Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Rise/Fall Of Gerard Way
Slip Of A Lifetime
4 reviewsGerard doesn't need Bert. He doesn't need anyone. *I just added a little note at the end...same exact chapter*
5Insightful
Chapter 7 – Slip Of A Lifetime
Gerard stared hungrily at the Ziploc bag Bert had pulled out. It laid next to him, on the floor, the white crystals flirting with him and shining extra brightly. They looked a lot more appealing than his cocaine, for some reason. He supposed it was because of the mysteriousness. He’d never tried crystal meth before and the curiosity was just eating away on his insides. He had tried to distract himself by doing other things, like getting back into his clothes, but it was all to no avail. He wanted it so badly. His eyes darted over to Bert, who seemed to be taking his time getting out whatever else was necessary. Gerard scowled. He could not help thinking Bert was intentionally taking this long, only to watch Gerard rip himself apart. First by taking forever to put on his clothes, and now moving at a snail’s pace. Gerard growled under his breath. He was angry.
“Hurry the fuck up, McCracken,” he snapped.
Bert’s movements froze and his eyes trailed up to Gerard’s face. His fists clenched at his sides as he stood up. He knew very well what Gerard was capable of when he was this keen on getting drugs. However, Bert could not stand to be treated like this; like a fucking drug dealer. Not only that, a drug dealer who received no thanks or respect.
He gave Gerard a scowl, “What the hell is going on with you? Frank’s right, you’re not the same anymore. I can’t believe you’re letting the drugs take over you like this.”
“Way to be a hypocrite, Bert. Look what the drugs did to you,” Gerard shot back.
“Honestly!” Bert scoffed, “Are you actually trying to tell me that you’re doing better than me? At least I have ways of regaining my self-control. At least I can still feel.”
Gerard would have retorted. He had the perfect comeback on the tip of his tongue, waiting to lash out. But, it was at this moment that he managed to catch a glimpse of Bert’s arm. He gasped upon noticing the slash marks. He grabbed his friend by the wrist and stretched his arm forward. His hazel eyes widened. The scars were so red, so visible against the white flesh. How could he not have seen them before? His throat tightened as he continued staring. He could not imagine why Bert would need to do something like this. Why, why, why? His eyes wandered up to the bearded face, asking the question without ever opening his mouth. Bert gently drew his arm away.
“It helps, Gee,” he whispered, “When the drugs start to take all your power from you and you start hurting your friends, it helps. It makes you feel pain, and you need that. Or else you’re going to turn out to be a monster. You’ll lose everything. Trust me when I tell you I know exactly what that feels like.”
Gerard bit down on his lip, not fully understanding, “But drugs make me feel good. Why would I want to ruin that with... this?”
Bert shook his head, “You need both, Gerard. When you feel crappy, you need the drugs. When you make your friends feel crappy and you can’t fix it, you need the blade. Right now, I’m pretty sure Frank feels a lot worse than both of us put together. You just have to say you’re sorry...you can fix this before you screw everything up. Come on, Gee, he’s your best friend, not me, you know I’m not.”
Gerard felt the familiar anger rising inside him, “Maybe you want to apologize to that pansy but I’m not gonna. And I definitely don’t need to cut, it’s a pathetic solution. You’re weak if you want to do something like that. Just tell me how to use the crystal and you can get the fuck out of here.”
Bert was both shocked and disgusted by Gerard’s words, “You can figure it out yourself!” With those words, he stomped out the room.
Once the door slammed shut, Gerard’s conscience begged him to follow Bert, or at least go outside to find Frank. But the drug-wanting side of him told his conscience to shut the hell up. He turned and sat down in front of Bert’s bag. Rummaging through the zippered compartments, he found a box of aluminum foil and a cigarette lighter. He took the pouch of crystal in his hands and put the puzzle pieces together. Now that he had figured out how to use it, he didn’t feel so bad anymore. He rolled out the shiny silver foil, ripping it once enough had been pulled. He sprinkled the white crystalline material onto it and lifted it up. Being careful not to spill any, he lit the flame under it. Soon a visible trail of scented smoke spewed out. Gerard grinned to himself. He didn’t need Bert. He didn’t need anyone.
Meanwhile, Frank stared at the wallpaper across from him with red, puffy eyes. A mere ten minutes ago, he had seen Bert gruffly walk out of Gerard’s hotel room. He wanted to stop McCrackhead, shake him by the shoulders, and demand to know what was going on with Gerard. However, he was smart enough to see that Bert was beyond upset about whatever had happened after Frank’s departure. Frank’s head lolled over to the side, adding to his seemingly dead look. He was so tired of being hurt. It seemed like that was all he’d been doing for the past two days was cry. It was pointless and it definitely wasn’t helping anyone. Using his hands to help, he stood up. If Gerard really wanted to die like this, by doing drugs to run away from all his troubles, then who was Frank to stop him? At the beginning, he had thought he was Gerard’s best friend. He was now obviously convinced otherwise. Rubbing his eyes, he began walking towards the elevators. He sure as hell wasn’t going to sit around moping about it anymore. Maybe he’d stop by the bar to get an alcohol-free drink and hope the barman spiked it. Maybe he’d meet someone hot who could get his thoughts far, far away from Gerard.
Upon leaving the seemingly cursed hotel room, Bert walked through the maze of a hotel, searching for Quinn; he was always a big help in these kinds of situations. Quinn actually knew about Bert’s drugs, but would never tell anyone. Bert considered himself lucky to have such a great friend. Quinn also tended to know just what to do when Gerard-related problems occurred. It took a while, and Bert got lost multiple times, but finally the sound of a familiar song met his ears. It blasted out, loud enough to burst through the wall near room 225. Bert strolled closer and knocked on the door with his fist. Soon, the familiar blonde guitarist answered, wearing a grin on his face. Bert forced himself to smile back slightly before pushing his way into the room. He spotted Ray Toro kneeling in front of the television, joystick in hand. He attempted to say hi, but the man with the ‘fro seemed to be completely engrossed in killing whatever aliens attacked his home planet today. With a roll of his blue eyes, Bert collapsed onto one of the beds and sighed audibly. When he heard no reaction from Quinn, he moaned as dramatically as he could.
Quinn frowned, noticing just a hint of distress or annoyance in the singer’s mannerisms. He sensed that his friend had been in some sort of a fight, probably with Gerard Way. He felt a little bad for Bert; first a conflict with his girlfriend, and now one with his boy-ish-friend-thing.
He approached the bed, moving his guitar aside, sitting down and ruffling Bert’s stringy hair, “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened with Gerard? Do you want to talk about it?”
Ray’s ears perked up as soon as he heard Gerard’s name. Bert/Gerard drama was better than even the soapiest of soap operas. He kept his eyes on the television, but both his concentration and his score were dropping drastically. Bert said something about Gerard being a total asshole, and trying to beat him up. He even gave specific details about kinds of the punches Gerard threw. Ray almost cracked up at how melodramatic the guy was being—but he knew there was at least an ounce of truth in the story. He listened on, nearly gagging through Quinn’s mushy comments and stifling laughter at Bert’s vivid stories. Then, his own name caught his ear. Bert told Quinn there was something he needed to say that Ray could not know. Quinn replied saying Ray was too into his video game to hear anyway. Ray, obviously, couldn’t give any less shit about his video game by now.
Bert lowered his voice slightly, explaining to Quinn the crystal meth situation, along with the Frank situation. He told the guitarist how Gerard seemed to be so uncaring and so different from before. He elucidated how he felt— used —and didn’t get the joke when Quinn giggled. He even went as far as to tell Quinn his deepest worries—that Gerard would freak out and accidentally set the whole building on fire.
“Seriously,” Bert began to conclude, “If he can’t even handle coke, I don’t know how he’s...”
It was at this moment that Ray’s body stopped trembling and absorbed all the information Bert had just revealed in the past few minutes. His chest heaved in and out deeply. Frankie had been right the previous night. But he couldn’t be...Gerard wouldn’t...would he? His hyperventilating slowed down. He knew he had to handle this rationally. He attempted to calm himself. The effort was too much for his mind to take. It crashed into a big pile of dust, letting his impulses take control. Throwing the joystick against the wall, he spun around wildly to face the two members of his brother band, whom he believed he could trust. He was ready to rip Bert McCracken’s head off.
“What the hell are you talking about, you stupid motherfucker? You gave Gerard drugs? What the fuck are you trying to do, kill him?" he yelled.
The scent of Ray’s anger spewing into his face caused Bert’s throat muscles to tighten and his lips to dry out. His eyes stretched out wide and stared disaster in the face, resisting not. After all those years of hiding his drugs inside pillows and losing most of the people he treasured in life, he didn’t know how he could have let this slip. One small fraction of this day would ruin the rest of his life. How he wished his mouth would start moving, creating a perfect lie. It didn’t happen. Bert was not familiar with the horrible feeling in his chest; hopelessness. When his lips finally did move, he could utter only one word.
“Oops.”
_______________
Note: Alright, I've been pretty busy, and lately I can't seem to get all my ideas down on paper well enough. I just wanted to say thank you right now--before my chapters get unbearably sucky--to everyone who bothers reading this crap. You seriously make me happy.
Gerard stared hungrily at the Ziploc bag Bert had pulled out. It laid next to him, on the floor, the white crystals flirting with him and shining extra brightly. They looked a lot more appealing than his cocaine, for some reason. He supposed it was because of the mysteriousness. He’d never tried crystal meth before and the curiosity was just eating away on his insides. He had tried to distract himself by doing other things, like getting back into his clothes, but it was all to no avail. He wanted it so badly. His eyes darted over to Bert, who seemed to be taking his time getting out whatever else was necessary. Gerard scowled. He could not help thinking Bert was intentionally taking this long, only to watch Gerard rip himself apart. First by taking forever to put on his clothes, and now moving at a snail’s pace. Gerard growled under his breath. He was angry.
“Hurry the fuck up, McCracken,” he snapped.
Bert’s movements froze and his eyes trailed up to Gerard’s face. His fists clenched at his sides as he stood up. He knew very well what Gerard was capable of when he was this keen on getting drugs. However, Bert could not stand to be treated like this; like a fucking drug dealer. Not only that, a drug dealer who received no thanks or respect.
He gave Gerard a scowl, “What the hell is going on with you? Frank’s right, you’re not the same anymore. I can’t believe you’re letting the drugs take over you like this.”
“Way to be a hypocrite, Bert. Look what the drugs did to you,” Gerard shot back.
“Honestly!” Bert scoffed, “Are you actually trying to tell me that you’re doing better than me? At least I have ways of regaining my self-control. At least I can still feel.”
Gerard would have retorted. He had the perfect comeback on the tip of his tongue, waiting to lash out. But, it was at this moment that he managed to catch a glimpse of Bert’s arm. He gasped upon noticing the slash marks. He grabbed his friend by the wrist and stretched his arm forward. His hazel eyes widened. The scars were so red, so visible against the white flesh. How could he not have seen them before? His throat tightened as he continued staring. He could not imagine why Bert would need to do something like this. Why, why, why? His eyes wandered up to the bearded face, asking the question without ever opening his mouth. Bert gently drew his arm away.
“It helps, Gee,” he whispered, “When the drugs start to take all your power from you and you start hurting your friends, it helps. It makes you feel pain, and you need that. Or else you’re going to turn out to be a monster. You’ll lose everything. Trust me when I tell you I know exactly what that feels like.”
Gerard bit down on his lip, not fully understanding, “But drugs make me feel good. Why would I want to ruin that with... this?”
Bert shook his head, “You need both, Gerard. When you feel crappy, you need the drugs. When you make your friends feel crappy and you can’t fix it, you need the blade. Right now, I’m pretty sure Frank feels a lot worse than both of us put together. You just have to say you’re sorry...you can fix this before you screw everything up. Come on, Gee, he’s your best friend, not me, you know I’m not.”
Gerard felt the familiar anger rising inside him, “Maybe you want to apologize to that pansy but I’m not gonna. And I definitely don’t need to cut, it’s a pathetic solution. You’re weak if you want to do something like that. Just tell me how to use the crystal and you can get the fuck out of here.”
Bert was both shocked and disgusted by Gerard’s words, “You can figure it out yourself!” With those words, he stomped out the room.
Once the door slammed shut, Gerard’s conscience begged him to follow Bert, or at least go outside to find Frank. But the drug-wanting side of him told his conscience to shut the hell up. He turned and sat down in front of Bert’s bag. Rummaging through the zippered compartments, he found a box of aluminum foil and a cigarette lighter. He took the pouch of crystal in his hands and put the puzzle pieces together. Now that he had figured out how to use it, he didn’t feel so bad anymore. He rolled out the shiny silver foil, ripping it once enough had been pulled. He sprinkled the white crystalline material onto it and lifted it up. Being careful not to spill any, he lit the flame under it. Soon a visible trail of scented smoke spewed out. Gerard grinned to himself. He didn’t need Bert. He didn’t need anyone.
Meanwhile, Frank stared at the wallpaper across from him with red, puffy eyes. A mere ten minutes ago, he had seen Bert gruffly walk out of Gerard’s hotel room. He wanted to stop McCrackhead, shake him by the shoulders, and demand to know what was going on with Gerard. However, he was smart enough to see that Bert was beyond upset about whatever had happened after Frank’s departure. Frank’s head lolled over to the side, adding to his seemingly dead look. He was so tired of being hurt. It seemed like that was all he’d been doing for the past two days was cry. It was pointless and it definitely wasn’t helping anyone. Using his hands to help, he stood up. If Gerard really wanted to die like this, by doing drugs to run away from all his troubles, then who was Frank to stop him? At the beginning, he had thought he was Gerard’s best friend. He was now obviously convinced otherwise. Rubbing his eyes, he began walking towards the elevators. He sure as hell wasn’t going to sit around moping about it anymore. Maybe he’d stop by the bar to get an alcohol-free drink and hope the barman spiked it. Maybe he’d meet someone hot who could get his thoughts far, far away from Gerard.
Upon leaving the seemingly cursed hotel room, Bert walked through the maze of a hotel, searching for Quinn; he was always a big help in these kinds of situations. Quinn actually knew about Bert’s drugs, but would never tell anyone. Bert considered himself lucky to have such a great friend. Quinn also tended to know just what to do when Gerard-related problems occurred. It took a while, and Bert got lost multiple times, but finally the sound of a familiar song met his ears. It blasted out, loud enough to burst through the wall near room 225. Bert strolled closer and knocked on the door with his fist. Soon, the familiar blonde guitarist answered, wearing a grin on his face. Bert forced himself to smile back slightly before pushing his way into the room. He spotted Ray Toro kneeling in front of the television, joystick in hand. He attempted to say hi, but the man with the ‘fro seemed to be completely engrossed in killing whatever aliens attacked his home planet today. With a roll of his blue eyes, Bert collapsed onto one of the beds and sighed audibly. When he heard no reaction from Quinn, he moaned as dramatically as he could.
Quinn frowned, noticing just a hint of distress or annoyance in the singer’s mannerisms. He sensed that his friend had been in some sort of a fight, probably with Gerard Way. He felt a little bad for Bert; first a conflict with his girlfriend, and now one with his boy-ish-friend-thing.
He approached the bed, moving his guitar aside, sitting down and ruffling Bert’s stringy hair, “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened with Gerard? Do you want to talk about it?”
Ray’s ears perked up as soon as he heard Gerard’s name. Bert/Gerard drama was better than even the soapiest of soap operas. He kept his eyes on the television, but both his concentration and his score were dropping drastically. Bert said something about Gerard being a total asshole, and trying to beat him up. He even gave specific details about kinds of the punches Gerard threw. Ray almost cracked up at how melodramatic the guy was being—but he knew there was at least an ounce of truth in the story. He listened on, nearly gagging through Quinn’s mushy comments and stifling laughter at Bert’s vivid stories. Then, his own name caught his ear. Bert told Quinn there was something he needed to say that Ray could not know. Quinn replied saying Ray was too into his video game to hear anyway. Ray, obviously, couldn’t give any less shit about his video game by now.
Bert lowered his voice slightly, explaining to Quinn the crystal meth situation, along with the Frank situation. He told the guitarist how Gerard seemed to be so uncaring and so different from before. He elucidated how he felt— used —and didn’t get the joke when Quinn giggled. He even went as far as to tell Quinn his deepest worries—that Gerard would freak out and accidentally set the whole building on fire.
“Seriously,” Bert began to conclude, “If he can’t even handle coke, I don’t know how he’s...”
It was at this moment that Ray’s body stopped trembling and absorbed all the information Bert had just revealed in the past few minutes. His chest heaved in and out deeply. Frankie had been right the previous night. But he couldn’t be...Gerard wouldn’t...would he? His hyperventilating slowed down. He knew he had to handle this rationally. He attempted to calm himself. The effort was too much for his mind to take. It crashed into a big pile of dust, letting his impulses take control. Throwing the joystick against the wall, he spun around wildly to face the two members of his brother band, whom he believed he could trust. He was ready to rip Bert McCracken’s head off.
“What the hell are you talking about, you stupid motherfucker? You gave Gerard drugs? What the fuck are you trying to do, kill him?" he yelled.
The scent of Ray’s anger spewing into his face caused Bert’s throat muscles to tighten and his lips to dry out. His eyes stretched out wide and stared disaster in the face, resisting not. After all those years of hiding his drugs inside pillows and losing most of the people he treasured in life, he didn’t know how he could have let this slip. One small fraction of this day would ruin the rest of his life. How he wished his mouth would start moving, creating a perfect lie. It didn’t happen. Bert was not familiar with the horrible feeling in his chest; hopelessness. When his lips finally did move, he could utter only one word.
“Oops.”
_______________
Note: Alright, I've been pretty busy, and lately I can't seem to get all my ideas down on paper well enough. I just wanted to say thank you right now--before my chapters get unbearably sucky--to everyone who bothers reading this crap. You seriously make me happy.
Sign up to rate and review this story