Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Demolition Love Affair
Chapter 5
Gerard’s P.O.V.
(Trigger warning…)
Ray had gone to search for Frank, Mikey was tuning his bass and ignoring me, and Bob was doing well... Bob stuff, so I was left to my own devices. Instead of watching Mindless Self Indulgence perform, I go in search of a quiet place, preferably dark and where I can smoke without anyone bitching at me. Nobody tries to stop me as I walk around aimlessly. There is still at least another hour until we have to be out there, so I have the perfect amount of time to do what I need to do.
After walking through almost every hallway and around every corner, I finally find a bathroom with an ‘out of order’ sign on it. When I push on the door, it opens easily. You would think with it being out of order that the janitor or whoever would lock it, but I guess not. I lock the door behind me and go into the very last stall; it being the only one with an attached door and toilet. On the first one, the door was hanging on by one henge. The second one had no toilet; it was replaced with a grimy bucket, filled to the brim. The third one had no door and no toilet.
I shut the stall door and lock it, even though I know that no one can or will come in. I pull up the sleeves to my leather jacket and stare at my pale arms. I could still see the faint, white scars from a long time ago; from before I met Frank. He kept me from doing this for a long time. He was the captain to my boat during a bad tsunami, keeping me afloat and pulling my through the night to safer waters. But now I've fucked everything up and thrown him overboard, leaving me to sink to the bottom of the ocean with no hope of returning.
I reached into the tear inside my jacket where I kept my emergency razor. “We meet again, ol’ reliable,” I whisper followed by a chuckle. I know there’s no trying to escape the inevitable, but that doesn’t mean I can’t postpone it for a while longer. I press the blade to my wrist and drag it across horizontally at an agonizingly slow pace. I repeat this process again and again until my arm is littered with bloody slashes. The cuts were deep enough to leave scars, but not deep enough to need stitches or that I’ll bleed to death.
With a sigh, I grab some toilet paper there is and hold it to my arm to stop the bleeding. After the bleeding stops, I take the last of the toilet paper and make a makeshift bandage on my arm, repocket my blade, and give a heavy sigh. With another sigh, I leave the stall and wash the blood off of my hands in the grubby sink. After that, I leave the bathroom and go back to where everyone was backstage. No one had realized I was gone and MSI was still playing on stage. Frank and Ray still weren’t back yet though- that I could see-, and I was starting to get really worried.
Gerard’s P.O.V.
(Trigger warning…)
Ray had gone to search for Frank, Mikey was tuning his bass and ignoring me, and Bob was doing well... Bob stuff, so I was left to my own devices. Instead of watching Mindless Self Indulgence perform, I go in search of a quiet place, preferably dark and where I can smoke without anyone bitching at me. Nobody tries to stop me as I walk around aimlessly. There is still at least another hour until we have to be out there, so I have the perfect amount of time to do what I need to do.
After walking through almost every hallway and around every corner, I finally find a bathroom with an ‘out of order’ sign on it. When I push on the door, it opens easily. You would think with it being out of order that the janitor or whoever would lock it, but I guess not. I lock the door behind me and go into the very last stall; it being the only one with an attached door and toilet. On the first one, the door was hanging on by one henge. The second one had no toilet; it was replaced with a grimy bucket, filled to the brim. The third one had no door and no toilet.
I shut the stall door and lock it, even though I know that no one can or will come in. I pull up the sleeves to my leather jacket and stare at my pale arms. I could still see the faint, white scars from a long time ago; from before I met Frank. He kept me from doing this for a long time. He was the captain to my boat during a bad tsunami, keeping me afloat and pulling my through the night to safer waters. But now I've fucked everything up and thrown him overboard, leaving me to sink to the bottom of the ocean with no hope of returning.
I reached into the tear inside my jacket where I kept my emergency razor. “We meet again, ol’ reliable,” I whisper followed by a chuckle. I know there’s no trying to escape the inevitable, but that doesn’t mean I can’t postpone it for a while longer. I press the blade to my wrist and drag it across horizontally at an agonizingly slow pace. I repeat this process again and again until my arm is littered with bloody slashes. The cuts were deep enough to leave scars, but not deep enough to need stitches or that I’ll bleed to death.
With a sigh, I grab some toilet paper there is and hold it to my arm to stop the bleeding. After the bleeding stops, I take the last of the toilet paper and make a makeshift bandage on my arm, repocket my blade, and give a heavy sigh. With another sigh, I leave the stall and wash the blood off of my hands in the grubby sink. After that, I leave the bathroom and go back to where everyone was backstage. No one had realized I was gone and MSI was still playing on stage. Frank and Ray still weren’t back yet though- that I could see-, and I was starting to get really worried.
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