FicWad

I woke up on a cold Friday night to hear wavering laughter coming from the lounge room. I didn’t panic, like a normal girl should have to, because I soon concluded that the laughter, followed shortly by sobbing and moaning, was coming from Gerard, who was probably laying on the floor, drunk, minutes from passing out. I contemplated going and seeing him, like I used to. 4 or 5 times a week, this happened. At first it was all ‘The stress of his job’ and oh, it won’t happen again. So every time he came home drunk I’d hear him out, watch him puke his guts out, then put him into bed and sleep as far away from him as I could. But that didn’t last. This time, like many others, I just rolled over. I don’t need that kind of stress and it was his own damn fault anyway.
“Honey?” I closed my eyes tight. “Honey…”
I gripped the blanket tight, tried to ignore the pathetic calls and eventually fell asleep.
The next day I woke up early, to a screeching alarm clock, and started getting ready for work. I stood in front of the mirror, putting on make up and placing my hair perfectly. I dressed in pretty, casual clothes that flattered my figure, which I must say, hardly needed flattering. Once I was ready, I walked out to the kitchen to get my laptop which had been charging, casting a look down at my hung-over and still sleeping boyfriend who I stepped over on the way. The click of my heels must have woke him because as I carried the computer back to our room I heard him calling me again. “Honey..”
I turned around and looked at him. He was sitting up, with his hands in his hair. Back when we were just teenagers, partying every day and getting wasted just cause we could, I used to say he was sexiest when he was drunk. Maybe I still thought that. But if him being sexy also meant he turned into an unpredictable wreck of a person, then it just wasn’t for me. “Yes, Gerard?” I said impatiently. “Honey, can you get me a Xanax?” I felt like slapping him, or screaming get your own damn Xanax!, but instead I walked to our room calmly, got his box of pills out of a drawer and rummaged for the Xanax. Between us we’d worked up quite a stash of script drugs. All medicinal, yeah, but I guess after all the shit we’d been through all those years ago, Gerard never got out of it as well as I did. He was still caught up in a world without responsibility, or so he thought. And I knew he tried to help himself, to help us, but I just know he could try that little bit harder. I mean, he never went to work anymore, He just went out every day to bars, or bought drink and sat home getting wasted all the time. I myself had a managing job at an art gallery. I used to live the life he did, when we first met in senior year, back in Jersey. We went to art school together, and I matured. I got off the juice, and started taking shit seriously. Gerard tried, but he can’t take stress or rejection as good as I can, and I guess now he’s stuck. I could completely understand what was wrong but at the same time I wanted to move ahead in life… I had dreams, and I needed him to grow up and share them with me.
“Honey, I love you.” I heard him murmur out in the lounge room. I got the Xanax, along with my bag and laptop, and tossed them towards him as I walked out. “Yes Gerard, I know.” I said coldly, before shutting the door behind me.
When I got home that night, exhausted, he was sitting on the couch, with a beer, watching TV. “For fucks sake, Gerard, couldn’t you have fixed up the place before I got home? Didn’t you go to work?” He looked up at me, blew me a kiss and smiled crookedly “No, and no.” I sighed, dropping my bags onto the counter and walked into our room. I took my long black hair out of its ponytail and walked slowly towards the bathroom, removing clothes as I went. I was so tired after a big day at work. I had hoped very much that Gerard would have cleaned up, maybe got some dinner or made some, like he did when he was sober. But that was rare. I stood in the shower, lathering my hair with conditioner, when Gerard poked his head in the bathroom door. “Hey sexy.” He slurred. I glared at him. “You’re drunk. Go away” He just stood there, his black hair hanging in his face, swaying slightly, not looking at me, but at the floor. I tapped my foot on the wet tiles. “What do you want, Gerard?” I yelled, frustratedly trying to make myself heard over the running water. He looked up at me through heavy lashes, and met my eyes, coming out of his daze. He smiled and walked out, shutting the door behind him. I finished off in the shower, dried my hair and put on a nightie. I was about to collapse from exhaustion, so I was planning to sleep early. If Gerard had wanted to eat, which I doubted, he could organise that himself. “Gerard?” I called. His answer was a slow incoherent mumble, but an answer regardless. He walked in, dragging his feet lazily. “Gerard,” I said, trying to keep my tempter. These days, whenever I see Gerard he’s usually drunk, and that doesn’t exactly make me jump for joy. “I need you to come with me tomorrow to this benefit thing, okay? That means you have to go to work, and please do not drink during the day.” His hazel eyes pierced my cerulean blue ones. “Why do you need me there? Why not just take Mikey like you did last time?” He said, stumbling over the badly shaped words. I rolled my eyes. “If that’s what you would prefer, then I will. You never go anywhere with me! All you do is get wasted and mess up the apartment, and I’m sick of it.” I stamped my foot slightly, having stood up and stepped closer now. As much as I was tired, if Gerard was actually talking to me other than to slur something about beer, then I was all ears. “Yeah, well all you ever do is go out with your friends, and go to parties, and go to sleep, it’s like I don’t exist anymore! The reason I don’t take you anywhere is because you’re always somewhere already.” Suddenly I couldn’t help it, and I started to cry. I wasn’t angry anymore, or impatient. I just wanted my boyfriend back. “Gee... I...“ He cut me off. He was pissed now. “Look, Honey. I’ll give it to you straight. I’m sick of just being used. Used as tough I’m an investment or something. Dragged along to parties, like a handbag, I’m like an equation to you. Like everything else. Well I’ll tell you what. If that’s how it’s going to be, then you can go to all the parties you want, with Mikey. With Ray. With anyone. Cause I don’t give a shit anymore.” Suddenly the feeling of sad desperation fleeted away. “No. I’ll give it to you straight, okay? You go out every night, doing god knows what, then come back at 4 in the morning, calling my name and saying you love me. You don’t love me! There’s no romance in this house. Only your fucking chemical romance. So unless you can get some fucking self control, I’m leaving. We’re not working out, Gerard.”