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Chapter Twenty Two – Antiseptic


Frank’s POV




Does he really mean that; does he really wish he was dead?

No, he can’t do. He just can’t. He’s a sixteen-year-old kid who should be thinking about music and parties, not about how lacking his want for life is. It shouldn’t even be a want; just a natural instinct to enjoy living and fear dying, not longing for death’s embrace to comfort away the agonies that life has besmirched his innocent soul with. He can’t really want to be dead; he’s just a kid. A kid that should be happy and carefree and in his big brother’s arms sobbing his heart out instead of my own. I wonder what Gee would think if he saw Mikes now. Would he feel guilty for not dealing with this properly, would he feel angry? I feel angry. No, it’s not anger; it’s the kind of raw, savage fury that is so strong that I think it can only be paralleled by the complete, downtrodden hopelessness in Mikey’s voice when he finally managed to speak. Speak without a stutter because he really does trust me, no matter how hard to detect that trust may be, but I would much rather he was stuttering and telling me how great his life is instead of his words being whole and sobbing out how much he wants it all to stop; all of it including himself.

He did mean it. He truly wished that I’d let him die in that alley, let some scum have his fun and then kill my poor Honey. He meant it in such a way that has shaken me to the core, shaken tears out of my wide eyes; he meant it with the sincerity of an angel pledging it’s allegiance to God. He hadn’t said it in the way that some kids do just to gain attention or reassurance, he said it with certainty and honesty on such a profound level that I doubt I’ll ever be able to replicate it myself. And it kills me inside.

Kills me to know that things have gotten so bad, so out of hand, that he thinks hell would be better than here. Perhaps for him it would be. In hell you don’t get beaten up every day by people who should be your friends; in hell you don’t get singled out for being different; in hell I’m sure that you get treated a lot better than how the world treats him. But it shouldn’t be like that, not at all. He should be longing for the bullying to stop, not for his life to stop because he’s learnt to believe that the bullies are right and he’ll always be treated like no human being deserves to be treated. He shouldn’t feel desperate enough to actually want to die.

I guess that some people might think that I’m overreacting to Mikey’s little whimper of despair, might think what the big deal is when angst-ridden teenagers say that sort of thing all the time, but I know that I’m not overreacting; Mikey meant exactly what he said, the conviction in his eyes told me that much.

He’s not just a sad kid in need of a friend; he’s a depressed person in need of a miracle.

How could Gerard let him get this depressed? I know that the kid keeps things hidden and bottled up like poison in a champagne glass, but Gerard’s his big brother. As in the person who’s meant to be his best friend and protector; meant to ask him what’s wrong and just cuddle him until it’s all better, just like I’m doing.

But Gerard hasn’t done any of that, or has done and hasn’t done it properly. Judging from what I know, it’s been years since Gerard’s actually been what Mikey needs. Not just needs; wants as well. And in some cases wants can be far more important than needs.

Wants can pull you through with delight and happiness, whereas needs are just something that people should take for granted. Which is exactly why Gerard should not be trying to be what he thinks Mikey needs, but be what Mikey both wants and needs.

I just can’t believe that Gee let it go this far, far enough to shunt Mikes off the edge and into the pit of despair that is capturing the spitting spite in such a way that he’s drowning in it. No. Has drowned in it. His soul, his spirit, everything that he once may have been, is dead; obliterated completely. And Gerard pretty much let it happen. Apart from he didn’t. Not really. For all I know, Gerard could have no idea about how bad things are.

But he should do.

I’m glad that Mikes phoned me, not about the horrific reason behind it that I still need to get him to talk about before it really does kill him, because I dread to think where he’d be if he hadn’t known that I’m here whenever he needs me. He could have wound up in the same situation as Friday night if he hadn’t ran here; he could have ended up having a useless, frustrating conversation with Gerard in which Gee would no doubt try his best, but would ultimately fail because he just doesn’t know how to stop being what he wants to be and just listen to the poor kid; or worst of all, he could still be in school, could still be having abuse yelled at and inflicted upon his frightened little body. I’m relieved that none of those scenarios played out, I’m relieved that he trusted me enough to ask for my help. But still, it should really be Gerard that he’s pouring his heart out to.

Yet I can’t help but feel blessed that it’s my ears that get to hear his voice coming out as one linear, solid-gold flurry of cute quietness; that it’s my arms that are wrapped around his skinny, soft form; that it’s my gentle fingers rushing through his hair like it’ll disappear and I won’t ever get to feel it again; that it’s my body he’s hiding himself in like a rabbit hiding the safety of it’s warm burrow. We’ve been curled up for the past hour like this, my mind whirring about what I should say to him because I still haven’t responded to his last weak little whimper; I just don’t know how. I haven’t even cleaned the blood off of his precious face yet.

I can’t, I don’t want him to leave my warmth.

“Honey… I… You…” He’s looking up at me, waiting intently for me to say something to him; something to make it all hurt at least a little less. I can’t let him down. “Tell me exactly what happened, Honey. Tell me what they did to you.”

His eyes glaze over with an invisible film of memories pulling taught over is eyes until they water. Perhaps I should have given him some more time to calm down before I asked? No. He needs to get out as soon as possible.

“They just wouldn’t stop, Frankie.” He takes a shaky breath in and sits so that we’re next to each other, as opposed to him being curled into me like a snail into it’s shell. “Kept kicking and laughing and it just wouldn’t stop. Won’t ever stop.”

He’s looking at his trembling hands, which are clenched into desperate little fists, and I can see tears falling into the fresh cuts in his face, pooling in the little openings of skin before overflowing just as my own eyes are starting to. My arm hangs around his shoulder, my hand snaking down to clasp one of his own like two links of a chain gripping together in order to unify an idea of safety and security. I don’t want it to just be an idea; I need it to be a reality. A reality that he can believe him.

“Won’t ever stop.” He whispers, his eyes haunted and trance-like. For a moment he just freezes; suspended by his sorrow and it almost scares me how distnat, how lost he looks. “They won’t ever stop and I can’t fucking take it anymore! I just want it to fucking stop!” He shouts, really, properly screams it in a voice that I never thought he’d be capable of conjuring; but too much abuse can make anyone, even someone as shy and meek as Mikey Way, snap into stormful woe.

But that just makes the reason behind his confused, heartbroken shouting twice as serious and pressing; for a kid like Mikey to snap, it must have been truly awful. Or just one time too many. One time is one time too many, especially for someone as genuinely nice as Mikey, but for it to happen every day and not snap? The fact he’s gotten this far without snapping is a miracle in itself, but now that has yelled out about it perhaps it will be easier to fix because now that it’s off of his chest it’ll be harder for it to weigh down his barely beating heart.

I’ve got to calm him down, got to make his breathing regulate and heartbeat slow so that he can actually function without choking on his own saliva. I need to calm him down, I can’t let him suffer the trauma of having another panic attack. That really would be too much for him.

“Hey, shush now. Calm down, Honey.” His face crumples like a sodden sheet falling from a washing line and I pull him right up close to me. Perhaps a little closer than necessary. “I’ve got you, remember?” I feel him nod into my side, not caring that the corners of his glasses are digging into my skin like a shovel digging a grave. A grave that would be his if he were to have his way. “I’ve got you and I’m going to make sure that it does stop, okay?”

“It’ll never stop. I’m a worthless freak that nobody will ever want; as long as I’m here so will everything else be.”

Shit.

Is he telling me that he’s suicidal?

“I just want it to stop. All of it. But it won’t ever go away because as long as I’m alive I’ll be the shitty little freak that can’t even speak right and is only around to get beaten up! Well, I’ve had enough.” He’s shouting again. Or maybe he’s whispering and it’s just the vehement dislike of himself and his life that’s making it sounds so deafening to my ears. “I just want it to stop.”

“Mikey, Honey, listen to me, okay? I need you to calm down and trust me when I say that it is going to stop because I won’t let it carry on anymore. I’m not going to let you get hurt again, Honey.” His eyes fill with disbelief, making them even more adorably huge through the prison bars of his glasses and when he looks he’s about to protest I press a finger softly to his lips, marvelling at how soft and velvety they feel…

No. I can’t think like that. Not now. I’m ashamed for even letting it cross my mind; I can’t believe that I could even consider being so selfish. Because it would be because I don’t love him. I just think that he’s cute. I don’t love him, not like I love Gerard.

“I’ll make it all stop, if you can promise me one thing, Mikey Way, one thing.” He looks half frightened, but then his eyes travel down to my finger and he seems to calm down a little for reasons that I can’t fully understand. He nods, making my finger rub up and down on his lips. I quickly lower it through fear of letting myself get distracted from my task. I can’t get distracted; I have to help him through this. “Promise me that you’ll believe me when I say that you’re not a freak; that you aren’t worthless; that you are an amazing person who deserves nothing but the best.”

He looks torn, his hopeful pupils out of place in the rivers of overwhelming anguish and despair that have flooded his irises. He has to believe me because there’s nothing to believe; it’s just the truth and it should just be a given that he knows it.

“I can’t, Frankie. I’m sorry but I… I just can’t.” He sounds like he really does want to believe it and that kills me; no, it does more than kills me. It slaughters me, resurrects me and then slaughters me once more before sending me to hell to be Satan's whore.

I just don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to make this better for him.

Perhaps I can’t. In fact, I know that I can’t. The only person that can make this any better for him is he himself, I just have to give him a nudge in the right direction. In the direction of learning to accept that some people exist purely to ruin other people to make themselves feel more important, that some people just can’t say a nice word and that the nasty ones directed towards him are all complete bullshit. And to do that I need to stop acting like I can control this and let him speak.

Speak. Actually speak like a normal kid, apart from a normal kid wouldn’t have to put up with the abuse he does because most kids get treated like kids; not as some sort of unloved plaything.

“I used to think that it would stop, that one day they’d just like me because I took what they did. I thought that eventually I’d change, become more, I don’t know… likeable and then they’d want to be my friends.” He lets out a bitter laugh that sends a shudder through my body. This is the real Mikey Way; this is what they’ve reduced him to and I’m the first person to see it. And I don’t like it. He shouldn’t be like this, all trashed and torn like a teenager’s bedroom; he should be smiling and laughing like the bastards that did this to him probably are right now. “I was fucking stupid. Still am. Because I’ll never be more likeable and they’ll never want to be friends with me. The only person who’s ever wanted me is some creep in an alley!”

I hug him, hard. I’m not letting go. Not ever. I can’t, not knowing that he feels like this. If Gerard knew I’m sure that he’d be doing the same. It’s the brotherly thing to do. I can feel him relishing the embrace like it’s actually helping him, making him feel wanted, so I tighten it; squeezing all of the hate and spite out of his mind. I’m not about to let him go, not when we’re both getting so much out of this simple comfort.

“Mikes, that’s not true. You are extremely likeable; you’re the nicest person I know and anyone who doesn’t want to be your friend is stupid, not you.” My voice is firm and loving; immovable and caring; doubtless and soft.

But still he shakes his head as violently as his shoulders are shaking with the force of his weakened sobs. So I lean into his ear, my lips almost pressed against it, letting my warm breath bath it like sunlight on an ancient ruin and he lets out a little sigh amidst the chaos of his sobs.

“You’re a beautiful person, Mikey Way. Don’t ever forget it. You’re a kind, smart, good kid.”

“All I’m good for is stress relief.”

“Oh, Mikes. It’s not right that they hur-“

“It must be!” He yells, trying to pull away from me almost frantically. I’m not letting go. I can’t, the last thing anyone needs is for him to run off; I can’t let him get hurt again. I’d die first. “It must be because everyone does! Eventually everyone hurts me. The kids at school, complete strangers, even Gera-“

He cuts himself off and clamps a hand over his mouth.

Dread and shock flood through my ears at how my mind tells me that sentence should have ended; with the love of my life’s name being ruined forever. But I have to confirm it, not just for my own selfish reasons, but because I think that whatever he’s hoping to hide by hiding his face in my chest is the key to getting into him, to getting to the route of all of this. I know for a fact that whatever he says is going to change everything, probably for the worse where my relationship with Gerard is concerned, but I have to hear him say it because if I turn him away now I doubt that he’ll ever venture out of silence long enough to tell anyone.

And he has to tell someone or else it will continue to eat away at him until nothing is left for me to save.

“Mikey?” He shakes his head, body trembling like never before. “Mikey, you’ve got to finish that. You’ve got tell me what Gerard did, Honey.”

“C-can-an’t-t.”

Fuck, Honey.

It really scares him that much? Enough to send him to a place too dark to allow him a respite from his stutter?

I’ve got to get it out of him. I don’t have a choice.

“Honey, you can trust me and you know it. Tell me what you were going to say.”

“It'-s no-ot hi-is fau-ault, hon-onest-t! Gerar-erard used to-o drin-ink a lot-ot, an-and he-e-e use-sed to-o…”

Please, no; don’t let this end how I think it will. Don’t let this end how I see my beautiful, sexy Gee.

“B-b-beat-eat me-e.”

Fuck you, Gerard Way; hypocritical bastard, worthless freak, pathetic bully, kid beater.

Mikey said used to, though. As in it doesn’t happen anymore.

But he still did it. Still hurt my Mikey.

But still, I can’t not love Gerard.





A/N: Sorry that it’s shorter than normal and, to be perfectly honest, the crappiest thing I’ve ever written; but I hope that you liked it. Thanks for reading and please review! :)