Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Arctic Flower
He moaned as the headache bit into the back of his eyes, moaned as everything throbbed and pained him and made him want to curl up in a ball, and die.
He moaned, and opened his eyes, forced his mind to wake up completely.
He felt his back start to hurt, too, and it ached and burned his muscles.
I'm alive was the first thought that hit him, loud and blood-chilling.
He realized it with a slight gasp.
He realized it with bitterness, and disappointment, and regret.
He hated waking up. It reminded him of the emptiness.
Gerard lied a few more minutes in bed, feeling the absence and void that came with being idle, the inability to let himself go, the feeling of everything trapped tightly inside.
He ran his fingers through his hair and forced himself - and this took more willpower than anything had taken him in the last few days, minus swallowing most of his antidepressants the night before - to stand up.
He stood up and blinked a few times and dragged himself up to his window where he pulled the curtains wide open and sun crashed into his bedroom.
He'd nearly thought "their" bedroom, but he knew that wasn't the case anymore.
How do you mend a broken heart? How do you cure the emptiness that comes?
How do you bear the nightmares, how do you stand looking at yourself in the mirror and not feel his cool lips delicately kiss your shoulder, know that all you had was nothing but a joke? A massive joke, a pastime, an experiment. A joke.
It had been six months and two weeks, six ridiculous months and two ridiculous weeks, but yet there was still nothing. Nothing. The void.
He and Bert had broken up six months and thirteen days prior to the day Gerard Way had decided to down a bottle of pills.
Six months and two weeks prior to the day he casually decided to take a walk after teaching his two PM class - mainly because it felt as if he had nothing to live for.
Six months and two weeks prior to the day that would've flipped his world around, grabbed it by the hair, turned it upside down.
*
Frank couldn't feel himself.
Good smack, good dope, knowing he was getting lost amongst the other thousands of tiny particles that made up his body, getting lost somewhere between his heart and his lungs, feeling his very own blood melt away as everything around him slowed down and became suspended into air, the feeling of a cigarette between his teeth heightened beyond it all.
He giggled and realized he was lying on the floor, and he was out of it, completely, higher than he'd been in so long, brain sloshing in its own apathy, memories and guilt pushed aside, depleted.
He tried to move, and it all felt heavy, heavy and rock hard and deep. He was slipping deep and he couldn't crawl out. He couldn't. Did he want to?
No, he didn't, as his mouth tasted bitter and his hands rubbed against his stomach. The ceiling swirled above him, crashed and screamed against the walls.
He laughed as he lost his mind.
*
Gerard sighed and sat on a bench, as he tried to recollect his thoughts - the delicate barrier he'd constructed himself to get through the day was starting to falter and crumble, bits and pieces were being set free inside his mind. He tried to control them, knew it was useless.
He lighted a cigarette and didn't even taste it, it was just something he was used doing, it was just a little routine, something that somehow reminded him of things he should've forgotten.
He sighed, bended his head back and felt the slight pressure of the book he'd been trying to read press against his knee. It was amazing how much he didn't care. How much nothing at all mattered, how still and quiet his days had been since Bert had had an epiphany and realized his home was in California with a man who was also an artist, but maybe even a porn star. A man whose existence Gerard had been kind to himself enough to pretty much wipe out of his useless, gray brain, save remembering the fact that he was named Sebastian.
He shut his eyes, and a second felt like a lifetime.
*
He woke up again, and this time had no memory of anything.
Lying somewhere, lying on a floor. Behind a dumpster.
God, had he really sunk that low?
He grasped something about a party, and something else about getting high, and lastly something about rough sweaty sex laced with whips and handcuffs. He thought he remembered that that was the way he'd payed for the dope, and maybe he was right.
He burned in unmentionable places, so maybe that really was what had happened.
His throat closed up and he tried to stand up and retched because his clothes smelled and his hair smelled and he smelled, and it was raining again or maybe it had just started to rain. He was cold, that was certain. He felt good though, there was still a fraction of what he'd felt while he was high, and it smelled good and it made him feel okay for a few seconds before he really did realize that rain was seeping inside of his flesh and was freezing him to the bone, since he'd lost his coat.
He blinked and dragged himself out of the rotten old street corner he'd forced himself into and they'd stolen his bag and this time it was probably impossible to get it back. Dom was an asshole, Dom would've said he hadn't seen it and Dom would've spent all of Frank's money on dope, and Iero felt like crying but also didn't.
He knew he'd just hit an unimaginable low (but also that he was a long way from hitting the lowest) and once again his thoughts and prayers went to Sam, and he hoped and hoped and hoped for her to be safe.
She was smart, she was okay. He basked in those thoughts for a second before a shiver froze him to the very core and he realized he should've gotten out of the rain unless he wanted to die not only of an overdose, but also pneumonia and possible tuberculosis.
He shivered and started to walk, cold, seemingly towards nowhere at all, seemingly the furthest he could, mind still foggy, migraine still pounding.
He didn't really know why he chose that particular doorway, or that particular elevator, but it was warm and there were no night guards and no dogs, but the thing that mattered the most to him was the warmth.
And he creeped into the elevator and had no idea what time it was.
And it was warm, and he took a deep breath and he burrowed himself in a corner and hoped for no one to find him.
He even dozed off, a little.
That was how Gerard found him, half an hour later, when he came back from his usual trip to the drug store for cigarettes and instant coffee.
He moaned, and opened his eyes, forced his mind to wake up completely.
He felt his back start to hurt, too, and it ached and burned his muscles.
I'm alive was the first thought that hit him, loud and blood-chilling.
He realized it with a slight gasp.
He realized it with bitterness, and disappointment, and regret.
He hated waking up. It reminded him of the emptiness.
Gerard lied a few more minutes in bed, feeling the absence and void that came with being idle, the inability to let himself go, the feeling of everything trapped tightly inside.
He ran his fingers through his hair and forced himself - and this took more willpower than anything had taken him in the last few days, minus swallowing most of his antidepressants the night before - to stand up.
He stood up and blinked a few times and dragged himself up to his window where he pulled the curtains wide open and sun crashed into his bedroom.
He'd nearly thought "their" bedroom, but he knew that wasn't the case anymore.
How do you mend a broken heart? How do you cure the emptiness that comes?
How do you bear the nightmares, how do you stand looking at yourself in the mirror and not feel his cool lips delicately kiss your shoulder, know that all you had was nothing but a joke? A massive joke, a pastime, an experiment. A joke.
It had been six months and two weeks, six ridiculous months and two ridiculous weeks, but yet there was still nothing. Nothing. The void.
He and Bert had broken up six months and thirteen days prior to the day Gerard Way had decided to down a bottle of pills.
Six months and two weeks prior to the day he casually decided to take a walk after teaching his two PM class - mainly because it felt as if he had nothing to live for.
Six months and two weeks prior to the day that would've flipped his world around, grabbed it by the hair, turned it upside down.
*
Frank couldn't feel himself.
Good smack, good dope, knowing he was getting lost amongst the other thousands of tiny particles that made up his body, getting lost somewhere between his heart and his lungs, feeling his very own blood melt away as everything around him slowed down and became suspended into air, the feeling of a cigarette between his teeth heightened beyond it all.
He giggled and realized he was lying on the floor, and he was out of it, completely, higher than he'd been in so long, brain sloshing in its own apathy, memories and guilt pushed aside, depleted.
He tried to move, and it all felt heavy, heavy and rock hard and deep. He was slipping deep and he couldn't crawl out. He couldn't. Did he want to?
No, he didn't, as his mouth tasted bitter and his hands rubbed against his stomach. The ceiling swirled above him, crashed and screamed against the walls.
He laughed as he lost his mind.
*
Gerard sighed and sat on a bench, as he tried to recollect his thoughts - the delicate barrier he'd constructed himself to get through the day was starting to falter and crumble, bits and pieces were being set free inside his mind. He tried to control them, knew it was useless.
He lighted a cigarette and didn't even taste it, it was just something he was used doing, it was just a little routine, something that somehow reminded him of things he should've forgotten.
He sighed, bended his head back and felt the slight pressure of the book he'd been trying to read press against his knee. It was amazing how much he didn't care. How much nothing at all mattered, how still and quiet his days had been since Bert had had an epiphany and realized his home was in California with a man who was also an artist, but maybe even a porn star. A man whose existence Gerard had been kind to himself enough to pretty much wipe out of his useless, gray brain, save remembering the fact that he was named Sebastian.
He shut his eyes, and a second felt like a lifetime.
*
He woke up again, and this time had no memory of anything.
Lying somewhere, lying on a floor. Behind a dumpster.
God, had he really sunk that low?
He grasped something about a party, and something else about getting high, and lastly something about rough sweaty sex laced with whips and handcuffs. He thought he remembered that that was the way he'd payed for the dope, and maybe he was right.
He burned in unmentionable places, so maybe that really was what had happened.
His throat closed up and he tried to stand up and retched because his clothes smelled and his hair smelled and he smelled, and it was raining again or maybe it had just started to rain. He was cold, that was certain. He felt good though, there was still a fraction of what he'd felt while he was high, and it smelled good and it made him feel okay for a few seconds before he really did realize that rain was seeping inside of his flesh and was freezing him to the bone, since he'd lost his coat.
He blinked and dragged himself out of the rotten old street corner he'd forced himself into and they'd stolen his bag and this time it was probably impossible to get it back. Dom was an asshole, Dom would've said he hadn't seen it and Dom would've spent all of Frank's money on dope, and Iero felt like crying but also didn't.
He knew he'd just hit an unimaginable low (but also that he was a long way from hitting the lowest) and once again his thoughts and prayers went to Sam, and he hoped and hoped and hoped for her to be safe.
She was smart, she was okay. He basked in those thoughts for a second before a shiver froze him to the very core and he realized he should've gotten out of the rain unless he wanted to die not only of an overdose, but also pneumonia and possible tuberculosis.
He shivered and started to walk, cold, seemingly towards nowhere at all, seemingly the furthest he could, mind still foggy, migraine still pounding.
He didn't really know why he chose that particular doorway, or that particular elevator, but it was warm and there were no night guards and no dogs, but the thing that mattered the most to him was the warmth.
And he creeped into the elevator and had no idea what time it was.
And it was warm, and he took a deep breath and he burrowed himself in a corner and hoped for no one to find him.
He even dozed off, a little.
That was how Gerard found him, half an hour later, when he came back from his usual trip to the drug store for cigarettes and instant coffee.
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