-shirt that my cousin left at my apartment. “There you go,” I told him as I pulled the shirt over his head. “Handsome as ever.”
He smiled sheepishly. It might have been just my imagination, but he seemed to be sobering up a bit. “By the way, Amy, do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” I buttoned up the jeans for him and plumped his pillow a bit.
“Why not?”
I smiled right back at him, feeling more confident now that we were out of the car and vomit-covered clothing. “My, my, we’re nosy.”
“I prefer curious, actually. But why not?”
I sighed. “It’s a long, complicated, boring story. Surely you’ll pass out cold before I finish,” I explained.
“I wanna know though!”
“Okay.” I paused, kind of glad that the conversation had come up. But still nervous that it had. “Once upon a time there was a girl who was nice and smart and loyal, but she wasn’t pretty. All her life she had guy friends that she gradually fell in love with, but none of them ever saw her as anything other than a friend. She struggled with it for several years. She couldn’t understand it, really. But, given time, she grew to understand that the men she loved needed her still. She gradually began to learn that need is as strong an emotion as love, only it lasts longer. And, more importantly, she had a distinct purpose and was fulfilled. The people she loved needed her, but she didn’t need love. The end.”
Gerard made a displeased face. “That wasn’t a very good story.”
“Why not?”
He pouted. “What kind of a story ends with somebody unloved? That sucks ass, man.”
“She didn’t see it that way,” I reasoned.
“You know what I think?” I shook my head. “I think that girl had plenty of potential to be loved, but she just didn’t give herself a chance. I think that the person who could love her just came a little late, that’s all. And maybe she could love him back if she gave herself time.”
My temples twitched with discomfort. That happened sometimes. “No, no. You see, that guy who thought he might be able to love her, he just needed something. The two can be confused sometimes.”
“Why is it always about what the guy needs? What does the girl need? I think I know. She probably needs to really know what it is to love somebody.”
That persistent bastard. “No, you’ve got the story wrong. There was never any problem with her loving. It was being loved that was the problem. That‘s why she settled for being needed.”
He still shook his head. “Maybe she should have learned what love looked like first. Maybe she should have loved herself before fixing everybody else’s needs.”
I looked at him. Well, glared was probably a better word. “What are you trying to say?”
“Exactly what I said.”
We were silent. The daggers flying from either direction were piercing neither shield. Then he leaned upward, leaving the comfortable imprint of the pillow behind. He spoke in a low whisper; I had to focus to make out the words. “I don’t know what other losers that girl was hanging around with, but I happen to think she’s pretty.”
I lost my breath. He took advantage of the delay and grabbed hold of my chin with his fingers. Gerard’s lips were suddenly on mine, pressing softly yet with intensity. When my mind finally calculated what we were doing, I pulled away. His mouth followed. I pushed his face off mine. “You’re drunk!”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, sinking back on the pillow. His face seemed to lose its pallor rapidly.
I went to leave, but I turned around when I heard him speak again. His voice had lost its softness and its remorse. “You have no reason not to love yourself.”
I turned off the light. “Then you obviously don’t know me that well.”
*
During the night I called Mikey, who was a frantic mess, and told him that his brother was fine. His absence had caused them to miss a show, so his band wasn’t going to be in the best mood with him when he got back. I promised to have him back on the road by noon. He got up around ten with “a helluva hangover,” as he put it. After some Advil and orange juice, however, we set off to find his car in that parking lot of the Waffle House.
The drive there was completely silent, save for his intermittent groans of discomfort. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Even if he had delivered an unmerited psychological analysis of me the night before. Whatever. I was relieved when we pulled next to his car, thankfully undisturbed, around eleven thirty.
I got out with him and saw him to his car. He turned to me before getting in. “Thank you for taking care of me last night.”
“No problem.”
He sighed and moved closer to me. Again, he put his hands under my chin, cupping my face. “In four months, I’m coming back here. Sober. And when I do, I’m going to ask you to come on tour with us.”
I began to protest already, but he put a finger on my lips and kept talking. “Don’t answer right now. Just think about it. No matter what you may think, I’ll care about you even when I don’t need you to wipe the vomit from my face.” He kissed me then. A real kiss, not stained by liquor or indignation. Just a kiss. And this time I didn’t pull away.
When we broke apart, I started walking rapidly back to my car. Even when I had gotten in the seat and shut the door, I heard his voice carry. “I’ll come back.”
And I left the parking lot, perfectly aware that he was looking at my car until I left his sight completely. The whole way home, my face wavered between laughter and sobs. I was so humored and dismayed that he thought he could possibly bring himself to care.
I hadn’t heard from Gerard, whether by IM or phone call, in a month. It wasn’t like I was worried or anything. If something had happened to him and it wasn’t already leaked to the press, Mikey would call me. Instead, I was mostly just trying to push him from my mind. Every once in a while, I would hear a clip of one of their songs or see a band T-shirt. And when I did, I couldn’t help but think of Gerard. What happened? Did he not like me anymore?
At that party, was it just the drinks that made him ask me to go upstairs with him? Did he really not have any feeling for me whatsoever? Judging by his lack of action, it had to be the truth. I had two options: accept it or push it from my mind entirely. One was extremely preferable.
But all that changed one night in August. I was sitting on my bed, click-clacking away nonsense on my laptop, when I got the call. It was on my home phone, not my cell, so I really didn’t think twice before answering. “Hel-ooo?” I called into the receiver.
I heard somewhat distant chuckling on the other end. “Amy, baby…….”
I almost dropped the phone. “Gerard. What---huh?”
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “I haven’t seen you in so long. I’m a-coming to see you.”
“When?” I asked, bewildered.
“Right now.”
I looked at the clock. It was past midnight. “Are you drunk? Where are you? Where are the guys?”
He made an indistinguishable sound. “Them. They think I should leave you alone. That’s what Mikey said. He said, he said, ‘Leave Amy alone. She’s a nice girl; she doesn’t need your bullshit.’ My own brother.”
“Gerard, you didn’t answer my question. Where are you now? Please don’t tell me you’re driving.”
He giggled. “Okay, I won’t, then.” There was a pause as I heard his heavy, obviously liquor-soaked breathing. “I’m on the interstate.”
“Shit. How far away are you now?”
Even he began to sound scared now. “Um, thirty miles. I think it says. There’s an exit coming up for some town called---”
“Okay, Gerard,” I interrupted. “I want you to take that exit and keep going until you reach the Waffle House, okay? Park in the parking lot and wait for me. I’ll be there in an hour at most. Are you listening?” He mumbled. “Okay, say it back to me.”
“I just took the exit, go Waffle House, park, wait,” he mumbled.
“Good, I’ll be there.”
*
The drive was, if possible, both achingly slow and disturbingly quick. I don’t remember any of it, save for the turn into the Waffle House where my fear reached a new height. I didn’t know what car he was driving, but I didn’t have to. There was only one car in the parking lot.
I parked next to him, got out, and knocked on the driver’s side window to alert him. He looked up at me and opened the door. “Get out,” I told him, offering my hand as help.
“You get in,” he said cheerfully.
I sighed, took the keys out of his hand, and pulled him to his feet. With a punch of his key, I locked his car. He wasn’t too hard to drag to my car. “Where are we going?” he slurred.
“Back to my place,” I muttered as I put him in his seat and strapped the seat belt over him.
“Hah, good idea,” he chuckled. I was too stressed to even bother slapping him.
The whole car ride back I found him staring at me with his fuzzed eyes. “You’re pretty,” he told me at one stoplight.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re pretty and I like you.” I turned to look at him. His wet lips were curved upward in a smile. A real smile. Not a drunken grin. Stop, I told myself. No matter what you may think, this man only likes you right now because he’s drunk. We’ve been through this before.
But still, even when my eyes were squarely focused on the road before me, I couldn’t help but picture that sweet smile in my direction the entire drive home.
When we arrived at my apartment, he was already half slumped in his seat and looking particularly green. “Shit, fuck, damn,” I muttered, simply spewing out every cuss word that came to mind. Poor sick Gerard was even sober enough to laugh.
I laid him up in my bed, stretched out with his feet hanging out in midair. “Come here,” he ordered me sternly.
Even drunk, he had hold over me. “What?” I asked when I was closer.
He leaned over the edge of the bed, his wide and bloodshot yet incredibly powerful eyes baring into my soul. He opened his mouth to speak. He lifted his lip to bare his teeth a bit, small and slightly yellowed. How beautiful he was. His tongue moved, sound coming out. What was he saying?
Then he leaned completely over the edge and puked right on my shoes. Oh, yeah, so poetic.
“Ugh,” he groaned, leaning back up. There was vomit trickling down his chin.
Defeated, I kicked off my shoes and went to the kitchen for some cleaning wipes. I heard him whisper softly as I left. “Sorry.”
In fifteen minutes, I had cleaned up the mess and had him changed into oversized jeans and a T-shirt that my cousin left at my apartment. “There you go,” I told him as I pulled the shirt over his head. “Handsome as ever.”
He smiled sheepishly. It might have been just my imagination, but he seemed to be sobering up a bit. “By the way, Amy, do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.” I buttoned up the jeans for him and plumped his pillow a bit.
“Why not?”
I smiled right back at him, feeling more confident now that we were out of the car and vomit-covered clothing. “My, my, we’re nosy.”
“I prefer curious, actually. But why not?”
I sighed. “It’s a long, complicated, boring story. Surely you’ll pass out cold before I finish,” I explained.
“I wanna know though!”
“Okay.” I paused, kind of glad that the conversation had come up. But still nervous that it had. “Once upon a time there was a girl who was nice and smart and loyal, but she wasn’t pretty. All her life she had guy friends that she gradually fell in love with, but none of them ever saw her as anything other than a friend. She struggled with it for several years. She couldn’t understand it, really. But, given time, she grew to understand that the men she loved needed her still. She gradually began to learn that need is as strong an emotion as love, only it lasts longer. And, more importantly, she had a distinct purpose and was fulfilled. The people she loved needed her, but she didn’t need love. The end.”
Gerard made a displeased face. “That wasn’t a very good story.”
“Why not?”
He pouted. “What kind of a story ends with somebody unloved? That sucks ass, man.”
“She didn’t see it that way,” I reasoned.
“You know what I think?” I shook my head. “I think that girl had plenty of potential to be loved, but she just didn’t give herself a chance. I think that the person who could love her just came a little late, that’s all. And maybe she could love him back if she gave herself time.”
My temples twitched with discomfort. That happened sometimes. “No, no. You see, that guy who thought he might be able to love her, he just needed something. The two can be confused sometimes.”
“Why is it always about what the guy needs? What does the girl need? I think I know. She probably needs to really know what it is to love somebody.”
That persistent bastard. “No, you’ve got the story wrong. There was never any problem with her loving. It was being loved that was the problem. That‘s why she settled for being needed.”
He still shook his head. “Maybe she should have learned what love looked like first. Maybe she should have loved herself before fixing everybody else’s needs.”
I looked at him. Well, glared was probably a better word. “What are you trying to say?”
“Exactly what I said.”
We were silent. The daggers flying from either direction were piercing neither shield. Then he leaned upward, leaving the comfortable imprint of the pillow behind. He spoke in a low whisper; I had to focus to make out the words. “I don’t know what other losers that girl was hanging around with, but I happen to think she’s pretty.”
I lost my breath. He took advantage of the delay and grabbed hold of my chin with his fingers. Gerard’s lips were suddenly on mine, pressing softly yet with intensity. When my mind finally calculated what we were doing, I pulled away. His mouth followed. I pushed his face off mine. “You’re drunk!”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, sinking back on the pillow. His face seemed to lose its pallor rapidly.
I went to leave, but I turned around when I heard him speak again. His voice had lost its softness and its remorse. “You have no reason not to love yourself.”
I turned off the light. “Then you obviously don’t know me that well.”
*
During the night I called Mikey, who was a frantic mess, and told him that his brother was fine. His absence had caused them to miss a show, so his band wasn’t going to be in the best mood with him when he got back. I promised to have him back on the road by noon. He got up around ten with “a helluva hangover,” as he put it. After some Advil and orange juice, however, we set off to find his car in that parking lot of the Waffle House.
The drive there was completely silent, save for his intermittent groans of discomfort. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Even if he had delivered an unmerited psychological analysis of me the night before. Whatever. I was relieved when we pulled next to his car, thankfully undisturbed, around eleven thirty.
I got out with him and saw him to his car. He turned to me before getting in. “Thank you for taking care of me last night.”
“No problem.”
He sighed and moved closer to me. Again, he put his hands under my chin, cupping my face. “In four months, I’m coming back here. Sober. And when I do, I’m going to ask you to come on tour with us.”
I began to protest already, but he put a finger on my lips and kept talking. “Don’t answer right now. Just think about it. No matter what you may think, I’ll care about you even when I don’t need you to wipe the vomit from my face.” He kissed me then. A real kiss, not stained by liquor or indignation. Just a kiss. And this time I didn’t pull away.
When we broke apart, I started walking rapidly back to my car. Even when I had gotten in the seat and shut the door, I heard his voice carry. “I’ll come back.”
And I left the parking lot, perfectly aware that he was looking at my car until I left his sight completely. The whole way home, my face wavered between laughter and sobs. I was so humored and dismayed that he thought he could possibly bring himself to care.
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