Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > To The End Of The World
Part Two: Helena. Chapter Six
1 reviewFrank walks in on Gerard working on new material he seems unwilling to share...
0Unrated
Chapter Six - We’ll Meet Again When Both Our Cars Collide
Ray led me back to the kitchen. I wrapped my arms around Mikey first, then Gerard. Gerard clung to me and sobbed hard. I led him downstairs to his room, and he collapsed on the bed.
“I’m so sorry, Gee.” I whispered.
“I can’t believe this.” He whispered.
I hugged him again. I hated seeing him so sad. He was usually so vibrant, and full of life. Lately all I’d seen was a deep, depressed side that I hadn’t even known existed.
I carefully took Gerard’s hand, and unwrapped the bandage covering the wound on his palm. It was a little bruised, but it was clean. It looked deeper than I had originally thought.
“I really didn’t mean to.” Gerard whispered. I looked up at him.
“I know.” I whispered, covering the wound again.
“I… I just found the razor, cause I used to hide them under the lamp, and I moved it to figure out where it was plugged in, and I saw it. I remembered how it used to make me feel better… I just don’t even know what I was doing. I forgot it was there, to be honest. I can’t believe that after all this time, I still can’t feel pain properly.”
“Not much fucks up your nerves like cutting.” I said. “I had to stop playing guitar for several months when I was a teenager, because of all the nerve damage I’d done to my wrist. They were afraid that if I stressed it, I would never recover, then I’d never be able to play.”
“Why did you cut?” Gerard asked.
“For control, mostly.” I said. “I couldn’t control even the smallest things in my life, so I started cutting, because I could control that. Part of it was also to prove to my mom that she couldn’t stop me. I was trying to prove to her that I was mature, and I could handle myself. But I actually proved the opposite.”
“I’m sorry.” He said, placing his uninjured hand gently on my knee.
“Me too.” I said, looking up at him.
*
“Gerard,” Donna said gently, breaking the silence at dinner.
Gerard looked up. He hadn’t said much today, and he’d spent a large amount of time sitting outside smoking and drinking coffee. I’d briefly seen him drawing, but I hadn’t looked too closely. Donna looked at Donald, and he cleared his throat.
“Gerard, we talked about it, and we decided that we want you to speak at Helen’s funeral.”
Gerard’s mouth fell open.
“And,” Donna said, “we want you to get a haircut.”
Ray snorted. We all looked at him and he quietly excused himself.
“A haircut?” Gerard said, looking between his parents.
“So that you look nice.” Donna said.
“No.” Gerard said. “I’m not gonna change myself for this.”
“A haircut?” Mikey asked, looking between his parents. “Have you met your son?”
“Thanks, Mikes.” Gerard said sarcastically.
Ray returned and that topic of conversation was dropped. The next day, Donna officially started making preparations for the funeral. The next afternoon found me and Mikey sitting at the dining room table, with Donna’s address book between us, addressing invitations to Helena’s funeral.
“My hand hurts like a motherfucker.” Mikey said, throwing his pen down and flexing his hand.
“Yep.” I agreed, finishing my current envelope, tossing it on the pile, and also setting my pen down.
“It still hasn’t sunk in that she’s gone.” Mikey said, staring out the back door.
I put my hand on his arm, and he turned to look at me.
“I’m really sorry.” I said. “This is probably harder for you and Gee then my tiny little brain could even try to comprehend.”
“She was an amazing woman.” Mikey whispered, and tears filled his eyes.
I scooted my chair closer to his, and wrapped my arms around him. Instead of leaning into me, like he usually did, he stayed stiff, hands clenched around the edge of the table.
“I love you, Mikey.” I whispered, kissing his ear.
“You do?” He asked.
“Yes.” I said, then I leaned back. “How could you doubt that?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “Sometimes I just feel like you should be with someone better than me… I don’t deserve you.”
“Mikey,” I said, putting my hand on his cheek and turning his head around to face me. “I love you. I know that you deserve better than me, but every single second, I’m grateful that you’re enough of an idiot that you settled for me.”
His lips twitched, and I leaned forward to kiss him.
*
“Can we… pretend. To leave… and then. We’ll meet… again. When both… our… cars… collide!”
I peeked around the edge of the doorframe to see Gerard doing the dishes and singing.
“Tonight, what’s the worst that I could say? Things are better if I stay. So long, and goodnight. So long, not goodnight. And if we carry on this way, things are better if I stay. So long, and Goodnight. So long, not goodnight.”
He carried out the last note, then sighed, and turned around. He looked stricken when he saw me leaning against the doorframe.
“How long have you been standing there?” He demanded.
“Just a couple eternities.” I said, smiling and waving my hand. His face drained of color.
“I can explain, I was--”
“I’ve been here for 30 seconds, moron.” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Really?” Gerard looked confused.
“Really.” I said, raising one eyebrow.
“And you couldn’t hear me before that?” Gerard asked.
“No.” I said.
“Thank God…” Gerard breathed, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
“Why?” I asked slyly, stepping into the kitchen.
“Nothing!” Gerard said too quickly, his hand jumping to cover the notebook that was sitting next to the sink.
“What’s in the notebook?” I asked in the same tone, taking another step forward.
“Nothing, Frank, seriously.” Gerard said, snatching it off the counter.
“If it’s nothing, you wouldn’t be hiding it.” I stated, crossing my arms. “Out with it. What are you hiding?”
“It’s just, some, uh, new material.” He said, backing all the way against the counter.
“Can I see it?” I asked.
“No, that would be why I’m hiding it from you.” Gerard said, rolling his eyes.
“Come on!” I whined. “I show you my unfinished stuff! Gimme!”
“No!” He said.
“Why?” I groaned, going into full five-year-old temper-tantrum mode.
“Because! I don’t wanna!” Gerard said.
“Oh. Oh, I see.” I said, feigning sudden understanding.
“What?” He asked quickly.
“You wrote about me.” I said, still pretending I knew what was going on. Gerard’s face paled further.
“Frankie…”
“You don’t love me!” I wailed, throwing myself on the ground.
“Uh, that’s not what I…” Gerard looked at the notebook.
“Wait.” I said, sitting up. “You wrote about me?”
“No?” Gerard grimaced as I jumped up.
“Well, now you have to let me look.” I said, hands on my hips.
Gerard was saved by Mikey and Toro walking in. They started talking to us, and Gerard tried to slip by unnoticed. I grabbed his arm and roughly pulled him back.
“This isn’t over.” I murmured to him, gesturing toward the notebook.
He smiled weakly, then left the room.
A/N: What's he talking about? Who knows! (I know) But anyway...
I realized that I talked about cutting a lot in this part, and I wanted to say that I'm not trying to glorify self-injury, because I think it's a really terrible thing. Almost a year ago, I started cutting, and I became so dependent on it, I couldn't remember how to feel anything but desire to cut again. I stopped about 3 months after that, and I haven't cut since, but I'm still wrestling with it. I realized a couple weeks ago, that I still can't remember how to be happy. Remembering how to be sad and angry came fairly quickly, but I still have trouble with all the "good" emotions. If anyone reading this is currently wrestling with this, whether you want to cut, are cutting, or trying to stop, to talk to someone. I know that it can be really humiliating to admit weakness, but it's ultimately the solution.
So, the next part will be called "I'm Not Okay". It holds some pretty epic surprises.
Please rate and review!!
xxAnna
Ray led me back to the kitchen. I wrapped my arms around Mikey first, then Gerard. Gerard clung to me and sobbed hard. I led him downstairs to his room, and he collapsed on the bed.
“I’m so sorry, Gee.” I whispered.
“I can’t believe this.” He whispered.
I hugged him again. I hated seeing him so sad. He was usually so vibrant, and full of life. Lately all I’d seen was a deep, depressed side that I hadn’t even known existed.
I carefully took Gerard’s hand, and unwrapped the bandage covering the wound on his palm. It was a little bruised, but it was clean. It looked deeper than I had originally thought.
“I really didn’t mean to.” Gerard whispered. I looked up at him.
“I know.” I whispered, covering the wound again.
“I… I just found the razor, cause I used to hide them under the lamp, and I moved it to figure out where it was plugged in, and I saw it. I remembered how it used to make me feel better… I just don’t even know what I was doing. I forgot it was there, to be honest. I can’t believe that after all this time, I still can’t feel pain properly.”
“Not much fucks up your nerves like cutting.” I said. “I had to stop playing guitar for several months when I was a teenager, because of all the nerve damage I’d done to my wrist. They were afraid that if I stressed it, I would never recover, then I’d never be able to play.”
“Why did you cut?” Gerard asked.
“For control, mostly.” I said. “I couldn’t control even the smallest things in my life, so I started cutting, because I could control that. Part of it was also to prove to my mom that she couldn’t stop me. I was trying to prove to her that I was mature, and I could handle myself. But I actually proved the opposite.”
“I’m sorry.” He said, placing his uninjured hand gently on my knee.
“Me too.” I said, looking up at him.
*
“Gerard,” Donna said gently, breaking the silence at dinner.
Gerard looked up. He hadn’t said much today, and he’d spent a large amount of time sitting outside smoking and drinking coffee. I’d briefly seen him drawing, but I hadn’t looked too closely. Donna looked at Donald, and he cleared his throat.
“Gerard, we talked about it, and we decided that we want you to speak at Helen’s funeral.”
Gerard’s mouth fell open.
“And,” Donna said, “we want you to get a haircut.”
Ray snorted. We all looked at him and he quietly excused himself.
“A haircut?” Gerard said, looking between his parents.
“So that you look nice.” Donna said.
“No.” Gerard said. “I’m not gonna change myself for this.”
“A haircut?” Mikey asked, looking between his parents. “Have you met your son?”
“Thanks, Mikes.” Gerard said sarcastically.
Ray returned and that topic of conversation was dropped. The next day, Donna officially started making preparations for the funeral. The next afternoon found me and Mikey sitting at the dining room table, with Donna’s address book between us, addressing invitations to Helena’s funeral.
“My hand hurts like a motherfucker.” Mikey said, throwing his pen down and flexing his hand.
“Yep.” I agreed, finishing my current envelope, tossing it on the pile, and also setting my pen down.
“It still hasn’t sunk in that she’s gone.” Mikey said, staring out the back door.
I put my hand on his arm, and he turned to look at me.
“I’m really sorry.” I said. “This is probably harder for you and Gee then my tiny little brain could even try to comprehend.”
“She was an amazing woman.” Mikey whispered, and tears filled his eyes.
I scooted my chair closer to his, and wrapped my arms around him. Instead of leaning into me, like he usually did, he stayed stiff, hands clenched around the edge of the table.
“I love you, Mikey.” I whispered, kissing his ear.
“You do?” He asked.
“Yes.” I said, then I leaned back. “How could you doubt that?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed. “Sometimes I just feel like you should be with someone better than me… I don’t deserve you.”
“Mikey,” I said, putting my hand on his cheek and turning his head around to face me. “I love you. I know that you deserve better than me, but every single second, I’m grateful that you’re enough of an idiot that you settled for me.”
His lips twitched, and I leaned forward to kiss him.
*
“Can we… pretend. To leave… and then. We’ll meet… again. When both… our… cars… collide!”
I peeked around the edge of the doorframe to see Gerard doing the dishes and singing.
“Tonight, what’s the worst that I could say? Things are better if I stay. So long, and goodnight. So long, not goodnight. And if we carry on this way, things are better if I stay. So long, and Goodnight. So long, not goodnight.”
He carried out the last note, then sighed, and turned around. He looked stricken when he saw me leaning against the doorframe.
“How long have you been standing there?” He demanded.
“Just a couple eternities.” I said, smiling and waving my hand. His face drained of color.
“I can explain, I was--”
“I’ve been here for 30 seconds, moron.” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Really?” Gerard looked confused.
“Really.” I said, raising one eyebrow.
“And you couldn’t hear me before that?” Gerard asked.
“No.” I said.
“Thank God…” Gerard breathed, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
“Why?” I asked slyly, stepping into the kitchen.
“Nothing!” Gerard said too quickly, his hand jumping to cover the notebook that was sitting next to the sink.
“What’s in the notebook?” I asked in the same tone, taking another step forward.
“Nothing, Frank, seriously.” Gerard said, snatching it off the counter.
“If it’s nothing, you wouldn’t be hiding it.” I stated, crossing my arms. “Out with it. What are you hiding?”
“It’s just, some, uh, new material.” He said, backing all the way against the counter.
“Can I see it?” I asked.
“No, that would be why I’m hiding it from you.” Gerard said, rolling his eyes.
“Come on!” I whined. “I show you my unfinished stuff! Gimme!”
“No!” He said.
“Why?” I groaned, going into full five-year-old temper-tantrum mode.
“Because! I don’t wanna!” Gerard said.
“Oh. Oh, I see.” I said, feigning sudden understanding.
“What?” He asked quickly.
“You wrote about me.” I said, still pretending I knew what was going on. Gerard’s face paled further.
“Frankie…”
“You don’t love me!” I wailed, throwing myself on the ground.
“Uh, that’s not what I…” Gerard looked at the notebook.
“Wait.” I said, sitting up. “You wrote about me?”
“No?” Gerard grimaced as I jumped up.
“Well, now you have to let me look.” I said, hands on my hips.
Gerard was saved by Mikey and Toro walking in. They started talking to us, and Gerard tried to slip by unnoticed. I grabbed his arm and roughly pulled him back.
“This isn’t over.” I murmured to him, gesturing toward the notebook.
He smiled weakly, then left the room.
A/N: What's he talking about? Who knows! (I know) But anyway...
I realized that I talked about cutting a lot in this part, and I wanted to say that I'm not trying to glorify self-injury, because I think it's a really terrible thing. Almost a year ago, I started cutting, and I became so dependent on it, I couldn't remember how to feel anything but desire to cut again. I stopped about 3 months after that, and I haven't cut since, but I'm still wrestling with it. I realized a couple weeks ago, that I still can't remember how to be happy. Remembering how to be sad and angry came fairly quickly, but I still have trouble with all the "good" emotions. If anyone reading this is currently wrestling with this, whether you want to cut, are cutting, or trying to stop, to talk to someone. I know that it can be really humiliating to admit weakness, but it's ultimately the solution.
So, the next part will be called "I'm Not Okay". It holds some pretty epic surprises.
Please rate and review!!
xxAnna
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