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"Oi. G-Get up."
Gerard felt a sudden shoe in his side, and an oh too familiar laugh. He groaned.
"C'mon, get uppp!" Another kick.
Gerard peeled himself off the floor of the car park and turned to stare groggily into the eyes of The Used's lead singer, Bert McCracken.
"We're all going t' grab s-some beers, wanna come?" Asked Bert, slurring his words slightly.
Gerard felt like shit, smelled like shit and looked like shit, but agreed nonetheless. One more drink couldn't hurt, right?

Six hours later...

"Gerard what the fuck have you done now!" Screamed Frank Iero, into the face of a hammered Gerard Way, who flinched as drops of spittle flew from the guitarists mouth onto his own. The man was small, but easily he made up for that when he shouted.
"Whaadya mean, whad've I d-done?!" Retorted the singer, swaying as he spoke.
"I had one fuc-ucking drink-k man..." He stuttered.
Frank pushed Gerard, and watched him fall clumsily to the ground.
"Yeah, one fucking drink, 'eh? Nice one Gee. Nice one."
He glared at the mess he called his best friend, rolling on the concrete, and walked off, ignoring Gerard's slurred cries for him to come back.

When Gerard made it to their tour bus, no one was talking. He stumbled to his bunk and closed the curtain. He didn't care. He didn't want to talk to anyone anyway. He lay back on his bed, head pounding from whatever he'd taken, he could see bright spots when he shut his eyes. He just wanted sleep, but it never came easily, and when it did it bought nightmares with it.
Why was Frank so mad at him? What had he done now? Gerard tried to remember the night, he'd gone out with Bert and the rest of The Used, they'd gone to a bar, he'd had a few drinks...Maybe two, or twenty...Then he was getting shouted at by Frank...I can't do anything right... He thought to himself. No matter what I do, I'll always get hurt by someone...
Reaching into the small bag next to his bed, he pulled out an orange pot of pills. He swallowed four and let the land of nightmares engulf him.

When he awoke, he was drenched in his own sweat. He was thirsty, and could hear Mikey and Ray talking somewhere in the bus, slowly, with a pounding head, he climbed out of his bunk and went to grab a beer.
"HE'S ALIIIVVEE!!!" Cried Mikey, melodramatically.
"Haha, shut upp..." Said Gee, in a hushed tone "My head hurts goddammit..." Wincing, he reached into the beer cooler and pulled out a bottle.
"Should you really be drinking that already?" Asked Ray, he sounded concerned.
"What does it matter?" Gee hated rhetorical questions.
"Well I'm just thinking of your health is all...Your liver must hate you..."
"Well I hate me too, so that makes two of us..." Mumbled Gerard, walking back to his bunk.
He heard Ray ask if Mikey caught what he'd said, but neither of them had heard him. No one heard him. He could scream until his lungs gave out, and no one would bat an eyelid.

Gerard sat on the warm concrete outside, shades on, blocking the sun from his vision, the hot air felt good on his pale skin. He gulped his beer thirstily, downing the bottle in about 3 minutes, and placing the empty container on the ground next to him. He traced a finger along the cracks in the floor, and looked up, when a figure blocked the sun out.
He couldn't see who it was, they were silhouetted, but when they sat down he realised it was Frank Iero, the guy who'd been shouting in his face the night before.
"Hey..." Said the guitarist, slowly.
"Oh, hey..." Replied Gerard.
"Mind if I sit down?" He sounded hesitant.
"Go ahead, pull up a parking lot."
Frank laughed.
"So er, Gee, about last night..."
"What about it?" Said the singer curtly.
"Look man, I'm sorry I shouted at you. Tensions were high and all, I didn't mean..."
"It's fine." Said Gerard.
"No man, seriously, I'm..."
"I said it's fine Frank, leave it."
They sat there in stony silence for another ten minutes, Frank admiring the grey landscape, and Gerard still tracing the cracks in the ground. Neither saying a word.
"I'm going to get another beer." Said Gee.
And that was the end of that.