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Forgiveness
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Forgiveness
“I am so proud of you, Mikeymouse. So fucking proud.” I coo down to the pair of deep, hazel eyes that are looking up at me and begging for my approval. “I know how hard that was for you, Baby, and it must’ve taken a lot of guts. You’re a good boy.”
To anyone else, piling on this sort of praise to a sixteen-year-old just for eating half a cheese sandwich (without crusts) may well seem ridiculous. But when you add in the fact that my Mikey is both in the intensive care unit of the local hospital and suffering from extreme anorexia nervosa, it almost seems like my weak praise is nowhere near enough to cover how I feel about him eating that for me. Granted, it took him well over an hour and even a few tears, but he still did it. Because he’s a fighter; he can fight this.
No. He can’t. Not alone, hence the reason he wound up this atrociously awful in the first place, but together we can fight this out. With me praising him every time he manages to eat something, absolutely anything from a piece of apple to an entire chocolate cake, and me telling him how beautiful he is to me every other second, I can pull him through this. Just like I should have done the split second Gerard told me something was up with his precious baby brother. I simply refused to see it, though. I ignored the warnings of the guy who knows my angel better than anyone knows the back of their hand. And now I’ve got to pay for it.
Gerard’s at work right now, earning pointless dollars that all of a sudden don’t sound so exciting to me. I would’ve thought that he’d want to spend every waking millisecond with Mikes, seeing as he came dangerously close to losing the poor kid altogether. But no; he said he has to work or else he’ll get fired. It was obviously more than that though, it was like he couldn’t stand seeing Mikey looking so weak and frail and emaciated. Perhaps he blames himself and can’t bear having to watch his baby brother struggling just to function normally because he thinks it’s his fault.
Or perhaps he blames me and just physically can’t be in my presence without punching a hole through my face. Not that I think he would, not after the events of three days ago when he found his brother unconscious on the floor.
You see, me and Gee; we need each other whether we like it or not. We’ve got to be united throughout this whole ordeal, if not for Mikey’s vital sake then for our own. Because we need that person to turn to, to help us out when the only way that we seem to be going is down.
But we’re not going down at the moment; right now we’re shooting higher than a firework at New Year’s because my Mikey’s just eaten. Not a lot, but enough for it to have been a struggle for his fragile mentality. A struggle that he was strong enough to overcome, because I was here to encourage him onward like I always should be. Like I wasn’t when I yelled at him for not eating, the day before he fucking collapsed.
We haven’t spoken about that yet, but I can see it playing in the back of his mind. Like everything he does is done with extra care so as not to upset me or trigger me having another go at him. And that absolutely breaks my heart.
But not as much as I broke his.
“Really?” He squeaks, shattering the thoughts that are making tears pool relentlessly in my corneas, using a voice that would force me to scoop him up into a bone-melting hug if he weren’t so precariously delicate at the moment. “You mean it?”
“Of course, Mikeymouse.” I answer instantly, my tone making it impossible for anyone in the world to doubt the sincerity of my honest words. “I know eating is hard for you and I think it was really awesome of you to try so hard. I love you, Baby.”
I swoop down from my spot perched on the edge of his bed, where I had been eating my own half of the sandwich along with three packets of strawberry bootlaces for nerves, and capture his soft lips in a chaste kiss. It might be quick and fleeting, but it’s more than enough to get across to him what my words can’t say. He kisses back, just like he always does, but there’s a certain element of weakness to it that wasn’t there before. Like he’s lost all hope and is just kind of accepting that I’m kissing him and liking it, but not really searching for a reason behind it. Simply letting it happen. Don’t get me wrong, every kiss I share with Mikey Way is something special and is to be treasured (now more than ever), but it kills me inside to know that I can’t fix this all with the one thing that always makes him smile.
I pull my lips gently away from his, noticing the distinct lack of fight he puts up to keep them there like he normally would, and just gaze at him longingly; my eyes digging into him for some sort of sign. A reason, even, as to why I’m not making him feel as loved as I should. The only thing I get in response is the questioning look of an extremely shaky and nervous teenager yearning for someone to just understand him and what he’s going through.
“P-pete?”
It’s his frightened little mewl that makes me realise that, yes, I am staring at him. A little too intensely and a little too long for him to be comfortable with it. I know I’m his boyfriend and I should be able to look at him whenever and however I want, but Mikey’s introverted to the point of it being an illness in itself. Not that I can blame him, not when armed with the hideous knowledge of what school puts him through every time he plucks up the courage to actually go in.
So I look away down to the floor, taking his hand in mine as I do so but immediately regretting it; I can feel all of the tiny little bones underneath his skin, as though they might break beneath the soft pads of my wandering fingers. I make no move to drop it though, just the fact that he’s still around for there to be a hand that I can hold making me want to never let go.
“Sorry, Baby. I didn’t mean to stare.” My apology comes out as a hoarse mumble, my mind no longer able to keep the despair out of my voice. “I just… I love you so much, Mikey. It kills me to think what would’ve happened if Gerard hadn’t found you.”
A tear trickles out from my clamped-shut eyelids, trailing down my tanned skin until it drips off of my chin and onto the clinical white sheets of the bed. They’re too scratchy, the sheets I mean. I don’t like them; Mikey deserves better. Just like he deserves a better boyfriend. One who’ll notice when he’s starving himself to death, one who can protect him from all the bullies, one who won’t shout at him when he’s practically at Death’s metaphorical door.
“You still mad at me?”
The broken whisper makes me look up and just, as stupid as it may sound, gawp at my boyfriend. He’s in hospital with a million other things going on inside his depressed little head and the only thing he can actually bring himself to worry about is the idea of me being angry with him. But, as much as it agonizes me to admit it, I can’t really say that I’m surprised. Mikey Way doesn’t have many friends, only Gee and me, so it would make sense for him to be anxious at the idea of losing a whole half of his friend list. And then, of course, there’s the way everyone else treats him; like they’re always mad at him for things he can’t control. The bullies.
I was no better than those bastards when I shouted at him for not eating, for being sick when I refused to even acknowledge that an eating disorder might be wrecking his insides in every possible way. In fact, I’m lucky the poor kid trusts me at all anymore.
Maybe he doesn’t. He wouldn’t think that I’m a threat to him if he did.
“No, Mikey. I never was mad at you. Just worried and a teensy bit mad at myself for not being able to help you.” I sigh, pulling his hand up to my lips and kissing it softly, letting him know that I’m never going to let him go. “I was wrong to yell at you, Baby. I won’t ever do it again. I promise.” We’re both crying now, the victory over the cheese sandwich forgotten in favour of remembering frustration’s cruel victory over me a few days back. “Forgive me?”
“Always.” He stops a second, a look of grim determination on his face that makes my heart race because, well, it’s a look that tells me my boyfriend’s coming back. Slowly, but most definitely surely. “Now, what’s for dessert?”
“Anything thing you want, Mikeymouse. Anything at all.”
A/N: So, sorry if this sucked but I hope you liked it and please let me know what you think! :)
“I am so proud of you, Mikeymouse. So fucking proud.” I coo down to the pair of deep, hazel eyes that are looking up at me and begging for my approval. “I know how hard that was for you, Baby, and it must’ve taken a lot of guts. You’re a good boy.”
To anyone else, piling on this sort of praise to a sixteen-year-old just for eating half a cheese sandwich (without crusts) may well seem ridiculous. But when you add in the fact that my Mikey is both in the intensive care unit of the local hospital and suffering from extreme anorexia nervosa, it almost seems like my weak praise is nowhere near enough to cover how I feel about him eating that for me. Granted, it took him well over an hour and even a few tears, but he still did it. Because he’s a fighter; he can fight this.
No. He can’t. Not alone, hence the reason he wound up this atrociously awful in the first place, but together we can fight this out. With me praising him every time he manages to eat something, absolutely anything from a piece of apple to an entire chocolate cake, and me telling him how beautiful he is to me every other second, I can pull him through this. Just like I should have done the split second Gerard told me something was up with his precious baby brother. I simply refused to see it, though. I ignored the warnings of the guy who knows my angel better than anyone knows the back of their hand. And now I’ve got to pay for it.
Gerard’s at work right now, earning pointless dollars that all of a sudden don’t sound so exciting to me. I would’ve thought that he’d want to spend every waking millisecond with Mikes, seeing as he came dangerously close to losing the poor kid altogether. But no; he said he has to work or else he’ll get fired. It was obviously more than that though, it was like he couldn’t stand seeing Mikey looking so weak and frail and emaciated. Perhaps he blames himself and can’t bear having to watch his baby brother struggling just to function normally because he thinks it’s his fault.
Or perhaps he blames me and just physically can’t be in my presence without punching a hole through my face. Not that I think he would, not after the events of three days ago when he found his brother unconscious on the floor.
You see, me and Gee; we need each other whether we like it or not. We’ve got to be united throughout this whole ordeal, if not for Mikey’s vital sake then for our own. Because we need that person to turn to, to help us out when the only way that we seem to be going is down.
But we’re not going down at the moment; right now we’re shooting higher than a firework at New Year’s because my Mikey’s just eaten. Not a lot, but enough for it to have been a struggle for his fragile mentality. A struggle that he was strong enough to overcome, because I was here to encourage him onward like I always should be. Like I wasn’t when I yelled at him for not eating, the day before he fucking collapsed.
We haven’t spoken about that yet, but I can see it playing in the back of his mind. Like everything he does is done with extra care so as not to upset me or trigger me having another go at him. And that absolutely breaks my heart.
But not as much as I broke his.
“Really?” He squeaks, shattering the thoughts that are making tears pool relentlessly in my corneas, using a voice that would force me to scoop him up into a bone-melting hug if he weren’t so precariously delicate at the moment. “You mean it?”
“Of course, Mikeymouse.” I answer instantly, my tone making it impossible for anyone in the world to doubt the sincerity of my honest words. “I know eating is hard for you and I think it was really awesome of you to try so hard. I love you, Baby.”
I swoop down from my spot perched on the edge of his bed, where I had been eating my own half of the sandwich along with three packets of strawberry bootlaces for nerves, and capture his soft lips in a chaste kiss. It might be quick and fleeting, but it’s more than enough to get across to him what my words can’t say. He kisses back, just like he always does, but there’s a certain element of weakness to it that wasn’t there before. Like he’s lost all hope and is just kind of accepting that I’m kissing him and liking it, but not really searching for a reason behind it. Simply letting it happen. Don’t get me wrong, every kiss I share with Mikey Way is something special and is to be treasured (now more than ever), but it kills me inside to know that I can’t fix this all with the one thing that always makes him smile.
I pull my lips gently away from his, noticing the distinct lack of fight he puts up to keep them there like he normally would, and just gaze at him longingly; my eyes digging into him for some sort of sign. A reason, even, as to why I’m not making him feel as loved as I should. The only thing I get in response is the questioning look of an extremely shaky and nervous teenager yearning for someone to just understand him and what he’s going through.
“P-pete?”
It’s his frightened little mewl that makes me realise that, yes, I am staring at him. A little too intensely and a little too long for him to be comfortable with it. I know I’m his boyfriend and I should be able to look at him whenever and however I want, but Mikey’s introverted to the point of it being an illness in itself. Not that I can blame him, not when armed with the hideous knowledge of what school puts him through every time he plucks up the courage to actually go in.
So I look away down to the floor, taking his hand in mine as I do so but immediately regretting it; I can feel all of the tiny little bones underneath his skin, as though they might break beneath the soft pads of my wandering fingers. I make no move to drop it though, just the fact that he’s still around for there to be a hand that I can hold making me want to never let go.
“Sorry, Baby. I didn’t mean to stare.” My apology comes out as a hoarse mumble, my mind no longer able to keep the despair out of my voice. “I just… I love you so much, Mikey. It kills me to think what would’ve happened if Gerard hadn’t found you.”
A tear trickles out from my clamped-shut eyelids, trailing down my tanned skin until it drips off of my chin and onto the clinical white sheets of the bed. They’re too scratchy, the sheets I mean. I don’t like them; Mikey deserves better. Just like he deserves a better boyfriend. One who’ll notice when he’s starving himself to death, one who can protect him from all the bullies, one who won’t shout at him when he’s practically at Death’s metaphorical door.
“You still mad at me?”
The broken whisper makes me look up and just, as stupid as it may sound, gawp at my boyfriend. He’s in hospital with a million other things going on inside his depressed little head and the only thing he can actually bring himself to worry about is the idea of me being angry with him. But, as much as it agonizes me to admit it, I can’t really say that I’m surprised. Mikey Way doesn’t have many friends, only Gee and me, so it would make sense for him to be anxious at the idea of losing a whole half of his friend list. And then, of course, there’s the way everyone else treats him; like they’re always mad at him for things he can’t control. The bullies.
I was no better than those bastards when I shouted at him for not eating, for being sick when I refused to even acknowledge that an eating disorder might be wrecking his insides in every possible way. In fact, I’m lucky the poor kid trusts me at all anymore.
Maybe he doesn’t. He wouldn’t think that I’m a threat to him if he did.
“No, Mikey. I never was mad at you. Just worried and a teensy bit mad at myself for not being able to help you.” I sigh, pulling his hand up to my lips and kissing it softly, letting him know that I’m never going to let him go. “I was wrong to yell at you, Baby. I won’t ever do it again. I promise.” We’re both crying now, the victory over the cheese sandwich forgotten in favour of remembering frustration’s cruel victory over me a few days back. “Forgive me?”
“Always.” He stops a second, a look of grim determination on his face that makes my heart race because, well, it’s a look that tells me my boyfriend’s coming back. Slowly, but most definitely surely. “Now, what’s for dessert?”
“Anything thing you want, Mikeymouse. Anything at all.”
A/N: So, sorry if this sucked but I hope you liked it and please let me know what you think! :)
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