Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
It's Not Love If...
1 reviewGerard had a bitter-sweet relationship with the man he loved, but it ended when his life was cut short.
1Ambiance
Gerard slipped out of the arms of his lover, Frank, and made his way to the bathroom. Before entering, he glanced back at Frank’s sleeping form on his bed; peaceful and satisfied. He sighed and walked into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He sat down on the edge of the tub and began the process of reflecting over the past few months.
They had been friends since high school; Gerard now 37 and Frank 33. Frank had been the one to initiate it, this whole friends with benefits deal. Little did he know that Gerard has been in love with him since the day they met. When he looked into those deep honey hazel eyes for the first time, he knew he was captivated by that adorable midget.
It was also around that time that Gerard became severely depressed. It started with a few bad thoughts that slowly edged into disastrous voices that would tear him down; forcing him to use the only form of relief he knew, cutting. That small, silver blade got him through the worst of his years; that and the alcohol and drugs.
The voices had gona away for a while, especially after he stopped drinking, but now they were coming back stronger than ever. He doesn't really love you, they'd say. He only wants what you for that little butt of yours. That's the only part of you that seems to make an impression. Even though Gerard knew that every word they said was a lie, but sometimes he had his doubts. Right now, the voices were louder than his own; they were winning.
Avoiding the mirror, he opened the medicine cabinet and took out the bottle of acetaminophen. Then he reached under the sink and pulled out the Crystal Head he had hidden a few weeks ago. Frank didn’t know it was there; why would he? It’s not his house, and it’s not like he ever stayed long enough after their late night romps. Everyone thought Gerard had kicked his drinking problem years ago, which he had; he just kept it there for emergencies. Now he would use it to end his life in the least destructive way he could think of.
Gerard filled the tub with water. May as well leave them something to use, he thought as he sat down in the tub. The water was bone-chillingly cold, perfect for preservation. He placed the bottle of pills on the edge of the tub and hugged the bottle of vodka to his chest, trying to open it. On his third attempt, he finally got it open; as they say, “Third time’s the charm.” Unsurprisingly, this was Gerard’s third real attempt at suicide. The idea of it and ways to do it crossed his mind constantly. Since he was sixteen, he’d only gone a handful of days without considering taking his life.
Once he got the bottle open, he took a sip; the clear liquid, strong and pungent, burned his throat as it went down. The burn was nothing compared to the rush of adrenaline he felt from not having an ounce of alcohol in 10 years. A small dragon called Alcoholism stirred inside Gerard’s body, reminding him of his old habits. He popped the cap off the pill bottle and poured some into his hand. He quickly examined the pills before tipping his head back and tossing in the pills, following them with a swig of vodka. He repeated the process until there were only a few left. He left those in the bottle to save for later.
The sound of running water awoke the short man sleeping in his lover’s bed. Frank slid out of the warm bed and wandered to the bathroom. Why would Gee be taking a bath this late? It's 2 in the morning. He raked his fingers through his hair and stood by the door, listening for his partner. He could hear soft, choked sobs. “Geebear? Are you okay?” he asked while rapping lightly on the door.
The sobbing stopped abruptly. Then there was the sound of rattling and a gulp, followed by a sniffle. “Yes, F-frankie. I’m okay,” came Gerard’s answer. “T-trust me.”
“You’re definitely not okay Gerard,” Frank said as he tried to open the door, only to find it locked. “Let me in Gerard, please.”
“W-why? So you can hurt me some more!” Gerard snapped. He hadn’t meant to let that slip, didn’t want Frank to know he was the cause of his pain. Out of anger, he threw the half empty bottle to the tiled floor. A second later, the door flung open, revealing a frightened Frankie.
“Oh Gee…” Frank rushed to his side and yanked him out of the tub. Gerard tried his best to resist, but Frank was a helluva lot stronger than him even when he was sober. His drunken, drugged-up state didn’t help. The water sloshed about as he tumbled to the tiled floor. He was starting to feel really woozy and a dull ache was beginning in the pit of his stomach. The vodka was starting to hit him like a shot of morphine. Not the cheap stuff doctors prescribe but the liquid they give you after a major surgery in the hospital.
Frank fell to his knees next to Gerard. He didn’t notice the glass piercing the skin of his bare knees; he was more focused on the man dying in front of him than anything else. “W-why’d you do it Gee?” he demanded.
“B-because…” Gerard started. “Because I love you and you don’t…”
“I don’t what?”
“You don’t love me!” Gerard screamed in Frank’s face. “Not the way I love you,” he said with a little less power. He was just so angry and hurt. Couldn’t Frank see that he loved him with all his heart, and all this off-and-on fling they had was crushing him?
“Of course I love you Geebear,” Frank exclaimed.
“You’re just saying that,” Gerard scoffed.
“Gerard,” Frank said sternly, holding Gerard’s head in both of his hands. He looked straight into his normally bright and vibrant hazel eyes, that were now dulling, and said, “I love you more than I love being on stage. I live for those moments on stage where you hold me close and kiss me like there’s no tomorrow. Why do you think I always stop playing and hold you just as close. I love you more than Pansy! I love you Gerard Arthur Way.”
“Frankie, I-” midsentence, Gerard lunged for the toilet, throwing up alcohol, undigested pills, and blood. Frank held his hair away from his face, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He knew the love of his life was slowly dying, but not slow enough that he could do anything. Except….
“G-gerard, I’m gonna go get my phone,” he whispered. “Please just… just be here when I get back, okay?”
“I… p-promise Frankie,” Gerard said between dry-heaves. With that promise, Frank got up and ran back into the bedroom, grabbed his phone off of the nightstand, and bolted into the bathroom. When he got back, Gerard was lying on the floor in a fetal position with his eyes shut tight, clutching his abdomen and writhing in pain. The sight made Frank finally break; the tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. A small sob escaped the back of his throat as he dialed 911.
When Gerard heard the monotone voice, his eyes flew open and he yelled, “Please help me! I regret it so much!” Frank sat down next to him and held his hand, relaying what had just happened to woman on the other end. She said an ambulance would be there in less than 10 minutes. He won’t live that long, Frank thought as he stared sorrowfully at his lover. Instead of saying that aloud, he gave her a quick thank you and hung up.
Gerard could feel himself slipping away as he curled up into a ball on Frank’s lap. “I’m so, so sorry Frankie,” he wailed, gripping tightly to Frank’s arms. If he had known Frank loved him the way he did, he would never had dranked that alcohol or taken those pills. He would’ve married him and moved to a little cabin in the woods. It’d be just the two of them; at least until they were ready for some little Frankies and Gees of their own. Then they would grow old together and die happy. But now none of that would happen, only because Gerard’s anxiety filled his mind with false accusations. Now he’s dying and leaving all the people he loves behind.
“No, Gerard. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Frank said. He could see his answer fell on deaf ears, for Gerard’s eyes were half closed and he was giving him a not-so-there look. His body had started to relax, not a good sign. Everything was fading; everything except Frank's angelic face. This is it, he thought. I hope the Angels in heaven are like Frank; accepting, kind, loving...
Someone pounded on the front door. Probably the paramedics, Frank thought as he scooped Gerard into his arms and headed for the door. When he opened the door, the paramedics rushed in with a gurney, ready to take Gerard to the hospital. Now they would be taking his straight to the morgue. Right before Frank had opened the door, Gerard had mumbled his last, "I love you," in his ear before passing.
They had been friends since high school; Gerard now 37 and Frank 33. Frank had been the one to initiate it, this whole friends with benefits deal. Little did he know that Gerard has been in love with him since the day they met. When he looked into those deep honey hazel eyes for the first time, he knew he was captivated by that adorable midget.
It was also around that time that Gerard became severely depressed. It started with a few bad thoughts that slowly edged into disastrous voices that would tear him down; forcing him to use the only form of relief he knew, cutting. That small, silver blade got him through the worst of his years; that and the alcohol and drugs.
The voices had gona away for a while, especially after he stopped drinking, but now they were coming back stronger than ever. He doesn't really love you, they'd say. He only wants what you for that little butt of yours. That's the only part of you that seems to make an impression. Even though Gerard knew that every word they said was a lie, but sometimes he had his doubts. Right now, the voices were louder than his own; they were winning.
Avoiding the mirror, he opened the medicine cabinet and took out the bottle of acetaminophen. Then he reached under the sink and pulled out the Crystal Head he had hidden a few weeks ago. Frank didn’t know it was there; why would he? It’s not his house, and it’s not like he ever stayed long enough after their late night romps. Everyone thought Gerard had kicked his drinking problem years ago, which he had; he just kept it there for emergencies. Now he would use it to end his life in the least destructive way he could think of.
Gerard filled the tub with water. May as well leave them something to use, he thought as he sat down in the tub. The water was bone-chillingly cold, perfect for preservation. He placed the bottle of pills on the edge of the tub and hugged the bottle of vodka to his chest, trying to open it. On his third attempt, he finally got it open; as they say, “Third time’s the charm.” Unsurprisingly, this was Gerard’s third real attempt at suicide. The idea of it and ways to do it crossed his mind constantly. Since he was sixteen, he’d only gone a handful of days without considering taking his life.
Once he got the bottle open, he took a sip; the clear liquid, strong and pungent, burned his throat as it went down. The burn was nothing compared to the rush of adrenaline he felt from not having an ounce of alcohol in 10 years. A small dragon called Alcoholism stirred inside Gerard’s body, reminding him of his old habits. He popped the cap off the pill bottle and poured some into his hand. He quickly examined the pills before tipping his head back and tossing in the pills, following them with a swig of vodka. He repeated the process until there were only a few left. He left those in the bottle to save for later.
The sound of running water awoke the short man sleeping in his lover’s bed. Frank slid out of the warm bed and wandered to the bathroom. Why would Gee be taking a bath this late? It's 2 in the morning. He raked his fingers through his hair and stood by the door, listening for his partner. He could hear soft, choked sobs. “Geebear? Are you okay?” he asked while rapping lightly on the door.
The sobbing stopped abruptly. Then there was the sound of rattling and a gulp, followed by a sniffle. “Yes, F-frankie. I’m okay,” came Gerard’s answer. “T-trust me.”
“You’re definitely not okay Gerard,” Frank said as he tried to open the door, only to find it locked. “Let me in Gerard, please.”
“W-why? So you can hurt me some more!” Gerard snapped. He hadn’t meant to let that slip, didn’t want Frank to know he was the cause of his pain. Out of anger, he threw the half empty bottle to the tiled floor. A second later, the door flung open, revealing a frightened Frankie.
“Oh Gee…” Frank rushed to his side and yanked him out of the tub. Gerard tried his best to resist, but Frank was a helluva lot stronger than him even when he was sober. His drunken, drugged-up state didn’t help. The water sloshed about as he tumbled to the tiled floor. He was starting to feel really woozy and a dull ache was beginning in the pit of his stomach. The vodka was starting to hit him like a shot of morphine. Not the cheap stuff doctors prescribe but the liquid they give you after a major surgery in the hospital.
Frank fell to his knees next to Gerard. He didn’t notice the glass piercing the skin of his bare knees; he was more focused on the man dying in front of him than anything else. “W-why’d you do it Gee?” he demanded.
“B-because…” Gerard started. “Because I love you and you don’t…”
“I don’t what?”
“You don’t love me!” Gerard screamed in Frank’s face. “Not the way I love you,” he said with a little less power. He was just so angry and hurt. Couldn’t Frank see that he loved him with all his heart, and all this off-and-on fling they had was crushing him?
“Of course I love you Geebear,” Frank exclaimed.
“You’re just saying that,” Gerard scoffed.
“Gerard,” Frank said sternly, holding Gerard’s head in both of his hands. He looked straight into his normally bright and vibrant hazel eyes, that were now dulling, and said, “I love you more than I love being on stage. I live for those moments on stage where you hold me close and kiss me like there’s no tomorrow. Why do you think I always stop playing and hold you just as close. I love you more than Pansy! I love you Gerard Arthur Way.”
“Frankie, I-” midsentence, Gerard lunged for the toilet, throwing up alcohol, undigested pills, and blood. Frank held his hair away from his face, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He knew the love of his life was slowly dying, but not slow enough that he could do anything. Except….
“G-gerard, I’m gonna go get my phone,” he whispered. “Please just… just be here when I get back, okay?”
“I… p-promise Frankie,” Gerard said between dry-heaves. With that promise, Frank got up and ran back into the bedroom, grabbed his phone off of the nightstand, and bolted into the bathroom. When he got back, Gerard was lying on the floor in a fetal position with his eyes shut tight, clutching his abdomen and writhing in pain. The sight made Frank finally break; the tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. A small sob escaped the back of his throat as he dialed 911.
When Gerard heard the monotone voice, his eyes flew open and he yelled, “Please help me! I regret it so much!” Frank sat down next to him and held his hand, relaying what had just happened to woman on the other end. She said an ambulance would be there in less than 10 minutes. He won’t live that long, Frank thought as he stared sorrowfully at his lover. Instead of saying that aloud, he gave her a quick thank you and hung up.
Gerard could feel himself slipping away as he curled up into a ball on Frank’s lap. “I’m so, so sorry Frankie,” he wailed, gripping tightly to Frank’s arms. If he had known Frank loved him the way he did, he would never had dranked that alcohol or taken those pills. He would’ve married him and moved to a little cabin in the woods. It’d be just the two of them; at least until they were ready for some little Frankies and Gees of their own. Then they would grow old together and die happy. But now none of that would happen, only because Gerard’s anxiety filled his mind with false accusations. Now he’s dying and leaving all the people he loves behind.
“No, Gerard. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Frank said. He could see his answer fell on deaf ears, for Gerard’s eyes were half closed and he was giving him a not-so-there look. His body had started to relax, not a good sign. Everything was fading; everything except Frank's angelic face. This is it, he thought. I hope the Angels in heaven are like Frank; accepting, kind, loving...
Someone pounded on the front door. Probably the paramedics, Frank thought as he scooped Gerard into his arms and headed for the door. When he opened the door, the paramedics rushed in with a gurney, ready to take Gerard to the hospital. Now they would be taking his straight to the morgue. Right before Frank had opened the door, Gerard had mumbled his last, "I love you," in his ear before passing.
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