Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Fuck The Title I Can't Think of One
Fuck Keeping it Together it's all Crashing own
1 reviewThe end. I decided to finish it off for you guys.
1Exciting
Sorry for randomly deciding to pick this up and finish i. This is more or less how I wanted it to end, there were only a few chapters left anyway so I shortened it down to one. Thanks for reading!
Gerard and I, we became something more than I ever expected us to be in the next few weeks. He still didn’t talk to me all that much, but I could get the occasional word uttered in his worst and best moments. We shared more kisses. They were beautiful, endless, soul-filled yet secretive things and I loved them so much. They were Gerard, the action made me feel closer to Gerard, as if someday I could know what was going on with him. As if someday, he might want me around forever.
I found I wanted it, having Gerard around forever. I was always thinking about him, even before we were in a relationship, and while our relationship was mostly physical I knew if would eventually become something more as Gerard opened up to me. I wanted him to open up, and one day I was.
“Why do you try so hard to stay popular even when you don’t want it?” I asked breathlessly after one of our kisses.
“My father anted it.” Gerard said without hesitation, attacking my lips again. That made me think. Made me wonder. How much of Gerard was Gerard just because he was Gerard, and how much of him was artificial and molded after his dad’s, or maybe his whole family’s, desires for him to be just so?
I wanted to know, I desperately wanted to know, but I knew I wasn’t getting an answer. Not with the way his tongue began moving in my mouth, the way I knew he was trying to distract me and he knew it worked. We stayed like that, kissing, eventually making out, on my bed. When our mouths were puckered and sore, and we were too tired t continue kissing, he rested his head on my shoulder and we stayed like that until my father called us down for dinner.
Dinner that night was nice, Gerard and I had a conversation I can’t remember with my parents, then everyone retired for the evening. Gerard snuck into my room, and we stayed up late whispering about nothing and everything. There were kisses, too, but chaste little things. Little forget-me-nots, conversations sealed with our lips meeting briefly.
Those were the good days.
I didn’t think that things were ever going to go wrong—they were just so perfect already. But they did. Gerard got caught pulling me out of a locker one day. He was reckless, he just wanted me out of the locker and damn the popular kids if I wasn’t. But he got caught. He got kicked out of his group of friends, and that destroyed him more than he should have.
That day, he screamed at me. He was more upset with himself, I know that now, but at the time it was terrifying. He began crying halfway through, and I just stood there limply, taking it all. I was crying, too, the tears staining my cheeks in a most unattractive manner, but I didn’t care. I was so scared, for me, and for him. He was destroying himself and I couldn’t do anything bout it, he was destroying me and I couldn’t do anything about it. He was just so upset, so angry, so incredibly pissed-off—
Frank stops writing, his tears dripping onto the half-filled paper. He can’t write about Gerard anymore, he just can’t. He can’t write about how Gerard and him stayed apart, in cold silence for weeks. They made up, they had to eventually, but there were still some scars from that battle. Frank can’t write about that.
He can’t write about Gerard trying desperately to get back into the popular group, his breakdowns and the nightmares Frank couldn’t wake him up from, wouldn’t wake him up from. When they finally got back together, the searing kiss that was so much more desperate, filled with so much more longing even than their first.
He can’t write about how the popular kids found them making out in an empty hallway, the beating they got and the new screaming from Gerard, and about how that time the screaming wasn’t one sided. Argument after argument, they both went home in a rage. There was a cold, boiling silence at the dinner able that night. Gerard had to love himself, first, before he could love Frank, and that seemed to be becoming obvious. But Gerard couldn’t love himself, not when he blamed himself for his parent’s, and brother’s, deaths.
They made up again, with more scars that didn’t make their relationship as pleasant and easy as it had been before. Frank can’t write about how Gerard took him to one of the popular boy’s parties, about how they weren’t greeted nicely and ended up soaked in various liquids. About how Gerard was lifeless in his eyes after that.
He can’t write about how he and Gerard somehow managed to get ahold of a bottle of vodka, and about how Gerard managed to drink most of the bottle, Frank taking a sip or two. It burned his throat, but he welcomed the relief and feeling of being tipsy. Gerard, though. He was drunk.
Frank isn’t sure if it was an accident or not, but he doesn’t want to write about the rest of that night. He doesn’t want to write about how the honk of a horn, two headlights and a step into the street ended Gerard’s life. He doesn’t want to write about screaming for his boyfriend, hysterically calling an ambulance, he really doesn’t want to write about how Gerard managed to spit out the words “I love you” before he died, and about how much he didn’t want Gerard to die. He didn’t want Gerard to die. He wanted to be with Gerard forever.
Frank leans back in the chair of his dimly lit room, tears silently dripping from his eyes. The funeral is tomorrow, and he has to say something there. Something nice. But he can’t. He’s too stuck on Gerard to think about their worse times, he can’t write a cliché speech either because Gerard would hate it. There’s no guide on how to write a speech for your boyfriend’s funeral, there’s no pre-set requirements except that it be honest.
Frank doesn’t know why Gerard did it.
He’ll never know, either.
Did his walk stutter, or did he want to die?
Did he want to leave Frank alone forever?
What went through Gerard’s head, right before he got hit?
Why did Gerard have to leave?
Gerard and I, we became something more than I ever expected us to be in the next few weeks. He still didn’t talk to me all that much, but I could get the occasional word uttered in his worst and best moments. We shared more kisses. They were beautiful, endless, soul-filled yet secretive things and I loved them so much. They were Gerard, the action made me feel closer to Gerard, as if someday I could know what was going on with him. As if someday, he might want me around forever.
I found I wanted it, having Gerard around forever. I was always thinking about him, even before we were in a relationship, and while our relationship was mostly physical I knew if would eventually become something more as Gerard opened up to me. I wanted him to open up, and one day I was.
“Why do you try so hard to stay popular even when you don’t want it?” I asked breathlessly after one of our kisses.
“My father anted it.” Gerard said without hesitation, attacking my lips again. That made me think. Made me wonder. How much of Gerard was Gerard just because he was Gerard, and how much of him was artificial and molded after his dad’s, or maybe his whole family’s, desires for him to be just so?
I wanted to know, I desperately wanted to know, but I knew I wasn’t getting an answer. Not with the way his tongue began moving in my mouth, the way I knew he was trying to distract me and he knew it worked. We stayed like that, kissing, eventually making out, on my bed. When our mouths were puckered and sore, and we were too tired t continue kissing, he rested his head on my shoulder and we stayed like that until my father called us down for dinner.
Dinner that night was nice, Gerard and I had a conversation I can’t remember with my parents, then everyone retired for the evening. Gerard snuck into my room, and we stayed up late whispering about nothing and everything. There were kisses, too, but chaste little things. Little forget-me-nots, conversations sealed with our lips meeting briefly.
Those were the good days.
I didn’t think that things were ever going to go wrong—they were just so perfect already. But they did. Gerard got caught pulling me out of a locker one day. He was reckless, he just wanted me out of the locker and damn the popular kids if I wasn’t. But he got caught. He got kicked out of his group of friends, and that destroyed him more than he should have.
That day, he screamed at me. He was more upset with himself, I know that now, but at the time it was terrifying. He began crying halfway through, and I just stood there limply, taking it all. I was crying, too, the tears staining my cheeks in a most unattractive manner, but I didn’t care. I was so scared, for me, and for him. He was destroying himself and I couldn’t do anything bout it, he was destroying me and I couldn’t do anything about it. He was just so upset, so angry, so incredibly pissed-off—
Frank stops writing, his tears dripping onto the half-filled paper. He can’t write about Gerard anymore, he just can’t. He can’t write about how Gerard and him stayed apart, in cold silence for weeks. They made up, they had to eventually, but there were still some scars from that battle. Frank can’t write about that.
He can’t write about Gerard trying desperately to get back into the popular group, his breakdowns and the nightmares Frank couldn’t wake him up from, wouldn’t wake him up from. When they finally got back together, the searing kiss that was so much more desperate, filled with so much more longing even than their first.
He can’t write about how the popular kids found them making out in an empty hallway, the beating they got and the new screaming from Gerard, and about how that time the screaming wasn’t one sided. Argument after argument, they both went home in a rage. There was a cold, boiling silence at the dinner able that night. Gerard had to love himself, first, before he could love Frank, and that seemed to be becoming obvious. But Gerard couldn’t love himself, not when he blamed himself for his parent’s, and brother’s, deaths.
They made up again, with more scars that didn’t make their relationship as pleasant and easy as it had been before. Frank can’t write about how Gerard took him to one of the popular boy’s parties, about how they weren’t greeted nicely and ended up soaked in various liquids. About how Gerard was lifeless in his eyes after that.
He can’t write about how he and Gerard somehow managed to get ahold of a bottle of vodka, and about how Gerard managed to drink most of the bottle, Frank taking a sip or two. It burned his throat, but he welcomed the relief and feeling of being tipsy. Gerard, though. He was drunk.
Frank isn’t sure if it was an accident or not, but he doesn’t want to write about the rest of that night. He doesn’t want to write about how the honk of a horn, two headlights and a step into the street ended Gerard’s life. He doesn’t want to write about screaming for his boyfriend, hysterically calling an ambulance, he really doesn’t want to write about how Gerard managed to spit out the words “I love you” before he died, and about how much he didn’t want Gerard to die. He didn’t want Gerard to die. He wanted to be with Gerard forever.
Frank leans back in the chair of his dimly lit room, tears silently dripping from his eyes. The funeral is tomorrow, and he has to say something there. Something nice. But he can’t. He’s too stuck on Gerard to think about their worse times, he can’t write a cliché speech either because Gerard would hate it. There’s no guide on how to write a speech for your boyfriend’s funeral, there’s no pre-set requirements except that it be honest.
Frank doesn’t know why Gerard did it.
He’ll never know, either.
Did his walk stutter, or did he want to die?
Did he want to leave Frank alone forever?
What went through Gerard’s head, right before he got hit?
Why did Gerard have to leave?
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