FicWad

Gerard was laying on his bed, looking out his window. He’d been sick for about two weeks; that was withdrawal for you. Very often, Gerard was tempted to find a junkie at one of the shows and score a hit, but Mikey watched him like a hawk at the shows, and on the bus sometimes as well. All traces of alcohol were banned from the bus, and Mikey would call ahead to the venues and ask that alcoholic drinks not be put out in the Green Room or anywhere else backstage, so there was no temptation there. Gerard was not allowed to do any of the grocery shopping, nor was Frank.

He was having a worse time than Gerard; Frank was constantly ornery and belligerent, snapping at anyone who dared speak to him at any given moment during the day. He pouted during rehearsals and stood lifelessly on stage during performances. He hadn’t wanted to become sober in the first place, but the band had given him the ultimatum: Get sober or quit.

“You can’t make me!” Pen had long since gone to sleep, and the band had confronted Frank and Gerard, who took the news significantly better.

“Frank! Don’t you want to support Pen?”

“That’s bull shit! She’s not even trying, can’t you see? She does shit behind your backs, she’s just better at hiding it now!”

“Regardless, Frank, she’s more likely to quit if we eliminate all temptation. Plus, if she does give all that shit up, it’s going to be about a thousand times more difficult with you doing it right under her nose.”

“She can kiss my nuts, I don’t care.”

“Frank. I didn’t want to bring it to this, but if you don’t quit drugs and drinking, you’re gonna have to quit the band.”

Frank stared at Gerard, mouth agape. His best friend, his mischief buddy…had he really just said that? “You’re…you can’t be serious…”

“I’m sorry, Frank, but I have to be. It’ll be just as hard for me to get sober with you doing all that stuff as it will be for Pen.”

“Ever since that bitch got here, everything’s about her! What about my happiness? Hell, what about our friendship? What ever happened to us being buddies? She gets here and all of a sudden everything has to change?”

“I’m not doing it for Pen, Frank. I’m doing it for Mikey, and I’m doing it for myself.”

Gerard sighed. Out of habit, he opened the drawer where he used to keep his stash, which Mikey threw out during his raid of Gerard’s room. There, he saw, sat the untouched sketchbook that Pen had gotten him for Christmas, nearly two months ago. Next to it, the charcoal pencils. He bit his lip. What could it hurt? He gingerly picked the book out of the drawer, followed by the pencils. Flipping it open, Gerard marveled at how beautiful he still found the stiff, white paper, how full of potential it seemed. He had always loved the possibilities that decorated a blank sheet of paper.

He slowly removed one of the lighter charcoals from the box and held it in his hand, relishing the feel of its stiff power in his hand. He held the tip to the paper, poised as though about to put forth something new into the world, something that wasn’t there before. Gerard thought; there were so many things to draw…Pen popped into his mind. Her sunny, bright face that seemed to light up a room the minute she decided to let a smile grace her features. He sketched her heart-shaped face, her long, elegant neck, her beautiful, long hair, then the rest of her body. Big in the bust and hip areas with a tiny waist, and very long fingers. Hands, those were always the most difficult…

“Hey Pen, c’mere!” Gerard called once the basic sketch of her was done. He wanted to show it to her, show her that he was finally using his gift. Really, he just wanted to show off that he was able to draw again as a hobby and not a chore. He added in shading and detail, sweeping his hand across the no-longer blank page with flourish. Pen stood in the doorway, looking at him.

“What do you want?” she snapped. He looked up and saw it: A scowl adorned her features, and her bony shoulders were hunched as she crossed her arms sourly. Her hair was stringy and greasy from lack of caring about its appearance. Clothes that had fit when she first joined them were baggy, too baggy. Her hands twitched as though being shot by invisible shocks of electricity. It was in that moment that he saw Pen, not as the happy, innocent girl in his drawing, but a jumpy drug-addict, with a mind addled by a life of partying. Gerard’s stomach dropped as he realized what had happened to her; he had happened to her.

“Uhh…” Suddenly, he felt stupid for thinking of showing her his crappy drawing. “Nothing. Sorry. I--I thought I heard you calling my name, and I didn’t want to get up.”

She rolled her eyes and walked out, muttering, “Lazy fuck.”

Gerard tore the page out of the sketchbook, shredding it in his hands, crumpling and ripping it to bits. Soon, paper littered his bed like snowflakes and he was panting slightly. He jumped out of bed and paced the room, running his hands through his hair and kicking the bed occasionally. He slammed his hand against the wall. It was his fault, all his fault. If he had never given Pen that first drink on her birthday, she would never have fucked Frank, would never have gotten drunk and tried coke, never done any of it. Everything that had happened to her, he was responsible for. Hot, angry tears streamed down his face and he roughly wiped them away. He didn’t even deserve his own tears. The guilt he felt wrought with was unprecedented. This girl, this young girl, her life had been changed irrevocably by him, and he could never make up for it.

Gerard stormed into Frank’s room. Frank was out somewhere, probably grocery shopping under the close eye of Mikey or Ray or Bob. He began tearing the room apart, throwing shit on the floor, searching the closets, kicking things over; he knew what he was looking for, and he knew it had to be there. Reaching under the bed as far as his arm would go, Gerard found it: a bottle of straight vodka.


Dun-dun-duuuuuuuuuun!