Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Teamwork
I never meant to hurt anyone. Of course I fucking didn’t.
Okay, so that’s a lie; I only did what I did so that I could inflict pain upon one horrible, ugly, diseased, disgusting person. A person who everyone hates with good reason. A person who deserves to be in pain every time they move. A person who can never get anything right. A person who needs to be punished for being a creepy little fuck-up. A person too stupid and selfish to even think that someone might get upset by their actions. A person who I can’t stand like some sort of hideous rash that just won’t stop igniting my worthless skin. Who am I referring to?
Myself, of course.
Childish little Mikey Way, the weird little emo-kid who can’t be left alone with a sharp object within reach as my arms will prove with their collection of anguished stripes of shame, kind of like an artist’s intricate brush strokes on a dull canvas.
I never even wanted any of them to find out; not my beautiful Frankie, not my best friend Ray and certainly not my big brother. But I got careless, cut too deep and in a place too high up my arm for it to be covered by wristbands on a hot summer’s day, so now they all fucking know.
And it made them cry; the three people who are my only reasons for not tearing out my veins completely are sad because I was a stupid little shit.
I honestly don’t know who was worse out of my overprotective brother and my adorably caring boyfriend when they first saw my battle scars from my war with life. Frankie had just broken down, burst into tears, sobbed about being too blind to notice that anything was even all that wrong; he blames himself for the cuts that my hand caused, that the insults and failures drove me to. That was bad enough, having to face up to the fact that I had done more harm to his heart than I had done to my own worthless arms, that I’d made that star-like shine in his endless eyes turn into a black hole of all-consuming despair. Yes that was quite enough for me, but then there was Gee.
”Mikes… What… Why…” He staggers, cradling my boyfriend close to his chest because he knows that I’m too much of a stupid little bastard to comfort my own boyfriend right now, tears running down my numb face and my arms drawn self-consciously into my chest.
Ray’s just sat there, gazing at me with wide, fragmented eyes that make me feel like I shouldn’t even have scarred arms; that I should be in a box under the Earth, in a place where I can’t hurt the only people who have ever tried to make me into a nice person. I’m not a nice person. I can’t be. I’ve made the best things in my life cry, made them feel shitter than my arms look, made them feel anguish like I never want them to feel because I know how crushing it is to cope with.
And Gerard’s staring me down, his eyes looking like they’re going to explode like two mines of negative emotions. Negative emotions that my clumsiness caused. Because I’m a fucking idiot who should just do everyone a favour and go all the way next time, just let my life trickle down the drain like raindrops dripping off a rose petal.
For a second I see Gerard’s insides melt into cyanide, my mind almost warming to the thought that he actually really does care like I know he doesn’t (who truthfully, wholly, would when I don’t even care about myself?), but then his eyes wrest on my left wrist once more. Or rather, at the scarily deep and frenzied slashes littering it like leaves in a moonlit puddle; just scattered there like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And to me it is, but the bubbling anger in my big brother’s eyes isn’t; he’s never been angry with me before, no matter how much I know that I deserve it.
“How could you be so fucking selfish? Look at what you’ve done to Frankie, Mikes. I thought that you were supposed to love him!” He’s yelling at me now, his voice venomous and brutally sincere amidst his frustration.
Each screamed syllable tears away at what’s left of my mind, leaving nothing but the wreck of a person that I only did this to stop myself from being. I thought that I was in control, that I could control the punishment that I deserve, that I could have my own dirty little secret that nobody else knew about and that it would somehow make me a better person; but Gerard’s right. I’ve killed Frankie, the one person who’s persuaded me to live.
“I-I… I’m sorry, I didn’t think tha-“
“No! You didn’t think, did you? I hope to God you didn’t because that would make you twice the selfish little bastard that you are.” He spits at me, making Frank sob even harder in a hold that should be my own. “Just… How could you be so fucking stupid, Mikes? You could have fucking died.” He croaks out, all malice being replaced with unbridled despairing anguish, the kind that I’m excruciatingly familiar with.
Why does he always do this? Just act like I’m some sort of fragile caricature of innocence and naivety who never understands a thing of what I’m doing, someone who needs constant coddling and protection from things that he seems adamant I don’t understand just because he doesn’t want me too; self-harm being but one of those things. I just want him to see that I know exactly what I’m doing, that I know what could happen, that I understand the risks that he seems to think I’m ignorant to. I just want him to accept that I’m not perfect, that I’m not clean, that I’m not some innocent little angel who has to be sheltered from everything anymore because the world has all too willingly shown me that my big brother can’t look out for me at every waking moment.
He’s glaring at me again, I think it’s because Frankie’s heart-shattering whimpers are making him feel like he has to step in and be the adult in this situation because Ray is just sat with his head in his hands, his own back heaving with silent sobs.
I’ve let them all down. I’ve ruined everything. I’ve fucked-up.
Just like always.
I went to stay at Ray’s that night, him insisting that Frank needed time to get his head around the fact that his boyfriend had been cutting himself for over three years, since a week after his thirteenth birthday, and that he hadn’t noticed. Gerard didn’t want me at home, said that I’d done enough without upsetting Mom with my scars like I had done everyone else.
That hurt more than anything else; my own big brother, the same one who always protects me like I actually matter, had just looked at me with a hideous form of glowering contempt, the kind that I’ve often seen him direct towards my tormentors, the kind that I’ve seen him use against Dad whenever the motherfucker asks me when I’m going to stop this stupid ‘phase’ of being gay and ‘pretending’ to be in love with Frankie.
I wonder what my parents would do if they knew about my dirty little secret?
I doubt that they’d care; they’d probably find it nothing but a small inconvenience for them. Either that or it might just be the final push for them to kick me out like I can tell Dad has been dying to do since I started going out with my perfect punk prince but can’t because I’m only sixteen. Obviously I never meant for Gee to find out, the last thing I wanted was for him to think that he’s a bad big brother for not realising my hidden addiction, but I always thought that if he did he’d cuddle me, make me feel all safe and loved, like I’ve actually got a caring family. So when he yelled at me, made me howl and bawl even harder with his violently honest words it felt like he’d just forced my trusty razor blade down my throat and into my heart at an agonizingly drawn-out pace; like nothing else can ever hurt me because having my own brother hate me makes every other agony seem positively jovial.
Which is why Ray had to put up with me sobbing into his shirt after he’d bandaged up my arms, the two of us just sat on his bed. And that’s when he decided to take his turn at accusing someone of being at fault.
”Mikes, I’m so sorry. Really I am.” He whispers, his hand resting on my shoulder like he always does when I’m upset, just like he did on the day that we first met when I started Kindergarten and I was terrified of the cafeteria ladies. He offers me a sombre smile, the kind that makes me feel like the biggest dickhead in the world because I can see the agony in his eyes. Agony that I should be feeling, not him. “I’m sorry, Bud.”
“Why?”
He sighs at my semi-frightened mewl of pure confusion; Ray never did anything to make me cry, only ever tried to make me smile. ‘Tried’ being the operative word in that sentence, because smiling is the language of the soul and when you have no soul then no smile can ever grace your face. Because I don’t have a soul; I’m just… nothing. I’m just empty.
No. I’m just Mikey.
He gives me a watery grin that is so full of pity that it nearly makes me want to scream as he forces me under the covers, pulling them uptight around me and then perching on the side of his bed like the perfect father-figure that I often find myself comparing him to.
“Mikes, you’re my best friend and I didn’t even think that you were in that much pain. I mean, I knew that something was bugging you, but I never did anything. I just let you soldier on and now you’re all hurt and it’s my fault!”
No, Buddy, no it’s not.
It’s my fault entirely.
Especially now that I’ve made you cry your golden lion-heart out like I heard Gee doing as I left.
Because I can never do anything right.
Because I would be better off dead.
At least that way I wouldn’t be hurting good people anymore.
The next person to toss blame in the air like blood-stained confetti was the person that I would much rather not see at all than see upset; Frankie.
My boyfriend, my rock, my lifeline, my love, my perfect little angel who shouldn’t be anywhere near a freak like me. But for some blessed reason, he does care; does make me want to carry on because something swelling deep within my heart tells me that if it were to stop beating then it’d make Frankie sad. And that’s something I would gladly suffer a lifetime of pain in order to prevent from happening again.
Because he saved me. Still is saving me.
I press my cell to my ear, Ray leaving his bedroom to give me some privacy so that I can earn some sort of redemption with my boyfriend who is currently sniffling down the phone like he’s the one with lacerated arms, the one who is the fuck-up.
“Frankie?” I squeak down the old Nokia cell, my voice drenched with liquid shame. “Please don’t cry! Not over me, I’m not wor-“
“Don’t you dare fucking say that you’re not worth it, Mikey Way.” He shoots across me, making my heart flutter a little bit amidst it’s hurricane of self-hate, and I stop to listen; looking to my shining star for guidance because I know that he’s the smartest person to ever grace my mind with their knowledge. “I’m not gonna lecture you like Gerard or tell you that it’s just a phase or bug you until you feel like you have to tell me something, but know this right now, Honey; I love you. And that makes you worth it, makes you worth the world and the stars and the sky and the sun and everything else that looks hideous compared to you. Because you really are beautiful, in every way and it kills me to know that you’re hurting. But I don’t blame you for it; I just want you to be happy. Like you deserve to be.”
Wow.
I don’t think that I’ve ever felt so adored, so loved, so hopeful in all of my pitiful existence; an existence that just got a lot less pitiful because my wonderfully brilliant, benevolence-fuelled boyfriend really is the most amazing guy in the world, the best thing that has ever happened to me.
“I’m gonna do it, Frankie, for you. I’m gonna get better and show you how much I love you!” I practically beam down the phone, my frown curling upwards at the thought of being able to do something that might just make my Frankie as happy as he can make me with just the sound of his harmonic voice.
“It’s not a case of you getting better, Honey. It’s a case of us building a brighter future, one full of smiles and hugs and kisses and whatever else you want it to be filled with. Just as long as it’s a future with me in it, telling you that I love you every waking second and making you as happy as you make me. We’ll work through this, we’ll be the team that I know we are; us against the pain.”
And it’s those words that are ringing in my ears now as, for the first time in three years, I’m phoning Frankie to ask for help instead of turning to the razor.
Not that I could if I wanted to, I threw out my blades yesterday, one week after being found out; Frankie holding my hand all the while and smiling at me like he deserves to smile.
Like we deserve to smile. Together.
Because it’s us, all of us, against the pain.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading, I hope that it’s alright! I’m not too sure about this; I didn’t really think it through so I hope that it has some sort of plot/meaning/anything halfway decent about it. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
NEW A/N: THANK YOU SOOOOOOOOO MUCH!!! I can't believe that this has gone green, it really does mean the world to me and I would just like to say a huge THANK YOU to anyone who has rated/reviewed this one-shot; you've made a girl very happy! :D
I never meant to hurt anyone. Of course I fucking didn’t.
Okay, so that’s a lie; I only did what I did so that I could inflict pain upon one horrible, ugly, diseased, disgusting person. A person who everyone hates with good reason. A person who deserves to be in pain every time they move. A person who can never get anything right. A person who needs to be punished for being a creepy little fuck-up. A person too stupid and selfish to even think that someone might get upset by their actions. A person who I can’t stand like some sort of hideous rash that just won’t stop igniting my worthless skin. Who am I referring to?
Myself, of course.
Childish little Mikey Way, the weird little emo-kid who can’t be left alone with a sharp object within reach as my arms will prove with their collection of anguished stripes of shame, kind of like an artist’s intricate brush strokes on a dull canvas.
I never even wanted any of them to find out; not my beautiful Frankie, not my best friend Ray and certainly not my big brother. But I got careless, cut too deep and in a place too high up my arm for it to be covered by wristbands on a hot summer’s day, so now they all fucking know.
And it made them cry; the three people who are my only reasons for not tearing out my veins completely are sad because I was a stupid little shit.
I honestly don’t know who was worse out of my overprotective brother and my adorably caring boyfriend when they first saw my battle scars from my war with life. Frankie had just broken down, burst into tears, sobbed about being too blind to notice that anything was even all that wrong; he blames himself for the cuts that my hand caused, that the insults and failures drove me to. That was bad enough, having to face up to the fact that I had done more harm to his heart than I had done to my own worthless arms, that I’d made that star-like shine in his endless eyes turn into a black hole of all-consuming despair. Yes that was quite enough for me, but then there was Gee.
”Mikes… What… Why…” He staggers, cradling my boyfriend close to his chest because he knows that I’m too much of a stupid little bastard to comfort my own boyfriend right now, tears running down my numb face and my arms drawn self-consciously into my chest.
Ray’s just sat there, gazing at me with wide, fragmented eyes that make me feel like I shouldn’t even have scarred arms; that I should be in a box under the Earth, in a place where I can’t hurt the only people who have ever tried to make me into a nice person. I’m not a nice person. I can’t be. I’ve made the best things in my life cry, made them feel shitter than my arms look, made them feel anguish like I never want them to feel because I know how crushing it is to cope with.
And Gerard’s staring me down, his eyes looking like they’re going to explode like two mines of negative emotions. Negative emotions that my clumsiness caused. Because I’m a fucking idiot who should just do everyone a favour and go all the way next time, just let my life trickle down the drain like raindrops dripping off a rose petal.
For a second I see Gerard’s insides melt into cyanide, my mind almost warming to the thought that he actually really does care like I know he doesn’t (who truthfully, wholly, would when I don’t even care about myself?), but then his eyes wrest on my left wrist once more. Or rather, at the scarily deep and frenzied slashes littering it like leaves in a moonlit puddle; just scattered there like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And to me it is, but the bubbling anger in my big brother’s eyes isn’t; he’s never been angry with me before, no matter how much I know that I deserve it.
“How could you be so fucking selfish? Look at what you’ve done to Frankie, Mikes. I thought that you were supposed to love him!” He’s yelling at me now, his voice venomous and brutally sincere amidst his frustration.
Each screamed syllable tears away at what’s left of my mind, leaving nothing but the wreck of a person that I only did this to stop myself from being. I thought that I was in control, that I could control the punishment that I deserve, that I could have my own dirty little secret that nobody else knew about and that it would somehow make me a better person; but Gerard’s right. I’ve killed Frankie, the one person who’s persuaded me to live.
“I-I… I’m sorry, I didn’t think tha-“
“No! You didn’t think, did you? I hope to God you didn’t because that would make you twice the selfish little bastard that you are.” He spits at me, making Frank sob even harder in a hold that should be my own. “Just… How could you be so fucking stupid, Mikes? You could have fucking died.” He croaks out, all malice being replaced with unbridled despairing anguish, the kind that I’m excruciatingly familiar with.
Why does he always do this? Just act like I’m some sort of fragile caricature of innocence and naivety who never understands a thing of what I’m doing, someone who needs constant coddling and protection from things that he seems adamant I don’t understand just because he doesn’t want me too; self-harm being but one of those things. I just want him to see that I know exactly what I’m doing, that I know what could happen, that I understand the risks that he seems to think I’m ignorant to. I just want him to accept that I’m not perfect, that I’m not clean, that I’m not some innocent little angel who has to be sheltered from everything anymore because the world has all too willingly shown me that my big brother can’t look out for me at every waking moment.
He’s glaring at me again, I think it’s because Frankie’s heart-shattering whimpers are making him feel like he has to step in and be the adult in this situation because Ray is just sat with his head in his hands, his own back heaving with silent sobs.
I’ve let them all down. I’ve ruined everything. I’ve fucked-up.
Just like always.
I went to stay at Ray’s that night, him insisting that Frank needed time to get his head around the fact that his boyfriend had been cutting himself for over three years, since a week after his thirteenth birthday, and that he hadn’t noticed. Gerard didn’t want me at home, said that I’d done enough without upsetting Mom with my scars like I had done everyone else.
That hurt more than anything else; my own big brother, the same one who always protects me like I actually matter, had just looked at me with a hideous form of glowering contempt, the kind that I’ve often seen him direct towards my tormentors, the kind that I’ve seen him use against Dad whenever the motherfucker asks me when I’m going to stop this stupid ‘phase’ of being gay and ‘pretending’ to be in love with Frankie.
I wonder what my parents would do if they knew about my dirty little secret?
I doubt that they’d care; they’d probably find it nothing but a small inconvenience for them. Either that or it might just be the final push for them to kick me out like I can tell Dad has been dying to do since I started going out with my perfect punk prince but can’t because I’m only sixteen. Obviously I never meant for Gee to find out, the last thing I wanted was for him to think that he’s a bad big brother for not realising my hidden addiction, but I always thought that if he did he’d cuddle me, make me feel all safe and loved, like I’ve actually got a caring family. So when he yelled at me, made me howl and bawl even harder with his violently honest words it felt like he’d just forced my trusty razor blade down my throat and into my heart at an agonizingly drawn-out pace; like nothing else can ever hurt me because having my own brother hate me makes every other agony seem positively jovial.
Which is why Ray had to put up with me sobbing into his shirt after he’d bandaged up my arms, the two of us just sat on his bed. And that’s when he decided to take his turn at accusing someone of being at fault.
”Mikes, I’m so sorry. Really I am.” He whispers, his hand resting on my shoulder like he always does when I’m upset, just like he did on the day that we first met when I started Kindergarten and I was terrified of the cafeteria ladies. He offers me a sombre smile, the kind that makes me feel like the biggest dickhead in the world because I can see the agony in his eyes. Agony that I should be feeling, not him. “I’m sorry, Bud.”
“Why?”
He sighs at my semi-frightened mewl of pure confusion; Ray never did anything to make me cry, only ever tried to make me smile. ‘Tried’ being the operative word in that sentence, because smiling is the language of the soul and when you have no soul then no smile can ever grace your face. Because I don’t have a soul; I’m just… nothing. I’m just empty.
No. I’m just Mikey.
He gives me a watery grin that is so full of pity that it nearly makes me want to scream as he forces me under the covers, pulling them uptight around me and then perching on the side of his bed like the perfect father-figure that I often find myself comparing him to.
“Mikes, you’re my best friend and I didn’t even think that you were in that much pain. I mean, I knew that something was bugging you, but I never did anything. I just let you soldier on and now you’re all hurt and it’s my fault!”
No, Buddy, no it’s not.
It’s my fault entirely.
Especially now that I’ve made you cry your golden lion-heart out like I heard Gee doing as I left.
Because I can never do anything right.
Because I would be better off dead.
At least that way I wouldn’t be hurting good people anymore.
The next person to toss blame in the air like blood-stained confetti was the person that I would much rather not see at all than see upset; Frankie.
My boyfriend, my rock, my lifeline, my love, my perfect little angel who shouldn’t be anywhere near a freak like me. But for some blessed reason, he does care; does make me want to carry on because something swelling deep within my heart tells me that if it were to stop beating then it’d make Frankie sad. And that’s something I would gladly suffer a lifetime of pain in order to prevent from happening again.
Because he saved me. Still is saving me.
I press my cell to my ear, Ray leaving his bedroom to give me some privacy so that I can earn some sort of redemption with my boyfriend who is currently sniffling down the phone like he’s the one with lacerated arms, the one who is the fuck-up.
“Frankie?” I squeak down the old Nokia cell, my voice drenched with liquid shame. “Please don’t cry! Not over me, I’m not wor-“
“Don’t you dare fucking say that you’re not worth it, Mikey Way.” He shoots across me, making my heart flutter a little bit amidst it’s hurricane of self-hate, and I stop to listen; looking to my shining star for guidance because I know that he’s the smartest person to ever grace my mind with their knowledge. “I’m not gonna lecture you like Gerard or tell you that it’s just a phase or bug you until you feel like you have to tell me something, but know this right now, Honey; I love you. And that makes you worth it, makes you worth the world and the stars and the sky and the sun and everything else that looks hideous compared to you. Because you really are beautiful, in every way and it kills me to know that you’re hurting. But I don’t blame you for it; I just want you to be happy. Like you deserve to be.”
Wow.
I don’t think that I’ve ever felt so adored, so loved, so hopeful in all of my pitiful existence; an existence that just got a lot less pitiful because my wonderfully brilliant, benevolence-fuelled boyfriend really is the most amazing guy in the world, the best thing that has ever happened to me.
“I’m gonna do it, Frankie, for you. I’m gonna get better and show you how much I love you!” I practically beam down the phone, my frown curling upwards at the thought of being able to do something that might just make my Frankie as happy as he can make me with just the sound of his harmonic voice.
“It’s not a case of you getting better, Honey. It’s a case of us building a brighter future, one full of smiles and hugs and kisses and whatever else you want it to be filled with. Just as long as it’s a future with me in it, telling you that I love you every waking second and making you as happy as you make me. We’ll work through this, we’ll be the team that I know we are; us against the pain.”
And it’s those words that are ringing in my ears now as, for the first time in three years, I’m phoning Frankie to ask for help instead of turning to the razor.
Not that I could if I wanted to, I threw out my blades yesterday, one week after being found out; Frankie holding my hand all the while and smiling at me like he deserves to smile.
Like we deserve to smile. Together.
Because it’s us, all of us, against the pain.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading, I hope that it’s alright! I’m not too sure about this; I didn’t really think it through so I hope that it has some sort of plot/meaning/anything halfway decent about it. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
NEW A/N: THANK YOU SOOOOOOOOO MUCH!!! I can't believe that this has gone green, it really does mean the world to me and I would just like to say a huge THANK YOU to anyone who has rated/reviewed this one-shot; you've made a girl very happy! :D
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