Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Buy Gerard Way [6]
An: The violence guys is reference to self harm. No graphic descriptions, just a couple of mentions of it.
The next morning you awoke to find Gerard Way proffering a steaming (orange cracked) cup. You blinked. “Huh?”
“It’s coffee,” he said simply, pushing the cup into your hands.
You blinked again, hastily brushing the sleep out of your eyes. “Did you poison it?”
He half laughed, running a hand through his dark hair. “No. Uh…I’m sorry for yesterday.”
You nodded, taking a sip of the boiling liquid, before pulling a disgusted face. “You put sugar in it,” you stated.
He raised an eyebrow. “Hell yeah.”
You sighed, ruffling your brown hair. “You can tell.”
He sat down on the end of your bed, glancing round your room, taking in the masses of posters once more. “So, uh, yeah,” he began again. “Sorry 'bout yesterday.”
You raised an eyebrow, as you placed the cup on the side. “What? For storming off?”
He shook his head. “No, for saying all the shit. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Apology accepted. But really, what you said wasn’t that bad.”
He looked at you quizzically. “Do you even remember what I said?”
You nodded brightly. “Yeah.”
He just sat there, not understanding how he hadn’t mortally wounded you with his words.
You sighed once more, rolling up the sleeves of your (black) pyjama top. “Let me put it this way. My parents split up six months, two weeks, and three days ago. They argued for three years before that, taking their anger out on me. My own parents said they didn’t believe I would amount to anything. My own parents, Gerard. Do you know what that’s like? Anyway, I like rock music. I wear heavy eyeliner. I wear black. I get yelled at in the streets. I was so unhappy I cut myself. And I hated myself for doing it. Because I hated myself I cut more. It just kept on happening and you know what? It was a vicious circle. And you think that calling me a fan girl would upset me?”
There was silence, until one of your posters fell down making an almighty rumpus.
“I’m-“
“Don’t,” you warned him, getting out of bed, and waving a belligerent finger at him. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. Because you’re not sorry for me, you’re sorry that you had to hear that. And what’s more is you don’t actually care. All you want to do is get out of here and forget all about me. Well, that’s fine, ‘cause I don’t want you here. You can just –“ You only stopped, because he clamped a rough hand over your mouth. You struggled for a few seconds ineffectually.
“Listen,” he began, as you tried to kick him. “Katie. Stop it, and listen.”
With a deep sigh, you stopped moving, but he didn’t remove his hands from either your mouth or your arm. “You are a fan, right? Yeah, you are. And as you are a fan you should know that we think all of our fans are awesome. Just…the best. And we do care. Yeah, I wanna get back home, ‘cause you know, I do have a life, but at the moment legalities require me to be here. You bought me. And I am sorry about your parents, not because I had to hear it, but because it sucks. It really does. Can’t have been easy for you.” He paused as he let go of you and you took a step back, as you tried to prevent tears from threatening. “Nothing is worth hurting yourself over. Nothing is worth killing yourself over. And that’s why I do what I do. Because nothing is that bad. I believed in you. When no one else did, I believed in you. I didn’t know you and I believed in you. You don’t need to be in pain. Seriously, Katie, I promise-“
By now, your eyes were streaming with tears. “Shut up,” you snarled. “Shut. The Hell. Up.”
“No.” He folded his arms, defiantly. “Because you need to know this. You don’t have to feel this way. “
You roughly brushed away your tears. “Yes I do.” Your voice was low, and emotionless. “Yes I do.”
“No, you don’t,” he persisted.
“If I don’t feel like this,” you said, staring at a point over his shoulder. “If I don’t.”
“Then what?” he asked, faux calmly.
You gaze met his. “Then I don’t have anything. This is all I am. I am the angry, messed up kid, who will never go anywhere, never do anything. This is who I am. I am the kid whose parents split up. I am the kid who listens to the wrong music. I am the kid who hangs out with the wrong people. The kid who does nothing.” Your voice remained low and expressionless. “This is who I am.”
“No.” Gerard’s voice cracked and he swallowed furiously. “No Katie. That is not all that you are. You’re funny. You’re a writer. You have every chance. You don’t need to hurt yourself, or hate yourself to be real. I know. I was that kid. I. Was. That. Kid.”
You smiled joylessly. “Yeah. And now you’re a champion for people like you. Well guess what? You’re not a white knight on a noble steed. You’re not waving a resistance banner for all outcasts. All you’re doing is being like every other adult. ‘Oh if I can do it so can you’. Everything you’ve just said to me, you’ve said a hundred times before. At concerts, in interviews. Saying something over and over again doesn’t make it true. It loses its meaning. Face it Gerard. I am a hopeless case.”
He shook his head. “No. No you’re not. Because I’m going to help you get help. One day you’ll stop hating yourself. You’ll stop hurting yourself. You’ll stop putting yourself down. One day.”
And his quiet resistance made you cry. Made you hope that one day that would be true. And now it is. Four years on and you’re there. You’ve completely stopped self-harming. Now you write your feelings instead of carving them. You’re training to be an actress in London. You’ve forgiven your parents. And Gerard kept his word. He helped you find help. He stayed in contact. Today you got an email, telling you check E-bay out. He reckons he finally got Frank back.
Description of item: THE Frank Iero. Real item. The person.
Price: 0.99
P+P: £0.00
BID NOW
The next morning you awoke to find Gerard Way proffering a steaming (orange cracked) cup. You blinked. “Huh?”
“It’s coffee,” he said simply, pushing the cup into your hands.
You blinked again, hastily brushing the sleep out of your eyes. “Did you poison it?”
He half laughed, running a hand through his dark hair. “No. Uh…I’m sorry for yesterday.”
You nodded, taking a sip of the boiling liquid, before pulling a disgusted face. “You put sugar in it,” you stated.
He raised an eyebrow. “Hell yeah.”
You sighed, ruffling your brown hair. “You can tell.”
He sat down on the end of your bed, glancing round your room, taking in the masses of posters once more. “So, uh, yeah,” he began again. “Sorry 'bout yesterday.”
You raised an eyebrow, as you placed the cup on the side. “What? For storming off?”
He shook his head. “No, for saying all the shit. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Apology accepted. But really, what you said wasn’t that bad.”
He looked at you quizzically. “Do you even remember what I said?”
You nodded brightly. “Yeah.”
He just sat there, not understanding how he hadn’t mortally wounded you with his words.
You sighed once more, rolling up the sleeves of your (black) pyjama top. “Let me put it this way. My parents split up six months, two weeks, and three days ago. They argued for three years before that, taking their anger out on me. My own parents said they didn’t believe I would amount to anything. My own parents, Gerard. Do you know what that’s like? Anyway, I like rock music. I wear heavy eyeliner. I wear black. I get yelled at in the streets. I was so unhappy I cut myself. And I hated myself for doing it. Because I hated myself I cut more. It just kept on happening and you know what? It was a vicious circle. And you think that calling me a fan girl would upset me?”
There was silence, until one of your posters fell down making an almighty rumpus.
“I’m-“
“Don’t,” you warned him, getting out of bed, and waving a belligerent finger at him. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. Because you’re not sorry for me, you’re sorry that you had to hear that. And what’s more is you don’t actually care. All you want to do is get out of here and forget all about me. Well, that’s fine, ‘cause I don’t want you here. You can just –“ You only stopped, because he clamped a rough hand over your mouth. You struggled for a few seconds ineffectually.
“Listen,” he began, as you tried to kick him. “Katie. Stop it, and listen.”
With a deep sigh, you stopped moving, but he didn’t remove his hands from either your mouth or your arm. “You are a fan, right? Yeah, you are. And as you are a fan you should know that we think all of our fans are awesome. Just…the best. And we do care. Yeah, I wanna get back home, ‘cause you know, I do have a life, but at the moment legalities require me to be here. You bought me. And I am sorry about your parents, not because I had to hear it, but because it sucks. It really does. Can’t have been easy for you.” He paused as he let go of you and you took a step back, as you tried to prevent tears from threatening. “Nothing is worth hurting yourself over. Nothing is worth killing yourself over. And that’s why I do what I do. Because nothing is that bad. I believed in you. When no one else did, I believed in you. I didn’t know you and I believed in you. You don’t need to be in pain. Seriously, Katie, I promise-“
By now, your eyes were streaming with tears. “Shut up,” you snarled. “Shut. The Hell. Up.”
“No.” He folded his arms, defiantly. “Because you need to know this. You don’t have to feel this way. “
You roughly brushed away your tears. “Yes I do.” Your voice was low, and emotionless. “Yes I do.”
“No, you don’t,” he persisted.
“If I don’t feel like this,” you said, staring at a point over his shoulder. “If I don’t.”
“Then what?” he asked, faux calmly.
You gaze met his. “Then I don’t have anything. This is all I am. I am the angry, messed up kid, who will never go anywhere, never do anything. This is who I am. I am the kid whose parents split up. I am the kid who listens to the wrong music. I am the kid who hangs out with the wrong people. The kid who does nothing.” Your voice remained low and expressionless. “This is who I am.”
“No.” Gerard’s voice cracked and he swallowed furiously. “No Katie. That is not all that you are. You’re funny. You’re a writer. You have every chance. You don’t need to hurt yourself, or hate yourself to be real. I know. I was that kid. I. Was. That. Kid.”
You smiled joylessly. “Yeah. And now you’re a champion for people like you. Well guess what? You’re not a white knight on a noble steed. You’re not waving a resistance banner for all outcasts. All you’re doing is being like every other adult. ‘Oh if I can do it so can you’. Everything you’ve just said to me, you’ve said a hundred times before. At concerts, in interviews. Saying something over and over again doesn’t make it true. It loses its meaning. Face it Gerard. I am a hopeless case.”
He shook his head. “No. No you’re not. Because I’m going to help you get help. One day you’ll stop hating yourself. You’ll stop hurting yourself. You’ll stop putting yourself down. One day.”
And his quiet resistance made you cry. Made you hope that one day that would be true. And now it is. Four years on and you’re there. You’ve completely stopped self-harming. Now you write your feelings instead of carving them. You’re training to be an actress in London. You’ve forgiven your parents. And Gerard kept his word. He helped you find help. He stayed in contact. Today you got an email, telling you check E-bay out. He reckons he finally got Frank back.
Description of item: THE Frank Iero. Real item. The person.
Price: 0.99
P+P: £0.00
BID NOW
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