Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Gone. Forever.
2 reviewsMikey's lost everything. Well, other than his boyfriend anyway. PIKEY one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
0Unrated
Gone. Forever.
“I-I miss him, Pete! I miss him so fucking much!”
I wince in inner-excruciation as I curl tighter around my poor little baby boy, my shattered glass angel; my Mikey Way.
He’s been like this for the past six hours, doing nothing but shaking like a feather in a hurricane. Fuck that; like the tip of an angel’s wing in some all-consuming black hole of complete despair and desolation, clinging onto the only thing that he really has left to call his friend. Apart from I’m not just his friend, I’m his boyfriend and that means that I’m supposed to be able to make him feel better; that I can stop his howling simply by smiling at his sweat-slicked face and capturing his panda-soft lips on my own. I should be able to make everything better and I can’t. Not this time.
Because Gerard’s gone.
Dead.
Deceased.
No longer with us; with Mikey. With the scrawny fifteen-year-old who only narrowly avoids getting beaten up at school because the other kids know well enough not to mess with Gerard Way’s little brother and Pete Wentz’s boyfriend; to do so would either mean getting their blood drained by the furious fangs of a vampire or getting their balls ripped clean off by the toned form of the most overprotective boyfriend ever to fall to the Earth. But now Gerard’s gone, leaving me as the only person that Mikes has left.
Hence the reason that I’ve got him sat up into me on my bed, my own body leaning against the arctic-plaster of my bedroom wall and my hands clinging onto him with all of the force of a seatbelt holding in a passenger who’s being yanked through the windscreen of life. I was the person that Gerard’s best friend, an extremely talented guitarist by the name of Ray Toro, called when he and Mikes got the news; the poor guy could barely cope with it himself, let alone calm down the hyperventilating wreck that I found upon my arrival at the Way family home.
He’d only gone out to rent a movie, that new horror flick that Mikey was dying to see but couldn’t rent himself due to age, he was only gone a couple of minutes and now he’s gone forever. Because some people are stupid enough to drink-drive even though they know full well the sort of damage that they could cause.
By the time I’d gotten to Mikey he was almost passed-out on the living-room floor through tear-asphyxiation. I was there twenty minutes after they got the call that pulled Mrs Way to the hospital and my Mikey down from the cloud of contentment that the poor angel was perched happily on until some idiot knocked him off of it by knocking Gee out of the world. Ray had just been knelt by my boyfriend’s side, his own tears racing red-hot trails down his cheeks as he tried to stop Mikey’s hysterical screams of loss. Hysterical screams that were so heartfelt and throat-torn that you could actually hear how much searing agony was bubbling in his gut like venomous lava; it sounded worse than I imagine the sound of sinners burning in hell does. So I just scooped him up into my arms, my softest smile spreading onto my face amidst my own grief, and held him as I reassured him that everything will be fine, that I’ll never let him be as alone as he thinks the absence of his beloved big brother will make him. When he was finally capable of standing by himself through his distraught state, I helped him to my clapped-out jeep and drove him straight to mine; away from a place that hurts him because it should be occupied with Gerard’s singing or messing around that we all loved the guy for.
Another sob rattles through Mikes like a derailed train smashing it’s relentless way through his voice-box, making my hands trace small circles on his bare stomach; making me flinch at how freezing he is. Just like a dead body.
“It’s okay, Mymikey, it’s all gonna be A-Okay.” I hush into his porcelain ear as he tries his hardest to hide in my chest; normally I’d find this kind of affection cute, but today I’d give anything for it to not be happening. “That’s it, I’m here. Peterpanda’s got ya and he ain’t gonna let go anytime soon.”
His hands claw at my back, breaking my heart with how desperate he has become in his quest for not-aloneness, and he locks his legs around my waist like a koala clinging onto a tree. It breaks my heart to think that the last time we had this kind of contact was in the confines of his own bedroom and with Gerard yelling at us to keep it down because he lives by the policy “ignorance is bliss”. Lived by the policy.
Lived.
God.
He’s really dead, isn’t he?
How am I meant to look after Mikey, innocent and fragile and introverted little Mikey Way, without Gee here to guide me like he always has done; without the backup option for whenever I’m not enough for the poor kid? More importantly, what the fuck am I supposed to do right now to make him look less like a bunny-rabbit facing the apocalypse alone? I have no fucking clue, but I’ve got to work it out quickly before Mikes ends up in hospital himself for shock. He hates hospitals.
“It’s my fault, Pete! I wanted the motherfucking movie!”
Although his desolation should come at as the anguished shout that my soul receives it as, it comes out as a barely-there whisper of complete self-loathing; the kind that sends packs of arctic-hellhounds down my spine through fear of what that self-loathing could well turn into given my Mikey’s track record. What the fuck happened to the kid I was teaching to play bass just yesterday afternoon, all lovesick beams and starry-eyes? I guess I know exactly what happened. His big brother, his best friend in the entire world, died. And he’s going down with him.
Not that I’ll ever let that happen; not to my baby boyfriend.
I bury my lips into the downy dark-chocolate of his hair and press a soft kiss to his head before pressing his face into my warm neck, his acidic tears burning through my tanned skin like bullets shooting through tissue. It hurts, like a the dull ache of a knife twisting in my gut, seeing my baby boyfriend like this; like the whole world is ending and he thinks that it’s his fault.
If I could, I’d kill the bastards who snatched Gee away from my Mikey; who are snatching my Mikey away from me.
“No, Mymikey, no. It’s not your fault, Beautiful.” The omnipotence in my voice, which many may mistake for arrogance, seems to get through to him at least a little because his breathing becomes less worryingly erratic. I ease my thumbs over the back of his neck, trying to make him feel too loved to even contemplate guilt. Because he really has done nothing wrong; never has done. “If Gee could see you now, he’d tell you himself; this is not your fault. And y’know what else he’d tell you?” He looks up at me, wide deer-like eyes pulsating with the agony that my words are starting to soothe. “He’d tell you to live life for him; carry out all of the dreams that you shared with him, for him. He’d tell you to remember him, not just as some perfect big brother that you’ll never see again, but as a human being with flaws. Flaws that made him all the more special and unique to you. A human being with flaws who’ll always be with you because, let’s face it, Beautiful, who’d ever leave you behind?”
When I get no reply, I look down to see that he’s fallen into a light sleep against my chest; his head rolled to the side slightly so that he can breathe without having to inhale the scent of my cheap cologne that he insists he loves. His face is still doused in the red haze of tears, but at least now he’s breathing properly and almost contently. His hand is clutching desperately onto my own left one which found it’s way to his seemingly of it’s own accord because that’s the way that’s natural for us.
I trail my free hand across his forehead, wiping the sweat and tears from his cheeks, grimacing at how innocently angelic he looks; too perfect to be living through his own personal hell. And it really is. The Way brothers were known for being synonymous with one another, for constantly being one another’s shadow. Hell, they were closer than I am to Mikes; something that would probably have annoyed me a hell of a lot more if I didn’t understand just how much his big brother means to my baby boy.
He whimpers a little in his sleep, smashing me from my thoughts and smashing my heart to pieces all at the same time; leaving me with just one thought.
“I love you, Mymikey. I’ll get you through this.”
And I will. I know that it’ll take time and patience, but I’ll pull him through it.
For Gerard.
A/N: Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
“I-I miss him, Pete! I miss him so fucking much!”
I wince in inner-excruciation as I curl tighter around my poor little baby boy, my shattered glass angel; my Mikey Way.
He’s been like this for the past six hours, doing nothing but shaking like a feather in a hurricane. Fuck that; like the tip of an angel’s wing in some all-consuming black hole of complete despair and desolation, clinging onto the only thing that he really has left to call his friend. Apart from I’m not just his friend, I’m his boyfriend and that means that I’m supposed to be able to make him feel better; that I can stop his howling simply by smiling at his sweat-slicked face and capturing his panda-soft lips on my own. I should be able to make everything better and I can’t. Not this time.
Because Gerard’s gone.
Dead.
Deceased.
No longer with us; with Mikey. With the scrawny fifteen-year-old who only narrowly avoids getting beaten up at school because the other kids know well enough not to mess with Gerard Way’s little brother and Pete Wentz’s boyfriend; to do so would either mean getting their blood drained by the furious fangs of a vampire or getting their balls ripped clean off by the toned form of the most overprotective boyfriend ever to fall to the Earth. But now Gerard’s gone, leaving me as the only person that Mikes has left.
Hence the reason that I’ve got him sat up into me on my bed, my own body leaning against the arctic-plaster of my bedroom wall and my hands clinging onto him with all of the force of a seatbelt holding in a passenger who’s being yanked through the windscreen of life. I was the person that Gerard’s best friend, an extremely talented guitarist by the name of Ray Toro, called when he and Mikes got the news; the poor guy could barely cope with it himself, let alone calm down the hyperventilating wreck that I found upon my arrival at the Way family home.
He’d only gone out to rent a movie, that new horror flick that Mikey was dying to see but couldn’t rent himself due to age, he was only gone a couple of minutes and now he’s gone forever. Because some people are stupid enough to drink-drive even though they know full well the sort of damage that they could cause.
By the time I’d gotten to Mikey he was almost passed-out on the living-room floor through tear-asphyxiation. I was there twenty minutes after they got the call that pulled Mrs Way to the hospital and my Mikey down from the cloud of contentment that the poor angel was perched happily on until some idiot knocked him off of it by knocking Gee out of the world. Ray had just been knelt by my boyfriend’s side, his own tears racing red-hot trails down his cheeks as he tried to stop Mikey’s hysterical screams of loss. Hysterical screams that were so heartfelt and throat-torn that you could actually hear how much searing agony was bubbling in his gut like venomous lava; it sounded worse than I imagine the sound of sinners burning in hell does. So I just scooped him up into my arms, my softest smile spreading onto my face amidst my own grief, and held him as I reassured him that everything will be fine, that I’ll never let him be as alone as he thinks the absence of his beloved big brother will make him. When he was finally capable of standing by himself through his distraught state, I helped him to my clapped-out jeep and drove him straight to mine; away from a place that hurts him because it should be occupied with Gerard’s singing or messing around that we all loved the guy for.
Another sob rattles through Mikes like a derailed train smashing it’s relentless way through his voice-box, making my hands trace small circles on his bare stomach; making me flinch at how freezing he is. Just like a dead body.
“It’s okay, Mymikey, it’s all gonna be A-Okay.” I hush into his porcelain ear as he tries his hardest to hide in my chest; normally I’d find this kind of affection cute, but today I’d give anything for it to not be happening. “That’s it, I’m here. Peterpanda’s got ya and he ain’t gonna let go anytime soon.”
His hands claw at my back, breaking my heart with how desperate he has become in his quest for not-aloneness, and he locks his legs around my waist like a koala clinging onto a tree. It breaks my heart to think that the last time we had this kind of contact was in the confines of his own bedroom and with Gerard yelling at us to keep it down because he lives by the policy “ignorance is bliss”. Lived by the policy.
Lived.
God.
He’s really dead, isn’t he?
How am I meant to look after Mikey, innocent and fragile and introverted little Mikey Way, without Gee here to guide me like he always has done; without the backup option for whenever I’m not enough for the poor kid? More importantly, what the fuck am I supposed to do right now to make him look less like a bunny-rabbit facing the apocalypse alone? I have no fucking clue, but I’ve got to work it out quickly before Mikes ends up in hospital himself for shock. He hates hospitals.
“It’s my fault, Pete! I wanted the motherfucking movie!”
Although his desolation should come at as the anguished shout that my soul receives it as, it comes out as a barely-there whisper of complete self-loathing; the kind that sends packs of arctic-hellhounds down my spine through fear of what that self-loathing could well turn into given my Mikey’s track record. What the fuck happened to the kid I was teaching to play bass just yesterday afternoon, all lovesick beams and starry-eyes? I guess I know exactly what happened. His big brother, his best friend in the entire world, died. And he’s going down with him.
Not that I’ll ever let that happen; not to my baby boyfriend.
I bury my lips into the downy dark-chocolate of his hair and press a soft kiss to his head before pressing his face into my warm neck, his acidic tears burning through my tanned skin like bullets shooting through tissue. It hurts, like a the dull ache of a knife twisting in my gut, seeing my baby boyfriend like this; like the whole world is ending and he thinks that it’s his fault.
If I could, I’d kill the bastards who snatched Gee away from my Mikey; who are snatching my Mikey away from me.
“No, Mymikey, no. It’s not your fault, Beautiful.” The omnipotence in my voice, which many may mistake for arrogance, seems to get through to him at least a little because his breathing becomes less worryingly erratic. I ease my thumbs over the back of his neck, trying to make him feel too loved to even contemplate guilt. Because he really has done nothing wrong; never has done. “If Gee could see you now, he’d tell you himself; this is not your fault. And y’know what else he’d tell you?” He looks up at me, wide deer-like eyes pulsating with the agony that my words are starting to soothe. “He’d tell you to live life for him; carry out all of the dreams that you shared with him, for him. He’d tell you to remember him, not just as some perfect big brother that you’ll never see again, but as a human being with flaws. Flaws that made him all the more special and unique to you. A human being with flaws who’ll always be with you because, let’s face it, Beautiful, who’d ever leave you behind?”
When I get no reply, I look down to see that he’s fallen into a light sleep against my chest; his head rolled to the side slightly so that he can breathe without having to inhale the scent of my cheap cologne that he insists he loves. His face is still doused in the red haze of tears, but at least now he’s breathing properly and almost contently. His hand is clutching desperately onto my own left one which found it’s way to his seemingly of it’s own accord because that’s the way that’s natural for us.
I trail my free hand across his forehead, wiping the sweat and tears from his cheeks, grimacing at how innocently angelic he looks; too perfect to be living through his own personal hell. And it really is. The Way brothers were known for being synonymous with one another, for constantly being one another’s shadow. Hell, they were closer than I am to Mikes; something that would probably have annoyed me a hell of a lot more if I didn’t understand just how much his big brother means to my baby boy.
He whimpers a little in his sleep, smashing me from my thoughts and smashing my heart to pieces all at the same time; leaving me with just one thought.
“I love you, Mymikey. I’ll get you through this.”
And I will. I know that it’ll take time and patience, but I’ll pull him through it.
For Gerard.
A/N: Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
Sign up to rate and review this story