FicWad

Broken Medication for an Illegal Addiction



I know he doesn’t love me, I know that he loves Him and that I’m just his way of making himself forget. I know he wishes I was Him, I know that he hates that I’m not and that I’m a substitute for the drug his veins are aching for. I know that I’m his attempt at curing something as incurable as the common cold and that we both know I’m just his toy.

That I’m not Him.

That I’m just Frank Iero, his Frankiestein; his best friend desperately trying to fill a void too tall and slim for me to fit.

That I’m not Mikey fucking Way. His own /baby brother/.

I figured it out when we started fucking like two sex-starved teenagers discovering the pleasure of the perfect orgasm for the first time. Because it was his brother’s name he screamed when he climaxed, not mine. It was there that I made the vital mistake which has cost me any potential I had to fix this; I ignored it. I didn’t ask any questions when he pronounced Mikey’s name like some sort of dirty secret and in return he acted like it never happened, as though it were my name he had cried in such a sinfully lustful way.

There aren’t words strong enough to honestly illustrate how it made me feel; the low it made me fall upon after the high of managing to make Gerard so happy just by being me. But that’s not what made him happy, not really.

It was the fact that he could pretend I was Mikey.

The idea sickened me at first. Well, after the initial disappointed shock had worn off. It’s fucking /incest/; an illegal act of my twenty-year-old boyfriend wanting to love my best friend in a far from brotherly way. A way that, if what he did to me is anything to go by, would have left his baby brother unable to walk for a good few days without a limp. I told myself to leave him, that he’s a perverted and mentally ill bastard in need of being kept in a cage like the kind of incestuous freak that he is.

But then myself reminded I of one huge, unchangeable fact.

I love Gerard Way.

And nothing will ever change that. Not the fact that he only ever watches cheesy horror movies, not the fact that can go for days without leaving his room, not the fact that he’s got a temper shorter than I am.

Nor the fact that he wishes I’m his brother.

His baby brother.

So I went along with it, pretended it was my name he moans in his sleep when I nuzzle into his neck; acted like I’m the one he truly, madly, deeply lusts for. Eventually we moved in together, giving me a tiny speckle of hope that maybe, just maybe, he was learning to love me.

A hope that was smashed when we christened the bed-sheets with his usual yelp of ‘/Yeah, fuck, yes, Mikey! Mikey, Mikey, fucking, Mikey!/’ when I told him to scream my name as he got to his perfect place. It was then that I decided to say something; to tell him that he can’t have me if all he ever thinks about is his younger, straight and non-incestuous, brother.

He said that he knows I won’t leave him. Because he also knows as well as I do that I love him. Blindly. To the point where I can fucking delude myself into thinking that this is alright; normal and acceptable.

And he’s right. So fucking right that it hurts.

In that though, we’ve found a strange sort of comfort in one another. An understanding, so to speak. Like whenever he comes to me crying in the night, I’ll cradle him close because I know what it is to feel like he does whenever he thinks of Mikey. Same with him whenever my heart gets too heavy; he’ll rock me until I fall asleep, telling me that he understands, that it’ll all work out.

Just like we work.

Because we both know what it’s like to love someone who can never love us back.






A/N: I apologize for the shortness of this, but I hope that it’s alright and please let me know what you think. Thanks for reading! :)