Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
Hey everyone! Well, here I am for Chapter four! Thanks so much to all of you dedicated readers who are rating and reviewing. Listened to "Hand Me Down" by Matchbox 20 while writing this one. Another great song. Give it a listen. Enjoy! :)
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S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
It wasn't true. Couldn't be true. No fucking way. This wasn't happening. It was something else. It was just Gerard, just...fucking with him. Had to be. It couldn't be this. This was Gerard, for god's sake!
His brother. His big brother. His protector. His best friend. The one person in the whole fucking world that Mikey knew would never betray, hurt or abandon him. This was Gerard.
And that had been Gerard's handwriting. He knew it well enough, had seen enough scribbled notes, Post-Its, plastered on the studio walls, enough lyrics scribbled on napkins, in notebooks, on walls and bathroom stalls. He'd seen the slanted etchings of chicken-scrawl enough to know it was Gerard's hand that had engraved those words on that page.
But how could he? How could that be his big brother, his best friend, his protector, who'd scribbled the words 'i dream about making love to him'? And how could that 'him', the boy teenaged Gerard had been talking about, be Mikey himself?
Mikey was hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands dug hard into his hair, sitting on the couch in the recording booth. The very couch where, not even seven hours ago, he'd held a very hysterical Gerard, rubbing his back, whispering into his ear. That act, so simple and so normal at the time, sickened him now. Did Gerard get off on that kind of thing? Mikey's hands on him? What the fuck?
Mikey struggled to suck in a deep breath, rubbing his temples, collapsing back on the couch, utter exhaustion seeping into his bones as he pulled his Blackberry from his pocket and checked the time. 7:54p.m. He bit his lip.
Would he show up?
A door slammed outside, feet shuffled down the hall, keys jingled. Mikey's heart started pounding, hard and fast, like he couldn't breathe. He swore he could feel it beating a tattoo against his lungs inside his chest. He swallowed nervously. The door to the recording booth creaked open slowly.
"You still fuckin' here, Mikes?"
Mikey couldn't help breathing a sigh of palpable relief, warmth spreading through him. It was just Ray, looking a little confused, but definitely all Ray. It wasn't Gerard. He swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding to the other man, sitting up straighter, waving him off a little.
"Yeah, just, hanging out. I'm supposed to be getting a ride from Gerard," Mikey lied quickly, surprised how easily it rolled off his tongue, "My, uh, car wouldn't start. He said he'd pick me up soon."
Ray's eyebrows lifted, and he took a step further into the booth, "Oh, well, fuck Mikey, if you needed a ride, I could just give you a lift? Save Gerard the gas? It's on my way anyway," Ray said, laughing a bit, "Yeah, I mean, fuck, you could even just kick it with me tonight man? Stay for dinner, and a movie with Christa and I? Give Alicia a night to herself?"
"Nah, it's cool," Mikey said too quickly, then kicked himself for his haste; if he wasn't careful, Ray might think something was up, "I mean, he's already on his way, and y'know, I just wanna make sure he's okay, uh, y'know, after what happened today? Yeah, it's cool man. Thanks for the offer. Sounds awesome. Definitely some other time though, 'kay?"
"Yeah, okay," Ray said, offering him a smile, walking further into the booth, hustling past the coffee table, grabbing a guitar case that was sitting next to the soundboard, "I just came back because I forgot this here, and I'd wanted to work on that riff for the new song. Yeah, seriously though man, let me know if you wanna just kick it sometime, okay? And say hey to Gerard for me. Make sure he's okay and everything. What the fuck was his deal today anyway? Why was he freaking out?"
"I don't know," Mikey lied, yet again. Part of him felt a little bad lying to Ray like this; Ray had been one of his best friends for so long, he couldn't even remember the last lie he'd told him, "But that's part of why I called him to come and get me. I was gonna talk to him about it. He should be here soon though. And yeah, we'll hang sometime, for sure. Thanks for the offer though, seriously man. I guess I'll catch you later?"
"Yeah, for sure," Ray said, grinning, awkwardly hefting the guitar case in some kind of half-salute at him, heading out, pushing open the door, and suddenly, he was gone.
The studio fell silent again. The booth was almost eerily silent. Mikey coughed, glancing down at his phone, clicking it to life long enough to read the time. 8:09p.m.
Gerard didn't show. Mikey felt his jaw clenching and unclenching, something akin to pure rage beginning to broil up inside his guts. He couldn't fathom why, exactly, he was so pissed. A few minutes ago, he'd been terrified that Ray was Gerard. Terrified to face Gerard. But still, he'd never expected him not to show. Fear or not, Mikey knew he'd wanted Gerard to show up.
And he hadn't.
He felt himself growing angrier and angrier. He could feel his pulse starting to roar in his ears, feel the heat creeping up his face, feel the fluttering of the breath in his chest. He was so focused on how angry he was with Gerard, he wasn't paying attention.
"M-Mikey?"
His head snapped up so fast, he felt something crack in his neck. Heat flooded the area, warmth and a numb tingling. His eyes widened, the anger evaporating almost instantaneously, fear taking its place. Gerard.
Gerard was here.
He stood in the doorway, half-leaning against the doorjamb, eyes red from obvious crying, hair wild, hanging over half his face, mouth a small knot against his white face. Gerard was here. Mikey's stomach flipped over, fear icing inside the very bottom of his ribs.
"Gerard." He didn't know how he managed to spit his brother's name from his frozen lips. Didn't know how he managed to not stutter.
And then silence fell between them. Neither knew what to say. Gerard looked confused, looked a little wary, looked exhausted. Mikey didn't know what to do, what to say. He knew what he wanted to know, what he had to say to Gerard. But he didn't know how to say it.
"Come in," He managed to say finally, voice quiet, firm and a little hard-edged.
Gerard did what he was told, wordlessly walking into the recording booth, arms at his sides. He took small, careful steps, like he was treading on hot coals. Gerard chose not to look at Mikey, instead focusing on the carpet. He sat, almost daintily, on the coffee table. He avoided sharing the couch with Mikey. He folded his hands into his lap, and then, very slowly, lifted his head up to peer up at Mikey from behind a curtain of hair. He bit his lip.
More silence fell over them, tension strangling the air of all the oxygen. Mikey wondered if Gerard was suddenly finding it hard to breathe too. If Gerard's heart was thundering as fast as his own.
"Mikey?" Gerard's voice was small and tightly guarded, like he didn't even want to talk. But silence wasn't something Gerard had ever been able to handle for very long. Like it or not, Gerard needed to talk.
"Gerard..." Mikey was amazed at his ability to load that one simple name with so much meaning, with so much weight. He coughed, clearing his throat before continuing, "I, uh, found this."
He pulled the notebook from underneath a cushion on the couch, setting it into his lap and closing his hands over it. He looked up from the notebook, to Gerard's face. The reaction was what he wanted to see.
Gerard's eyes widened, his jaw jerked, his breath sucked in quickly, his hands clenched, his back arched slightly, and his chest started to shudder a little. Gerard swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. Gerard knew what was in the notebook. He could see it buried in Gerard's hazel eyes. He knew what the notebook said, about him. About Mikey. "O-oh," he stuttered finally, voice hoarse, "Oh."
Oh.
Was that all he could say? Was that all Gerard had? Oh? Oh, well then. I'm sorry Mikey. I'm sorry I wrote those terrible things. They're not true. It's a joke, Mikes, it's just a silly joke. Forget it. It never happened. This is wrong. It's all wrong. I didn't write it. I was joking. It's a joke. It's a joke. It's a joke.
"Did you...Did you write it, Gerard?" Mikey was just as surprised as Gerard at the sound of his own voice, eschewing quietly from his own mouth. He couldn't believe he'd asked it.
Silence.
"Yeah, I wrote it," Gerard's voice, coming from Gerard's mouth, saying the one thing he'd hoped Gerard wouldn't say, and then, what he'd kind of hoped he'd say, "I'm so sorry Mikey."
Mikey couldn't explain the sudden rage coursing through his veins. He felt sick. Felt wronged. Felt like Gerard had taken advantage of him somehow. All those times he'd hugged him, held him, soothed him during one of his panic attacks, all those nights they'd fallen asleep on each other in the van, or shared a bunk, or a hotel room, what had been going through Gerard's head?
That thing in the coffee shop, when Gerard had seemed so fucking calm? Did he...did he think of them as some kind of couple? Did he think of Mikey as some kind of boyfriend? Did he pretend they were? What was going on in Gerard's head? All those times he'd tickled him, messed with him on-stage, wrestled with him, giggling as he mussed his hair.
Had he been thinking about Mikey like that then? Mikey felt sick to his stomach. All those times they'd exchanged "I love you"s, what had Gerard really been saying to him? How long had it been going on? Mikey couldn't explain his sudden fury, but it was coursing hotly through his blood. He couldn't think straight as he snarled at Gerard.
"Sorry? You're sorry?!" Mikey had never felt rage quite like this erupting quite this fast before, without him really knowing where it was coming from, "YOU'RE SORRY!?"
"Mikey, I-" Gerard began, but Mikey was already on his feet, bearing down furiously on his brother, hurling the notebook aside, grabbing fistfuls of Gerard's shirt in his hands, screaming at him;
"YOU'RE SORRY!?" Mikey was howling now, hauling Gerard bodily off the coffee table, slamming him into the wall, teeth bared, eyes spitting sparks, "You're sorry, Gerard?!"
"Mikey, please, just let me explain-" Gerard tried again, panic and terror bleeding into his voice, eyes wide, mouth quivering, his whole body shaking, hands held up, trying to ward off Mikey's rage. Mikey wasn't having it.
"No, Gerard!" Mikey shouted, yanking him back a fraction of an inch, and re-slamming his older brother into the studio wall as hard as he could, shaking him, "You motherfucking son-of-a-bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you!? I'm your brother! I'm your brother! I'm your motherfucking brother!"
"Mikey, please, listen to me!" Gerard was begging now, trying to weakly shove Mikey away, tears collecting at the edges of his eyes, a sob catching in his throat at the pure rage in Mikey's face, "Mikey, please!"
"Goddammit Gerard!" Mikey raged, shoving him harder into the wall, pinning him with his body, putting their faces barely millimeters apart so Gerard could feel his hot breath against his cheek, feel the rage practically spitting off him, hissing at him, "Why?! Why Gerard, why me!? What the fuck made you want to... Made you so...so...so fucking sick!?"
"I...I don't know," Gerard whimpered, pulling his head as far away from Mikey's as he could, turning away, burying his face into the wall behind him, half-sobbing, "I don't know... I don't know... I'm so fucking sorry Mikey! You've got to believe me, I didn't...I don't...I just...I'm sorry Mikey!"
"Fuck you," Mikey hissed, practically spitting in Gerard's face, pushing in even closer, 'til their faces were less than an inch apart, his breath in Gerard's cheek, "Just, tell me this Gerard... How long? How fucking long!? How long did you fucking feel like this?!"
Gerard was whimpering. Was crying. Was full-on, snot-bubbling, eyes dribbling tears, crying. He didn't remember the last time Gerard had actually cried. Some part of him told him to stop. Some part of him hurt, because Gerard was hurting. The little boy in him begged him to stop. But he couldn't.
"Gerard!?" Mikey snarled, slamming him again, fisting handfuls of his shirt so hard he practically lifted the older man off the ground, "Answer me! How long!?"
"When I was sixteen!" Gerard blurted, sobbing hysterically now, terrified, trying to cringe away from Mikey's overwhelming rage, "It started when I was sixteen! I'm sorry...I'm so fucking sorry! Mikey, I'm so so so so sorry!"
Sixteen. He'd felt this way since he was sixteen. Mikey's brain fired on all cylinders to quickly process the information. If Gerard was sixteen, he would've been... He would've been thirteen.
"I was thirteen you motherfucker!" Mikey screamed into his face, shaking him harder and harder, like he was trying to shake him apart, "I was thirteen fucking years old! How could you?! You dreamed about fucking a thirteen year old?!"
Gerard couldn't answer now, he was sobbing too hard. His whole body was shaking as he tried to turn himself away from Mikey, gasping for air, spluttering and choking, spitting out half-broken "I'm sorry"s in between hiccups. Hair cascaded over his distraught face as he shuddered, tears dripping off his face to land in fat plip-plops on the carpet.
Mikey didn't know what to do. What to say. How to act. How to react. Part of him loved Gerard. That would never change. Part of him hated Gerard with all his heart. And he didn't know if that would ever change now either. This was his big brother, the one who'd taken every beating, every injury and hurt that had ever come Mikey's way unto himself.
This was his hero. His protector. His best friend. His brother.
Mikey dropped Gerard, stumbling back. He felt the burn of tears in the backs of his own eyes. He choked on a sob of his own. He swiped his eyes. He swallowed hard; the lump in his throat was enormous.
Gerard, without Mikey to hold him up, slid down the wall, knees pulled half to him, sobbing as he hugged himself, head lolling side to side as if he didn't know how to stop it. His whole body was shaking violently, chest heaving as one sob after another rocked out of him. He looked broken.
Mikey could barely look at him. Part of him hated himself for doing this to Gerard. Gerard was his brother. And he didn't remember the last time Gerard had been hurt this badly. And Mikey had been the one who'd hurt him. But the other part, it hated Gerard. Hated him for feeling the way he did. Hated Gerard for doing this to him.
He couldn't stay. Couldn't listen to Gerard's voice, the one he'd always loved, admired, appreciated, sob so brokenly, like Gerard himself was being broken into little pieces. Mikey couldn't fucking breathe. Somehow, there just wasn't enough air in the room with Gerard.
He managed to stumble to the door, grab the handle, yank it open and practically fall into the hallway. He tripped down the hallway, one hand braced on the wall for support he so desperately needed. He kept walking, half-running, down, down, down, until he couldn't hear Gerard's broken sobs in his ears anymore.
And then he allowed himself to slide down the wall, pulling his knees to his chest, and cry.
---
He remembered when they were seventeen and twenty.
"Mikey, please don't cry-"
"How can I not!? You're leaving me..."
"Mikey-"
"Fuck you! I fucking hate you!"
Gerard felt the slapping sting of the words clamping around his heart as Mikey turned from him, dashing away down the street, his hand-me-down Converse slapping the pavement. Gerard felt his heart tearing in his cavernous chest. He didn't know how he could feel so fucking empty and still hurt so bad.
He chased after Mikey, panting as he finally caught the younger boy, grabbing him by the shoulder, spinning him quickly, and before Mikey could even open his furious mouth to tell him to stop, he engulfed him in a hug. He wrapped his arms around Mikey's thin shoulders, squeezing the younger boy to him until he was sure Mikey could barely breathe.
For a long moment, Mikey did nothing. Then, Gerard felt him slowly, like he was unsure, reach his arms up and enfold Gerard in a robotic embrace. A moment longer, and suddenly Mikey clamped tight to him, burying his face into Gerard's shoulder. He could feel Mikey begin to shake with something close to sobs.
He held on tighter. He buried his face in Mikey's neck, holding tighter to him. He knew people walking by might say some things, might think some things. Fuck them. He held tight to Mikey.
"It's not forever," he whispered into Mikey's shoulder, mumbling, "I promise, Mikes, it's not forever."
"I know," Came Mikey's muffled reply, choked up, "But, I need you Gee..."
"I'll visit every fucking weekend, I promise," Gerard rushed quickly to say, pulling back to stare earnestly into Mikey's eyes, brushing some of Mikey's wild, long hair off his forehead, grinning affectionately, "I'll visit every fucking weekend, and I'll call every night. And I'll be like, an hour away, at most. I'll fucking write you letters even, if I have to. And it won't be forever. And I'll still live here during the summers and stuff, I promise."
"I'm gonna miss you though," Mikey murmured weakly, glasses fogging over as more tears slipped out from underneath their wire-rimmed frames, "Why do you have to go to college anyway, Gee? Why can't you just stay here, and go to the college here?"
"It's an art school," Gerard muttered softly, sighing heavily, cupping Mikey's face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away Mikey's tears, "I wanna be an artist. You know that, Mikes. And this is one of the best schools in the country. And it's close by. I can't just go to community college Mikes. I wanna be an artist someday."
"I know," Mikey whispered back, dropping his head to the side, sighing heavily, hugging Gerard again, tighter, then, pulling back, staring at him, "But, Gee, I just... I need you here, Gee."
"C'mon, Mikey," Gerard said back, eyes softening, chest tightening even more, dropping his forehead to rest against Mikey's for a moment, before pulling back, "You're old enough, kid, you can take care of yourself. You don't need me anymore, Mikey."
"I'll always need you, Gee," Mikey growled stubbornly, glasses still fogged over, "You're my big brother, remember?"
Gerard laughed, reaching up and pulling the frames off Mikey's face, folding them closed and tucking them into Mikey's shirt collar. "Yeah, yeah, I fucking remember," he said, hugging Mikey again, "And you're my fucking little brother, remember? You're supposed to be begging me to leave sooner and asking if you can turn my room into a home gym or some shit."
"Do I look like I need a home gym?" Mikey asked dryly, pretending to flex his skinny arms, grinning up at Gerard, "Really?"
"That's what the gym's for!" Gerard giggled, punching him playfully in the shoulder, "So you can build up some muscle, scrawny."
Mikey replied by sticking out his tongue, simultaneously flipping him off before saying, "Yeah, well maybe this whole you leaving thing isn't so bad after all. Then I get to fucking sleep at night instead of having to listen to you when you're watching porn, and hearing it through the vents all fucking night!"
"I do not fucking watch porn!" Gerard cried indignantly, lunging for Mikey, "You take that back, motherfucker!"
"Make me, porn boy!" Mikey laughed, dodging Gerard, sticking out his tongue again, giggling as Gerard started lunging for him. He continued to dodge, "I mean it's like 'oh, uh, oh yeah!' all fucking night, you pervert!"
"Motherfucker!" Gerard growled playfully, feinting a lunge, and then managing to grab Mikey's shirt in a sideways ploy, dragging the skinnier boy to him, wrapping one arm around his middle as he used his other to tickle Mikey's sides viciously.
"Stop it!" Mikey cried, between bouts of raucous laughter, trying to fend off Gerard's hands on his sides, twisting, weak from laughter, in his grasp, pushing at him, "Knock...it...off!"
"Make me!" Gerard growled devilishly, pinning him, tickling him harder, laughing as Mikey whined, nearly splitting with forced laughter, "Take back what you said, and I'll stop!"
"N-Never!" Mikey yelped, nearly breathless from his mirth, thrashing in Gerard's grip, "Never ever ever, porn boy!"
Suddenly, Mikey's leg wrapped around Gerard's, twisting it back so that both boys lost their footing. They tumbled into the grass of the lawn of one of their neighbors, who was probably at work, laughing uncontrollably. Gerard managed to retain one arm around Mikey, tickling him furiously.
"Kn-knock it off!" Mikey panted between breaths, still squirming to try and wriggle free of Gerard's arms, "Stop it!"
"Take it back!" Gerard said menacingly, digging his fingers harder into Mikey's sensitive sides, laughing as Mikey giggled, wiggling weakly, "Take back what you said! I do not watch porn!"
"N-never!?" Mikey cried, head thrashing back and forth, chest heaving, sweating, as he could barely breathe, stomach hurting he was laughing so hard, "Never ever ever?"
"Never!" Gerard laughed, and finally, giving up, dropping his arms off of Mikey, panting as he allowed Mikey to regain some composure. They didn't bother switching positions, even though Mikey was on top of Gerard's arm, probably cutting off his circulation.
They subsided into relative silence, lying sprawled in the grass, staring up at the sky. Both sighed deeply, groaning as they realized they'd have to get up and walk all the way home now. They laughed again, as they realized they'd done everything in unison. They turned their heads, staring into one another's eyes, still giggling a bit.
"Gee?" Mikey began, grinning, "I'm gonna fucking miss you, y'know?"
"Yeah, I know," Gerard replied, scooting closer to Mikey, "And you think I won't miss you, Mikey? I'm gonna miss you so fucking much. But, this is what I want to do with my future. I want to be an artist."
"Yeah, I know," Mikey said, turning his head to stare up at the sky again. The sun was starting to set in the west, bleeding the sky of all her oranges, pinks and golds. They both knew most of the color was just the sun burning through the chemical smog, "I'm just gonna miss you, is all. And I'm gonna, y'know, miss shit like this. When we hang out and shit."
"Yeah, me too," Gerard agreed, turning his head to stare at the sky as a flock of crows flew by, cawing, "But at least I was here for your birthday, right? Seventeen, big fucking number man. I didn't even think you could count that fucking high."
"Fuck you!" Mikey laughed, slapping Gerard's chest playfully, glancing at him, then back to the sky, "I can too fucking count to seventeen!"
"Oh yeah?" Gerard smirked, turning to him, "Prove it, bigshot."
"Fine then," Mikey stuck out his tongue, and began to count, "One, two, three, four, five, six..."
"Seventeen?" Gerard cut in, arching an eyebrow, grinning devilishly.
"Fuck you, seven, eight, nine," Mikey continued smoothly, grinning smugly at him, "Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen..."
"Oh, oh, this is the closest he's ever gotten, folks!" Gerard cried, faking enthusiasm, eyes wide, voice high and excited, "Can Mikey Way make it!? Can Mikey Way get all the way to...seventeen!?"
"Fifteen, sixteen, SEVENTEEN!" Mikey yelled into Gerard's face triumphantly, sticking out his tongue, laughing, "Seventeen, motherfucker!"
Gerard dissolved into giggles, eyes slipping closed as he shook with laughter, grabbing Mikey in a tight hug, dragging the skinnier boy close to him. He ruffled Mikey's hair as his laughter finally subsided, and he opened his eyes, staring down into Mikey's own. "I'm really gonna fucking miss you kid," Gerard sighed softly, leaning down and planting a kiss to Mikey's forehead, "I'm fucking going to miss this shit."
"Don't go then," Mikey pouted, bottom lip jutting, "Just stay here in Jersey! And we can hang out all the fucking time!"
"You know I can't, Mikey," Gerard sighed sadly, hugging him again.
Mikey didn't reply, but Gerard knew he understood. Instead, Mikey fiddled with the hem of his shirt, another ridiculous rabbit-thing, blue this time with little pink bunnies 'hopping' around the collar in a circle. Gerard was fairly sure it was some kind of band shirt, but he didn't remember for sure.
"Mikey?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
"I love you too, Gerard."
---
"Gerard, honey, where are you!? It's Lindsey, call when you get-"
He hit 'delete message'.
"Gerard! Where are you?! It's been two days, honey, I'm worr-"
'Delete message'.
"Gerard, baby, please, come ho-"
'Delete message'.
"Gerard, it's Frank, where are-"
'Delete message'.
"Hey man, it's Ray, are you-"
'Delete message'.
"Baby, I'm so sorry for whatever I did-"
'Delete message'.
"Gerard, call your fucking wife. This is Mikey, and she's in fucking hysterics. She doesn't deserve this sh-"
'Delete all messages?'
He hit the 'yes' button. He wiped his bloodshot eyes, staring blankly at the little fluorescent screen of the iPhone in his hand. He swallowed hard, scrubbing his face, feeling the two-days worth of growth. I really should call Lindsey, Gerard thought miserably to himself, sighing. He pocketed the phone instead.
It'd been four days since he'd gone home. Since he'd gone back to the studio. Since he'd seen Ray, or Frank, or Lindsey. Or Mikey.
There was an empty bottle of Xanax on the floor of the car, where he was curled in the backseat. A pile of notebooks was accompanying him, scattered on the seat opposite his own. One sat on top. A purple thing, with the word S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W scrawled on the cover in black Sharpie.
He wiped his watering eyes again, digging in his pocket for the last of the Xanax. With a shaking hand, he brought it to his mouth, and popped it dry. He curled into a tighter ball as he felt it go down, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as his body shook, cold sweat cascading down his greasy temples. He really needed a shower.
Gerard had made it about an hour after he'd fled the recording studio before he found himself digging through his contacts list from his old phone, hunting down one name after another, making call after call, until someone had been able to connect him to a guy named Colby. And Colby had been able to connect him to a pharmacist, who'd been able to reconnect him with several bottles of pills.
The last four days had been spent in various parties, in various houses, looking for a score. He swallowed his pills by the handful, until there were none left. The last four days, spent living in a numb, chemical fueled fog. He knew he was throwing away seven years worth of progress, but he just didn't care right now. Mikey knew.
Knew how sick he was. How sick he'd been. How did this fucking happen so fast? He'd kept it from him for so long, he'd been able to forget it himself most days, and then it was just back. And now Mikey knew. Knew about him. Knew his deepest, darkest secret. He knew.
Gerard picked up the notebook, flipping it open. He skimmed over the contents, fingers shaking so badly he nearly ripped the pages more than once. When he reached the very last page, he stared at the words etched into the page. His stomach clenched tighter as he recognized what he'd written there.
He grabbed the very top of the page and carefully tore the page from the notebook. He picked the rough edges off until he had a nearly perfect sheet. He folded it in half, into fourths, and then eighths obsessively. Xanax always made him so fucking OCD. He slipped it into his pocket.
He swallowed hard, picking up the notebook again. He bit his lip. He swallowed again. He scratched at a scab on his elbow. He considered what he'd do for a long moment. He decided.
He closed the notebook slowly, and climbed from the backseat to the front. He set it in the passenger's seat with great care, eyes darting nervously as he slid into the driver's side. He half expected to see a cop cruise by or a concerned citizen with a phone calling 911 on him.
He fought off a facial twitch as he turned the keys in the ignition, jumping the car to life. He could feel the Xanax taking full effect, numb fog settling over his brain.
He tried to fight it off as he drove down the now glowing streets, knowing almost instinctively where he was headed. His eyes kept darting nervously to the notebook. He gripped the wheel hard, knuckles going white.
This had to work. It had to. It was his last fucking hope.
---
The knock was so soft, he almost missed it. Almost. He had to do a double take to be sure he'd actually heard it, but when he opened the door, no one was there.
Mikey frowned, glancing around. Maybe it really wasn't a knock. He went to close the door, snorting in mild disgust. Just then, he glanced down and noticed a flash of purple on his doormat. He frowned again, peering closer.
A notebook.
His heart clamped tight in his chest as he recognized that particular notebook. Under a yellow sticky note, with handwriting that could only be one person's, that read 'Please Read Mikey', was a purple notebook, with one word etched onto it.
S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
---
Another cliffhanger!? What?! Oh well. Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed! If you did, please leave a review or a rating, because those keep me motivated to write more. :) You guys are the best.
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S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
It wasn't true. Couldn't be true. No fucking way. This wasn't happening. It was something else. It was just Gerard, just...fucking with him. Had to be. It couldn't be this. This was Gerard, for god's sake!
His brother. His big brother. His protector. His best friend. The one person in the whole fucking world that Mikey knew would never betray, hurt or abandon him. This was Gerard.
And that had been Gerard's handwriting. He knew it well enough, had seen enough scribbled notes, Post-Its, plastered on the studio walls, enough lyrics scribbled on napkins, in notebooks, on walls and bathroom stalls. He'd seen the slanted etchings of chicken-scrawl enough to know it was Gerard's hand that had engraved those words on that page.
But how could he? How could that be his big brother, his best friend, his protector, who'd scribbled the words 'i dream about making love to him'? And how could that 'him', the boy teenaged Gerard had been talking about, be Mikey himself?
Mikey was hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands dug hard into his hair, sitting on the couch in the recording booth. The very couch where, not even seven hours ago, he'd held a very hysterical Gerard, rubbing his back, whispering into his ear. That act, so simple and so normal at the time, sickened him now. Did Gerard get off on that kind of thing? Mikey's hands on him? What the fuck?
Mikey struggled to suck in a deep breath, rubbing his temples, collapsing back on the couch, utter exhaustion seeping into his bones as he pulled his Blackberry from his pocket and checked the time. 7:54p.m. He bit his lip.
Would he show up?
A door slammed outside, feet shuffled down the hall, keys jingled. Mikey's heart started pounding, hard and fast, like he couldn't breathe. He swore he could feel it beating a tattoo against his lungs inside his chest. He swallowed nervously. The door to the recording booth creaked open slowly.
"You still fuckin' here, Mikes?"
Mikey couldn't help breathing a sigh of palpable relief, warmth spreading through him. It was just Ray, looking a little confused, but definitely all Ray. It wasn't Gerard. He swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding to the other man, sitting up straighter, waving him off a little.
"Yeah, just, hanging out. I'm supposed to be getting a ride from Gerard," Mikey lied quickly, surprised how easily it rolled off his tongue, "My, uh, car wouldn't start. He said he'd pick me up soon."
Ray's eyebrows lifted, and he took a step further into the booth, "Oh, well, fuck Mikey, if you needed a ride, I could just give you a lift? Save Gerard the gas? It's on my way anyway," Ray said, laughing a bit, "Yeah, I mean, fuck, you could even just kick it with me tonight man? Stay for dinner, and a movie with Christa and I? Give Alicia a night to herself?"
"Nah, it's cool," Mikey said too quickly, then kicked himself for his haste; if he wasn't careful, Ray might think something was up, "I mean, he's already on his way, and y'know, I just wanna make sure he's okay, uh, y'know, after what happened today? Yeah, it's cool man. Thanks for the offer. Sounds awesome. Definitely some other time though, 'kay?"
"Yeah, okay," Ray said, offering him a smile, walking further into the booth, hustling past the coffee table, grabbing a guitar case that was sitting next to the soundboard, "I just came back because I forgot this here, and I'd wanted to work on that riff for the new song. Yeah, seriously though man, let me know if you wanna just kick it sometime, okay? And say hey to Gerard for me. Make sure he's okay and everything. What the fuck was his deal today anyway? Why was he freaking out?"
"I don't know," Mikey lied, yet again. Part of him felt a little bad lying to Ray like this; Ray had been one of his best friends for so long, he couldn't even remember the last lie he'd told him, "But that's part of why I called him to come and get me. I was gonna talk to him about it. He should be here soon though. And yeah, we'll hang sometime, for sure. Thanks for the offer though, seriously man. I guess I'll catch you later?"
"Yeah, for sure," Ray said, grinning, awkwardly hefting the guitar case in some kind of half-salute at him, heading out, pushing open the door, and suddenly, he was gone.
The studio fell silent again. The booth was almost eerily silent. Mikey coughed, glancing down at his phone, clicking it to life long enough to read the time. 8:09p.m.
Gerard didn't show. Mikey felt his jaw clenching and unclenching, something akin to pure rage beginning to broil up inside his guts. He couldn't fathom why, exactly, he was so pissed. A few minutes ago, he'd been terrified that Ray was Gerard. Terrified to face Gerard. But still, he'd never expected him not to show. Fear or not, Mikey knew he'd wanted Gerard to show up.
And he hadn't.
He felt himself growing angrier and angrier. He could feel his pulse starting to roar in his ears, feel the heat creeping up his face, feel the fluttering of the breath in his chest. He was so focused on how angry he was with Gerard, he wasn't paying attention.
"M-Mikey?"
His head snapped up so fast, he felt something crack in his neck. Heat flooded the area, warmth and a numb tingling. His eyes widened, the anger evaporating almost instantaneously, fear taking its place. Gerard.
Gerard was here.
He stood in the doorway, half-leaning against the doorjamb, eyes red from obvious crying, hair wild, hanging over half his face, mouth a small knot against his white face. Gerard was here. Mikey's stomach flipped over, fear icing inside the very bottom of his ribs.
"Gerard." He didn't know how he managed to spit his brother's name from his frozen lips. Didn't know how he managed to not stutter.
And then silence fell between them. Neither knew what to say. Gerard looked confused, looked a little wary, looked exhausted. Mikey didn't know what to do, what to say. He knew what he wanted to know, what he had to say to Gerard. But he didn't know how to say it.
"Come in," He managed to say finally, voice quiet, firm and a little hard-edged.
Gerard did what he was told, wordlessly walking into the recording booth, arms at his sides. He took small, careful steps, like he was treading on hot coals. Gerard chose not to look at Mikey, instead focusing on the carpet. He sat, almost daintily, on the coffee table. He avoided sharing the couch with Mikey. He folded his hands into his lap, and then, very slowly, lifted his head up to peer up at Mikey from behind a curtain of hair. He bit his lip.
More silence fell over them, tension strangling the air of all the oxygen. Mikey wondered if Gerard was suddenly finding it hard to breathe too. If Gerard's heart was thundering as fast as his own.
"Mikey?" Gerard's voice was small and tightly guarded, like he didn't even want to talk. But silence wasn't something Gerard had ever been able to handle for very long. Like it or not, Gerard needed to talk.
"Gerard..." Mikey was amazed at his ability to load that one simple name with so much meaning, with so much weight. He coughed, clearing his throat before continuing, "I, uh, found this."
He pulled the notebook from underneath a cushion on the couch, setting it into his lap and closing his hands over it. He looked up from the notebook, to Gerard's face. The reaction was what he wanted to see.
Gerard's eyes widened, his jaw jerked, his breath sucked in quickly, his hands clenched, his back arched slightly, and his chest started to shudder a little. Gerard swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. Gerard knew what was in the notebook. He could see it buried in Gerard's hazel eyes. He knew what the notebook said, about him. About Mikey. "O-oh," he stuttered finally, voice hoarse, "Oh."
Oh.
Was that all he could say? Was that all Gerard had? Oh? Oh, well then. I'm sorry Mikey. I'm sorry I wrote those terrible things. They're not true. It's a joke, Mikes, it's just a silly joke. Forget it. It never happened. This is wrong. It's all wrong. I didn't write it. I was joking. It's a joke. It's a joke. It's a joke.
"Did you...Did you write it, Gerard?" Mikey was just as surprised as Gerard at the sound of his own voice, eschewing quietly from his own mouth. He couldn't believe he'd asked it.
Silence.
"Yeah, I wrote it," Gerard's voice, coming from Gerard's mouth, saying the one thing he'd hoped Gerard wouldn't say, and then, what he'd kind of hoped he'd say, "I'm so sorry Mikey."
Mikey couldn't explain the sudden rage coursing through his veins. He felt sick. Felt wronged. Felt like Gerard had taken advantage of him somehow. All those times he'd hugged him, held him, soothed him during one of his panic attacks, all those nights they'd fallen asleep on each other in the van, or shared a bunk, or a hotel room, what had been going through Gerard's head?
That thing in the coffee shop, when Gerard had seemed so fucking calm? Did he...did he think of them as some kind of couple? Did he think of Mikey as some kind of boyfriend? Did he pretend they were? What was going on in Gerard's head? All those times he'd tickled him, messed with him on-stage, wrestled with him, giggling as he mussed his hair.
Had he been thinking about Mikey like that then? Mikey felt sick to his stomach. All those times they'd exchanged "I love you"s, what had Gerard really been saying to him? How long had it been going on? Mikey couldn't explain his sudden fury, but it was coursing hotly through his blood. He couldn't think straight as he snarled at Gerard.
"Sorry? You're sorry?!" Mikey had never felt rage quite like this erupting quite this fast before, without him really knowing where it was coming from, "YOU'RE SORRY!?"
"Mikey, I-" Gerard began, but Mikey was already on his feet, bearing down furiously on his brother, hurling the notebook aside, grabbing fistfuls of Gerard's shirt in his hands, screaming at him;
"YOU'RE SORRY!?" Mikey was howling now, hauling Gerard bodily off the coffee table, slamming him into the wall, teeth bared, eyes spitting sparks, "You're sorry, Gerard?!"
"Mikey, please, just let me explain-" Gerard tried again, panic and terror bleeding into his voice, eyes wide, mouth quivering, his whole body shaking, hands held up, trying to ward off Mikey's rage. Mikey wasn't having it.
"No, Gerard!" Mikey shouted, yanking him back a fraction of an inch, and re-slamming his older brother into the studio wall as hard as he could, shaking him, "You motherfucking son-of-a-bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you!? I'm your brother! I'm your brother! I'm your motherfucking brother!"
"Mikey, please, listen to me!" Gerard was begging now, trying to weakly shove Mikey away, tears collecting at the edges of his eyes, a sob catching in his throat at the pure rage in Mikey's face, "Mikey, please!"
"Goddammit Gerard!" Mikey raged, shoving him harder into the wall, pinning him with his body, putting their faces barely millimeters apart so Gerard could feel his hot breath against his cheek, feel the rage practically spitting off him, hissing at him, "Why?! Why Gerard, why me!? What the fuck made you want to... Made you so...so...so fucking sick!?"
"I...I don't know," Gerard whimpered, pulling his head as far away from Mikey's as he could, turning away, burying his face into the wall behind him, half-sobbing, "I don't know... I don't know... I'm so fucking sorry Mikey! You've got to believe me, I didn't...I don't...I just...I'm sorry Mikey!"
"Fuck you," Mikey hissed, practically spitting in Gerard's face, pushing in even closer, 'til their faces were less than an inch apart, his breath in Gerard's cheek, "Just, tell me this Gerard... How long? How fucking long!? How long did you fucking feel like this?!"
Gerard was whimpering. Was crying. Was full-on, snot-bubbling, eyes dribbling tears, crying. He didn't remember the last time Gerard had actually cried. Some part of him told him to stop. Some part of him hurt, because Gerard was hurting. The little boy in him begged him to stop. But he couldn't.
"Gerard!?" Mikey snarled, slamming him again, fisting handfuls of his shirt so hard he practically lifted the older man off the ground, "Answer me! How long!?"
"When I was sixteen!" Gerard blurted, sobbing hysterically now, terrified, trying to cringe away from Mikey's overwhelming rage, "It started when I was sixteen! I'm sorry...I'm so fucking sorry! Mikey, I'm so so so so sorry!"
Sixteen. He'd felt this way since he was sixteen. Mikey's brain fired on all cylinders to quickly process the information. If Gerard was sixteen, he would've been... He would've been thirteen.
"I was thirteen you motherfucker!" Mikey screamed into his face, shaking him harder and harder, like he was trying to shake him apart, "I was thirteen fucking years old! How could you?! You dreamed about fucking a thirteen year old?!"
Gerard couldn't answer now, he was sobbing too hard. His whole body was shaking as he tried to turn himself away from Mikey, gasping for air, spluttering and choking, spitting out half-broken "I'm sorry"s in between hiccups. Hair cascaded over his distraught face as he shuddered, tears dripping off his face to land in fat plip-plops on the carpet.
Mikey didn't know what to do. What to say. How to act. How to react. Part of him loved Gerard. That would never change. Part of him hated Gerard with all his heart. And he didn't know if that would ever change now either. This was his big brother, the one who'd taken every beating, every injury and hurt that had ever come Mikey's way unto himself.
This was his hero. His protector. His best friend. His brother.
Mikey dropped Gerard, stumbling back. He felt the burn of tears in the backs of his own eyes. He choked on a sob of his own. He swiped his eyes. He swallowed hard; the lump in his throat was enormous.
Gerard, without Mikey to hold him up, slid down the wall, knees pulled half to him, sobbing as he hugged himself, head lolling side to side as if he didn't know how to stop it. His whole body was shaking violently, chest heaving as one sob after another rocked out of him. He looked broken.
Mikey could barely look at him. Part of him hated himself for doing this to Gerard. Gerard was his brother. And he didn't remember the last time Gerard had been hurt this badly. And Mikey had been the one who'd hurt him. But the other part, it hated Gerard. Hated him for feeling the way he did. Hated Gerard for doing this to him.
He couldn't stay. Couldn't listen to Gerard's voice, the one he'd always loved, admired, appreciated, sob so brokenly, like Gerard himself was being broken into little pieces. Mikey couldn't fucking breathe. Somehow, there just wasn't enough air in the room with Gerard.
He managed to stumble to the door, grab the handle, yank it open and practically fall into the hallway. He tripped down the hallway, one hand braced on the wall for support he so desperately needed. He kept walking, half-running, down, down, down, until he couldn't hear Gerard's broken sobs in his ears anymore.
And then he allowed himself to slide down the wall, pulling his knees to his chest, and cry.
---
He remembered when they were seventeen and twenty.
"Mikey, please don't cry-"
"How can I not!? You're leaving me..."
"Mikey-"
"Fuck you! I fucking hate you!"
Gerard felt the slapping sting of the words clamping around his heart as Mikey turned from him, dashing away down the street, his hand-me-down Converse slapping the pavement. Gerard felt his heart tearing in his cavernous chest. He didn't know how he could feel so fucking empty and still hurt so bad.
He chased after Mikey, panting as he finally caught the younger boy, grabbing him by the shoulder, spinning him quickly, and before Mikey could even open his furious mouth to tell him to stop, he engulfed him in a hug. He wrapped his arms around Mikey's thin shoulders, squeezing the younger boy to him until he was sure Mikey could barely breathe.
For a long moment, Mikey did nothing. Then, Gerard felt him slowly, like he was unsure, reach his arms up and enfold Gerard in a robotic embrace. A moment longer, and suddenly Mikey clamped tight to him, burying his face into Gerard's shoulder. He could feel Mikey begin to shake with something close to sobs.
He held on tighter. He buried his face in Mikey's neck, holding tighter to him. He knew people walking by might say some things, might think some things. Fuck them. He held tight to Mikey.
"It's not forever," he whispered into Mikey's shoulder, mumbling, "I promise, Mikes, it's not forever."
"I know," Came Mikey's muffled reply, choked up, "But, I need you Gee..."
"I'll visit every fucking weekend, I promise," Gerard rushed quickly to say, pulling back to stare earnestly into Mikey's eyes, brushing some of Mikey's wild, long hair off his forehead, grinning affectionately, "I'll visit every fucking weekend, and I'll call every night. And I'll be like, an hour away, at most. I'll fucking write you letters even, if I have to. And it won't be forever. And I'll still live here during the summers and stuff, I promise."
"I'm gonna miss you though," Mikey murmured weakly, glasses fogging over as more tears slipped out from underneath their wire-rimmed frames, "Why do you have to go to college anyway, Gee? Why can't you just stay here, and go to the college here?"
"It's an art school," Gerard muttered softly, sighing heavily, cupping Mikey's face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away Mikey's tears, "I wanna be an artist. You know that, Mikes. And this is one of the best schools in the country. And it's close by. I can't just go to community college Mikes. I wanna be an artist someday."
"I know," Mikey whispered back, dropping his head to the side, sighing heavily, hugging Gerard again, tighter, then, pulling back, staring at him, "But, Gee, I just... I need you here, Gee."
"C'mon, Mikey," Gerard said back, eyes softening, chest tightening even more, dropping his forehead to rest against Mikey's for a moment, before pulling back, "You're old enough, kid, you can take care of yourself. You don't need me anymore, Mikey."
"I'll always need you, Gee," Mikey growled stubbornly, glasses still fogged over, "You're my big brother, remember?"
Gerard laughed, reaching up and pulling the frames off Mikey's face, folding them closed and tucking them into Mikey's shirt collar. "Yeah, yeah, I fucking remember," he said, hugging Mikey again, "And you're my fucking little brother, remember? You're supposed to be begging me to leave sooner and asking if you can turn my room into a home gym or some shit."
"Do I look like I need a home gym?" Mikey asked dryly, pretending to flex his skinny arms, grinning up at Gerard, "Really?"
"That's what the gym's for!" Gerard giggled, punching him playfully in the shoulder, "So you can build up some muscle, scrawny."
Mikey replied by sticking out his tongue, simultaneously flipping him off before saying, "Yeah, well maybe this whole you leaving thing isn't so bad after all. Then I get to fucking sleep at night instead of having to listen to you when you're watching porn, and hearing it through the vents all fucking night!"
"I do not fucking watch porn!" Gerard cried indignantly, lunging for Mikey, "You take that back, motherfucker!"
"Make me, porn boy!" Mikey laughed, dodging Gerard, sticking out his tongue again, giggling as Gerard started lunging for him. He continued to dodge, "I mean it's like 'oh, uh, oh yeah!' all fucking night, you pervert!"
"Motherfucker!" Gerard growled playfully, feinting a lunge, and then managing to grab Mikey's shirt in a sideways ploy, dragging the skinnier boy to him, wrapping one arm around his middle as he used his other to tickle Mikey's sides viciously.
"Stop it!" Mikey cried, between bouts of raucous laughter, trying to fend off Gerard's hands on his sides, twisting, weak from laughter, in his grasp, pushing at him, "Knock...it...off!"
"Make me!" Gerard growled devilishly, pinning him, tickling him harder, laughing as Mikey whined, nearly splitting with forced laughter, "Take back what you said, and I'll stop!"
"N-Never!" Mikey yelped, nearly breathless from his mirth, thrashing in Gerard's grip, "Never ever ever, porn boy!"
Suddenly, Mikey's leg wrapped around Gerard's, twisting it back so that both boys lost their footing. They tumbled into the grass of the lawn of one of their neighbors, who was probably at work, laughing uncontrollably. Gerard managed to retain one arm around Mikey, tickling him furiously.
"Kn-knock it off!" Mikey panted between breaths, still squirming to try and wriggle free of Gerard's arms, "Stop it!"
"Take it back!" Gerard said menacingly, digging his fingers harder into Mikey's sensitive sides, laughing as Mikey giggled, wiggling weakly, "Take back what you said! I do not watch porn!"
"N-never!?" Mikey cried, head thrashing back and forth, chest heaving, sweating, as he could barely breathe, stomach hurting he was laughing so hard, "Never ever ever?"
"Never!" Gerard laughed, and finally, giving up, dropping his arms off of Mikey, panting as he allowed Mikey to regain some composure. They didn't bother switching positions, even though Mikey was on top of Gerard's arm, probably cutting off his circulation.
They subsided into relative silence, lying sprawled in the grass, staring up at the sky. Both sighed deeply, groaning as they realized they'd have to get up and walk all the way home now. They laughed again, as they realized they'd done everything in unison. They turned their heads, staring into one another's eyes, still giggling a bit.
"Gee?" Mikey began, grinning, "I'm gonna fucking miss you, y'know?"
"Yeah, I know," Gerard replied, scooting closer to Mikey, "And you think I won't miss you, Mikey? I'm gonna miss you so fucking much. But, this is what I want to do with my future. I want to be an artist."
"Yeah, I know," Mikey said, turning his head to stare up at the sky again. The sun was starting to set in the west, bleeding the sky of all her oranges, pinks and golds. They both knew most of the color was just the sun burning through the chemical smog, "I'm just gonna miss you, is all. And I'm gonna, y'know, miss shit like this. When we hang out and shit."
"Yeah, me too," Gerard agreed, turning his head to stare at the sky as a flock of crows flew by, cawing, "But at least I was here for your birthday, right? Seventeen, big fucking number man. I didn't even think you could count that fucking high."
"Fuck you!" Mikey laughed, slapping Gerard's chest playfully, glancing at him, then back to the sky, "I can too fucking count to seventeen!"
"Oh yeah?" Gerard smirked, turning to him, "Prove it, bigshot."
"Fine then," Mikey stuck out his tongue, and began to count, "One, two, three, four, five, six..."
"Seventeen?" Gerard cut in, arching an eyebrow, grinning devilishly.
"Fuck you, seven, eight, nine," Mikey continued smoothly, grinning smugly at him, "Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen..."
"Oh, oh, this is the closest he's ever gotten, folks!" Gerard cried, faking enthusiasm, eyes wide, voice high and excited, "Can Mikey Way make it!? Can Mikey Way get all the way to...seventeen!?"
"Fifteen, sixteen, SEVENTEEN!" Mikey yelled into Gerard's face triumphantly, sticking out his tongue, laughing, "Seventeen, motherfucker!"
Gerard dissolved into giggles, eyes slipping closed as he shook with laughter, grabbing Mikey in a tight hug, dragging the skinnier boy close to him. He ruffled Mikey's hair as his laughter finally subsided, and he opened his eyes, staring down into Mikey's own. "I'm really gonna fucking miss you kid," Gerard sighed softly, leaning down and planting a kiss to Mikey's forehead, "I'm fucking going to miss this shit."
"Don't go then," Mikey pouted, bottom lip jutting, "Just stay here in Jersey! And we can hang out all the fucking time!"
"You know I can't, Mikey," Gerard sighed sadly, hugging him again.
Mikey didn't reply, but Gerard knew he understood. Instead, Mikey fiddled with the hem of his shirt, another ridiculous rabbit-thing, blue this time with little pink bunnies 'hopping' around the collar in a circle. Gerard was fairly sure it was some kind of band shirt, but he didn't remember for sure.
"Mikey?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
"I love you too, Gerard."
---
"Gerard, honey, where are you!? It's Lindsey, call when you get-"
He hit 'delete message'.
"Gerard! Where are you?! It's been two days, honey, I'm worr-"
'Delete message'.
"Gerard, baby, please, come ho-"
'Delete message'.
"Gerard, it's Frank, where are-"
'Delete message'.
"Hey man, it's Ray, are you-"
'Delete message'.
"Baby, I'm so sorry for whatever I did-"
'Delete message'.
"Gerard, call your fucking wife. This is Mikey, and she's in fucking hysterics. She doesn't deserve this sh-"
'Delete all messages?'
He hit the 'yes' button. He wiped his bloodshot eyes, staring blankly at the little fluorescent screen of the iPhone in his hand. He swallowed hard, scrubbing his face, feeling the two-days worth of growth. I really should call Lindsey, Gerard thought miserably to himself, sighing. He pocketed the phone instead.
It'd been four days since he'd gone home. Since he'd gone back to the studio. Since he'd seen Ray, or Frank, or Lindsey. Or Mikey.
There was an empty bottle of Xanax on the floor of the car, where he was curled in the backseat. A pile of notebooks was accompanying him, scattered on the seat opposite his own. One sat on top. A purple thing, with the word S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W scrawled on the cover in black Sharpie.
He wiped his watering eyes again, digging in his pocket for the last of the Xanax. With a shaking hand, he brought it to his mouth, and popped it dry. He curled into a tighter ball as he felt it go down, wrapping his arms tightly around himself as his body shook, cold sweat cascading down his greasy temples. He really needed a shower.
Gerard had made it about an hour after he'd fled the recording studio before he found himself digging through his contacts list from his old phone, hunting down one name after another, making call after call, until someone had been able to connect him to a guy named Colby. And Colby had been able to connect him to a pharmacist, who'd been able to reconnect him with several bottles of pills.
The last four days had been spent in various parties, in various houses, looking for a score. He swallowed his pills by the handful, until there were none left. The last four days, spent living in a numb, chemical fueled fog. He knew he was throwing away seven years worth of progress, but he just didn't care right now. Mikey knew.
Knew how sick he was. How sick he'd been. How did this fucking happen so fast? He'd kept it from him for so long, he'd been able to forget it himself most days, and then it was just back. And now Mikey knew. Knew about him. Knew his deepest, darkest secret. He knew.
Gerard picked up the notebook, flipping it open. He skimmed over the contents, fingers shaking so badly he nearly ripped the pages more than once. When he reached the very last page, he stared at the words etched into the page. His stomach clenched tighter as he recognized what he'd written there.
He grabbed the very top of the page and carefully tore the page from the notebook. He picked the rough edges off until he had a nearly perfect sheet. He folded it in half, into fourths, and then eighths obsessively. Xanax always made him so fucking OCD. He slipped it into his pocket.
He swallowed hard, picking up the notebook again. He bit his lip. He swallowed again. He scratched at a scab on his elbow. He considered what he'd do for a long moment. He decided.
He closed the notebook slowly, and climbed from the backseat to the front. He set it in the passenger's seat with great care, eyes darting nervously as he slid into the driver's side. He half expected to see a cop cruise by or a concerned citizen with a phone calling 911 on him.
He fought off a facial twitch as he turned the keys in the ignition, jumping the car to life. He could feel the Xanax taking full effect, numb fog settling over his brain.
He tried to fight it off as he drove down the now glowing streets, knowing almost instinctively where he was headed. His eyes kept darting nervously to the notebook. He gripped the wheel hard, knuckles going white.
This had to work. It had to. It was his last fucking hope.
---
The knock was so soft, he almost missed it. Almost. He had to do a double take to be sure he'd actually heard it, but when he opened the door, no one was there.
Mikey frowned, glancing around. Maybe it really wasn't a knock. He went to close the door, snorting in mild disgust. Just then, he glanced down and noticed a flash of purple on his doormat. He frowned again, peering closer.
A notebook.
His heart clamped tight in his chest as he recognized that particular notebook. Under a yellow sticky note, with handwriting that could only be one person's, that read 'Please Read Mikey', was a purple notebook, with one word etched onto it.
S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W
---
Another cliffhanger!? What?! Oh well. Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed! If you did, please leave a review or a rating, because those keep me motivated to write more. :) You guys are the best.
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