FicWad

As I sit here now, finishing off typing what I can remember onto a laptop, Gerard is pestering me to read it. He's been told to back off a few times and that failure to do so may result in me deleting the lot.

But he knows I won't.

He's precariously perched on the edge of the bed. More the fact that he can't fit on the bed rather than being scared of what I might do to him should he continue to pester when too close to me as there are magazine clippings strewn all over the sheets. They're from interviews that took place from pretty much the day after I checked myself out of hospital to now. Thanks to the Internet, word had spread quickly about me. After the first interview, I was on Quizilla setting the rumours straight.
Just glancing over the closest to me makes me feel like jumping on Gerard and squeezing as if there's no tomorrow.

'She's one of us now, we'd all miss her,'

'She's family. She's Gerard's girlfriend and our sister. I don't know what we'd do without her now,'

'I don't know what I'd do if I'd have lost her that day. I don't think I'd be sat here talking to you, that's for sure,'

'Fuck them. They don't know the full story, they can't pass judgement on her,'

There are a few to my right, three I believe, that are interviews with The Used. All still as heart warming as the thousands Gerard must have done on the subject.

One, a colour one, sits atop the rest. Light grey background, black text and the large, gothic lettering that spells out the title: 'I have a voice...' And there, above the title, is me. Not just me, I'm not ready for that just yet, but I'm there. The photographer made a good job of the picture. Gerard's stood facing the camera whilst I'm stood on his right, facing him with my hands on his shoulders, looking somewhere off into the distance. It's...

Well, it's nothing too flashy and nothing too 'lovey-dovey'. I'm smiling while I look at it, earning myself a sarcastic: "You just love looking at yourself, don't you?" From Gerard. I smile over at him before replying with: "No, I was looking at you, don't worry. Why would I want to look at myself?"

He rolls his eyes before announcing he's off to fetch coffee.

Typical.

Since I got out of hospital, things have been going okay. We spent a few days being almost inseparable. When they went to the interviews, I was nearby somewhere, and always in Gerard's line of sight.

He seemed to be checking every few minutes to see that I was still there and still alive.

Everyone helped out during my recovery until crutches were no longer needed. Someone was always around me, but for once I wasn't complaining. Each time I thought about it, I remembered that things could indeed have very easily taken a very bad turn, and that they were only looking after me because they were worried and, possibly, feeling slightly guilty.

But sometimes it's a bit too much.

It's those kinds of times I find solace with Bob, seeing as I'm simply not ALLOWED to be on my own. I have Bob to thank for so much now. The first few times I sought peace with him, he made a great therapist. I was rapidly heading for another hospital stay as I had lost my appetite again and, understandably, was having troubles sleeping.

You may now be wondering what the point of writing this was? Bobs idea. Says I may be able to put at least some of it behind me if I write it. Not sure why, but it's been working so far.

Gerard's re-appeared again, coffee in hand. I pout at him and ask where mine is, to be told: "You're feeling better now, I don't have to be your maid anymore," I remind him that I'm being kind enough to let Bert stay round my house over the weekend, which sends him scampering off to fetch me a coffee too.

We do own our own house now, an apartment in New York. It's not much, but we don't need much. We're either on tour or home in New Jersey most of the time. Bert, as you may have guessed, pops by from 'time to time' or, rather, at least once a week.
They did have a brief falling out a few months back, but it's blown over somewhat. They're still careful about what they say to each other, and they definitely aren't as close as they used to be, but still friends.

I still get messages on Quizilla that start with: 'Is it true that...' I just smile when I see them and reply with a polite yes. I get messages for everyone through Quizilla now, not just me.

And, yes, I still talk to AlameadaGreen. It took a while for me to convince her it wasn't just an elaborate lie I'd come up with...

My coffee arrives, and guess what he does? The little bugger attempts to steal the laptop! He's not reading it until tomorrow morning now.

Though I shouldn't be surprised if I wake up tonight to the light of the laptop next to me.

He's scanning through some of the interviews on the bed for the sixth time this evening. He's come across one, and he reads a question to me:

'Planning any kids? Hearing any wedding bells?'

Before telling me the answer he gave:

'No and no, next please,'

He kind of smiles at it before setting it on the bed again. I stop typing for a moment, before quickly typing up the question I'm about to ask:

'Still not planning any kids? Still not hearing wedding bells?' I tilt my head to one side. He freezes, rooted to the spot. He seems genuinely in thought over it.

'Still no and...' He shrugs. I smile gently. '...next please,' I giggle lightly, going back to the laptop.

My eyes catch the one atop the rest again. I have no reason to be in an interview, everyone just wants to nosey in. I'm quite happy with it, though. I may not be all the time, but it's not like it's worth trying to avoid the press after everything that's happened - I'd have a very boring life if we did.
There's one, at the end of the bed, that's of the whole band after they'd come off stage at a local show. Apparently the interview got sidetracked when a woman asked him how I was doing.

It was the interview that set the rest off.

Since then, Mikey's been forced to face his guilt over Nathan. Who, you may wish to know, is recovering as well as could be expected. Mikey's spent a lot of time with me just recently. Makes me wonder what else has been going on in that head of his...

Frank now refuses to let me fetch munchies and answers his phone in record time.

Ray's still playing water boy. Whatever kind of drink I need, guaranteed he'll fetch it for me, sweet, sweet guy he is, and has yet to complain. But I fetch my own whenever I can.
And, as Gerard had predicted, Donna and Donald are trying to fatten me up. It's working too, for the first time in a while I look healthy.

There's talk of a new Album. They've been discussing it for a week or two now, and everyone seems to have settled on it being a good idea. They've even started drawing up ideas. Literally, my living room contains a neat pile of drawings hidden carefully behind, as cleche as it sounds, some books on the bookshelf. So, I get to know what it's like to have a go at taking a backseat for once.

It's going to be hell.



So there is my life just recently compacted into roughly 96 Microsoft Word Document pages.
Hope you've enjoyed it.


And Gerard hopes he enjoys it too, apparently.


.:The|End:.