FicWad

Hey guys =]. I don't have a beta right now so yeah, sorry about any mistakes.

Chapter 5

I start struggling when I realise that Laurence, Luke, and Kier have dragged me back to the bridge, trying to fight my way out of their arms. They keep a firm grip on me though, making me feel like I’m as weak as an eighty year old woman.

I can hear them laugh as they hold me further out, my torso hanging over the bridge. I tangle my converse clad feet on the barrier, trying to stop myself from falling.

“You’re going to die, Iero. We should’ve done this a long time ago, fag; you’re just a waste of oxygen. Just imagine how much better the world will be without you; some dying little kid in Africa can get the air you would’ve used up on your pitiful existence! See – your dying will really just help humanity,” Laurence smirks at me, and if I’m completely honest with you, I can see his angle.

Maybe I am just a waste of oxygen? Because shit only happens to people who deserve it, right? So maybe I deserved to get raped when I was a kid; and maybe it’s my fault my dad hates me – because I’m just a fucking faggot; and my parents constant fighting was definitely my fault (I heard my name mentioned when they were yelling into the small hours of the night on more than one occasion).

So maybe I do deserve this?

“Yeah, just fucking do it,” I sigh, and for a moment Laurence looks completely taken-aback.

“You actually want to die?”

“Yeah, you’re right – better that little kid in Africa lives than I do,” I shrug.

“But then, doesn’t that make it suicide?” he asks, looking slightly confused.

“No. Because I’m not going to jump off this bridge myself, but if you’re going to push me off then I’m not going to complain.”

“I...” Laurence is still looking perplexed, but Luke cuts in.

“He’s using reverse psychology, or some shit, Laurie; trying to stop you. Just fucking do it already!”

“FUCKING STOP!” the same voice that shouted ‘Stop’ only two minutes ago rings out, and looking round I spot Mr Way running across the bridge looking ready to murder someone.

“Now, Laurence, just fucking drop him!” Kier snaps, still gripping my right arm tightly. Laurence nods, bends down, yanks my feet out from under the railings and Kier and Luke let go of my arms.

I yell when I’m suddenly upside down, Laurence still holding my feet.

“What’re you waiting for, ya pussy?!” Kier demands, and I look up into Laurence’s face.

I’m not sure, but I swear I see him mouth ‘I’m sorry’.

And then I’m falling.

And as I’m falling, Mr Way finally reaches the barrier, leaning right over and watching me with horror.

I remember the time I first ‘met’ Way; when I was ten, and he sexually assaulted me in a dark alleyway late at night.

Surely someone like that wouldn’t care if their victim was pushed into a rapidly flowing river from a high bridge?

And yet here he was, watching terrified.

Had he changed?

I don’t know.

But what is it they’re always telling us in Religious Education class? Forgive and forget?

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget what he did to me, but how about I change that to simply ‘forgive’? This is my last chance after all.

“I forgive you!” I yell up at him, hitting the water a second later, regretting the stupid decision not to fight back almost immediately.
--------------

The first thing I notice is how cold it is. I’m probably only under the water for ten seconds at most, but it feels like hours I spend under there, shivering. And then I surface, and I’ve already been carried quite a way downstream. I can still see the bridge I was pushed from though; and Mr Way has run to the other side and is still watching, but with his mobile phone pressed to his ear now. He’s speaking rapidly, but obviously I can’t hear anything because I’m so far away. In fact, I don’t think I’d be able to hear anyway, because my ears don’t seem to be functioning properly because of the cold.

Then the water drags me round the corner and I can’t see Way anymore.

My breaths coming in slow gasps, still very waterlogged from the initial impact with the river, I get carried along by the current for a bit; passing the high banks covered in reeds and empty beer bottles and takeaway boxes, past the back of the council offices, and a high walled housing estate, and then right out of Belleville completely.

As the river flows towards Newark, I get more used to the temperature, and my breathing returns almost to normal, although my heart is still drumming slightly more than usual. I’ve never been the best swimmer, but every time the water starts to drag me down a bit, I manage to keep myself afloat, still trying to find a bank that I’ll be able to climb up. Quite often there are buildings and fences and hedges and walls lining the banks, but then this comes to an abrupt end, and suddenly I’m surrounded by familiar territory.

The park where I played six years ago.

The banking isn’t as steep here, so I swim towards it, the current dragging me, but I swim forcibly against it, aiming for the shallow eddy.

And then I can’t swim anymore.

I panic, trying to free my foot from whatever it’s caught in, feeling the rapids tugging me under the icy waters. I yell out, “Fuck!” still trying to untangle myself, but my attention turns instead to keeping my head above the water.

Eventually though, I can’t stand it anymore, and I give up, letting the water drag me under.

The last thing I register before I black out is the faint sound of rushing water, and the two green orbs that have haunted me for six years flashing through my head one last time.
----------------------

I don’t expect heaven or hell or purgatory or wherever the fuck I was headed to feel like the damp sidewalk, but when I come to my senses that’s what I instantly realise I’m laid on.

I can’t open my eyes, or move a muscle, or say anything, because I feel like a block of lead; maybe being dead takes some getting used to? But I can feel, and I know that I’m definitely on a pavement. Maybe when you die you get sent to where you spent most of your life, and with the amount of times I’ve been pushed over in sixteen years, I may well just have spent a good two thirds of my pitiful existence lying sprawled on the streets.

I know; pathetic, right?

“Frank?”

That voice. It’s so familiar. I know I know that voice.

“Frank?!” it repeats, sounding distant, and slurred, and panicked.

Something gets pushed violently against my chest, causing me to cough. Well, that’s my mouth opened. I feel like I’m being violently sick, coughing and spluttering as water pours out of my system. Shit, I didn’t know that afterlife hurt so much; they always avoid the details in RE lessons.

The same weight is forced upon me, and I choke out more water before hiccupping pathetically. Fucking hell; how much water can my tiny body hold?

“Frank? Can you hear me?”

I try speaking, my throat killing like a bitch, and manage a pitiful squeak of, “Yeah.”

The voice relaxes slightly, “Can you try opening your eyes for me?”

I try, but they feel like they’ve been super-glued shut.

“That’s it, you’re almost there...” the voice says encouragingly, “Just a bit more...”

I try again, practically forcing my eyelids up, and suddenly a sliver of light enters. This gives me the confidence to open them completely, and then I’m met with a dull, smoky grey, broken city sky, and the silhouettes of boring everyday office buildings, and for a moment I wonder if heaven is based on New Jersey.

And then I realise; I’m not dead.

The giveaway is simple, really; the moment I see the two shiny green orbs I know I’m alive.

Mr Way is kneeled beside me, relief clear in his face. His long black hair is soaking wet and plastered to his face. His clothes are wet too, clinging to his skin tighter than usual. I look up at him, and he nibbles on his lower lip.

I do believe the guy who raped me just jumped into a river to save me.

The guy who pretty much ruined my life just saved it.

I reach up and wrap my heavy arms round him. “Thank you,” I mumble.

He smiles, flashing two rows of pointy little teeth. “No problem.”
---------------------------

The next time I wake up I’m in the hospital. There’s no one in the room when I wake, so I just watch the ceiling for a while. It’s not very interesting; just white. The room is quiet too; just a faint heart monitor beeping somewhere to my right. I fuck about with it for a minute, holding my breath and listening to it slow, before hyperventilating to hear it speed up.

I stop when I choke on my own spit.

But seriously; this room is so boring.

Then the door swings open, and I look up, glad that someone finally finds me worthy of attention.

My mom walks into the room, followed by a guy wearing a blue jacket and a name tag, who I assume to be a doctor. Sure enough, he comes and fiddles with the heart monitor for a minute, leaving my mom awkwardly hovering in the doorway.

The doctor leaves a moment later, nodding to my mom on the way out. She gives him a small smile, letting the door swing closed behind him, before she comes over and sits down in a plastic chair sitting beside the bed I’m lying in. She looks at me and I smile up at her. For a moment she doesn’t say anything, and then she completely breaks down.

She wraps her arms round my chest, pulling me into a sitting position, and sobs into my shoulder.

“F-fuck, Frankie,” she splutters, “Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re okay. Oh god, I thought I’d lost you! Those fucking idiots who pushed you had better get stuck straight into the jailhouse, or so help me, I’ll-. Look, never mind that, I’ve been so worried! But you’re okay! Oh my, Frankie, Frankie, Frankie!” she sighs, pulling me closer into her.

I lift my heavy arms up and wrap them round her.

“Yeah mom, I’m fine!”

“When the hospital phoned me... Oh god, I just didn’t know what to make of it all! I was tempted to go and teach those boys a lesson... But the school will deal with them, I guess. They could’ve killed you though! And I don’t know what I’d do without my little Frankie...”

“I know mom, I know; but I’m fine! Look at me!”

“You’re lying in a hospital bed, plugged into a heart monitor, just hours after coming this close to drowning,” mom says, pinching her finger, “In fact, if Gerard hadn’t-”

“Where is he?” I butt in.

“He’s through in the corridor, why?”

“I want to see him,” I nod, and she raises an eyebrow, probably thinking back to my outburst when he came round the other night.

“Please,” I press, so she nods, and walks out of the room. A minute or so later Mr Way comes in, giving me a little smile.

“Hey Frank.”

“Hi sir,” I nod, and he comes and sits down in the chair previously occupied by my mom.

“How are you feeling?” he asks me.

“Fine,” I shrug,

“You’re very lucky, you know; if I hadn’t got you out of the water when I did, you would probably have drowned.”

“Yeah, thanks for getting me out of there!” I smile, and he smiles back, and then the conversation dies.

A few minutes later, Mr Way is the first to break the silence.

“Frank?”

“Hmm?” I look up at him.

“... When you were falling, what did you mean by... ‘I forgive you’?”

I bite my lip. “You really don’t know?”

“... I can’t say I do, no.”

Well now I’m stumped. How are you supposed to tell someone that they sexually abused you six years ago? It’s not exactly the kind of topic they teach in schools, so now that I’m in this position, I’m totally clueless at how to go about it.

I guess the easiest option would be to ask him if he remembers anything, anything at all about it.

“Right, sir, I need to ask you something, but I need you to answer one hundred percent honestly, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Way nods.

“Okay... Have you ever raped anyone?”

Mr Way’s eyes grow wide, the bright green spheres glittering in the light. He bites his lip, and looks away, murmuring a quiet, “No.”

“Sir, can you look me dead in the eye and say you’ve never sexually abused anyone?”

Way looks up, meeting my gaze with his own. He holds the eye contact for a moment, struggling with himself, before breaking the connection again, and shaking his head.

“So you admit to it then?”

“Yes, okay, I fucking admit it! I’ve raped someone. A couple of people actually! But it wasn’t my fault!” he looks away from me again, going red and looking deeply ashamed. “How do you know anyway?”

“It wasn’t your fault?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Nope,” he shrugs. I look at him, encouraging him to go on, and he sighs heavily. “Drugs.”

My eyes widen, and I crash back against the headboard. “Oh.”

“That a good enough answer for you, Frank?” he asks, “I’m a dirty rapist because I was a stupid little junkie when I was twenty one?”

I nod, not daring to say anything. I don’t think Mr Way is angry, exactly, but he doesn’t look too pleased about having to put that out there.

“Now, Frank, would you kindly answer my question? How did you know I’d... I’m... You know... What I’ve done?”

Well, it appears we’ve reached the part of this conversation I was dreading. How on earth do I word an answer to his question?

“Do you remember who exactly you raped?” I ask, trying to save myself some time to come up with a way to tell him that I am a victim.

Mr Way frowns, and closes his eyes for a moment, thinking deeply. Then he opens them again and shakes his head, “Nope, not a clue. I don’t really remember much of what happened when I was on the cocaine, to be honest; not the details. I just know that it made me do stupid shit. Shit that I would never dream of doing if I wasn’t high.”

“But... why were you doing cocaine?” I wonder, and he sighs.

“Remember when I was speaking to you the other day, Frank? When I told you about my shitty high school life?”

I nod, waiting for him to go on.

“And I told you not to do something stupid like I did, but I wouldn’t tell you what I meant by that? Well this is exactly what I was talking about. I’m a failure, Frank; drugs, alcohol abuse, rape... and probably other fucking sick, illegal things too! I’m a waste of a human being, Frank, and it should have been me getting thrown off of that bridge, not you. You’ve done nothing wrong; it’s me that’s the failure.”

I say nothing, for Mr Way has just described himself the way I’ve been describing him for six long years; he knows he’s the sinner, and perhaps that fact has haunted him just as much as it has haunted me.

Maybe more.

He sits slumped in his chair, head in his hands. I think he’s reduced himself to tears, because his shoulders are shaking, and his breathing uneven.

“Failure,” he mumbles, “Fucking failure.”

His voice is broken, pained, haunted. Way has broken himself, I can see that, but surely there’s some way he can put himself back together again?

“S-sir?” I ask cautiously, and he jumps, looking up at me. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, and his lip is bleeding where he’s been chewing it.

“You’re not a failure,” I say, “You saved my life.”

He hiccups, “Because you don’t deserve to die; no one does.”

I don’t reply. Doesn’t everyone deserve to die eventually?

“And you’re special,” he adds. “I mean, everyone’s special, but you’re different. I don’t know what it is exactly,” he says, scanning my face, “But there’s something different about you, setting you apart from your classmates.”

“No,” I shake my head, “I can’t be special; I’m just the emo fag - nothing special about me!”

“Frank, since I began teaching in Belleville I always knew there was something special about you. Why do you think I was constantly trying to talk to you?”

I shrug. I’d never really thought about it to be honest; I just assumed he was trying to get me in bed.

“Because I care about you.”

He looks me dead in the eye, and the second I’m faced with the tear-filled glittering green spheres, I know he’s telling the truth.

He’s changed.

Neither of us says anything for a few minutes, and it’s Way who breaks the silence first.

“You know, you never did answer my question,” he states, and I look up. “How did you know what I’ve done in the past?”

I take a deep breath, shutting my eyes.

“Because I am a victim.”

Mr Way says nothing. He just stares at me, a look of complete horror etched on his face. And then he stands up and walks out of the room.
--------------------------

My converse are still damp when I pull them on come Monday morning, and as I trudge down the English corridor after registration I try not to concentrate on the squelching every time I take a step.

When I take my seat beside Patrick, I don’t expect him to say anything, but he smiles awkwardly and says, “Hey.”

“Uh, hi.”

“Look, I’m really sorry about last week. I heard what happened with Laurence and that, and, well, shit. I thought I’d lost my best mate, seriously!”

“It’s fine, honestly,” I shrug.

“So... Friends?”

“Friends,” I nod and he grins.

“Wonder where the teacher is,” Patrick says, looking over at the teacher’s abandoned desk.

In answer to Pat, the door swings open, but it isn’t Mr Way who enters, it’s Miss Brown, the deputy head teacher.

“Okay class, take your books out,” she says, sitting down at the desk.

“Miss, where’s Mr Way?” Carolyn asks from down at the front of the room.

She looks up from the keyboard, studying the class over the glasses balanced on her nose.

“He couldn’t make it in today.”

“But why?!” Carolyn demands, and Miss Brown sighs.

“I’m not sure you want to know. It might upset you...”

“It won’t, honest!” someone says, and the teacher sighs again.

“Okay,” she says, “Mr Way probably won’t be in for a while. On Saturday night he attempted suicide.”

The class goes silent.

“I told you it might upset you,” Miss Brown says sadly. “He’s in the hospital just now, and will hopefully be out soon.”

“But... Why did he do it?” someone asks quietly.

“I couldn’t tell you if I knew,” Miss Brown says, “So let’s just pray for him. Now, today you’ve to continue your film reviews. I assume you know what to do, so I’ll just let you get on with it.”

She turns back to the computer, leaving the class murmuring to themselves about Mr Way.

“Why do you think he tried it?” Patrick asks me.

“Dunno,” I shrug, not entirely truthfully, because I have an idea.
---------------------------

When I get home after school, mom’s already in.

“Hey mom,” I smile, dumping my bag on the sofa. She looks up from where she’s been sitting at the table, staring into her coffee cup. She smiles when she sees me, standing up and dropping the mug into the sink.

“Hey Frank. We need to go out to visit Mr Way at the hospital, okay?”

“Why?”

“Because he’s our neighbour, and a good friend of mine! I’ll explain everything in the car. Come on!”

I follow her out to the car, sitting in the passenger seat.

She pulls out of the car park, and drives down the road.

“So, Frank, I guess you’ll want to know why he’s in the hospital?” she asks me after a minute.

“Uh, Miss Brown told us in English.”

“Oh, okay. She didn’t tell you why he did it though?”

“No,” I shrug, “She didn’t know.”

“No, the hospital didn’t either.”

Mom pulls into the hospital car park, parking as close to the doors as she can get, before we get out of the car and she almost drags me to the hospital doors.

“What’s the rush?” I chuckle, increasing my pace slightly to keep up with her.

“I just want to see him, that’s all,” she shrugs, giving me a lopsided smile.

“Wow mom, anyone would think you fancied him!”

She goes slightly pink, but denies it as we approach the front desk.

“I’m looking for Gerard Way?” she asks the receptionist who types something into her computer.

“He’s in Room 254,” the receptionist smiles, and mom nods in thanks before leading me down the corridor and through some doors.

It takes mom a good ten minutes to find the room she’s looking for, but as soon as she finds it she’s bursting through the door and wrapping Way in a tight hug.

He looks slightly startled for a moment, but returns the hug a moment later. “Hi Linda, what’re you doing here?”

“Never mind me, what’re you doing here, you idiot!” she says, letting go of him, “I’ve been worried sick about you!”

He shrugs and leans back into the chair he’s sitting on.

“It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Now Gerard,” mom scolds, “Medicine is to save lives, not take them.”

“I wouldn’t call my pitiful existence a ‘life’; I’m not exactly ‘living’ anymore. I feel dead all the fucking time, and I try and make it better, and I fuck up, and-” he ends up speaking to himself more than anyone else, before ending his sentence abruptly, looking at his feet.

Mum bites her lip. “I can see what they meant when they said ‘severe depression’,” she sighs, and he looks up at her.

“Severe depression, my ass! See; even the doctors here hate me! They found out why I’m in and boom, no respect. Cunts.”

“Gerard, you tried to kill yourself,” mom says quietly, and he slumps in his seat.

“It’s not the first time either. Look, Linda, I’m really grateful that you came; not even my own fucking family would want to visit me, but you shouldn’t be here, and risk getting caught with a waster like me. And you definitely shouldn’t have your son around me, so I think it’d be best if you leave now. Leave me here with the rest of the freaks who actually need help!” he stands up and leads her to the door, hugging her again before gently prodding her out of the room.

As I follow her out, I just catch Gerard murmur, “Sorry,” in my ear, before he closes the door and pulls the blinds across the little window.

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