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Chapter Thirty – Train of Thought (Derailed)



Mikey’s POV




They think that I’m asleep, that I’m dreaming inside my own little world instead of living the nightmare that my own stupidity has forced upon me. They think that I’m unaware that they’re staring at me with Velcro eyes that refuse to leave my self-battered body that refuses to let my soul go. They think that I can’t hear Gerard crying and Frank comforting him, consoling him like he was doing for me until I went and ruined it all, just like I ruin everything else and have to be punished for it. They think that I’m unable to hear them murmuring to each other about what they should do with me, like I’m some sort of broken toy; I guess I am. Fate enjoyed playing with me and now I’ve broken myself in the meagre hope that I’ll be taken away from Fate’s prodding fingers, apart from I can’t even jump in front of a bus and just die like most other people would be able to.

I’m glad that they think I’m out for the count; it gives them the opportunity to not have to worry about me and my selfishness. I can’t stand the thought of them being upset because of me, it’s a thought that sends shivers down my bruised spine; if one of them were to decide to make me pay for the bad feelings I’ve shoved onto their undeserving shoulders then I wouldn’t stand a chance given my current physical condition.

Not that the dying part of it would bother me all that much, rather the fact that it would be dragged out; at least with a bus it would have been quick.

Do I really mean that? Do I really want to die?

No, I think that I’m asking myself the wrong question here.

Do I really want to live? Not survive as I have been doing, but properly live life like I’m enjoying it; not just struggle through with my shortcomings weighing myself and everyone around me down, but actually be alive inside as well as out?

I want to live more than anything, live a life that I can be proud of, live like a normal sixteen-year-old boy. Not even that; just live without pain punishing me for every foolish mistake that my worthless mind allows me to make. I just want to be alive again, alive like I used to be back when Gerard cared just because he liked me; not because he feels like he has to.

Gerard doesn’t like me. How could he? All I’ve done is make him worry even though I was only trying to make his life easier by ending my own.

Well, that’s not entirely true, is it? No. It isn’t. It was certainly a contributing factor, but to try and pin it all on some ideal of selflessness that I feel I need in order to reconcile all of my selfish acts? That would make me a worthless liar. No, I did this for my own selfish reasons. More like ‘weaknesses’ rather than ‘reasons’. Because I’m too weak to take what I deserve; too weak to face up to the fact that I ruin everything, even my big brother’s rare happiness; too weak to cope with the fact that Frank hates me, that I’ll never be held by him again. Never be kissed by him again.

Never be loved by him.

Never be loved by anyone. Because who in their right mind would love a freak like me? I thought that Frank Iero might, but then I realised; angels can’t love demons.

Maybe I do want to live, but what’s the point of living if you can’t feel love? It’s like breathing without oxygen; crying without tears; smoking without nicotine; having a heart beat but no pulse. It just doesn’t work and if it does then something’s not right.

Ha.

‘Not right’.

I think that I’ve gone far beyond the stage of being ‘not right’; I passed that years ago, passed it when I let my own big brother beat me. It wasn’t a case of letting, rather it was a case of fucking up and accepting punishment, but that just makes me even more ‘not right’; for someone to mess up on an almost nightly basis and on such a level that it warranted black eyes there must be something seriously ‘not right’ with them. No, I surpassed ‘not right’ years ago. Now I’m just Mikey Way. I don’t think that there’s a better way to describe someone as pathetic as me than using my name; there’s just no words strong enough. People have tried to sum it up with words like ‘freak’, ‘weirdo’ and even the school nurse called me a ‘lost cause’. When a responsible adult says it, you know that it must be true. Gerard told me that it wasn’t, but I’m sure that I’ve heard him call me that a fair few times under his breath.

What does it mean to be a lost cause? I think that it means that I’m a failure, a failure with no hope of ever not being a failure.So what’s the point in trying? Surely it would better off to just leave everyone the fuck alone rather than bringing them down with me.

At least, that’s what I thought. Until I met Frank. Then everything started to look up, started to actually look almost hopeful, and he really was my friend. I actually had a friend; someone who liked me without that sense of blind obligation that Gerard is weighed down by. But then, me being the worthless idiot that I’m cursed with being, I went and fucked up. And now he can’t even stand to be in the same room as me when I’m awake.

And it really fucking hurts; hurts in the same way that telling someone that they’re cured of a fatal disease only to tell them that it’s returned and they have days to live does. I guess it’s the same kind of principle as giving candy to a baby just to take it away from them again. Apart from it’s friendship instead of candy, and it really fucking hurts to have it snatched away like I have made it be so.

Am I really that bad?

Of course I am. Frankie’s a nice person, he wouldn’t treat me in anyway less than I deserve.

Great. So that probably means he’ll start hitting me, just like everyone else who treats me the way I deserve to be treated; like an undisciplined animal in need of a good kicking. I guess I am kind of like an animal; I don’t really talk and when I do it comes out in barely comprehendible barks of punctured syllables that seem to refuse to bond together; I get used for other people’s entertainment like some sort of circus animal, apart from circus animals are loved by the crowd whereas the crowd are always willing to remind me that they’re laughing at me, not with me; I am unable to control my emotions like animals are unable to control theirs.

No. I’m not like an animal; animals at least have their own kind to depend on even if us humans forsake them.

“Jesus, Frankie, what the fuck has he done to himself? How could he?”

Gerard’s almost toneless voice rings through the air like a blade-edged boomerang, cutting through every thought that I may have once had that this was the most selfless thing I could do for him. Maybe if I hadn’t survived then he’d be thinking differently; perhaps he would realise that all I ever do is drag him down and without me here he can live like a normal nineteen-year-old with his whole life ahead of him. Without me he could be at art college, working to make himself the future that I know he can create and dreams of, but because of me he has to spend all of his time working at two jobs I know that he hates. Two jobs that wear him out and dampen the spirit that used to be my big brother.

Used to be. Used to be so long ago.

No. He still is my big brother; I’ve just forced him to change with my selfishness. Without me the world would still have the person that my big brother was, the person who used to always smile and care about everything. Now, I’ve reduced to him what he used to look like after a bad trip or hard night out getting drunk. He’d look dilapidated, sometimes I thought that he was going to have to go to the hospital to get his stomach pumped or something, but whenever he saw the state of my face he always straightened his own to be the fantastic big brother that he was.

Still is.

It’s just that I’ve stopped being a good little brother.

I killed who he used to be with my selfish need for protection and ownership, with my longing for love and care, with my demanding issues that have earned me many unpleasant therapy sessions that Gerard forced me into. I know the he only ever wants to help, but why can’t he see that half of the things he does to bring me back to life just force more earth on top of my coffin? I think that it’s because he’s so desperate to help that the want overcomes what reality is presenting him with.

I just don’t understand how the want can be that strong, though. All I ever do it make him angry or sad or confused or every other negative emotion possible, yet he still tries to help.

Like I’ve said before, it’s because he feels that he has to; feels that he owes it to Mom and Dad to look after me.

Which is why it would have been better for him if I had died, he would no longer of had that false obligation to wreck his life. Because that’s all I’m doing and I know that, deep down, he really does hate me for it. He must do. Must hate me, hate me like Frank does.

“Fuck, Frankie. How could he think that this was a better option than coming to me for help?”

Oh, Gerard. It wasn’t that this was the better option; it was the only option. The only option that would have had a good outcome for all concerned if I had been successful. But I wasn’t and now I’ve made everything a million times worse because Gerard is able to blame himself because my presence means that his obligation to my tattered soul prevails.

“Am I really that bad of a brother?”

Yes.

No, of course you fucking aren’t, Gerard! It’s because you’re a good big brother that I wanted to do something to make your life easier.

“Gee, no. This isn’t your fault.” Frank’s knowledgeable voice soothes it’s way into the painful silence, saying the words that I wish I could. “Of course it isn’t, Honey.”

‘Honey’?

I crack my eyes open slightly.

My heart all but stops, then increases like a derailed rollercoaster plunging off of it’s track and into a crowd of innocent bystanders. My lungs constrict like skin tightening around flesh when put under the right amount of intense heat. My eyes widen like being able to see the scene in front of me will make it have a perfectly plausible explanation other than the one that I know must be true. My soul cries like the sob that has just flown from my chapped lips.

Chapped lips that long to be on Frank’s. Chapped lips that long to take the place of my brother’s, just like my nose longs to be rubbing along Frank’s cheek like Gerard’s is. Like it was around ten hours ago.

I try to silence my cries, try to make myself invisible once more.

Too late; they’re both staring at me in shock. Gerard just looks embarrassed, Frank looks ashamed and guilty and regretful and hurt.

Everything that I feel on a daily basis.

“Shit.”

I wish I was dead.






A/N: Thank you very much for reading; I hope that it was alright. I’ve been kind of preoccupied today with the Sims 3 and found something mind-blowingly awesome; on the ‘Late Night’ expansion pack if you select ‘indie’ on the stereo and wait long enough, it plays ‘Na Na Na’ in Simlish!!! Made my day that did. Anyway, thank you very much for reading and please review. :)