Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > We're not okay, we promise.
Gerard woke up the next morning to find an ear-splittingly loud argument occurring on the street below. Getting up, he looked out of his window, and saw his brother screaming at some random popular guy. He pulled on the clothes he’d worn to school the day before, and ran downstairs, just in time to restrain Mikey from hitting the guy he could never win in a fight against.
“What the hell is going on?!” He yelled
“This guy just turned up, saying we did something to his sister!” Mikey was breathing raggedly, and looked pale.
“Mike, go inside.”
“But he-“
“Just go!”
He left unwillingly, leaving Gerard and the other guy alone.
“Okay, who are you?”
“Edward Maxfield. Helena’s brother. Are you Gerard?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“What the hell did you do to my sister asshole?!”
“Nothing!”
“She left for you house perfectly fine, and came home sobbing, then locked herself in her room all night, and still refuses to come out!”
“She was happy when she left here” Gerard said, thoroughly shocked. “How could her mood change so quickly?”
“She’s bipolar you ass. You have to be very very careful around her, in case you set her off.”
Gerard blanched white. He hadn’t known. He had no idea. It was all his fault. Him and the stupid way he coped. What had he said? Was it what she’d seen? Oh God... He couldn’t speak, he wanted to tell the guy this, apologise, but the words just wouldn’t come.
“She’s asking for you. Won’t talk to anyone but you.”
“Anyone... But me?” He whispered.
“Yes! Now come help her!”
He pulled Gerard by the arm, his grip like iron on the soft, pale skin, dragging him the short distance to their house. He slammed the door open and shoved Gerard in roughly.
“Down those stairs”
Edward pointed down to the basement door, and pushed the small of Gerard’s back, making him stumble forward a few steps before he stopped tripping over his feet. He kept walking until he got to the door – it was black, and covered with drawings and quotes. He knocked gently.
“Helena?” He said softly. “Helena, it’s me, Gerard – let me in?”
There was a scrabbling at the door, and it swung open to reveal something that was certainly not his Helena.
She had lank, greasy hair, which didn’t shine, and framed a face which looked tortured. She had dark, bruise-like shadows under her dull, dark, moss-green eyes, and her skin was a matt grey, nothing like her usual pale, flawless skin and emphatic emerald eyes, which could make his heart skip a beat with one glance.
But his shock turned to pity and guilt when his eyes trailed down her body, and reached her long, thin arms – before so clear, which now sported the tell-tale red lines that he found so familiar, which his had been covered in for years, and which she had yesterday told him were unnecessary.
She was sat with her back to the wall, arms curled around her knees, chin on her arms, staring blankly into space – Like a caged lion, which missed its freedom. He walked towards her slowly and crouched down next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder gently. She flinched reflexively.
“Helena? Helena, what’s wrong with your shoulder?”
When he got no reply, he very gently rolled the elbow-length sleeve of her top up – revealing that her injuries went all the way up. Any words caught in his throat – he had no idea what to say for the second time today. Then she spoke, in a croaky, forced voice, so unlike her usual one:
“I wanted to know”
“Know what? Know what, honey?”
“Why you do it” She indicated her arms.
“I don’t know why. Sometimes it feels like the only thing I can rely on”
She was staring into space, silent. Then he remembered something he always needed to do when he’d... You know.
“Helena? I’m just going to check your cuts, okay?”
She nodded slightly, so he begun. Taking a huge amount of care, he checked her forearms first, glad there were no deep cuts and the ones over her wrist were shallow and horizontal. When he looked at her upper arms, he found some dirt in her cuts, and made a mental note to clean all her injuries. The shoulders came last. One cut was deeper than the rest, like she’d slipped, and was still weeping blood. It looked like it needed stitches.
“What did you do these with? “ Whenever he was shocked, Gerard became factual. It stopped him panicking.
“Pencil sharpener” She indicated a broken pencil sharpener, her blood still coating the blade.
“Okay. Stay here, don’t move, I’ll be right back”
After another, nearly invisible nod from Helena, he left, going up the stairs and bumping right into her mother.
“What the hell is going on?!” He yelled
“This guy just turned up, saying we did something to his sister!” Mikey was breathing raggedly, and looked pale.
“Mike, go inside.”
“But he-“
“Just go!”
He left unwillingly, leaving Gerard and the other guy alone.
“Okay, who are you?”
“Edward Maxfield. Helena’s brother. Are you Gerard?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“What the hell did you do to my sister asshole?!”
“Nothing!”
“She left for you house perfectly fine, and came home sobbing, then locked herself in her room all night, and still refuses to come out!”
“She was happy when she left here” Gerard said, thoroughly shocked. “How could her mood change so quickly?”
“She’s bipolar you ass. You have to be very very careful around her, in case you set her off.”
Gerard blanched white. He hadn’t known. He had no idea. It was all his fault. Him and the stupid way he coped. What had he said? Was it what she’d seen? Oh God... He couldn’t speak, he wanted to tell the guy this, apologise, but the words just wouldn’t come.
“She’s asking for you. Won’t talk to anyone but you.”
“Anyone... But me?” He whispered.
“Yes! Now come help her!”
He pulled Gerard by the arm, his grip like iron on the soft, pale skin, dragging him the short distance to their house. He slammed the door open and shoved Gerard in roughly.
“Down those stairs”
Edward pointed down to the basement door, and pushed the small of Gerard’s back, making him stumble forward a few steps before he stopped tripping over his feet. He kept walking until he got to the door – it was black, and covered with drawings and quotes. He knocked gently.
“Helena?” He said softly. “Helena, it’s me, Gerard – let me in?”
There was a scrabbling at the door, and it swung open to reveal something that was certainly not his Helena.
She had lank, greasy hair, which didn’t shine, and framed a face which looked tortured. She had dark, bruise-like shadows under her dull, dark, moss-green eyes, and her skin was a matt grey, nothing like her usual pale, flawless skin and emphatic emerald eyes, which could make his heart skip a beat with one glance.
But his shock turned to pity and guilt when his eyes trailed down her body, and reached her long, thin arms – before so clear, which now sported the tell-tale red lines that he found so familiar, which his had been covered in for years, and which she had yesterday told him were unnecessary.
She was sat with her back to the wall, arms curled around her knees, chin on her arms, staring blankly into space – Like a caged lion, which missed its freedom. He walked towards her slowly and crouched down next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder gently. She flinched reflexively.
“Helena? Helena, what’s wrong with your shoulder?”
When he got no reply, he very gently rolled the elbow-length sleeve of her top up – revealing that her injuries went all the way up. Any words caught in his throat – he had no idea what to say for the second time today. Then she spoke, in a croaky, forced voice, so unlike her usual one:
“I wanted to know”
“Know what? Know what, honey?”
“Why you do it” She indicated her arms.
“I don’t know why. Sometimes it feels like the only thing I can rely on”
She was staring into space, silent. Then he remembered something he always needed to do when he’d... You know.
“Helena? I’m just going to check your cuts, okay?”
She nodded slightly, so he begun. Taking a huge amount of care, he checked her forearms first, glad there were no deep cuts and the ones over her wrist were shallow and horizontal. When he looked at her upper arms, he found some dirt in her cuts, and made a mental note to clean all her injuries. The shoulders came last. One cut was deeper than the rest, like she’d slipped, and was still weeping blood. It looked like it needed stitches.
“What did you do these with? “ Whenever he was shocked, Gerard became factual. It stopped him panicking.
“Pencil sharpener” She indicated a broken pencil sharpener, her blood still coating the blade.
“Okay. Stay here, don’t move, I’ll be right back”
After another, nearly invisible nod from Helena, he left, going up the stairs and bumping right into her mother.
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