FicWad

Chapter Twenty Seven – I Don’t Want To Be a Forgotten Memory


Mikey’s POV





It’s dark in here.

It’s dark, but not in the same way that my nightmares are; far, far from it.

I like this kind of dark; it feels like flopping underneath a shady tree after running around a sun-soaked park, it feels like a warm blanket on a freezing winter’s night, it feels like soft arms soothing me after a long day at school. It feels like every kind of gentle, calming, empty release. It’s the kind of atmosphere that just wipes everything away like the curled fist of an aggravated teacher wipes away old white-board marks. It just sort of is.

I like it. It’s making me feel at ease, calm, safe. Like I’ve got nothing to worry about and never will have again; like I’ve finally done the right thing. For me, for Gerard, for Frank; for the world. But especially for my long-suffering big brother.

My big brother. The one who’s only ever tried his hardest to help me; the one who can hit really fucking hard; the one I always manage to upset and anger because I’m a selfish little shit. Just like he said. And if he says it then it must really be true; Gerard tries not to upset me no matter how much I upset him, so for him to say something like that must mean that it’s true. He wouldn’t make up stuff like that; he’s too nice to, as his kindness towards me this morning proves. Perhaps he was just pretending because he feels sorry for me. Yeah, that’s probably it.

But he also said that I couldn’t go home if I left him that faithful Friday night. He hadn’t meant that; he’d hugged me when I came back. Hugged me like he wanted me to be there with him; hugged me like he’d actually missed me; hugged me like he felt bad. Because he did. I’d made him feel bad. Again. Even though I’d only wanted to make him happy, I still made him sad. Like I always do. Because I’m the worst little brother imaginable and I’m surprised he’s put up with me for as long as he lovingly has.

So I finally decided to do something for him, something to give him his life back instead of filling it with the negative things my worthless mind seems to constantly conjure up.

Is this what death feels like? Endless nothing and nonstop peace? I hope so. It feels refreshingly soothing compared to what I’m used to; no more angry shouts, no more mocking laughter, no more getting kicked whilst I’m down, no more derogatory taunts; no more pain or causing others pain.

I hope that Gee doesn’t blame himself; he may not like me, not really, but I can’t help but think that he’ll feel like this is his fault. It really isn’t. He’s not the one that jumped out in front of an unsuspecting bus; I am. And I hope, as my final chance to get something right, that he doesn’t feel bad about it. He doesn’t deserve to feel as bad as I feel. Felt. Now I feel all at peace, all safe and all of the other feelings I haven’t felt for a long time. Just knowing that I’ll never have to get hit again, never have someone yell at me, is makes all of my anxiety at what I’ve done almost laughable.

This is the best thing I ever could have done to myself.

No, that’s not right. Not really.

This is the worst thing I could have ever done to myself.

I miss Gee already, I miss him trying to help me and failing because I’m too fucked up for help; I miss the tiny thoughts in the back of my head that tell me he really is back to how he used to be once more; I miss him holding me like he’s my big brother. I miss him like I miss my parents but worse, so much worse. I know that I only ever cause him grief and that it’s selfish of me to want him back, but I wish I could see him again. See him again and tell him that it isn’t his fault, that I love him, that I’m sorry for hurting him. If this has hurt him. It shouldn’t have; I only did it when I was sure that it would upset no one, only make people smile.

I can still remember back when we were closer, closer than best friends and closer than even the most inseparably attached twins; back when I was still a good little brother. I can still remember when he used to draw me pictures just to make me smile, just because he liked seeing me smile.

I can still remember back when he used to read me his comics, used to put on all of the different characters and act like all of the people were real. Sometimes he used to even make his own comics for me, just for me, back when he thought that I was worth his time. He always used to make them about two brothers with superpowers, I think that they were meant to be us, two brothers that always worked together to defeat all of the vampires or demons or the monsters that he’d make up especially for me. The last time he made me one of those amazing artworks or comics, the things that always made me smile and squeal in pure glee, was when he was thirteen and I was ten. The last time that I read one of the old ones was on one of those nights that he really lost it with me; he ripped them all up that night. Ripped up all of his beautiful work, all of the material things that ever meant anything to me. He destroyed them, sprinkled them around my room like confetti and then whacked me around the face for trying to snatch the pieces back to me so that I could hold them close to me; hold them close in the way that I longed him to hold me. But he never did, not until the morning after when he asked why I wouldn’t look at him, why I was crying like I had be all of the previous night. Because he couldn’t remember, because it wasn’t his fault; it was mine for getting in the way. Like always.

I remember the last time I felt truly safe around him, like I trusted him and he loved me as much as I love him, it was…

Wait. I can’t remember it. I don’t know if it’s because it was so long ago or if my mind won’t let me remember because it hurts too much, but either way I can’t remember it; I can’t remember it and now I’ll never be able to learn how it felt again.

Because I’m here in this darkness that’s starting to seem a lot less pleasant and a lot more, too much more, painful. It feels like a prison, a prison that I’ve locked myself into. And, just like a criminal in a prison, I know that I shouldn’t complain because I deserve to be here. Deserve to be dead.

Well, maybe not ‘deserve’; more like I had no choice. I couldn’t go on like I was; constant teasing, never-ending kickings, bottomless glares of hate and, above all else, mind-numbingly relentless loneliness.

Apart from I wasn’t alone; I had Frank. Frank. Frankie. Frank Iero.

My only friend. My first friend. My best friend. My first crush. My first kiss. My final push into the darkness.

No; it’s not his fault. He didn’t drive me to this, he’d never do anything bad enough to make me blame him for my selfish/selfless actions. It’s my fault, not his, and it’s my fault that he probably hates me right now, that he’s probably happy to know that I’m dead. I don’t want him to hate me, I want him to like me; want him to kiss me again.

That’s a point, actually. He kissed me; he started it. Not me. Therefor he must have wanted it, at least a little bit, must have wanted to kiss my bloodied lips like he actually cared about me and wanted to make it all go away without the addition of this all-consuming blackness. And then he realised what a stupid, hideous little freak I am. Was. Realised it and decided to do what he should have done the moment he set eyes on me; push me away, make me go away, hate me. Maybe he even thought it before the kiss, maybe he wanted to really teach me a lesson by sending me to heaven and then pushing me from his cloud straight down to hell; maybe it was his idea of a sadistically agonizing joke that, although I know I deserve for being so dependent on him and for constantly bringing him down, was really quite cruel.

I can’t believe that I trusted him; that I let myself believe that he wanted to be my friend.

I told you so. I tried to warn you but you just didn’t listen. Stupid little fuck.

I thought that Frank was different!

And I knew that he wasn’t. And I warned you. And you didn’t listen. And now look where you are.

Where am I?

I… I don’t exactly know.

I think that I’m dead; I hope that I am. If I’m not then I’ll have to face Gerard and Frank at some point; I’ll have to endure kids teasing me for being the stupid freak with a stutter, glasses, ugly face and, in addition to all of their past reasons, suicidal tendencies. Or perhaps that’ll make them stop. No. Of course it fucking won’t. They’ll just find it funny that I managed to do what they strive to do all by myself. They’ll find it funny and stupid and freakish and then they’ll beat me up for it.

Huh?

I can feel something on my chest, something that I can’t see, and it frightens me. Wait, no it doesn’t; it makes my heart flutter and my mind warm up to it. It feels soft, like angel wings shedding feathers onto my torso, and gentle. It’s a slow, somehow melodic motion; it’s like barely there circles are being stroked softly to where my heart takes shelter in my ribs. It’s as if someone’s hand is tickling across my ribs, twirling soothing patterns through the fabric of my clothes. I like it. I really, really like it. It’s like someone’s caring about me, like someone that I can’t possibly hurt because I can’t even see them is trying to comfort me. The invisible hand, for I’m sure that’s what it is, is slow and gentle; as though not wanting to hurt me with it’s dainty, consoling motions that make me actually feel at peace. It makes the darkness that I’ve thrown myself into feel like I want it to, how I imagined it would.

I think that I might just be smiling.

Hang on. Now, on top of the invisible hand, I can feel a weight on my own almost as if someone’s clutching it. Clutching it and squeezing it in an almost frantic manner, like the person doing the clutching is trying to pull me towards them. It almost feels like the person holding it is shaking, their hand reflecting the trembling in their body; like they care about me and what I’ve done to myself.

Wait. Does that mean that I’m not dead; that I’m just sort of suspended in animation, so to speak?

I can hear crying. No. Not crying. Screaming. Someone screaming my name, my name and the word ‘why’ over and over. Fuck. It sounds like Gerard. And it sounds like he’s in pain, actual, real pain; the kind that I felt as I drifted out of my head whilst the ambulance came hurtling towards me. I don’t want him to be in pain; that would defeat the purpose of me doing this. I just wanted to make him happy. I just wanted to stop letting everyone down. I just wanted it all to stop.

But no. I can’t even kill myself right. Can’t even step out in front of a bus and just die like most normal people would be able to do if pushed far enough. I’m a failure. Who the fuck can fail at jumping under a bus? Apparently I can.

But I’m so fucking glad that I did. At least this way I can tell Gerard that it wasn’t his fault, that I only want him to be happy. That way I can try again and not have to worry about him feeling guilty.

Yeah.

If at first you don’t succeed, try again. Right?

No. I don’t want to die; I just want it to stop! And it scares the shit out of me that I can even think like this, that I can even force myself at a bus in the first place. It’s hardly normal, is it? But I’m not normal, I’m Mikey Way; the worthless little freak that should be dead right now, not listening to his big brother crying for him through a veil of whatever the hell this is.

I hear a heavy sigh from a mouth other than my own and my big brother’s; who is it? Who’d care enough, other than Gee who’s here through blind obligation, to come to my bedside and actually worry about me? Who’d be stupid enough to allow themselves to get concerned over someone like me?

“C’mon, kid, please wake up. Please, your big brother needs you.”

Frank. It’s Frank. Frank fucking Iero.

I don’t want him to be here, I don’t want him anywhere near me right now; I don’t think that I can take seeing him after what happened back at his place. Something that I’ll regret for the rest of my pitiful existence and he’ll probably laugh at for the rest of his life. But his words, as per usual, strike a deep chord within me; a chord that only Frank has ever managed to play. I have to wake up, this isn’t about me anymore; it’s about my big brother and making him feel better, make him not feel bad for my fuck-up.

I just hope that he isn’t mad at me, even though I deserve his anger and fury for making him cry.

I try to open my eyes but they feel like they’ve got fire burning them together, demons clamping them shut with their sharp claws and I just can’t get them open. But then I hear another one of my big brother’s razor-like cries.

I have to do this. I have to be a good little brother for a change.

I try to part my stubborn eyelids once more, using each of Gerard’s anguished sobs to power me forward and give me the strength to fight against the pain that my eyes seem to be doused with. All of a sudden, my vision is flooded with a blaring light and it blinds me; not in a nice summer-sun way, but in an eye-meltingly agonizing way.

I hear a gasp.

Gerard!

Gerard’s really here, really holding my hand and wanting me. Really caring. Really crying over me. He shouldn’t be; I did this so that he would never have to feel bad over me again.

I hear a second gasp, this time it sounds slightly panicked.

Frank Iero.





A/N: Thank you for reading; I hope that this came out alright and made some sort of sense. Thank you very much to anyone who’s reviewed this story so far, it really does mean so much to me! Thanks for being awesome enough to read this and please be nice enough to review! :)