Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11920284.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      My_Chemical_Romance, Fall_Out_Boy, Panic!_at_the_Disco, Green_Day, Blink-
      182, Twenty_One_Pilots, Paramore, Halsey
  Relationship:
      Patrick_Stump/Gerard_Way, Patrick_Stump/Pete_Wentz, Patrick_Stump/Joe
      Trohman, Pete_Wentz/Mikey_Way, Joe_Trohman/Andy_Hurley, Brendon_Urie/Ryan
      Ross, Implied_Gerard_Way/Dallon_Weekes, Patrick_Stump/Kevin_Stump, Hayley
      Williams/Taylor_York
  Character:
      Patrick_Stump, Gerard_Way, Pete_Wentz, Joe_Trohman, Andy_Hurley, Mikey
      Way, Frank_Iero, Ray_Toro, Bob_Bryar, Ryan_Ross, Brendon_Urie, Dallon
      Weekes, Spencer_Smith, Jon_Walker, Kevin_Stump, Megan_Stump, David_stump,
      Patricia_Stump, Donald_Way, Donna_Way, Tyler_Joseph, Josh_Dun, Ashley
      Frangipane
  Additional Tags:
      Rape, Molestation, Sexual_Abuse, Incest, Smut, Substance_Abuse, Drugs,
      Alcohol, Smoking, Love, Physical_Abuse, Verbal_Abuse, Emotional_Abuse,
      Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Anorexia, Depression, Anxiety, Post_Traumatic
      Stress_Disorder, Bipolar_Disorder, Self_Harm, Suicidal_Thoughts, Suicide
      Attempt, Cancer, Death, Music, Daddy_Kink, Fluff, Friends_With_Benefits,
      Weed, Cocaine, Ecstasy_-_Freeform, sad_stuff, Promises, Art, Drawing,
      Beautiful, Low_Self_Esteem, patrick_is_a_broken_bean_ok??, i_know_it's
      geetrick_but_give_it_a_chance???
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-08-27 Completed: 2017-10-21 Chapters: 64/64 Words: 182631
****** I'm Not Okay (I Promise) ******
by IWrtBksNtTrgds
Summary
     "How strong are your promises?"
     "I have yet to break one."
     Patrick's been living a nightmare. Ever since The Incident happened
     three years ago, his life has been going in a downward spiral. He's
     trapped, afraid, numb. There's nobody left to save him from his mind,
     his home, the flashbacks, the anxiety.
     Until the artist with troubled brown eyes shows up.
***** Chapter 1 *****
---Patrick---
It started with a single, precious thought. One I never thought would come to
me three years earlier. The thought? A question.
Have you ever wanted to disappear?
Leave. Move to another city. Another state. Another country. Another continent,
maybe. Have you ever wanted to leave everyone behind and never look back? To
completely forget about your life and start new, fresh. All over again. Have
you ever wanted to run, and make your own life somewhere else? Somewhere you
won't be judged or hurt or confused. Have you ever felt alone, rejected,
confused, lost. Anxious, wronged, dirty, angry, ashamed, used. I've felt the
same way.
I'm scared. I'm terrified. Every time I look up at the clock, my heart earns a
new dagger straight through the center, splattering red on the walls of my
ribcage. I hate where I am. I hate what's going to happen. I hate the fear, but
I know I can't escape it. It only keeps building and building and building, up
and up and up, I only have five more hours. Five more hours of this before I go
back to...
I can't say it, whenever I even try, it feels like my tongue becomes numb in my
mouth and everything just stops. It's just something that I don't talk about. I
never have and I never will. Nobody will ever know why I always sit in the back
of class without a friend. Without anyone, really. I'm alone. I've been alone
for a while longer than I've always been scared but that's okay. I don't need
anyone. I don't want anyone. I'm okay with being alone. I've gone this long, I
could probably go the rest of my life alone. It wouldn't be that hard, would
it? No. I would be fine going the rest of my life without a friend. An
acquaintance. I have plenty of enemies, yes, but friends and colleagues are
things I could go without.
The clock is moving fast as I gaze up at it. The smaller hand rotating smoothly
and quickly around the epicenter. One second is gone, then two, three, four,
five. It's too fast to be normal. Seven, eight. Another dagger of fear through
my heart. Nine, ten.
I find myself shifting in my seat uncomfortably, my palms sweaty and my fingers
shaky while the thought of what lies ahead is pressed into my mind like a hot
brand, engraving the words: be afraid. The only way to escape is to distract
myself but sometimes even distracting myself doesn't work. It might work now. I
don't want to try, though. I have class, and Ms. Kristen gets mad at me when I
let my mind wander. She doesn't like anyone not paying attention to class. Then
again, none of my teachers do. Except for Mr. Cumberbatch maybe.
"Patrick!" Ms. Kristen snaps, dragging me out of the abyss of my thoughts just
like I assumed she would.
I look up at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue with a gleam of, no,
that's not confidence, but nervousness in my eye. Pure, raw anxiety in its
cleanest form. Nothing stopping it from shining out. My shoulders hunched, my
hands hidden by my sleeves, clenched and quivering, my eyes teary in fear but I
quickly press it back. Nobody can see me cry. They call me a faggot for that.
The whole class is watching the silent encounter between us. The tension
between teacher and student, and I can't help but shrink back even more than I
already was in my seat. It makes me uncomfortable, everything about this and I
know I'm supposed to answer something. A question, a problem but I don't know
which one and I don't know if I'll get the answer right when I can't even solve
my own problems and I don't know if she even called on me to answer and I'm so
scared of embarrassing myself that instead, I sit still as stone, waiting for
her to continue, probably looking like an absolute idiot as I grip my seat.
After what feels like an eternity, Ms. Kristen finally speaks up with a small,
"Patrick, do you know the answer to Question A?"
My eyes slide to the board at the front of the class before I swallow, pushing
my fear and nervousness down as best as I can. I evaluate the question for a
few short moments, my breathing shaky and quick as I panic because I wasn't
paying attention. I was too distracted, and I told myself I wouldn't be
distracted.
Then I reply, acting as confident as I can but no matter how hard I may try to
fake it, anxiety will always shine through like a sun through the clouds. The
question is hard, much more advanced than it should be for the first week of
school, at least. Of course our English teacher has to go and do something like
this: she's that type of person.
"No, I don't," I finally say with my voice quiet, scared. I hear a few snickers
from around the class, bringing my self-esteem to an all time low in shame and
embarrassment.
She sighs, a long, drawn out exhale of frustration with me. It makes my eyes
lower in guilt and my hands to disappear into my pockets again as she ends up
calling on Hayley, some other girl in our class. I don't pay attention to who
is who. I'm not popular, and I don't want to be. I don't fit in because I only
push people away. I won't ever be popular because I'm never social enough to be
popular.
Who would want someone as broken as me to be popular? Someone as depressed and
weird as me? Someone as nervous and awkward as me?
I'm a mess. That's the truth. Ever since... Ever since The Incident happened
three years ago, I've changed. My friends had always asked what happened.
They'd always feel sorry for me when they did find out. They'd always try to
comfort me. I got sick of it after so long, and I pushed everyone, absolutely
everyone, out of my life because I couldn't take all the sorrow and all the
pats on backs. The, "It'll be okay's," and the, "It'll get better, I
promise's."
And I keep telling myself I don't need friends. I don't need help. I can get
through it on my own. I can get through my fears. It is the truth, isn't it?
The bell rings, taking me out of my dark thoughts and as soon as I get the
opportunity, I stand up. The only thing that delays me is the blood rushing
through my head. Stars and swirls block my vision, and I feel dizzy for a
moment too long, stumbling back against my desk. It passes after a few seconds,
but I know even that much time would give Ms. Kristen the chance to call my
name and ask to talk for a moment.
"Patrick, would you talk with me for a minute or two?" My heart sinks, I get
nervous. What does she want? Is she going to talk about my grades? Or The
Incident? Is she going to insult me for not knowing the answer to the problem?
What's wrong? Is it my fault?
Of course, it's your fault you stupid pig.
My heart pounds in my chest, I'm sure everyone could hear it if they stop
rushing out of the room. The beat thumping along to the beat of the fastest
song in the world, right in time without a skip or a mistake. Jon and Spencer
are the last two out of the room with hushed talking and chuckling, their bags
slung over their shoulders. And just like that, the door shuts, and I turn to
Ms. Kristen.
My feet are dragging, as heavy as stones as I walk to her desk, making it seem
like an eternity even though it's really only about five or ten seconds. My
heart is still pounding, and my anxiety is beginning to take control, and I'm
praying to a god I don't believe in as I stop at the wooden piece of furniture.
Oak.
"Yes?" I ask, my mouth dry, my palms are drenched as they hang limply at my
sides.
"I want to talk to you about your situation at home," She says, directing her
attention away from me for a moment to look at something on her computer,
probably evidence of what's going on.
No, no, no. This can't be happening.
"I was looking back through your grades, and I noticed that three years ago,
your grades dropped without explanation. Is there something you want to tell
me? If something is happening at home, you know you can always talk to me about
it." She says, worry in her voice as her blue gaze shifts back up to me.
I'm speechless. I freeze up because I can't tell her. I can do this on my own.
I've made it through three years, I can keep going. Does she know about The
Incident? Does she know what happened three years ago that I refuse to talk
about? Does she know that I'm still not over it? That I may never be over it
I shake my head slowly, "N-No, nothing's wrong." My voice is too shaky for her
to trust. Too anxious, afraid, on edge. I need to run before she asks anything
else. I need to get out of here before–
"Alright, well if you need anything, just ask. Okay?"
Okay? That's it? Nothing else? I feel like my lungs are finally refilling with
air again as I give out a nod, stifling a sigh of relief. My feet movable again
and I make sure to waste no time in using them as I spin around and leave the
classroom, adjusting my hoodie sleeves which have ridden up my sweaty arms.
It's like I've broken into a fever because I feel so nervous, my hands are
shaking, my palms are sweaty, my knees are weak, my arms are heavy. My head is
spinning. I feel like I'm going to vomit, but I know I won't because it's just
nausea. It's not like anything would come up anyways.
That was close. Ms. Kristen could have found out about The Incident. If she
knew about it, she'd start feeling sorry for me and then people would find out
again. I can't let that happen. Last year was a disaster, and that was when
they just scratched the surface of it all. I can't imagine how bad it would be
if they found out about everything all over again.
I stop outside the door, shakily opening the lock to my locker and shoving my
English textbooks in on the shelf at the top. I glance up and down my locker,
taking a deep, shaky breath as I try to calm my nerves. I shut the door. My
hands aren't shaking as much anymore.
 
Pathetic.
 
Everyone's already at their next class or in the cafeteria. I have the latter,
and it's not exciting. The walk is long and in solitude, but I don't mind it. I
like being alone. It makes me feel comfortable. Like nothing can go all that
wrong because there's nobody there that I could embarrass myself in front of.
Nobody who could find out.
 
When I'm finally down the long hall with a couple teachers here and there, I
reach the cafeteria. The door feels heavy under my hands as I heave it open
with great effort, slowly and steadily and as I get in, it slams shut behind me
with a loud slam that the whole room can hear. My cheeks light up a dark red as
I shove my hands in the pockets of my jacket nervously, feeling everyone's,
absolutely everyone's, eyes on me even though I know they're not really there.
It always feels that way, and I can never convince myself otherwise. It's
frustrating.
 
I walk to the lunch line taking deep breaths as I try to calm myself, running
through what I'm about to say in my head anxiously. Continue through, pick up
my lunch, say a quick, "thank you," as I pay and leave. It's nothing too hard.
 
Although you still manage to screw up everything.
 
The line moves slowly, one teenager getting their lunch at a time and I'm
forced to wait, time going by impossibly slow but it's still approaching fast
somehow. Opposites that shouldn't work, but they somehow do, and I'm caught
right in the middle, all the tension and stress left on me. My hands are
sweaty, not as much as when Ms. Kristen asked me about... home... but still
sweaty.
 
That event still has me shaken up. I don't usually talk to anyone about home.
Hell, I don't usually talk to anyone at all. I've pushed so many people away.
It's pathetic, and I wonder how I'm even still alive. I don't deserve to be. I
don't deserve anything, really. I fucked up a lot of people's lives and I'm in
the process of paying for it now.
"Dammit, kid, move!" The lunch lady exclaims, pulling me out of my thoughts. I
blush a mad red, feeling my throat swell in embarrassment before continuing
through the line, grabbing a bowl of something red and a couple pieces of
toast, burnt. As I pass by the vegetable buffet, I don't grab anything. I don't
really want to overeat. I worry about that a lot, but then again, it's not like
I really eat at all.
I pay for my lunch, avoiding the staff's eyes. I don't want to draw attention
to myself. The only reason I even come to the lunch room is because the
teachers will worry if I don't at least grab lunch. They don't need to know the
truth. Nobody has to know the truth...
So, I sit at the table that I always do, my tray in hand, with what I believe
to be tomato soup in the bowl, and sit at the very far corner of the surface,
closest to the doors. The table that nobody else sits at because I've pushed
them all away. Now they sit across the room at a different table, the one we
always used to avoid like I somehow managed to make them feel so much like shit
that they moved as far away as they could to places we would have never even
considered going before. So many friends gone.
My stomach growls as I sit at the table, long and drawn out, but I don't dare
take a bite of that soup. I know I need to keep this up because no matter how
hard I may try, the truth is that I'm never going to be skinny enough. I'm
always going to be fat, but I haven't given up yet.
Sometimes it gets really tempting, though. And the tomato soup is making my
mouth water despite the fact it really doesn't look appetizing.
Don't you dare do it, Patrick.
But it's so tempting.
You know what happens, you pig.
I know what happens.
Three years ago, after The Incident, I started stress eating. I relied on food
because there was nothing else to rely on (of course that's changed now). I ate
and ate and ate. I snuck snacks everywhere, and nobody ever noticed. I'd eat
whenever I got a chance because I had nothing better to do and with that, I
began putting on weight. Through my first year of high school (the same year as
The Incident), I was bullied. I'd never been bullied before but people called
me Fatrick and chubby in general. I was teased a lot, and that was what
triggered me to the point where I began shutting my friends out of my life.
That was when I was still trying cope and bullies weren't helping.
Year two of high school, I ate less, but I was still teased. My ex-friends
tried to talk to me over and over, but I ignored them. I didn't talk to them
once. Halfway through the year, the bullying was so bad that... that...
I started wearing long sleeves and I gave away just about all of my meals, and
I'll leave it at that. I lost weight as the year progressed. The scale kept
getting lower and lower and lower, but I wasn't getting any skinnier.
I hit a healthy point about halfway through last summer, but I can't get the
image out of my mind. I can never be skinny enough. I'm still here
thinking–knowing that I'm overweight.
The bullying has stopped in this past school year, but it's not enough. In my
mind, I'm still misshapen, and I'll never live up to people's standards. That's
the truth, isn't it?
You know it'll always be the truth, you pathetic cunt.
I stand up quickly, too quickly and I end up bumping my knee on the table
making my eyes go wide in pain and it takes all my will not to yelp and grasp
it. I'd look like an idiot. Instead, I leave the table with a small limp in my
step, throw my food away, before placing my tray on the empty counter beside
the dishwasher and walk away. My hands fumble for my phone, shoving my earbuds
in my ears as quickly as I can and turning up my volume to tune out the world.
One of my only escapes at this point because the other one is one I can't do
here. I'd look insane and people would call me a fag.
I walk through the halls, tears threatening to prick at the backs of my eyes
and my feet rushing as fast as I will them to go because I don't know how much
longer I can last right now before I break down. I don't know where I'm going,
I let my feet take the wheel and drive as my mind gets lost in the music, all
my senses focused on it as I choke back tears.
I can't take this anymore.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Kudos and comments are always appreciated :)
---Patrick---
Drums. Voices. Bass. Guitar.
"I want to be the minority
I don't need your authority
Down with the moral majority
Cause I want to be the minority,"
His voice echoes through my head as I rush down the halls, not running, but I'm
sure as hell not strolling. Each step feels so long like I can never walk or
even run fast enough from my problems, from the heavy weight that always rests
on my shoulders. Anxiety, doubt, depression, guilt, fear. I take a sharp left
and find myself in the bathroom. Perfect.
As soon as I'm through the door, I pull off my fedora and continue my fast pace
into a stall without a moment of hesitation. My trembling fingers shut the
door, making sure it's locked and nobody can find me. Nobody could laugh at me
for this... I know they would. I know they would just giggle away at my
pathetic attempt to lose weight like I ever could lose weight. It's useless.
There's no way I could. It's stupid but no matter what, I can't stop myself
from trying. I lean over the toilet and before I can have second thoughts, I
shove two fingers into my mouth and down my throat as far as they'll go. I'm
surprised by my own determination but let it pass quickly as my stomach
clenches and everything I ate the day before is forced out my mouth. Near
nothing.
"Unsung, against the mold,
Without a doubt,
Singled out,
The only way I know,"
I flush my vomit down the toilet, shivering and wiping my stinging eyes of
tears with my arms crossed and my knees weak. I stand for a moment, my back
against the stall wall as I try to calm down and regain some strength. My mind
is foggy, but it's slowly clearing up. My heart is pounding, but it's gradually
slowing down. My knees are still weak, and my hands are clutching the toilet
paper roll for something to hold on to, but I'm beginning to strengthen again,
one step at a time. It happens every time, I lose my courage when I need it to
most. The courage to get through the day without one trip to the bathroom, but
I always seem to back down
I take a few deep breaths, feeling my lungs inflate and deflate inside my chest
as I try to get rid of my anxiety even though it near never works. My anxiety
is always there. Always. It's like a shadow, it always follows me around even
if I don't want it to. I hate my shadows, I have a few of them, always pulling
at the back of my mind and forcing me to relive what I don't want to relive,
laughing as my eyes open wide in fear and I cry myself to sleep at the thought
of what they bring me. They're less like shadows, though, and more like demons.
I guess I have a lot of demons, then...
I let my hands finally release the toilet paper roll, still shaky but not as
bad as they were when I first let everything come up. I don't open the stall
door quite yet, though. Instead, I glance at my clothed arms. I don't know why
I always do this to myself... I guess it's just a reminder. A constant reminder
that my life won't get any better, that no matter how hard I try, my life will
always be this hell that I'll never be able to escape because I keep reliving
the same traumatizing moment over and over and over. And sometimes I just need
a reminder because my mind gets carried away with unrealistic fantasies of
being happy...
I clasp the edge of one of my sleeves softly, slowly pulling up the light gray
clothing of my jacket and I can't help but feel a little sick as I look across
all the scars. The most recent ones are deeper than my past ones, but some of
the ones from a few years ago nearly sent me to the hospital.
The bullying is over for the most part. At school at least.
My mind brushes over that thought for only a split second before I move away
from it and tug down my sleeves, trying to push that as far out of my mind as I
can because I can't think about that now. I open the stall door and make my way
to the faucet, washing my hands.
Disgusting. Pathetic. They're all right, you know. The bullies. You're weak.
You're fat.
I rinse my face off.
I need to get a hold of myself. It'll be okay.
Stupid pig. You know it's not okay. You're not okay. Don't lie to yourself.
And just like a snap of my fingers, it all comes crashing down on me again, and
I freeze up.
The biggest problem is that I have no friends, nobody to talk to, not a single
person, and that's all my fault. I'm trying to escape that feeling, but it
keeps coming back. I'm lonely. I feel so alone, but I'm too scared to talk to
anyone about it. I'm scared I'll fumble over my words, and I'll only make
myself seem more like an idiot. My anxiety has gotten so bad that I can barely
even talk to one person without breaking down. I think it's because I'm scared
I'll get bullied again like before. Last year.
Those words they said hurt like hell.
"Stepped out of line
Like a sheep runs from the herd
Marching out of time
To my own beat now,"
It's my fault that I'm fat, too. If I hadn't gone to stress eating, then I
wouldn't have all this excess weight, and I wouldn't feel like this. I would be
normal but no, of course not. I just had to fuck that up. If I'd only found
cutting and music before that, I wouldn't be so overweight and greedy. And
somehow, even though I have everything that I could ever want, I'm still
depressed like I'm such a stuck up douche that pretends I never get what I
want. I live in America for crying out loud. We take up a third of the world's
resources.
"The only way I know
One light, one mind
Flashing in the dark
Blinded by the silence of a thousand broken hearts,"
It's all my fault that I'm always anxious. It's my fault that I'm always
jittery, that I'm always scared to talk to people. It's my fault that The
Incident happened. It's all my fault. If only I could go back in time and
change one thing. One little thing at all... If only I'd tried harder... If
only I'd actually tried. I might have been able to...
"'For crying out loud,' She screamed unto me
A free for all
Fuck 'Em all
'You're on your own side'"
The bell rings loud and long, taking me from the nightmare of my thoughts.
Fourth period, I have to go. I force myself to release a breath I didn't
realize I was holding, most of my anxiety leaving me with the carbon but it
always comes back somehow. It doesn't matter how hard I try. It's like my
shadow. It doesn't go away.
I look up from the counter, blinking as I look at my reflection. Fat,
disgusting, lazy, ugly, greedy. I pull away, I can't see myself. I'm so ugly
and fat and damaged. I might as well just kill myself. I want to, why don't I
just do it?
Agreed.
My fingers feel soft through my hair as I finally turn from the mirror to leave
the bathroom and walk out the door, down the hall, towards the art room.
Leaving my anxiety behind as I go. Or... trying to... My feet carry me
mindlessly because they know the way and I try my best to just hide from
everyone that passes by me. My hands in my pockets, and my head down as I pass
through the crowd of people.
Even though anxiety may be my shadow, I'll always be everyone else's shadow.
Just the thing that everyone forgets about, dark, negative. Something nobody
cares about, they're too busy with important things to care about me. I don't
need to be cared for, I can take care of my own damn self... like they take
care of themselves.
I don't bother stopping by my locker. I don't need anything for art. Just me,
broken and useless like I always am.
I could come up with a thousand other words that could describe you besides
broken and useless. Come on.
I keep my head down as I walk through the door of the art room. It's wide open,
and the teacher is the only one in the room, sitting at his desk with a pile of
papers and his name on a small piece of plastic in front of him: Benedict
Cumberbatch. This is usually how it is, me being the first one in because
everyone else wants to stay out in the halls with their friends until the bell
rings.
Anyways, Mr. Cumberbatch is a relaxed teacher. He lets us do whatever we really
want to during class, really, as long as we're still drawing. He's in a long-
sleeved black button-up shirt today with thin, vertical dark gray stripes sewn
evenly through the fabric. A long black overcoat drapes off of the back of his
chair and a scarf lies atop of the coat. And on the man's legs are loose denim
jeans, shadowing a pair of dark black shoes.
His dark brown hair is unkempt, some stray curly hairs stick out from the rest.
Some people once said it looks like a bird's nest, but I think it looks nice
above his narrow face and his blue eyes. They're focused on the computer in
front of him, but as soon as I step into the class, he turns them up and gives
me a smile that makes them crinkle at the edges. Like he really does care about
me, and that makes me happy.
He's probably my favorite teacher. He's always kind of relaxed and not tense
about anything. I strive to be like him. I strive to never be anxious, to not
worry about anything, to not worry about life, to forget about The Incident and
my mind.
I wish I could just... be okay. I wish I could heal and forget about The
Incident.
I can't, though. I already know that. I lost hope ages ago. I'm going to be
broken forever. How could I heal from something like this? It's hopeless. I'm
hopeless. Hopelessly hopeful but nobody else even cares that I crumble to
broken shards every day. I break, and I shatter, and it takes all night to
build myself up again, but I don't even get relief at night. I'm constantly
under pressure. Always.
Only three more hours. I should probably make the most of it while I can.
I nod to him, because I don't want to talk right now, before taking a seat at
my assigned table where I'll soon sit beside a couple other guys. Two of my ex-
friends...
Almost as if they're cued in, Ryan and Brendon walk through the door laughing
about something I can't hear. They're happy. They're so happy... it hurts...
They come to the table, taking a seat at a couple of metal chairs across me as
they chatter between each other like birds. I keep my hands in my pockets, my
head down to look straight at my lap because I, unfortunately, don't deserve
the luxury of their friendship anymore. I refused it. I still refuse it. I can
do just fine by myself. It's not like they'd want to hang out with someone as
unpopular as me anymore.
In truth, they're both fairly popular at our school. I know Brendon's parents
are really wealthy, and I used to be able to get a little of money off him if I
needed. Meanwhile, his "friend" Ryan is popular because they hang out all the
time. There are rumors that they're dating and gay. I don't have a say on it,
though. I don't have a say on a lot of things. Who would want the loser's
opinion?
As I think about it, though, I've never been in love with anyone. I don't
understand what it feels like. Unless you count the family love, but that's
family love. It's an entirely different concept, and it's not like there's much
of that, anyway.
No, I don't understand what it's like to love someone else. I've loved one
person, but I'd barely call it love, just a bad relationship. I don't know what
it would be like to have a soulmate. I don't know what it's like to have
someone's lips on mine, skin against skin with their hands exploring me.
You wish.
Nobody would be interested in me, though. My body is a mess. I'm fat. My arms
are littered with scars and bruises. I can barely stomach anything I eat.
Nobody would be interested in a guy who wears a fedora and Green Day
merchandise. I'm an ugly disaster, and everybody knows it.
Mentally, I'm worse. So much worse. I have anxiety, and I'm always scared that
I'll embarrass myself. I'm scared people will judge me. There are times when I
can't find a point in living, and if someone handed me a gun, I'd pull the
trigger on my temple the first chance I get just to leave this living hell and
let my blood splatter the wall, dripping red and dark against the white. It's
true that I'm ugly. It's true that I'm fat. It's true that I'm unlovable. The
few people I love, don't love me back. And because of that, I deserve death. I
deserve a long and painful death, worse than a bullet to a head. I deserve the
longest, most painful death.
Life.
In the end, I'm unpopular, and I'm a mess of fat, scars, and anxiety and
whatever else I have to give. I sigh, pulling out my headphones which have
begun playing "Holiday," and gently set my phone in my pocket before looking up
to Mr. Cumberbatch. He's at the front of the class with a clipboard and sheet
of paper. I must have missed the bell. It's the last day of the first week of
school, and normally, teachers would still have to call out names for
attendance. But not this one.
Mr. Cumberbatch has an incredible memory. On the first day of school, he asked
for everyone's names and that was it. He memorized all of our names by the
second day of school and he still remembers them all. He's just checking the
names off now, and he doesn't even have to look up.
"Alright, everyone. You all have a new classmate today." He says to us, then
nods toward the door.
My gaze goes straight there in surprise with my eyebrows raised. It's
exceedingly rare to have a new student, especially in high school. That
apparently isn't what happened to the boy in the doorway since... well, since
he's a new student.
As soon as I lay my eyes on him, they widen and I swallow nervously. My palms
go sweaty and my breathing is hitched at the sight.
He's beautiful.
***** Chapter 3 *****
---Patrick---
One thought after another passes my mind as soon as I process him.
When I first see him, I expect him to be like Brendon or Ryan or anyone else in
this stupid school. A social butterfly with a charm I'll never have. Always
grinning, fucking every girl he can find with empty promises. I expect him to
turn out to be a popular know-it-all with too many friends to count. I expect
him to be talented with everything no matter how complicated it is. I expect
him to make ten friends in a heartbeat. He has to be another one of those
people. Just another fuckboy to ruin my life and make me jealous. To make me
feel even more pathetic than I already am because he's so much better than me.
Prettier. He'll always be more popular than me, and there's nothing I can do to
change that. I'll always be this... failure. An underdog. Someone nobody will
ever care about. A nobody. I expect him to make me feel like that.
But he doesn't.
Right away I can tell he's nervous, not exactly scared but I know he's feeling
a little uneasy. He's covering his arms self-consciously. He has a slight smile
on his face, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's just like me in the way he
acts. All of his body language points to... Anxiety? No. Not that bad. He is
tense, though. My first guess is because of moving schools, he's not used to
all the strangers and new people. Finding his place in a new environment.
Trying to find new friends, knowing new bullies. I've never been through that
situation before, but it's not hard to imagine how nervous or uncomfortable it
makes him.
I let my eyes continue to trace him, his body language, his looks, his eyes. As
I take him in, he does... something to me. It's hard to describe. My stomach
feels weird like I'm going to puke, but I know I'm not. It's more of like
someone jabbed a stick in my stomach but a little softer, like it was
cushioned. Meanwhile, my throat gets tight like I'm going to cry, but I'm not.
It just gets hard to breathe, and my body breaks out into a sweat. It's like
he's taking control of my body and making strange things happen. I don't
understand. What is this feeling?
I look him over, still trying to comprehend what's happening. He has hair as
dark as ebony that reaches to about his jawline. It's wavy and unkempt, shining
in the light above but it's... beautiful. No, that can't be the right word.
That's not the right word... But somehow it is... His eyes are a bright brown,
adorned with millions of shades, but they're hiding something. Fear? Sorrow?
More nervousness? Something I can't read. Something kind of foreign but somehow
native to me and that scares me. Someone who knows what I'm going through? One
of these hundreds of complicated emotions that I can't begin to understand and
something about him makes me realize he knows something I don't. Something that
I don't understand yet but he does.
My eyes travel down his chest, to his stomach. They linger on his crotch for a
moment too long before continuing back up to those foreign native eyes and my
eyes widen as it slowly dawns on me what's happening. Him. His appearance. His
eyes. His lips. His emotions. There's something about him that's opening new
possibilities and a question stirring inside me.
I am straight... Right?
That's disgusting, Patrick. Of course, you're straight. You know what Dad said
about gays.
His hair is beautiful, though, his eyes, his lips, his body. He's beautiful.
You're so pathetic! You filthy piece of trash. You are straight. You are
straight, and you will always be straight. It doesn't matter what you might
think. You're straight, okay?
But what if I'm really not...? What if I am gay?
Then you are even more disgusting than I thought.
My gaze travels back to Mr. Cumberbatch, saving the question in the back of my
mind for another time and deciding the subject is over for now or until it
arises again.
"This is Gerard Way, he's in his junior year, and he's moving here from
Mountainside High. Be sure to welcome him in class today." He announces, "Show
as much respect as you would me."
Same year as me, I realize quickly, that means we'll have a lot of the same
classes. The same lunch, possibly. More time with him. But, it's not like he'd
be interested in me anyways... It's just a crush, and I don't know if he'd even
be interested in me like that. I don't know if he's gay. I doubt he is but if I
am...
Faggot.
Mr. Cumberbatch leans down, murmuring something in the boy's ear and pointing
to me. Me. Why me? Is there something just so special about me that I have to
be the one he points to. Out of everyone in this class he points at me! I
swallow nervously, my heart rate quickly picking up as he nods. Is he sitting
by me? What's going on? Why did he point at me? The art teacher pats him on the
back before returning to his desk to work on attendance, which will probably be
done in a matter of seconds. The boy—Gerard—glances at me for a few seconds,
looking me over? Judging me? He probably doesn't want to sit by me. I'm ugly
and quiet and weird and I wear... Oh god, I wear Green Day merch. It's not
2004, it's 2016, Jesus. What's wrong with me?
The boy comes over anyways, without a word, he sits at a seat right beside me
with Ryan and Brendon across the light brown table still talking away like they
don't even notice the incredibly hot boy beside me. I don't say a word to him,
and he doesn't say a word to me. It's the most conversation we'll ever have. I
know that for a fact. I'm too scared to say anything, and he's obviously not
interested in me. That's it. Even if I did say something, I'd just end up
embarrassing myself and making Ryan and Brendon laugh at me. Make everyone
laugh at me. I'm afraid so I don't do anything that might embarrass me, I just
sit silently in my seat with my head down and my hands in my lap.
I know how I feel about him, though. I want to talk to him. I want to speak to
him for hours and hours on end. I want to get to know him. I want to be able to
listen to his past and why he has that look in his eyes, that distressed look
that I know all too well. I don't know why I want to, I just do. I don't
understand! I haven't even said a word to him, and I already want him to be my
friend.
And then some...
Patrick! Get a hold of yourself! It's never going to happen! Go find a girl.
Don't be such a goddamn loser!
I swallow and gaze back down at my lap in shame. What am I thinking? I'm not
gay. I shouldn't like him in that way. Maybe Dad is right... gays are filthy...
Thank god, you're finally getting some common sense knocked into you. It's
about fucking time.
I look back up at the clock, stressed and tense. It's a bad habit of mine, but
I can't stop it. It helps me focus on reality and what's going to happen in two
hours and forty-two minutes. Fuck.
I pull my eyes away from the clock to look around the room. Everyone else is
talking, the room filled with a loud buzz of voices. Gerard and I are the only
ones unoccupied with someone else. Did he have any friends at his old school?
Or was he lonely? I can't stop myself from taking a risk and glancing at him to
find that he is, in fact, occupied. He takes a notebook from his bag and opens
it to a blank page. The lighting above us shines shadows on the light paper,
slightly tainted with a tan tinge of color, but still white for the most part.
Almost as pale as his skin.
His deft fingers reach for a black pencil, placed in the dark spiral holding
the sheets together before returning to the paper in one long, smooth movement.
It's mesmerizing watching him just move like that. I think it's probably a
little creepy, but I can't find the will to stop. I want to watch him work. I'm
sure he's great. He shifts the notebook, turning it, so it's a portrait instead
of a landscape, and then his pencil begins moving across the sheet in long,
soft strokes.
He draws a light gray line, not pushing too hard, but still enough to make a
legible mark. He sketches hair first, a head of dark strands, each relatively
long, I'm not sure how long, though, until the head is drawn. On top of the two
groups of hair in the front is a light beanie. Gerard—is it?—sketches a head to
go with the hair so the two groups of hair in the front reach just under his or
her temples. I'm sure it's a him, though, the farther the dark haired boy goes.
The artist's pencil traces masterfully, creating facial features. Eyes, a nose,
a mouth. All of which are cartoonish but just enough realism to make the art
style look personal, in a way only he draws. It's amazing how talented he is. I
don't know how long I'm gazing at him, watching each stroke intently as I get
lost in his sketch. It's almost therapeutic and I find my eyes closing a little
as my ears tune in only to the soft sound of pencil on paper.
His pencil stops, suddenly, the line ending at the tops of the cartoon boy's
shoulders. Gerard's gaze leaves the sheet after a moment or two of an awkward
feeling stirring in my chest. And he looks up at me, right into my eyes and I
can see the pain, that emotion I understand in those deep brown eyes. They're
even more beautiful up close, I can see each color even though they all blend
together. The highlights in his pupils, the way his pupils dilate at the sight
of me and I'm sure mine are doing the same.
"S-sorry," I stutter, blushing and looking away, "I- uh-"
He cuts me off, "It's alright. I don't mind."
His voice is surprisingly sexy. Not like... dark and husky but lighter and
traced with a Jersey accent which kills my assumption that he's not from around
here. Just from that I can tell he very obviously is. The more I truly
appreciate it, the more beautiful it is to my ears, and, though it sounds
crazy, I kind of want to kiss him... is that normal?
It's filthy.
It's filthy.
I feel my cheeks grow hotter as he smiles at me, a gentle smile in his lips,
and not his teeth, "O-okay, th-thanks."
He pulls down his sleeves a little, (is he okay?) turning his gaze away from me
(much to my disappointment) before continuing with his drawing. Despite the
fact that I probably shouldn't, I still watch for a short forty-five minutes or
so, however long until the period ends. In the time of class, he manages to
draw in the cartoon boy's face, hair, eyes, nose, ears, mouth, shoulders, arms,
hands, and torso but I know he still has a while to go. There's clothing, legs,
feet, shading. I'm not an artist, but I know there's a lot more he'll do to the
drawing before he's ready for anyone to judge it. Artists are picky about their
work, aren't they? I guess that would make me an artist of my own body.
At the end of the period, near 1:30 PM, I leave the room somewhat awkwardly and
feeling bad for watching and not saying a word, but Gerard still follows suit
with his troubled eyes. He didn't seem to mind, in fact it almost seemed like
he enjoyed it, but I know he probably didn't. I'm a bother to a lot of people,
I don't understand how I couldn't be one to him. Sometimes I wonder how I can
stand myself.
You can't.
Science is my next period of the day, my fifth period. One more and I'll be
able to leave school and go home... Home... Only two more hours...
Mr. Tennant is my science teacher. He's my second favorite out of all my
teachers, even though I almost never pay attention during his class. He doesn't
usually press anything on me as long as I don't say it's his fault that I never
learned anything. I don't really know how he's still working here but...
whatever.
I make my way to my locker, and immediately turn the lock, spinning the code in
until the door opens with a loud creak. Once it's open, I reach up and grab my
science journal from the top, the cover smooth and flat before shutting it with
an even louder clang, followed by the click of the lock.
But the next thing I know, there's a sharp pain in my side, and I'm sprawled
out on the ground from the impact, my binder and my journal spread across the
floor. Another pain spurts through my back when I hit the ground with my eyes
squeezed shut in pain.
"Agh!"
I open my eyes to see a bunch of teenagers surrounding me. Some have shocked
faces, some look disgusted, some are laughing. What do they have in common?
They're all staring at me. Me, pathetic, lying on the ground. Me, the person
knocked down. Me, fat, ugly, broken. But why? I'm nobody. So what if I fell to
the ground? It shouldn't be this big of a deal. Fear immediately swallows me.
Why are they laughing? Why are they disgusted? Why do they look so shocked? My
eyes are glued to theirs in fear and embarrassment and shock. Until I look down
to see my sleeve pulled up on my arm.
Revealing my scars.
***** Chapter 4 *****
---Patrick---
Not a sound enters my ears.
My heart falters for a split second, and in that split second everything just
stops for me. After I realize my scars are showing, I notice Brendon and Ryan
there, turning away to leave. Brendon's shaking his head in shame and in that
moment I know they've given up on me in the same way I gave up on them, and it
hurts. It hurts so badly. I start shaking out of fear and embarrassment and
shame and hate. Afterward, I notice Bob with a small smirk nagging at the
corner of his lips. That scares me. A lot. That means I'm going to get bullied
all over again. It's going to happen. They're going to call me a fake. They're
going to tease me for being a cutter. They're going to laugh at my misery. No,
no, no.
Tears prick at the backs of my eyes in embarrassment and self-loathing as I
scramble to get up, pulling down the sleeve of my hoodie and staring for a
second or two as I try to fight back the tears. And somewhere in that crowd,
there's a head of black hair and a pair of troubled brown eyes. His hands over
his mouth, looking straight into my eyes with a look of pure pain in those eyes
and his mouth forming a tight O.
I take my science journal and binder from the floor, picking them up as fast as
I can because I want to leave. I want to run away. I want to disappear. I
sprint away, crying. I'm broken, I'm weak. I'm pathetic. I'm fat. I'm ugly. I'm
broken. I'm a cutter. I'm broken. I'm scared. I'm broken. I'm broken. I'm
broken.
"Patrick!" The artist calls. I hear, but I don't listen. I know they don't
care. Nobody cares. Who could love me? I'm out of my fucking mind. If they
really cared about me, they would be here when I need a shoulder to cry on.
Nobody cares about me. If he seriously thinks he can come out of nowhere and
try to care for me, he's stupid. Idiotic. I'm more so.
I slam a stall door open, whimpering and sobbing with time passing by too fast
to even realize where I am until I've shut the door and locked it. My vision is
blurry from the salty tears running down my cheeks, and I can't breathe. My
breaths are short and rushed, I can't calm down I feel so scared and
embarrassed and useless, and no matter what I can't seem to calm down, my mind
is racing, and I think that was Gerard back there, but I don't know, and I'm so
scared that I'm going to get bullied and Bob is going to hurt me and I wish
they'd just understand how empty I feel and how much I really do want to kill
myself and god I can't breathe this is going so badly and–
"Patrick! Are you here?" He calls from outside the door, stopping my mess of
thoughts, so all I can focus on is him. His voice is beautiful just like him,
his hair, his eyes, his body, and though I don't know it all that well, his
personality. I want him here with me, to hold me. To tell me pretty lies about
how, "Everything will be okay," and, "I'll always be here for you," and, "Just
stay will me, Darling, you'll be okay."
You're fucking stupid, Patrick. He's just here out of pity, and you know it.
You're so pathetic. He'll never do something like that for someone like you.
Weak, fat, pathetic, ugly, broken, useless, unlovable, fag, crybaby. You know
everything he would say would be a lie.
I'm so pathetic and weak. I'm too scared to reply to him. Too afraid he'll find
me. Too afraid he'll help me. I don't need help. I'm doing okay on my own... I
think... He stays for a few more moments, calling my name a couple more times
before he leaves. His footsteps fade away into the distance, the door closes
behind him, and I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding, long and
drawn out.
A moment or two after Gerard leaves, I hear the bell ring, but I don't dare
move. Fifth period might have started, but that doesn't mean I can bring myself
to let them see me like this. I don't think I can ever let anyone see me again,
not like this. Broken, a cutter, an attention whore. That's what they'll call
me at first, second, third, lunch, fourth, fifth, sixth, before school, after
school. Wherever they can, whenever they can, they'll do it. I'm in so much
shame and embarrassment. I just want to die. Is that too much to ask?
My back slides down the stall's wall as I sit and choke in my ocean of tears.
Tears of shame. Tears of embarrassment. Tears of self-loathing. Tears of hate
and disappointment and sorrow and every other emotion I can think up. Crying
about home, about The Incident, about the boy in art, about my ex-friends,
about Megan...
I'm not sure how long I sit there choking and sobbing into the silence. A
couple come through and I force myself to keep quiet until they leave again but
otherwise, I cry for a long time, pathetic. After a while, I hear the bell. I
don't know if I'm relieved or scared. I know fifty minutes have passed. I
should probably go either way...
I stand up from the dirty stall floor, brushing myself off and opening the
stall door, careful to make sure nobody is outside. Thankfully, the bathroom is
empty, and I rush to the mirror the first chance I get; brushing my blonde
locks with my hands, wiping the dried tears from my cheeks, straightening out
my hoodie. After a moment of trying to build my confidence, I walk out of the
bathroom with my binder and science notebook in hand. Keeping my head down, I
hope and pray that nobody will notice me. A small plead to be left alone.
But they don't. Why would they? I'm wishing for the world and nobody just gets
given that kind of stuff for free. As I walk down the hall, and stop by my
locker, unlocking the squeaky door with the three number code and throwing my
stuff in, I hear someone come up behind me. Loud footsteps and just the feeling
of his eyes burning in the back of my head. He pulls me back roughly by the
hood of my jacket and slams my locker shut as I squeak in fear. He only
snickers as I gaze up at him in fear. Bob.
I swallow when he gives me that nasty smirk. He shoves me into a shut locker
door with a loud clang, backed by his two friends, Spencer and Jon. His fingers
curling into the collar of my sweatshirt and nobody stops him. Nobody because
nobody cares. Nobody because I deserve it. Nobody because everybody knows he's
putting me in my place. I'm the nobody of the school. The underdog. The person
nobody cares about. Who would care about me? Who could care if I died? Who?
Nobody. Nobody cares about me. Nobody would cry if I died. Why don't I just do
it already?
Bob knees me hard in the stomach, a jolt of pain passing through and I'm almost
forced to gag whatever stomach acid is left in my stomach up. I double over,
but it only gives the bully a chance to lower himself to my ear and speak, "Hey
there, faggot." He growls, "Let's get out of here, I can show you what you
really deserve other than a few laughs and some embarrassment, huh? A fucking
fag like you deserves so much worse."
Fear swallows me for the third time today, and I can't help but think this is a
really bad day. Really bad. Hopefully tomorrow might be better... If there is a
tomorrow. I try to fight against them, but they only drag me away and into the
gym locker room. I'm kicking and screaming, but nobody can hear me over the
loud buzz of teenagers. I'm alone, and nobody cares. Jon shoves me into the
room before shutting the door behind him. I try to back away, tears pricking at
my eyes but I'm only met with Bob. Who immediately gets a tight hold on my hair
and growls in my ear.
"Where the fuck are you going, faggot? Jesus, you're so pathetic."
He lets the words sink in towards my already cracked heart. A nasty smirk
crossing his face in reaction to my own, completely broken and lost. He knows
the words get to me. Like he's a butcher with a smile striking me each and
every opportunity he gets. Trying to hurt me and turn my heart to glass shards.
I wait for someone's fist to collide with my face or my stomach. I wait for the
pain to surge, leave a bruise. Leave a mark. A cut. A scar.
Bob is the first one to react, his hands pushing me roughly back and sending me
straight into a locker door with a big clank, and a fist colliding sharply with
my nose. Out of reflex, my hands immediately clasp it, and I let out a yelp of
pain, shutting my teary eyes but that's my next mistake. Bob knees me hard in
the crotch the first chance he gets and throws me to the ground, my back
hitting the floor sharply.
I feel like all the air has left my lungs because I can't breathe and I'm
struggling for something, anything to fill them. The air is just gone, the wind
knocked from me and it's all I can do to just gasp for air, my fingers scraping
the floor and tears leaving my eyes as my teeth clench and I manage a tiny
whimper.
"Pathetic," Bob growls before he pulls me up by the collar of my hoodie, "lemme
see those scars, I could add a few more for you, attention whore. How would you
like that?"
"S-stop," I whimper, a small, breathless plead. Bob only chuckles in reply,
pushing me down on the floor and kicking me hard in the face, wiping blood on
his shoe that I didn't realize was leaking from my nose. I'm shaking and
huddled in a ball as he continues to slam his foot into my stomach. I try my
best to muffle my sounds of pain, desperate for him to stop. Desperate for him
to just leave me alone even though I know I deserve this. I deserve every ounce
of pain he inflicts on me. I deserve to die.
"Get away from him!" I hear a boy yell and just like that, the foot is gone,
and I can try to focus on calming down and get more air into my lungs. I'm
coughing up blood, and my nosebleed isn't helping with that. Not to mention I
feel like I'm going to puke and I can barely think straight as I shake on the
floor, trying to hold back my tears on top of all the pain.
"Are you alright, Kid?" I hear a man say above me, Mr. Freeman, the gym
teacher. I can't focus very well, but I still manage to look up shakily, tears
in my eyes for the third time today and my voice rough.
"Y-yeah... I... I..." I choke and just like that, I break down, trembling and
shaking, sobbing. My head is immediately buried in my arms as I try to stop
myself but ultimately fail.
"I'll take care of him, Mr. Freeman." The boy from earlier says. That Jersey
accent, that light voice. Why? Why him...? He shouldn't be here. He's going to
push me away just like I pushed away anyone who ever loved me or cared for me.
Just like... Just like The Incident. My eyes still dart over to see the boy I
had guessed: Gerard. Beside the gym teacher and I can't say I'm relieved.
Mr. Freeman nods before leaving the locker room with a, "You boys have ten
minutes, I'll give the both of you a pass to sixth."
"Thank you, Sir," Gerard quickly calls but the door shuts and the gym teacher
is already gone, back to the gymnasium and leaving the two of us in the locker
room. Alone. Together. I shouldn't be so nervous about it. I'm just here to
wipe my tears and leave.
I pull myself up, brushing away the droplets of water from my eyes and turning
to Gerard, "I'm so sorry about that. I really shouldn't have let them take me
here. I'm sorry," I whisper.
"Patrick, hey," Gerard replies in an equally soft voice as he drops to his
knees beside me, "You've got nothing to say sorry for." He pauses, traps his
lip between his teeth with his eyes gazing off somewhere else before asking,
"Hey uh... Are you doing alright? I saw everything that happened today... I'm
sorry I..."
My hands are still shaking, and I'm done crying. I'm finally calming down,
taking deep breaths, grateful for the much-needed air to finally fill my lungs
again. It feels like paradise compared to Bob. It's nice.
Gerard holds out his hand for me, standing back up and it's all I can do to
look up at him. Then I realize what he's offering like a fucking idiot, and I
take the rough skin, blushing furiously. As I turn to him, I realize just how
worried he looks. It kind of hurts me.
Why? You're pathetic, Stumph.
"I... I know I'm new here and everything, but if you ever need something, just
call." He says with caring brown eyes as I straighten out my hair. He's so
concerned, but I don't understand why. Why would anyone care about me? Worry
about me? Try to help me? There's no way to help a mess like me. No way to fix
something as broken as this.
"I don't need friends," Someone says. It's not Gerard, though. It's me. And it
takes me a moment to realize it. I would never say something like that, right?
Not unless it was the truth... Oh, my God. I actually just said that.
It is the truth, Patrick. Fucking deal with it.
Before I continue. I need to say something. This is probably one of the worst
days of my life since The Incident. It wasn't always this bad. In a typical
week, one of the three things that happened today would only happen once. I
would only break down once in an entire week instead of three times in two
hours. I would only do something as big as show my scars to the school about
once a month. And well... the bullying doesn't really change much, usually
about two or three times a week.
I look up at Gerard since he's a good 4 inches taller than me, but I'm not
intimidated, there's glare in my eyes. The same glare I gave Brendon and Ryan.
The same glare I gave Frank. The same glare I gave Joe. The same glare... the
same glare I gave... Pete...
He looks slightly hurt but nods, shocking me. Why is he okay with this? Does he
just not care?
Of course, he doesn't, dumbass. Who cares about you? Give me one person, and
I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day.
"I'm still here if you need one. All you have to do is talk to me." He replies,
quietly, simply, calmly. And just like that, he turns on his heel and leaves.
I'm speechless, and I have to take a deep breath to stop these new emotions
from taking over. From beating me up all over again.
I take a moment to stabilize myself before I follow him out. My shoes tapping
softly against the linoleum locker room floor. My hands grasp the cold metal
bar of the door, hesitating slightly, before pulling it open and walking
through. Gerard gives me one last glance, standing in front of Mr. Freeman with
a yellow slip, he looks sympathetic, maybe empathetic, sometimes I can't tell
the difference because I haven't seen it in a long time, before leaving the
gym, the door slamming shut behind him.
Mr. Freeman approaches me, I can see his teacher ID in the pocket of his
lanyard. His curly gray hair and the name Martin Freeman printed in large black
letters on the card.
"Are you sure you're alright?" He asks, worried. I don't look into his eyes,
but I still nod softly.
"I'm fine," I murmur even though I really don't want to talk.
"What's that?"
"I'm fine!" I snap looking right at him. He jumps slightly. I'm immediately
swollen with guilt, "S-sorry..." I stutter, "C-can I just go?"
He nods, writing out a pass on the slip of paper, "Here, no dilly dallying.
Save that for after class, please."
"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow," I say, scared of upsetting him further as I
restrain the annoyance from my voice before leaving, happy to get out of there.
Just like that, I'm off to 6th. Social studies with Mr. Collins.
***** Chapter 5 *****
---Patrick---
The handle bar on the door of the bus dances coolly on the tips of my fingers.
It's smooth, cold, silver. Unused for at least three or four hours and the cold
air isn't helping with that, only making it worse. Even the simplest touch of
it feels like an ice cube: so cold it almost hurts. It sends a cold feeling
darting up through my fingertips, under my scarred wrists, and through my blue
veins to my heart so fast, I wouldn't have known it happened if it wasn't for
the shudder that followed.
The two black steps on the bus make a thumping noise as I step up the small
platforms, pulling my bus pass from my pocket nervously and flashing it to the
bus driver on the way. The plastic holds a glare on the silver and blue details
from the red sun overhead, creating a distortion in the details. The man nods
me off, anyway, allowing me to continue through the rows on the bus while I put
my pass back, away in the safety of my pocket.
My green eyes dart around subtly, trying to find an empty row because I am not
sitting by a stranger. It's not that I'm afraid of strangers or I hate
strangers, I'm just too scared I'll make them uncomfortable or that they'll ask
for a different seat if I do. It's happened before... I found a place beside
one once, and they just moved away. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable
like that again... It makes me feel like I'm forcing them into it and it just
makes me really guilty. But at the same time, I shouldn't be selfish and keep a
whole row to myself. Then people would just glare at me and find a seat where
they have to sit by someone else. I don't even deserve to ride the bus,
honestly. I should just walk and not be lazy. At least it would make the time
to get home longer...
I blink my mind out of the clouds and force myself to keep walking, my feet
dragging the rest of my body on. As I go, I pass several rows, all of which are
full with people: girls, boys, teens, adults, mothers, fathers, children,
elders. I'm afraid there won't be any seats for me, and I'll end up standing.
It would be good for someone as fat as you.
Maybe it would be...   
I blink away the thought and look back up. I'm halfway through the bus, and I'm
stopping in my tracks. My breathing hitches while my eyes widen. Time slows. I
get that feeling from earlier. Like a thousand butterflies roaming the darkness
of my stomach. My throat closes up slightly as my eyes travel his figure,
beautiful and pristine. I can barely breathe around him. It's like my lungs
refuse to work and I have a mini panic attack. But I don't feel like I'm dying.
I only feel like I'm falling. It's all I really know.
Time continues. My mind catches up. I can breathe again. I take the chance to
gasp for air because he is on the bus. The artist from fourth is on the bus.
Gerard Way is on the bus, and I'm panicking, but I'm trying not to let it show.
He hates you, Patrick. You said it to his face that you didn't want to be his
friend! What is wrong with you? You've probably lost all chances of him ever
liking you. You messed up again. You fucked up so bad. But it's okay. It's not
like he would want to talk to you anyways.
He's working on his drawing from earlier, his pencil making lines and shapes on
his sketchbook. I'm frozen in place, I can't move out of fear that he'll bully
me or worse...
I swallow my fear and go, walking through the aisle. He's completely
concentrated on the drawing, oblivious to my presence like he's lost in his own
world, much to my relief, until I pass him, that is. That's when his gaze darts
up just like it did in the art room, his beautiful brown eyes meeting mine with
curiosity and my stomach erupts into butterflies again. His eyebrows narrow for
a moment, looking confused at first as he tries to place my face, but a smile
soon replaces the frown, and his attitude seems to lighten instantly. I don't
even have time to react before he's moving over a seat, allowing me to sit
beside him.
I'm honestly a little flustered by his generosity. Why is he so sweet to me? I
yelled in his face earlier for crying out loud. Why is he okay with that? Why
hasn't he beaten me up yet? He's had at least three chances since art class,
and he has a much better build than me. He could do it if he wanted. He could
just hold me down and give me nosebleed after nosebleed, bruise after bruise,
kiss after kiss...
Patrick.
I'm hesitant to take the seat, afraid it would be awkward, but I know he did it
just for me so I comply, trying not to seem too anxious about it. I don't want
him to notice it. If he does, it might raise up a lot of questions I don't feel
like answering. I just want to embrace what I have while I do and not fuck this
up like I did every other friendship I've ever had. And I guess that starts
here...
"Thanks," I stutter, my mouth dry. I can't stop it, it just does that.
He looks concerned. Why? Why is he so concerned about me? It's probably just my
imagination. It has to be. Who would be concerned about a loser like me? Who
would even think to care about a faggot, a broken, unlovable pig? A slut...
"What's wrong?" He asks gently, almost dreamily. And sure enough, I'm wrong.
It's not my imagination. He really is asking me this. And, though I want to, I
don't look up, but I reply. It's a question, I have to reply. Even if it is a
lie.
"Nothing."
He gazes at me for a moment as I feel the bus begin to move, shakes his head
slightly, and redirects his eyes to his paper. I know he doesn't believe me,
but that doesn't stop me from at least trying, "You're nervous. I'm not mad at
you if that's what you're worried about. I understand if you need space."
I swallow, unsure if I should reply or not. I finally just give in and try to
get the next few words out only to find that it's easier, I feel more safe and
relaxed than I normally do. Is it because of what he said? I'm not mad at you.
Is that why I feel less anxious? I don't know, but I'm able to say what I want,
and I'm not as scared as before, "I just... Why are you so kind to me? I'm just
a loser."
There you go looking for attention again, Patrick.
His eyes dart up again and look straight into mine. A mix of worry, concern,
and anger flash over those beautiful, brown orbs, but they stick to concern as
he speaks, "You're not a loser, and you seemed alone, so I wanted to help you
or be your friend or... something."
I'm confused by his confidence in me. Doesn't he know it's useless? Other
people had hope in me, too, but they were always disappointed. They were always
kicked out. They wanted to help but they didn't know I was hopeless. Nobody can
fix me. I'll always be broken. The Incident took care of that.
"Gerard, I get beaten up a lot. I get nervous whenever I talk to anyone." I
say, and I soon after realize I basically admitted I have anxiety. I flow with
it, though, like I meant to say it even though it's absolutely none of his
business, "I-I'm a cutter... Why would you think I'm anything but a loser?"
I lower my voice at the last part. Knowing other people on the bus can probably
hear me, and I don't want them to. I'd rather they not know that I cut. I'd
rather nobody know that I cut but... I only want what I can't have I guess.
He's silent for a moment, pondering what to say or how to phrase it. I'm not
sure how long it is, maybe he's just giving up on me. Maybe he really has
realized I'm a failure. A loser. Hopeless. Broken. But his lips part again he
replies after at least an eternity, his confidence in me still undisturbed,
"You're not nervous right now."
I open my mouth about to argue, but I can't. I have nothing to say because it's
true. I'm not nervous. Why am I not nervous or anxious?
He smiles, satisfied with himself before continuing, "And just because you're a
cutter doesn't mean you're a loser, now does it? You haven't given up yet."
I swallow because he's right. I haven't given up.
Yet.
I look down at my lap, blushing slightly because he can basically read me like
a book. How does he know me so well? How can he just figure me out like that?
How can he do what no one else can? He sighs, his frustration is foggy, but
it's still there.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't get into your life like this." He murmurs with...
Disappointment? Sadness? I understand the emotion with the next sentence, "I
just haven't had friends in a while I guess, and you looked lonely..."
I look back up, his eyes are focused on the drawing. Gray hair, gray eyes, gray
uniform jacket, gray glasses. I gaze over the paper for a second, hesitant on
whether or not to tell him as they continue up to the top of the tan-white
sheet to see a name, and it all fits together. The boy on the paper has lots of
similarities to Gerard, but I thought he was just made up. No, the name in the
sketchbook proves otherwise.
Mikey Way.
I finally decide to reply, feeling a little more confident despite my low self-
esteem. I can't believe I'm telling him this but... I do anyways with a small,
stutter-filled sentence, "Neither have I, I... Pushed them all away a while
back..."
His eyes meet mine again, a glint of sympathy in his eye, "What happened?"
What happened? What happened?
"I don't... I don't like talking about it, okay? It's just... There was an
incident, and a lot of stuff happened. I got stressed, and I pushed them away
because... because..." I can't say the last four words because it hurt. It
hurts to know how they felt earlier. It hurts to even talk about them. The look
of shock on Ryan and Brendon's faces when they saw my arm earlier is burnt into
my mind like a hot brand. I swallow, taking a deep breath to calm myself down.
My breathing is shaky as I release all the pent up energy, but I'm still able
to continue, "They cared too much..."
"And you didn't want to talk about it," Gerard says. It's phrased like a
question, but it's not. It's also the truth. It had hurt to talk about it. It
still hurts to talk about it. It hurts to see that my ex-friends still care
about me. It hurts to think about The Incident. It hurts to be bullied. It
hurts... It's all just a bunch of pain. A cycle.
I'm hurt emotionally from The Incident or the bullies, so I cut to dull the
pain. That's when someone sees the scars and makes the emotional pain worse,
and I end up cutting more. And it keeps going. An endless cycle that keeps
going around and around and around. I don't know if it'll ever end.
"It hurts..."
The words aren't mine. I look up and see they're not Gerard's either. They must
be mine, then, it must have been me, speaking without thinking. Stupid. I need
to not do that before someone finds out about something they shouldn't.
He rests his hand on my shoulder, leading me to flinch and him to recall his
hand. I'm not used to anyone's touch. Gently at least. I'm not used to a
soothing touch. Not since I pushed everyone away but it... it felt good.
You sound like Kevin.
He hesitates for a moment but eventually returns his head, this time I still
flinch, but it's not near as violent. It's soft, and I enjoy his touch, it
calms me down and lets me return to reality instead of the darkness of my mind
and emotions. The blade usually helps with that. Music helps, too, but the
blade is more satisfying.
His hand is warm, and it's almost like it can speak. It's almost like it's
saying the words, "It's going to be okay."
But that's not his hand speaking those words, it's his mouth. That's not my
imagination. And... it's such a fucking relief to hear those words... My eyes
move from his eyes to his paper, glancing at Mikey. I begin to feel slightly
uncomfortable since there are so many people here and they're probably watching
us.
"C-can we talk about this later? When we're not in public?" I ask, my voice is
just over a whisper, "I can give you my phone number..."
Gerard nods in understanding and takes his hand from my shoulder, my skin
feeling cold and empty and... well, lonely without him there. I want it back.
"Here," He turns the page of his sketchbook, ripping out a strip of the sheet
and writing a seven digit number with a dash halfway through. I take it,
putting it in my pocket to add to my phone later.
"Thanks," I murmur. My eyes graze the sketchbook yet again. Gerard's turned it
back to the page with Mikey. His hand behind the pencil, now shading in the
boy, making his hair darker but not black. I think it's a brown, but he
obviously isn't planning on coloring in the piece of art by the way he's
shading it. I watch intently and let my mind stop focusing on only one thing,
letting my eyes shut peacefully and listening carefully to everything else.
The bus is filled with a buzz of voices, I can hear snippets of conversation
and the occasional person with an overly enthusiastic tone that drowns out the
rest of the sounds. There's a baby on the bus, too. I'm not sure if it's a boy
or a girl, but I do know that they're screaming and crying. I've never minded
kids much. I thought that maybe I might have some someday with a wife or a
husband, but I haven't put too much thought into it.
Wife, you idiot.
It's hard to hear the pencil on paper, but it's there, a faint whisper amongst
the sea of voices. Just a ripple against the crashing waves. A tadpole floating
among the whales.
My eyes open again and float up from the paper to the window, watching the
light gray buildings fly by in a blur. They're lined with trees of green,
brown, auburn, yellow, and red. The colors of the fast approaching season,
Autumn. It is September second after all.
But none of these things could ever compare to the beauty beside me. My eyes
graze Gerard's details, soaking in every little thing like it could save my
life. His hair is a dark black and reaches the tops of his ears. It's messy and
kind of greasy but I love it like that. I love how it just kind of fits in with
his symmetrical features. He has a look of pure concentration in his dark
complexion as he nibbles on the metal of his pencil. His perfect, black
eyebrows are furrowed, examining the drawing, judging it as harshly as he feels
necessary and adding as he goes. He blinks when he tilts his head, covering his
soft brown eyes for half a second but it's still too long to me. I'd gaze at
them forever if I could. He has lips that are a bit too thin for anyone else
but I'd still kiss them if I had a chance. His imperfections only add to his
attractiveness.
I feel slightly awkward. I haven't said a word in at least two minutes. Maybe
he's enjoying the silence, maybe I shouldn't speak.
But I do.
"Is that your brother?" I ask. He doesn't stop his pencil from drawing but he
does nod and let out a positive hum but there's still something wrong here. If
Mikey is his brother, where is he? Was he sick today? Or did something happen?
What did happen to him?
"Does he go to our school? I didn't see him today..." I say. Maybe I'm being a
little too nosy but in my defense he kept asking me questions earlier.
His pencil stops along with my heart in fear. I see his Adam's apple bob as he
swallows. Is he nervous? Did I take it too far? Am I making him uncomfortable?
Oh no, he probably hates me for asking.
"No," He has troubles getting the words out but his thoughts are vocalized
eventually, "I don't really like talking about him it brings back...
Nostalgic... Sad memories..."
Guilt engulfs me for asking. Did he die? Did he run away? What happened? I
shouldn't have asked, should I? He thinks I'm annoying for asking so much. An
ass. I only nod, deeming it inappropriate to ask, and apologize quickly,
"Sorry, I shouldn't be nosy."
"It's alright, don't say sorry. You didn't know," He replies gently. He
assesses his drawing, looking across each and every detail before turning to
me, "Does he look okay?"
He hands me the sketchbook to give me a closer look.
I'm not an artist. I listen to music and occasionally play drums, but if Gerard
wants my honest opinion I'll give him one. I look across the details. The
supposedly brown hair, the white glasses, the dark expression etching his
eyebrows arched just slightly and his mouth in a neutral state. He wears a
marching band uniform. Was he in a marching band before something happened to
him? I don't question it. Maybe it's for the best that I don't.
The uniform has white stripes and buttons that stretch across the width of the
top, progressively getting shorter as I look down. The shoulder width is
excessively wide (normal for an outfit like that) and it looks fairly
uncomfortable when it's combined with the high collar and tight shape. It has
sleeves that reach his wrists with ten light gray buttons in a linear trail
leading up to his bent elbow.
Mikey is standing straight, his posture perfect. His hands folded behind his
back and his feet together like he's in the army. Marching bands are based off
of the army, after all. His eyes continue staring challengingly and
determinedly right into mine, his head bent slightly. All together, it makes my
eyes light up and my mouth drop open in awe.
"That's awesome," I breathe, it takes my breath away what he can do, "How are
you so good at this?"
Gerard shrugs beside me when my gaze is directed back up at him. He seems
slightly flustered by the complement since there is a smudge of color in his
cheeks.
"Well if you want honesty, he should have a badge." I say, I don't know if
that's what is usually on his uniform but it seemed like a good edition.
Gerard looks at me, concentration in his eyes like he's trying to figure me
out. Like it's a bad idea. His face lightens after a moment, like the
expression before had never happened. Did I say something wrong?
"Alright," Is all he says before he takes the sketchpad from my hands and gets
to work. He erases some of the lines on Mikey's uniform, a small circle of the
area. He flips the pencil around, the sharpened side pointed down towards the
paper. He draws a shape that reminds me of a Japanese weapon. It's like a
diamond but not quite and it's not like a ninja star either. The more he draws,
though, the easier it is to describe it. It's like four arrowheads pointed
towards an epicenter. After he finishes the arrowheads, he draws four smaller
arrows in between each arrowhead, separated evenly. I'm surprised by how
symmetrical he can make the shapes without a ruler.
He wipes away the mistakes with the bits of pink eraser left before examining
the badge. He looks conflicted about it. But why?
"I think it looks perfect." I say. He looks up at me for a moment, less
conflicted before looking back and nodding in agreement.
He draws the white lines of the jacket back in, the pieces that he erased
renewed.
He bites his lip, concentrating hard on the piece of art. His teeth let the
captive flesh go as he sets his writing utensil down. He looks up at me and
smiles slightly before we're both thrown forward when the bus stops.
Gerard lets out a slight, "oof," as the bus comes to a complete stop and he can
straighten himself again. He looks up at me, his brown eyes gleaming with a
kind of comicality in them, "Is this your stop?"
I look past Gerard, out the window, sure enough, I can recognize the street as
my own. The luscious hedges that line the neighboring houses. The bland green
and white street sign ahead of the bus that reads 4th and the unseen sign that
reads Fremont. This is my stop.
"Yeah," I say. I give him a glance to see if he heard me and I'm surprised to
see that he's standing up, too, his notebook and pen tucked safely under his
arm.
"This is my stop, too." He says with a smile and a small laugh.
That is too cute.
Patrick. Stop.
"Let's go," I reply then after a short hesitation I jokingly add, "You can show
me where you live, we might be next door neighbors."
I don't wait to see his reaction before I'm sliding out of the row of seats and
walking back through the aisle, followed closely by Gerard. There's a slight
draft blowing through the vehicle. I can barely feel it through my hoodie,
though, so I'm still my normal temperature.
I continue through the aisle, somewhat nervously. I'm scared that people are
judging me. Maybe it's just my imagination but I swear someone was just glaring
at me as I walked by. I reach the front, taking deep breaths and I nod to the
bus driver before walking down the steps to the sidewalk.
The doors shut behind Gerard and I with a whoosh, locking us out, before it
continues down the street, stopping every ten minutes or so. The air is crisp
like it should be and as I look down my street I'm able to see my house from
where I am.
And then my breathing stops.
Fear overwhelms me, my heart races inside of my chest. Blood rushes through my
veins faster than before, pumping oxygen through my body. I feel panicky. More
fearful than usual, but I guess it's my fault for that... If I wasn't so
stupid...
It's over as fast as it came and I'm able to calm down again, a little more
dizzy than before. That house does things to me. I know exactly why, too. The
same reason why three hours turned into two and into one. Finally, to zero. And
I can't avoid it any longer. I shake my head from the thought as I look to
Gerard. He's gazing right back at me a little worriedly.
"You alright?" He asks, tilting his head in confusion. I swallow before nodding
and replying, my lips dry and my breathing slightly unsteady, "Yeah, sorry." I
stutter.
He gives a slight nod before biting his lip awkwardly, "I should... Probably
go..." He says. Oh no, he thinks I'm weird now.
What the fuck, Patrick? What's wrong with you?
"Uh... Yeah, sorry." I say, my cheeks flushing. I rub my arm, awkwardly, the
light gray sleeve rolled over my han.
"Text me tonight?" He asks, trying to brighten the mood a little bit. I look
back up with one side of my mouth twitched up into a half smile of hope.
"Sure," I reply softly, "See you Monday?"
He nods, "Yeah... See you."
***** Chapter 6 *****
---Patrick---
Kissing has never really appealed to me before today, but now I can't help but
think about it and sigh as I watch Gerard walk away, his head down with his
hands in his pockets and his hair bouncing behind him. He's walking down
Fremont, passing the bus stop on the way and continuing down the path. He steps
down off of the sidewalk onto the street and continues through the dangerous
territory. It makes me a little uneasy watching him walk straight through the
road but as he steps back up onto the other side of the street, I calm down,
and I'm able to continue gazing at him without fear. Why does he make me so
concerned for his safety? Is that normal? I can't really focus on it, though,
because he's so fucking beautiful. Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm just concerned
because he's a cherry blossom. He looks so pretty but I'm afraid he'll be gone
soon. That's gotta be it.
Patrick, that's wrong.
I sigh, frustrated with my conflicting thoughts and emotions taking over before
finally deciding I have to leave the bus stop. It'll be better if I don't stay.
Kevin might end up telling more lies about me.
I quickly place my earbuds into my ears and take out my phone, scrolling
through my music: Green Day, Green Day, The Offspring, Green Day, Blink-182,
Green Day, Shinedown. In case it wasn't obvious, Green Day is my favorite band.
I have all of their music. Well, almost all of it. I don't have their most
recent album, 21st Century Breakdown.
It came out after The Incident...
I decide to just put it on shuffle since I can't decide what song to play.
Adam's Song begins playing, the familiar intro to the song echoing through my
ears. Guitar starting it off, drums cueing soon after, and then Mark coming in
somewhere in there. I listen to this song a lot when I'm depressed or have a
bottle of pills in hand. I've never been able to work up the courage to
continue, but I've considered it a lot...
I walk the same road that Gerard did before now, crossing the faded black
street with faded white lines and faded yellow lines. So faded, it's hard to
distinguish the black from the white and the yellow looks closer to orange.
This part of town is old. It hasn't been changed for at least twenty years. The
roads are filled with potholes, cracks, and bumps. The paint is extremely worn
out from everything that's happened to it. Each drop of rain, each car that's
driven by...
Just like you, Patrick.
Just like me. Broken. Used. Old. Worn out. I need to be repaved but I have no
new cement. Nothing to hold onto to pull me back up... Except... Maybe
Gerard... But that's impossible. He'd never help me like that. And anyways, it
would be like I'm using him.
I shut my eyes for a bit, trying to calm my growing nerves.
It'll be fine, Patrick, just don't be a fucking idiot like you almost always
are.
It's going to be okay, just don't cause a scene and go straight to your room.
Dad won't question it. Nobody will. They don't care about me, remember?
Nobody cares about you. Not Brendon, not Ryan, not Joe, not Frank, not even
Gerard. Their lives would be so much better without you.
My foot steps up the first creaky step of our wooden front porch, then the
second, and then up to the porch and I can't go any further. My feet stop me
right in front of the door, my hand still at my side, clammily.
What if I just turned back and ran? What if I just ran as far away as I could?
Would I still be able to get away? What if I don't have to go through this one
more day? What if I can just skip it today and not worry? What if I can just
forget about it for one day?
Come on, Patrick. You know you can't avoid it. You deserve everything they do.
I bite my lip and close my eyes, hoping to wake up in paradise. But that'll
never happen. I know it'll never happen. This is the life I have, and I can't
change it, no matter how hard I try. Only two more years and I can leave. And
it'll be better. Even then, I won't have enough money to support myself. So
maybe another two years after that if Dad doesn't kick me out.
My eyes open again, but only I exhale loudly in disappointment because I'm
still here. In front of my house. I'll never wake up in paradise. I just need
to go. I finally place my hand on the cold doorknob.
Go.
The door opens easily, my anxiety spikes almost immediately, though, and I have
to calm myself before I go into a full blown panic attack. I can't see Dad, but
Kevin is there. Kevin. He's my older brother, but that doesn't mean he's any
different than Dad. Worse than Dad...
He's napping, thank god, but if I'm not careful I'll wake him up and I'll have
an entirely different problem to deal with. And it would involve a lot of pain
and discomfort in general... His eyes are closed peacefully, his dark blonde
hair swaying softly, his muscled arms positioned uncomfortably across the
couch. It almost looks like he's as innocent as people think.
Yeah right.
He's done things to me... So has Dad... But it's fine, really. It's not like
I've ended up in the hospital and Kevin and Dad haven't been bothering me as
much lately. Just here and there...
Doesn't mean you're not scared of them.
I guess that's true, too... I am still scared... I'm terrified... I've never
been more scared of anything in my life. Except... of something like The
Incident happening... but that's okay. It's already over. It doesn't matter
anymore. It's all over.
I shut the door behind me, finally deciding to just go to my room before Kevin
can stop me. He doesn't do anything as the door shuts, meaning it's safe to
continue. The carpet is stained under foot. Alcohol and blood on a light tan
carpet. Those are the only stains I'd ever find on the carpet after The
Incident.
I tread on light feet as I continue into the room, avoiding the empty bottles
of beer and whiskey scattered across the floor. But just as I'm about to turn
the corner to the hall that leads to my bedroom, I hear footsteps in the
kitchen.
I have to force myself to keep calm.
Inhale, exhale. It's going to be okay.
What are you talking about, idiot? He's going to beat you bloody!
I turn to see Dad, struggling to keep my eyes brave and my head high against a
half-empty bottle of beer and an addict. He looks wobbly on his feet, but his
posture is still straight as usual. He looks at me with those dark green eyes,
anger clouding out his real emotions. The alcohol taking over his actions and
forcing something on him that he shouldn't bare. He's holding onto the doorway
for balance but looking straight at me like I'm the only thing in the room.
Like I'm the only problem in his life. That's what he treats me like, anyways.
He treats me like garbage.
It's probably true, though. I'm just a pathetic, useless waste of space. Him
and Kevin are both right about it. I probably do deserve what he does to me. I
do deserve what Kevin does when Dad's not around. I deserve all of it. Every
sliver of pain they put on me. Every last bit.
I'm pathetic.
"Where were you last night, Boy?" He growls from the other side of the room,
rage filling his round face.
"I-I was home last night," I stutter out, fumbling over my words. Fear and
caution easy to hear in my voice as I pick out what I say, carefully. Phrasing
it just right. Crafting it in such a way that will attempt to keep me on his
good side.
"He's lying!" Kevin snaps angrily, his untruthful words are obvious to me but
not to Dad. My gaze is averted from my father to the now awake boy on the
couch. He means trouble. He's going to lie. Something is going to happen to
me... "I saw him sneaking out last night."
Dad's glare snaps back to me, "What did I tell you about sneaking out again,
Boy?"
I gulp, trying to stop to tears of fear reaching my eyes. The memories of last
time Kevin lied to Dad about me sneaking out return to me, flashing in my mind
for a second. I can't go through that again. I can't...
"P-please, I w-wasn't out last night!" I cry out, practically begging. Begging
because it hurts. Begging because I don't want the taste of blood in my mouth,
much less anything else that gets in there. Begging, because no matter how much
I deserve it, I try to avoid it. I'm desperately trying to find an escape.
Like a fucking coward.
"Boy, you know better than to avoid it." Dad snarls. He looks to Kevin before
grumbling out a lazy, "Don't keep me awake."
Kevin shoots up from the couch, excitement obvious in his movements but not to
his face while Dad turns around and head back down to the basement. Probably to
sleep or get even more wasted than he already is. I shudder to think what it
does to his health. It's fairly obvious through his looks but on the inside is
what worries me.
In all honesty, I don't care that they beat me, I've still got a strand of love
left for them or I wouldn't be here. They've just been hurt, and this is how
they cope... I guess... For something I did...
Kevin looks back to make sure Dad's gone before he walks over to me, quick on
his feet. I can only stand frozen, terrified with fresh tears gathering in my
eyes. I know exactly what he's going to do and I hate it. I hate how he touches
me and what he makes me do. It's embarrassing and uncomfortable. I'd take a
beating over it any day... Anything to keep it away.
Of course, Dad doesn't know what Kevin does. He's homophobic. Extremely
homophobic. If he finds out what I think of Gerard, he'll probably kill me
trying to beat it out of me. He isn't even religious, just against homosexuals.
He thinks it's disgusting...
"Come on, Slut," Kevin growls, yanking me by my hair into my room. His grip is
tight and it takes all my will not to scream because that'll only make Dad come
up and beat me himself. Kevin shoves me down on the bed before turning and
locking the door, making sure nobody will walk in. Fear has me in a death-hold
and I wonder if there's a way I could get away from this without alerting dad.
But that's impossible... Dad would still find out eventually...
Kevin turns back to me as I sit on the bed nervously, my hands shaking and my
eyes locked on him like he's a predator and I'm prey. I feel so vulnerable.
Weak. He could do anything to me but somehow there are limits for him on how
far he'd take this. He won't actually take my virginity, and I don't have to
take him, thank God. He mostly just forces me to... To... Take him... In my
mouth... Or he'll cause me a lot of pain. Whichever one he feels like. I guess
the former today by how eager he is.
I swallow nervously as he comes back towards the bed and yanks me by my hair
onto my knees, pain shooting through my scalp as he does it. It feels bad and I
just want him to stop. I don't want to go through this again. I want him to
stop. I want him to leave me alone. But... I only want what I can't have, I
guess. He quickly unzips his pants making me whimper in embarrassment and fear.
I really don't want this now. I want him to let me go but I just have to sit
still and take it.
He leans down toward my ear, a fistful of my hair grasped tightly in his hand
making my eyes water, "Be quiet and open wide, whore."
***** Chapter 7 *****
---Patrick---
Nobody cares, I think as Kevin slams the door shut behind him, the taste of him
still on my red, swollen lips. Nobody cares. Bitter, ugly. That taste I can
never seem to wash out of my mouth no matter how many times I brush my teeth or
wash my mouth with mouthwash, it's always there like the sin will never leave
me. Reminding me of just how filthy I am. A toy. A slut. Something to help him
get off. A faggot. A pig. I deserve it. I deserve it all.
I'm on the bed, now, sprawled out with bruises all over my body, especially on
my shoulders and arms. He'd ended up just face fucking me onto the bed because
I couldn't hold still for him like a "good slut". My scalp is sore, I can still
feel his fingers digging into the back of my head, forcing my mouth further
onto him while I could only choke and sob silently. He'd usually slap me if I
made too much noise. My jaw aches, my lungs burn, my knees probably have a rug
burn...
Everything he says is true. I'm pathetic. I deserve to die because of how
pathetic I am. Just a worthless faggot. A pig. The streams of insults he cussed
out when he was almost finished are still burning into the back of my mind like
scars that will never heal. Whore. Slut. Fag. Pet. Toy.
I feel so disgusting because every last thing he does to me is my fault. It's
all my fault. It's my fault that he wants to use me. If I just hadn't caused
The Incident, if I would just die already... I wouldn't have to go through
this. I'm a filthy piece of trash. I can't blame it on anyone else. I deserve
it. It's my fault...
Tears rise to my eyes as I huddle into a ball, trying to protect myself from
the rest of the world. My headphones are lying on the floor somewhere since
Kevin had yanked them out halfway through telling me to, "Listen to what he had
to say, Slut."
My phone is still in my pocket with the note Gerard gave me on the bus. I don't
feel like taking it out quite yet. I just want to recover for a little bit. I
want to forget. I want to heal even though I can't... I just want to catch my
breath.
I wipe my tears from my eyes with my scarred wrist, trying to muffle my sobs
along with it. Trying to stop anyone from knowing the pain I feel. They don't
need to hear something as stupid as me complaining about something I deserve.
I shudder as the scent of tears gather in my nose, salty, and my arms tighten,
hugging myself closer, wanting comfort but nobody is there but me, myself, and
I. I'm alone. I'm a goner... I have no chance of ever finding someone. Not even
a friend. Obviously, Gerard is just acting nice to me out of pity. I know it.
Nobody has ever loved me or liked me or even wanted to talk to me. How was I so
blind? How was I so happy three years ago? How was I just so... content?
The tears have stopped and now I just stare at the backs of my eyelids. Maybe I
can just sleep it off, try to sleep off the taste and the self-loathing. Try to
sleep off my loneliness. Sleep off the sin...
I don't know how long my eyes are shut for. Maybe five minutes, maybe an hour,
but I can't sleep. I'm just staring into the back of my eyelids which might as
well be headlights. I don't feel tired even though sleep helps me forget. I can
get lost in my dreams and not reality. I can pretend like The Incident never
happened and everything is okay but I know I don't deserve bliss like that. I
deserve to be weighed down of every second of every day. I better make the most
of it while I can...
Maybe I should text Gerard.
I bite my lip as my eyes open again and I reach into my back pocket to pull out
my phone and the small paper along with it. My hands place the two items on my
bed in front of me and unfold the paper, careful not to rip the fragile sheet.
And there it is, the phone number, clear as day.
It's fake.
No, it's not.
Then try it, idiot. It's gonna be fake.
I sigh before taking my headphones from the ground and plugging them back into
my phone. I'm probably going to be here for a while if Gerard does reply.
"I'm all busted up
Broken bones and nasty cuts
Accidents will happen
But this time I can't get up," My breathing hitches at the words as they are
spoken through my ears. They really do apply to my life.
That's a little scary.
I try to let the small feeling of dread pass and instead, I type in my
passcode, unlocking my phone before tapping the messaging icon.
New message, his number, my fingers focusing on getting each digit correct
before I type in the actual message. I purse my lips in thought, scared I'll
say the wrong thing and mess up.
I finally just type in a message and send it, hoping it's simple enough.
Patrick: Hello? It's Patrick you gave me your number on the bus.
I wait. One minute passes and I'm already starting to get nervous. What if he
gave me the wrong number? What if he meant to do it? What if he thinks I'm
weird for messaging him so quickly? What if I messaged him too slow? What if-
Gerard: hi :)
Oh... Maybe he is okay with me.
You wish. You're so fucking stupid, you know it, too. Filthy, pathetic,
worthless pig.
Gerard: I just want to apologize. I shouldn't have tried to get into your
business, and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to...
I ponder the thought for a moment. Yeah, it was kind of uncomfortable talking
on the bus, especially when I mentioned The Incident but it was comforting to
know that he at least partially understood my feelings. Why I pushed my friends
away, why I cut, why it hurts...
Patrick: No it's fine. You didn't really make me uncomfortable. I don't mind
talking about it
I'm hesitant to send it. Does that sound right? Do I sound too weird? My finger
hits the send button before I can change my mind again.
Gerard: Alright... So what are you doing right now?
Sitting in bed crying about the fact that my brother just molested me because I
decided to come home and how I could have easily avoided it. Laying huddled in
a ball to protect me from the world. Wishing I would just die. Hating
everything that's happened since The Incident.
Out of nowhere, I see my door swing open, and I immediately sit up straight
with my back against the wall, vulnerable. I'm afraid that it's Kevin again.
I'm afraid that it's Dad. I'm afraid and weak. I don't like feeling vulnerable.
I don't like feeling this way at all, at a loss of control where everything
that happens is against my will, and I can say "Stop" as many times as I want,
it'll never work. I glance to my door, fear in my movements as I completely
forget about Gerard.
Megan walks in, sympathy in her eyes. I realize she probably heard Kevin and I.
Kevin's moans and sighs and my whimpers and sobs and a sigh of relief leaves my
mouth as I relax slightly.
"Are you okay?" She asks, her voice frail and soft. She shuts the door behind
herself. But soon after, she blushes and swallows, her eyes on me, "Y-You have
a little something right there..."
She gestures to her chin, and I wipe my own chin with my finger, confused. I
see the white residue and blush, too. Embarrassed that I didn't see it sooner.
Embarrassed that I deserved such nasty things. Embarrassed that it happened in
the first place.
I wipe it on the rim of my trash can before laying back down in bed, tears
gathering in my eyes.
Megan is my little sister. She's 13, but that doesn't mean she doesn't get
beaten, too. Usually, I'm able to get Dad or Kevin to take it out on me, but
some nights, she's their main target. I can't stop them. It makes me feel bad
that I can't stop them. It makes me feel out of control again.
Over the years, we've both made a mutual relationship. A shoulder to cry on and
someone to talk to. Other than that we fend for ourselves. I'm not sure what
Kevin's done to her, she doesn't talk about it if he has done something sexual,
but I try not to ask. If she doesn't want to talk about it, that's okay. I
don't want to talk about it either.
She sits down on the bed beside me, her blonde hair reaching her lower back,
just above her hips and a sad smile on her pink lips.
"I'm sorry," She starts, trying to comfort me with a hand rubbing her arm, "I'm
sorry... He does that to... I wanted to stop him but... It's really messed
up..."
Broken sentences and broken minds and broken spirits. We're all a broken family
now full of, "I'm sorry's," and, "We'll get better someday's." My phone buzzes,
making me blush. I take it from the sheets of the bed as I reply, "It's fine...
I mean it's not like I can really do anything..."
Gerard: Are you still there?
Patrick: Give me a sec...
"Who is that?" She asks, gazing at my phone. She seems genuinely interested, so
I decide to answer.
"A friend... I met him at school today..." I reply, Gerard's image coming to
mind. His black hair, his happy smile, his bright green eyes, "I think I like
him..."
I don't mean it like I'm his friend and I like him as a person (even though I
do). Oh god, no. I mean it in a completely different way. I mean it in a cheesy
way. Like the way, you'd see in a teen romance novel. I like him in a way that
made me question my sexuality. In a way that puts a weird feeling in my stomach
and makes my throat close up in excitement.
Megan doesn't take it in the way I intended but that's alright, she doesn't
need to. I'd like to keep it a secret for a while, "He sounds like a nice
guy..."
"He is," I reply, a sad smile on my face. The smile that says it'll all work
out in the end, but for now you just have to make the most of what you have.
That's the type of emotion Megan and I have shared for the past three years
since The Incident. That sad smile is a symbol of our family. I'm sorry is our
motto.
Almost as if she can read my thoughts, she pulls me up, so I sit on the edge of
the bed beside her and words flow from her lips, the meaning is warm and
hopeful and full of... Megan. She's always been so positive and I thank her for
that. For cheering me up when I didn't think I could be. But this time, I think
it's different, "We're going to make it through this, Patrick. I promise. The
pain will end eventually and we can leave and find new people. Keep calm, it's
going to get better and in the end, it'll all work out."
She says it in such a gentle, strong voice. That voice always comforted me when
I most needed it. It helped me cry, and it even made me laugh sometimes. That
voice is so much stronger than me. Unbroken and undefeated. I don't understand
sometimes. How can she still have so much hope?
Right now, it's not what I need. I just needed to cry. But I don't want to do
it in front of Megan. I want to be with Gerard. I want him here, holding me
while I cry into his arms and let all my emotions out. All these emotions I've
been bottling up for years. Emotions that I just want to let out. Enough that I
want to scream from the top of my lungs and show everyone how the world has
messed me up. How broken and tattered and torn I am.
You're such an idiot, Patrick. The biggest fuck up ever. He'll never love you,
faggot. Who could love someone like you? Who could ever love someone like you?
"I'm sorry, Megan. Can you go? I'm not really in the mood right now..." I say,
my head down.
"Huh?" She seems slightly sad about that, maybe a little surprised but she
still replies, "O-okay, that's fine. Call me if you need anything, okay?"
I nod, giving her a long, drawn out hug before she leaves my room to go
straight across the hall into her own. I guess Dad told her to stay there for
the evening. He usually does...
I feel guilty for telling her to leave but I really just need to think and try
to relax. I need to forget for a while. I need to release. Even just a little.
So, I turn the volume up on the song playing, the lyrics blasting through my
ears, the drums thumping to the beat of my heart, the guitar backing up the
meaningful words, and the bass bringing me to complete peace.
And I find myself dozing off. Scars hidden with my worries behind Green Day's
lyrics.
"I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever know,
Don't know where it goes, but it's only me and I walk alone.
I walk this empty street on the boulevard of broken dreams
When the city sleeps, and it's only me and I walk alone..."***
 
Patrick
***
Kevin slams the door shut behind him, the taste of him still on my red, swollen
lips. Bitter, ugly. That taste I can never seem to wash out of my mouth no
matter how many times I brush my teeth or wash my mouth with mouthwash, it's
always there like the sin will never leave me. Reminding me of just how filthy
I am. A toy. A slut. Something to help him get off. A faggot. A pig. I deserve
it. I deserve it all.
I'm on the bed, now, sprawled out with bruises all over my body, especially on
my shoulders and arms. He'd ended up just face fucking me onto the bed because
I couldn't hold still for him like a "good slut". My scalp is sore, I can still
feel his fingers digging into the back of my head, forcing my mouth further
onto him while I could only choke and sob silently. He'd usually slap me if I
made too much noise. My jaw aches, my lungs burn, my knees probably have a rug
burn...
Everything he says is true. I'm pathetic. I deserve to die because of how
pathetic I am. Just a worthless faggot. A pig. The streams of insults he cussed
out when he was almost finished are still burning into the back of my mind like
scars that will never heal. Whore. Slut. Fag. Pet. Toy.
I feel so disgusting because every last thing he does to me is my fault. It's
all my fault. It's my fault that he wants to use me. If I just hadn't caused
The Incident, if I would just die already... I wouldn't have to go through
this. I'm a filthy piece of trash. I can't blame it on anyone else. I deserve
it. It's my fault...
Tears rise to my eyes as I huddle into a ball, trying to protect myself from
the rest of the world. My headphones are lying on the floor somewhere since
Kevin had yanked them out halfway through telling me to, "Listen to what he had
to say, Slut."
My phone is still in my pocket with the note Gerard gave me on the bus. I don't
feel like taking it out quite yet. I just want to recover for a little bit. I
want to forget. I want to heal even though I can't... I just want to catch my
breath.
I wipe my tears from my eyes with my scarred wrist, trying to muffle my sobs
along with it. Trying to stop anyone from knowing the pain I feel. They don't
need to hear something as stupid as me complaining about something I deserve.
I shudder as the scent of tears gather in my nose, salty, and my arms tighten,
hugging myself closer, wanting comfort but nobody is there but me, myself, and
I. I'm alone. I'm a goner... I have no chance of ever finding someone. Not even
a friend. Obviously, Gerard is just acting nice to me out of pity. I know it.
Nobody has ever loved me or liked me or even wanted to talk to me. How was I so
blind? How was I so happy three years ago? How was I just so... content?
The tears have stopped and now I just stare at the backs of my eyelids. Maybe I
can just sleep it off, try to sleep off the taste and the self-loathing. Try to
sleep off my loneliness. Sleep off the sin...
I don't know how long my eyes are shut for. Maybe five minutes, maybe an hour,
but I can't sleep. I'm just staring into the back of my eyelids which might as
well be headlights. I don't feel tired even though sleep helps me forget. I can
get lost in my dreams and not reality. I can pretend like The Incident never
happened and everything is okay but I know I don't deserve bliss like that. I
deserve to be weighed down of every second of every day. I better make the most
of it while I can...
Maybe I should text Gerard.
I bite my lip as my eyes open again and I reach into my back pocket to pull out
my phone and the small paper along with it. My hands place the two items on my
bed in front of me and unfold the paper, careful not to rip the fragile sheet.
And there it is, the phone number, clear as day.
It's fake.
No, it's not.
Then try it, idiot. It's gonna be fake.
I sigh before taking my headphones from the ground and plugging them back into
my phone. I'm probably going to be here for a while if Gerard does reply.
"I'm all busted up
Broken bones and nasty cuts
Accidents will happen
But this time I can't get up," My breathing hitches at the words as they are
spoken through my ears. They really do apply to my life.
That's a little scary.
I try to let the small feeling of dread pass and instead, I type in my
passcode, unlocking my phone before tapping the messaging icon.
New message, his number, my fingers focusing on getting each digit correct
before I type in the actual message. I purse my lips in thought, scared I'll
say the wrong thing and mess up.
I finally just type in a message and send it, hoping it's simple enough.
Patrick: Hello? It's Patrick you gave me your number on the bus.
I wait. One minute passes and I'm already starting to get nervous. What if he
gave me the wrong number? What if he meant to do it? What if he thinks I'm
weird for messaging him so quickly? What if I messaged him too slow? What if-
Gerard: hi :)
Oh... Maybe he is okay with me.
You wish. You're so fucking stupid, you know it, too. Filthy, pathetic,
worthless pig.
Gerard: I just want to apologize. I shouldn't have tried to get into your
business, and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to...
I ponder the thought for a moment. Yeah, it was kind of uncomfortable talking
on the bus, especially when I mentioned The Incident but it was comforting to
know that he at least partially understood my feelings. Why I pushed my friends
away, why I cut, why it hurts...
Patrick: No it's fine. You didn't really make me uncomfortable. I don't mind
talking about it
I'm hesitant to send it. Does that sound right? Do I sound too weird? My finger
hits the send button before I can change my mind again.
Gerard: Alright... So what are you doing right now?
Sitting in bed crying about the fact that my brother just molested me because I
decided to come home and how I could have easily avoided it. Laying huddled in
a ball to protect me from the world. Wishing I would just die. Hating
everything that's happened since The Incident.
Out of nowhere, I see my door swing open, and I immediately sit up straight
with my back against the wall, vulnerable. I'm afraid that it's Kevin again.
I'm afraid that it's Dad. I'm afraid and weak. I don't like feeling vulnerable.
I don't like feeling this way at all, at a loss of control where everything
that happens is against my will, and I can say "Stop" as many times as I want,
it'll never work. I glance to my door, fear in my movements as I completely
forget about Gerard.
Megan walks in, sympathy in her eyes. I realize she probably heard Kevin and I.
Kevin's moans and sighs and my whimpers and sobs and a sigh of relief leaves my
mouth as I relax slightly.
"Are you okay?" She asks, her voice frail and soft. She shuts the door behind
herself. But soon after, she blushes and swallows, her eyes on me, "Y-You have
a little something right there..."
She gestures to her chin, and I wipe my own chin with my finger, confused. I
see the white residue and blush, too. Embarrassed that I didn't see it sooner.
Embarrassed that I deserved such nasty things. Embarrassed that it happened in
the first place.
I wipe it on the rim of my trash can before laying back down in bed, tears
gathering in my eyes.
Megan is my little sister. She's 13, but that doesn't mean she doesn't get
beaten, too. Usually, I'm able to get Dad or Kevin to take it out on me, but
some nights, she's their main target. I can't stop them. It makes me feel bad
that I can't stop them. It makes me feel out of control again.
Over the years, we've both made a mutual relationship. A shoulder to cry on and
someone to talk to. Other than that we fend for ourselves. I'm not sure what
Kevin's done to her, she doesn't talk about it if he has done something sexual,
but I try not to ask. If she doesn't want to talk about it, that's okay. I
don't want to talk about it either.
She sits down on the bed beside me, her blonde hair reaching her lower back,
just above her hips and a sad smile on her pink lips.
"I'm sorry," She starts, trying to comfort me with a hand rubbing her arm, "I'm
sorry... He does that to... I wanted to stop him but... It's really messed
up..."
Broken sentences and broken minds and broken spirits. We're all a broken family
now full of, "I'm sorry's," and, "We'll get better someday's." My phone buzzes,
making me blush. I take it from the sheets of the bed as I reply, "It's fine...
I mean it's not like I can really do anything..."
Gerard: Are you still there?
Patrick: Give me a sec...
"Who is that?" She asks, gazing at my phone. She seems genuinely interested, so
I decide to answer.
"A friend... I met him at school today..." I reply, Gerard's image coming to
mind. His black hair, his happy smile, his bright green eyes, "I think I like
him..."
I don't mean it like I'm his friend and I like him as a person (even though I
do). Oh god, no. I mean it in a completely different way. I mean it in a cheesy
way. Like the way, you'd see in a teen romance novel. I like him in a way that
made me question my sexuality. In a way that puts a weird feeling in my stomach
and makes my throat close up in excitement.
Megan doesn't take it in the way I intended but that's alright, she doesn't
need to. I'd like to keep it a secret for a while, "He sounds like a nice
guy..."
"He is," I reply, a sad smile on my face. The smile that says it'll all work
out in the end, but for now you just have to make the most of what you have.
That's the type of emotion Megan and I have shared for the past three years
since The Incident. That sad smile is a symbol of our family. I'm sorry is our
motto.
Almost as if she can read my thoughts, she pulls me up, so I sit on the edge of
the bed beside her and words flow from her lips, the meaning is warm and
hopeful and full of... Megan. She's always been so positive and I thank her for
that. For cheering me up when I didn't think I could be. But this time, I think
it's different, "We're going to make it through this, Patrick. I promise. The
pain will end eventually and we can leave and find new people. Keep calm, it's
going to get better and in the end, it'll all work out."
She says it in such a gentle, strong voice. That voice always comforted me when
I most needed it. It helped me cry, and it even made me laugh sometimes. That
voice is so much stronger than me. Unbroken and undefeated. I don't understand
sometimes. How can she still have so much hope?
Right now, it's not what I need. I just needed to cry. But I don't want to do
it in front of Megan. I want to be with Gerard. I want him here, holding me
while I cry into his arms and let all my emotions out. All these emotions I've
been bottling up for years. Emotions that I just want to let out. Enough that I
want to scream from the top of my lungs and show everyone how the world has
messed me up. How broken and tattered and torn I am.
You're such an idiot, Patrick. The biggest fuck up ever. He'll never love you,
faggot. Who could love someone like you? Who could ever love someone like you?
"I'm sorry, Megan. Can you go? I'm not really in the mood right now..." I say,
my head down.
"Huh?" She seems slightly sad about that, maybe a little surprised but she
still replies, "O-okay, that's fine. Call me if you need anything, okay?"
I nod, giving her a long, drawn out hug before she leaves my room to go
straight across the hall into her own. I guess Dad told her to stay there for
the evening. He usually does...
I feel guilty for telling her to leave but I really just need to think and try
to relax. I need to forget for a while. I need to release. Even just a little.
So, I turn the volume up on the song playing, the lyrics blasting through my
ears, the drums thumping to the beat of my heart, the guitar backing up the
meaningful words, and the bass bringing me to complete peace.
And I find myself dozing off. Scars hidden with my worries behind Green Day's
lyrics.
"I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever know,
Don't know where it goes, but it's only me and I walk alone.
I walk this empty street on the boulevard of broken dreams
When the city sleeps, and it's only me and I walk alone..."
***** Chapter 8 *****
---Patrick---
Of all the nightmares I've experienced, there's always been one that's hurt the
most. While this one hadn't hit as hard as others, it still leaves me
breathless, afraid, filthy. That is what I am, isn't it?
Kevin's nasty grin spreads across his crookedly terrifying face, his fingers
tangling in my long hair while he straddles me on the bed, a leg on each side
of my waist and his back straight. He has full control, and I have none. I'm
vulnerable, useless. I can't move. I can't think straight because my thoughts
have been swallowed by fear. The fear of falling apart. He can break me. He can
use me, abuse me, hurt me. Whatever he wants. I can't do anything about it. He
yanks my head to the right just to cause me the discomfort, and I can't stop
the cry of pain and fear from leaving my throat, without a clue as to what
he'll do next. He can do anything. He can beat me, cut me, bruise me, burn me.
He can do anything to me, and I can't do anything to stop him. I'm helpless.
Trapped. Afraid.
I wait for him to do something, my eyes squeezed shut in fear. He seems a
little hesitant as I open my eyes slightly and look up at him, my head hanging
back with my teeth clenched. He finally makes his move. He does something I
never thought he'd ever do, not in a million years. Not ever. He's my brother.
He can do anything, and he would never do this. He's a homophobe.
Or he pretends to be.
His lips are on my neck, kissing it and soon enough sucking on the sensitive
skin, leaving a trail of saliva in his tracks. Marking me. It feels... weird...
not good like it should feel, it just feels wrong and uncomfortable and I
just... I just want him to stop, "You can't tell anyone about this, okay?" He
says, he still seems a little nervous, I already know why. He's scared he'll
get caught by Dad, and he'd get beaten himself.
I don't answer, I'm speechless at what he's doing. A million thoughts are
running through my mind. Why would my brother do something like this to me? I
thought he was a homophobe. How filthy does he have to be to sink this low?
"Okay, slut?" He barks into my ear with a little more confidence. His voice is
breathy and needy.
Slut...
"Okay..." I reply helplessly, my voice is just barely audible. He pushes me
harder into the mattress before his hands travel down my body, making me squirm
uncomfortably under him, I stutter out words that I know won't work, but
they're still worth a try... anything is worth a try at this point. With me out
of control, I have to beg for it. Beg for some kind of common ground, desperate
for something to hold on to, "P-please stop..."
This isn't a beating, this is molestation by my own brother, and it's ten times
worse than any beating he could ever give to me. He slaps me, anger and
confidence now taking him over as it leaves a burning sensation on my cheek,
"Who's in control, you little whore?"
I don't answer, all I can do is take deep breaths and try not to cry, I'm too
embarrassed and uncomfortable to. Much to my relief, Kevin doesn't demand the
question again. Instead, he leans back on his knees and begins palming himself
through his pants. I'm able to see his bulge, making my face burn up impossibly
more, and tears form at the corners of my eyes in fear. Is he actually going to
rape me? Will this hurt? I'm scared, unbelievably scared but I feel too numb
and shocked to panic. My mind is blank as he works, leaning down and kissing me
roughly, his lips moving against mine but I'm not kissing back. I lay
completely still, letting him abuse my body however he wants. What can I do but
tolerate it?
It's an odd feeling, though. Out of everyone in the world, I never thought I
would be molested by my own brother... That's disgusting.
Kevin's tongue prods my bottom lip, demanding entrance but I deny it. I really
don't want this to happen, I just want him to take it back and decide it's a
bad idea. Of course, that won't happen. His hand leaves his crotch to squeeze
mine hard, a painful gasp leaving my mouth. He takes the advantage by shoving
his tongue into my mouth, exploring every crevice he can. Inside I'm begging
him to just continue and get it over with. I'm begging for it to just end. This
is so weird, and I want to run away. It's just wrong.
He yanks down his zipper and forces me into the floor on my knees. I flinch
when I realize what he's doing, and I'm about to try to get away when he pulls
me back by my neck. My breathing is shaky, as I feel the rush of emotions run
through me. Nervousness, embarrassment, and fear. He slaps me again forcing my
head to the side.
I brush it off and end up swallowing the sliver of pride I have left to say
through shaky words, "Stop, please I don't want to do this..."
"Shh," he says... Almost in a gentle tone like he would a lover, and it only
makes me want to leave more, but I'm too scared to say anything, "Suck."
***
My eyes fly open as I sit up in bed, drenched in sweat and tears. My breathing
fast and my arms and legs shaky as I look around to see nobody in my room
except me. It was just a dream. More of a nightmare.
It was real at one point. It's one of the worst memories out of all the ones I
have from this hellhole. Of course, that's the memory that I'd dream about
after yesterday. I just want to go back to sleep. Forget that any of this ever
happened. Forget that I exist. Sometimes sleep helps more than cutting. It
makes me feel dead. When I'm asleep, I cease to exist for just a little while.
I don't have to think. I don't have to see anyone. I can be alone in my dreams.
I lean back and shut my eyes again, but he's behind my eyelids, too. Leaning
over my helpless body as he unzips my pants... running his cold, filthy fingers
into my underwear and massaging me, making me more and more uncomfortable.
I opened my eyes, immediately feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of it.
And it's my fault...
You are such a fucking slut, Patrick. What the hell? Do you want him to rape
you? Do you enjoy it? Do you like the way he forces you to your knees for him?
Whore. You're a disgusting whore.
I jolt up and run into the bathroom with ten quick steps, slamming the door
shut and pulling the toilet seat up just in time before what I had of last
night's dinner comes up. Not much but enough to give me something to puke up.
I'm filthy. I'm so filthy. I'm such a disgusting slut. Why do I let him do this
to me?
You're sick.
My hands shakily flush the toilet, pressing the seat back down as I lean over
the counter, tears of shame dripping from my eyes. I look up at myself, my
sick, filthy, disgusting, sinful self. I'm a mess. I'm a fucking mess...
Bzzt
I don't want to answer it. Not now just–please. I want to die. I want to get
out of this hellhole. I want The Incident to just have never happened. I want
somebody to realize I don't want to talk. I want to forget the world for just a
little while...
But I only want what I can't have.
I pull my phone from my pocket, tears running down my cheeks as I notice Gerard
had texted me.
Gerard: Hey, are you okay?
Gerard: Uh... Goodnight I guess...
I look at the digital clock on my phone, the blocky numbers reading: 11:24 PM.
My heart sinks as I remember that I said I'd text him back earlier. I forgot
all about it, and it makes me feel even more guilty than before as I realize he
must hate me now. I quickly text him back, knowing it would be rude to ignore
him, and he's probably disappointed in me.
Patrick: I'm sorry. Had to make dinner and I forgot.
I send the lie with guilt and a strong sense of regret. I forgot? He's going to
think I don't like him. I do like him! Before I can text back and apologize
again, he replies.
Gerard: it's fine. Can you talk?
I'm surprised he forgives me so easily. So he's not mad that I forgot? Why not?
I hesitantly text back, knowing I should probably clean myself up.
Patrick: Yeah, just a minute. I promise I'll text back haha.
I set my phone down and grab my toothbrush from the bathroom cupboard, Kevin's
taste still in my mouth. I shudder as I squirt the minty substance onto the
brush and begin cleaning my mouth.
Gerard: Okay :)
I sigh, running my free hand through my hair. I still haven't forgotten about
the memory. It haunts me. It's my fault that he does it to me... Do I want to
subconsciously? Why...? I place my toothbrush as far back as I can, right where
Kevin was earlier but I only choke on the toothbrush, and I'm reminded of him.
That thought alone makes me gag even more before I have a chance to catch my
breath over the sink, calming my reflex and shutting my eyes as I spit out the
blue-white film in the back of my throat.
I wish I could have been born into a different family. I wish I didn't live
here. I wish I were dead. Everyone would be better off without me anyway. They
don't need me. They don't want me. They don't want a little, pathetic fuck like
me. They don't want a stupid boy like this. They want someone like Gerard. Like
Megan. They want someone who might actually do the world well. I probably
deserve this anyways... I deserve Kevin and Dad and what they do to me. I
deserve my anxiety and depression and whatever else is happening to me. I
deserve life.
I spit the rest of the residue the toothpaste left in the sink and rinse out my
mouth, the taste of my brother still lingering in the back of my throat, but I
know it doesn't go away. It never goes away no matter how much I want it to.
I shut my eyes and find myself yawning a few moments later, tired, but I still
kind of want to text Gerard. I take my phone and return to my bedroom, shutting
and locking the door behind me in the hopes that my brother won't come in later
tonight. My back falls onto the mattress of my bed as I pull out my phone,
immediately sending Gerard a text.
Patrick: I'm back, sorry had to get ready for bed...
I wait for a little bit, twiddling my thumbs nervously, hoping I didn't say the
wrong thing. My thoughts of my brother are slowly being replaced by... New
thoughts. Strange thoughts.
Sinful thoughts with Gerard.
Gerard: It's fine. So, you said you wanted to talk? Becuase I'm okay with
talking about anything.
Patrick: I don't know, I just didn't want to really talk about it on the bus...
I bite my lip, am I replying too fast? Does Gerard think I'm clingy? Are these
sinful thoughts normal? I bite my lip and shut my eyes, imagining Gerard.
Beside me. In my bed. Naked.
You sick bastard. That's fucking disgusting. Quit thinking about him like that.
He's a friend. He's not like you. He's not a whore, a slut, a toy, a skank.
Gerard: So I've been meaning to ask, and you don't have to talk about it if you
don't want to. But do you have anxiety? Like I said, you don't want to talk
about it, it's fine we can talk about something else.
I bite my lip again, the skin starting to tear off. I stop immediately.
Patrick: I was diagnosed with it about three years ago, yeah. But I don't have
therapy...
I can't believe I'm telling him all this. What if he doesn't want to hear about
me? What if he's just trying to be nice? What if he's laughing right now
because of how pathetic I sound?
He is you stupid cunt.
Gerard: I'm so sorry... I didn't know...
Patrick: It's fine. I'm okay with talking about it. It's just kind of weird
because nobody has ever asked me about it
I sigh, my hands are shaky for no reason at all, and I'm getting really
jittery.
Relax, Patrick.
Gerard: Oh...
Gerard: Tell me about yourself. Just random facts, I don't care what. I barely
know you except for the fact that you have anxiety.
My fingers shaking keep shaking like a bass vibrating a car, making it
extremely hard to type as I reply. My mind filling with troubled thoughts and
the self-esteem to match.
Patrick: I don't thiink therres anything to realsy say
There's a little bit of a wait. I take a deep breath, knowing what's happening.
I'm about to break down again. All. Over. Again.
Gerard: Yes there is. You're awesome, and I'd love to hear about you. You can
tell me anything. I won't judge you, I promise.
My anxiety leaves me as I read the message, You're awesome, and I'd love to
hear about you. R-really? Are you sure?
No, Idiot. He's just saying that. You know he doesn't mean it. He'll never mean
it. Nobody will.
You can tell me anything. Anything? At all?
What the hell, Patrick? He's just faking.
I won't judge you, I promise. Promise? Really?
He'll break it.
Patrick: How strong are your promises?
I send the text before I can stop myself, trying to prove the little voice in
my head wrong. He has to be more than it thinks he is. Gerard is a good person.
I know it. He has to be.
Gerard: I have yet to break one.
My heart flutters inside of my chest, my stomach gets those butterflies again,
and my throat closes up. And I smile, and for the first time in a few years,
that smile isn't empty. It's not one that you flash someone to lighten a mood.
It's not the type of smile that you give someone just to be friendly.
No, that smile is real. I'm happy. I'm actually happy. That feeling hasn't
stirred in a long time, and it feels good. I'm actually a little worried I'll
cry tears of joy because... It actually means a lot to me... He really means
it. He would never break a promise.
Gerard: Will you tell me now?
Patrick: What do you want to know?
The messages seem to fly by because I'm not worried. I'm not scared I'll fuck
up. I'm not afraid of saying something wrong. Because he won't judge me. He
really won't.
He promised me.
Idiot, of course he'll still judge you.
Shut up!
Gerard: Uh... I don't know haha. What about your childhood? Like before high
school?
What are you gonna say, loser? The truth?
Patrick: I... Uh... Can we not talk about that... It's not that I didn't have a
good childhood it's just that... Idk it just brings back bad memories.
Real smooth. You didn't have a bad childhood, but it brings back bad memories?
Do you think he's an idiot?
Gerard: That's fine. Uh... What about hobbies? What do you do when you're
bored?
Have sexual fantasies about you.
OKAY, THAT IS TOO FUCKING FAR. IT WAS A RANDOM BONER AT THE WRONG FUCKING TIME.
Whatever helps you sleep at night, faggot.
Patrick: I listen to music, and that's really it. I kind of just space out lol.
Gerard: That's cool. Do you play any instruments? I have an acoustic guitar
that I play sometimes, and I'll listen to music while I draw.
Patrick: I know drums. I learned them a couple years back to—
No. I can't send that. Cope with The Incident. Cope with The Incident...
I can't even fix it before I'm biting my tongue and my eyes open wide. And just
like that, the flashbacks come to me. I don't mean to trigger them. I really
don't but they come anyway, and it scares me.
No... Please...
***** Chapter 9 *****
---Patrick---
Why it happens, I still don't know, but it happens. And this specific memory
took place three years ago, the summer of my seventh-grade year...
The trees pass by fast, flurries of dark green and black. Each branch a colony
of needles, each lush and green and healthy. Wet with the rain from a couple
hours before, dewdrops from pine needles dropping once here, twice there. The
only light in the sky is the moon overhead, shining with a luminous light, a
dim glow shredded through the trees. The only thing that lights our path is the
headlights of our car. Bright white, shining beams through the fog to the
puddles scattered across the ground.
"So... what's her name?" The voice rings out through the stiff air and, we
would be listening to music but somebody stole our car radio and now we kind of
just sit in silence. It's okay, though. I kind of like the silence. I like the
way it sounds. Nothing but the tires under us and the sound of the engine and
the occasional birdsong in the distance from the forest. If we were to explore
it, I'm not sure if either of us would be able to leave. It's so thick and
dense that I doubt we'd be able to get through the edge of it. But back to the
woman's request. What's her name?
"Ashley," I say with a calm smile and light pink cheeks. The sleeves of my
jacket are drawn up past my hands as I hold it to my mouth and chew on the cuff
of the clothing, nervously. My mom is asking about Ashley, I know sex is going
to come up eventually, and I've never really been that fond of the subject. I
mean... yeah, I want to. I... um... masturbate sometimes, but for the most
part, I like to stay away. Unless it's someone I'm absolutely sure about, I
won't do it. Ashley is the only person I would do it with. And I doubt she
would even let me. I'm only 14.
"Is she cute?" She asks, her knuckles are white as her hands grip the steering
wheel unnecessarily tight, keeping her eyes on the road but glancing over at me
every once in a while. Her green eyes attached to me.
"Yeah..." My cheeks are warm as I slide my hands farther inside my light red
sleeves, embarrassed about talking about my girlfriend.
"Well, no sex 'til you're 16 or so, and we can talk about it. If you decide to
do it earlier, though... at least use protection. I don't want to see you die
on me."
And there's the sex. I blush even more because Ash and I have talked about
it... but at the same time, I still want to wait until I'm absolutely sure,
"It's not that serious yet..." I say with a mumble.
"Sure it isn't, I know about all you high schoolers. Always experimenting." She
chuckles, "Is Brendon jealous?"
"No, he's gay. I told you that. He's dating Joe." I reply in a mumble, but I'm
happy to get away from the previous topic, "Although, I think he should date
Ryan."
"Ryan's the one that always wears eyeliner, right?"
"Mom. There are like ten guys I know of who wear eyeliner, you have to be more
specific." I laugh. Brendon, Pete, and Ryan all wear eyeliner, and I know she
gets my friends mixed up a lot. Much more often than she should seeing as I've
been friends with them since I was about five, they come over at least once a
week, and I talk about them 24/7.
"The guy who isn't Pete or Brendon."
"Yes, that's Ryan. I think him and Brendon should be together. They'd be a cute
couple." I reply with a smile on my face. She looks over at me, taking her eyes
off of the road for just a split second to look at me then looks back.
"Okay, so tell me more about this Ashley."
I blush at her persistence to know about my girlfriend, "Mom. You're making me
sound like a teenage girl."
"Good for you, now tell me."
I smile and shake my head. I don't want to do this, but if she makes me, I
can't exactly stop her from doing it. "Well, she has wavy blue hair, not like
dark blue but like a greenish-blue. Like... Like..."
"Aqua blue?" She finishes.
"Yeah, exactly. She usually wears a beanie and... I don't know. She's cool.
More like a tomboy. She has a best friend named Melanie, although her and I
don't talk much." I reply, "I dunno. She doesn't usually hang out with the
guys, but sometimes she does."
She looks back to me with a smile, "Well, I hope your relationship works out
well... And if this one doesn't work out, then I hope your next one does. I
want you to be happy because love is... nice. You gotta have fun with it," She
says. I blush, but despite my body language, I'm happy. I'm really happy. I'm
happy that she supports me and I'm happy that she's here for me.
That's also when the headlights flash.
Her green eyes return to the road, but it's already too late.
The impact sends us spinning on the gravel in fast circles like it's a merry-
go-round that's out of control with no restraints other than the seatbelt
across our laps and chests. I feel sick to my stomach as we go, clutching onto
the handle bar just above the car window, holding on for dear life as I scream
in terror. Mom is beside me doing the same.
I bury my face in my elbow, huddling up as I try to protect myself from the
next obstacle that might come our way. A cliff? A building? A tree? My eyes are
shut. I can't look. I'm scared of what I'll see. I'm afraid I'm going to die.
I'm terrified, and I've never wanted to be somewhere else more than I am now.
I feel the car stop suddenly. An impact in my chest sending me back against the
seat with my hand hitting the door handle and my legs sprawled out
uncomfortably. I can barely breathe with the airbag pressing against me, but I
manage, forcing my lungs to inflate and deflate as I try to calm down and let
the fact that we're not moving anymore sink in through the shock.
My eyes are still glued shut because I'm scared to open them and see the scene
in front of me, but I do anyways. Forcing small movements at a time as silence
engulfs me and I suddenly wish we had our car radio back. I can't see anything
except for the bag, it's blocking my sight, so I tug the handle of the car's
door and open it before sliding out like liquid to the gravelly ground,
avoiding the pieces of glass left over by the windshield and the car door.
The cold air hits me, and with each breath I take, my chest hurts. I'm aching,
but I try not to let it slow me down. I can already tell I have a few bruises
and cuts but lucky, I'm undamaged for the most part. I hope the same goes for
the driver of the car. It has to be the same. Maybe better.
I cough up a little bit of blood, but I'm too weak to do anything about it. I
need to make sure Mom's okay. I need to know she's going to live. She's my
first priority. I can wait on myself.
I look around through the moonlight finding out what happened, piece by piece.
We must have spun out from the impact of the car and crashed into an old
building that nobody's used in years sitting on the side of the road. If we'd
gone any farther to the right, we would have spun right off of the cliff. I let
out a thankful sigh at that, and as I look to the road, I realize the other car
left. It's just Mom and me.
"Are you okay?" I call out to the second person in the car, hoping for a reply.
But there's only silence. No reply, "Hello?"
I step around to the other side of the car, the gravel crunching underfoot and
I pull open the door in worry. The sight makes every joint in my body freeze
up, and I have to step back to make sure I'm not imagining this.
She's motionless. Her blonde hair stained with dark red blood, an
expressionless, glassy look branded in her green eyes and her mouth open just
slightly. My heart stops. Time stops. I'm completely frozen, and I can't move.
This can't be happening. This just can't be happening. No. No. No.
I unbuckle the seatbelt and drag her out, setting her on the gravel and falling
to my knees by her side. The gravel digs into my skin, but adrenaline is
blocking it all out. Blocking out the pain. The common sense. Adrenaline is
only embracing the fear coursing through my veins.
No. No. No.
I lean over her, hovering my ear just over her mouth, there's nothing. Not a
breath. Not a word. Not a whisper. No warmth at all. Nothing.
No. No. No.
My hands immediately take place on her chest, one on top of the other, right on
top of left, hoping I'm doing it right. Praying for it to be right with nothing
but my rushed breaths and the movement my hands on her chest.
No. No. No.
I press down hard, over and over again, pumping her heart, hoping it'll start.
Praying for it to start. I can't let this happen.
No. No. No.
I lean down to her lips but my heart only sinks more, and my stomach continues
to rumble, sending acid up my throat. There's nothing. I try over and over
again, growing my desperate with each pump. It's no use. Nothing is happening.
No. No. No.
"Please, please, please." I beg as I continue pumping her chest, "Wake up."
No. No. No.
"Wake up, wake up, wake up." I plead with each pump getting louder and louder
with pent up energy. I'm yelling her name now, and I can't stop. The
streetlamps are the only things giving me light as I try to heal her heart.
No. No. No.
Then, I scream. I scream with all my emotion because I'm scared. Because I'm
sad. Because I'm fucking pissed. Because I'm disappointed in myself. Because I
can't save her. Because she's going to die and I can't do anything to stop it.
I scream as loud as I can. I scream so loud I hope the world hears my anger, I
hope universe hears my sorrow, and I hope God himself hears my pain. And I want
everyone to know this new tear in my heart. And I want each and every person to
know how much this hurts. That one wish to the universe. That one demand to my
mother. I need everyone to know how scared and devastated I am. It's a cry for
help. This isn't happening. This is just a dream. This never happened. This
can't be my reality. None of this can be my reality. My reality is so much
better than this. In my reality she's alive. I scream because I want my reality
back. I whisper. I speak. I yell. I scream. I scream so loud I'm afraid my
voice will shatter. One demand. Two words. Six letters:
"Wake up!"
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
---Patrick---
Why it happens, I still don't know. But it still happens. And it still hurts.
And it still terrifies me.
Tears are falling down my cheeks when I come around. My body still and my eyes
out of focus while my mind recovers from the fuzz of the flashback. I'm back in
reality. I'm completely silent. The flashback is over. And warm and salty tears
are trailing down my cheeks, shaped like droplets of rain. I calm my breathing
and shut my eyes, wishing it had never happened.
They've gotten easier to bare the longer I've dealt with them. I've had lots of
different flashbacks but this one is the most common... And the most painful.
My phone vibrates in my hand, taking me from my thoughts. I don't even realize
I'm holding it at first because my extremities are numb but I notice it when it
vibrates.
Gerard: Hello?
Gerard: It's been thirty minutes I'm just gonna guess you fell asleep. So...
Sleep well...
I don't bother replying. I don't want to reply. I just want to sleep and hope I
wake up dead. I've heard about the afterlife but I've never really lived. If
you call these last three years life, then it's better to end it. Because God
clearly hates me.
And I don't even believe in him.
***
"It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right,
I hope you had the time of your life,"
My eyes are shut, one leg hanging over the bed while the other is bent and
close to my chest. Billie's words calm me, I'm exhausted after everything that
happened yesterday but at the same time, I'm at peace.
"So take the photographs and still-frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good times."
Maybe it's because I met Gerard. Maybe it's because he puts those butterflies
in my stomach, they flutter around and make me smile. Maybe it's the way he
smiles, a toothy grin with nothing but friendliness and unspoken words that
say, "Come, talk a while. I'll listen to you." It could be the way he
concentrates when he draws, biting his lip with his fingers gripping his pencil
bringing soft strokes and gray lines to the paper to form beautiful works of
art. Maybe it's his jet black hair that sways softly in the evening breeze or
maybe it's his familiar brown eyes that crinkle when he grins. Oh god, he's
just... Beautiful. That's one and only word I can use to describe him. Just
beautiful.
"Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it's worth, it was worth all the while,"
It could also be because of the flashback. Maybe it's just the thought of my
mother that brings these peaceful thoughts. Memories of Christmas. We never had
enough money to exchange gifts. We were always really low on money but we were
happy with what we did have. Dad before he was always drunk, Kevin before he
became the monster he is now, Megan before she was terrified of everything, Mom
before The Incident, and me before the anxiety. Like a perfect family...
I can't help but think there was something I could have done to save her. I
could have told her to watch the road. I could have told her to stop. I
could've warned her about the car.
But you didn't.
I didn't.
"It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right
I hope you had the time of your life."
I shut my eyes, wishing to be in paradise with Gerard and Megan and Mom and Dad
and Kevin before The Incident. I wish the music would just take me away. Take
me to a land without worries so we can all be happy. Where we're all safe from
harm. From bad luck. From hell.
No. I don't just want those five people. I... I think I want my old friends
back...
But they don't want you back.
That's probably true... It's useless. Even if I tried, they would just turn me
away. I deserve it.
"It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right
I hope you had the time of your life."
There are five of them. Joe, Frank, Brendon, Ryan, and... And Pete...
Frank was probably my most distant friend. We would talk and he would come over
to my house but usually only if the rest of my friends were there, too. Again,
this was all before Dad became a drunk and my house was a safe place. Somewhere
anyone could come and go. Frank has black hair and a lip piercing that he wore
all the time and really pretty brown eyes. He was the kind of guy to always
have a cigarette pressed between his lips and speak of deep things in life.
Things I've never thought of before. He only scratched the surface compared to
Pete, though.
Ryan was less distant than Frank but he still wouldn't come over unless my
other friends were there. I talked to him more than I talked to Frank, too. He
has dark brown hair and often wears eyeliner to look even gayer than he already
does along with old, vintage-style scarves and the occasional fedora atop his
wavy, brown locks.
Joe was a good friend of mine. He would come over even when nobody else came
with. He was the person who introduced me to Pete. We actually met in a
bookstore a while back and the next day, I saw him at school and we became
friends after that. He has an afro an these fucking amazing blue eyes,
although, most of the time he doesn't put much effort into his appearance and
he comes to school looking like he smokes weed (which he does).
Brendon was one of my best friends. I talked to him about everything and he had
amazing relationship advice. I went to him whenever I was sad and he always
fixed me right up. I never went to the club with him because I had never wanted
to get addicted to anything there but I still hung out at his house. His
parents were rich, really rich, meaning he was also that one person who bought
Christmas and birthday presents for everyone. He was definitely a really close
friends and the second hardest to push away. He has a lot of similarities to
Ryan (which is another reason why people think they're dating). In all honesty,
I kind of think they should be together. Always have, always will.
And finally, there was my best friend. Pete. He... He was different from the
rest. He always acted different around me. I never understood why, but he was
always nicer to me. Almost... sweet. He was hard to let go. He was really hard
to let go but he was the most persistent about helping me with The Incident. He
was the only person I told. I trusted him with everything.
Afterwards, he always showed sympathy and it just pissed me off. I was just
sick of it. I was sick of him always patting me on the back, I was sick of him
trying to comfort me so I cut him out. I cut out Frank, then Ryan, Joe, then
Brendon, and finally I cut out Pete. I stopped talking, I ignored their texts.
When they confronted me about it, I would leave. I sat at a different table
than them and I did everything alone. I didn't need friends.
I don't need friends.
But that's changing, isn't it?
It is changing...
I need Gerard. I need Frank. I need Ryan. I need Joe. I need Brendon. I need...
Pete.
But they don't need you.
It's probably right.
They really don't need me.
"It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right
I hope you had the time of your life."
***
Patrick: Hey, sorry about Friday night. I fell asleep.
It's been two days since the flashback, two days since the whole school found
out I cut, two days since I met Gerard, two days since I was molested.
Gerard: Good morning! And it's alright I almost did the same, I was really
tired.
Good, it worked...
Patrick: So what are you doing?
Gerard: Getting ready to leave, Mama has to go to work early today so I'm home
alone. What about you?
Patrick: About to walk out my door lol
Lol. Biggest lie anybody has ever texted.
Gerard: I gtg I'll see you at the bus stop, Kay?
Patrick: Alright, see you soon.
I smile again, excited to talk to him. Why am I so excited? Why am I so happy?
Ever since he made that promise, I always get happier when I think about him.
It was just his promise not to judge me. How could something so small have an
impact so big?
"Patrick, time to leave." Kevin calls from the kitchen, almost right on cue.
"Okay, see you after school." I reply, jumping out of bed and heading towards
the door. I turn the knob, but my brother stops me before I can do anything
else, his foot right in front of the door.
He looks right into my eyes with a hard gaze, it scares me because I don't know
what he's going to do. I don't know if he's going to hurt me or kiss me. I
don't want him to do anything. I just want him to fuck off, cry me an ocean,
and leave me be.
The next thing I know, his lips are on mine, his hands in my hair deepening the
kiss and it's all I can do to squeeze my eyes shut and wait it out, hoping
he'll just stop. The kiss doesn't last long, only about five seconds but by
that time, I already feel sick to my stomach. He pulls away, wiping his mouth
and looks into my fearful eyes with his own, piercing and angry.
"Go, slut," He growls.
I immediately swing the door open and leave the house with my phone and bag,
hoping to just get out of there. The door shuts behind me as I rush down the
stairs, tears starting to form in my eyes and I try my hardest not to break
down. I have to be strong. My feet take me down the sidewalk, to the left, and
across the street to the bus stop at a hurried pace. Nobody is there yet,
thankfully.
I sigh and sit by the bus sign, bringing my knees to my chest and holding them
there with my arms as I try to wipe his thought from my mind. I can taste him
again, the taste of those sour, pink lips and they're not going away. My throat
tightens because I'm disgusted with myself. I'm disgusted that I let him do
that. I am a slut. I am a whore. Just like he says. A toy...
The tears pour out of my eyes. I don't bother holding them back anymore. I just
sit there with my arms folded, crying into my knees. I know it'll be at least
fifteen more minutes until the bus gets here. I don't need to worry. Nobody
cares enough, anyway. They'll always just see me as another fat pig. Another
person you would never want to sit by. I'm just the result of what I used to be
after a sad "accident".
I turn my head up, wiping my tears and gazing across the street, my vision
still blurry. Another tears drops down my cheek.
My fingers finally go to my lips, resting on my bottom lip, right where I can
still feel his mouth. Pressing against mine, violating me, exposing what a slut
I am. I shudder as I think about what he had done on Friday and how I can still
see him behind my eyelids. The way he tugged my hair and choked me and slapped
me and bruised me.
I wish he wouldn't do that. I wish he would just leave me alone. I just wish I
didn't deserve it... I wish-
"Patrick, are you okay?"
My head shoots to the right, and I'm surprised that I don't get whiplash. Tears
are still falling down my face, but my fingers have moved from my lips to my
pockets.
"Y-yeah," I murmur, "I-I'm fine... Just..."
I don't finish the sentence because next thing I know, Gerard's pulled me up
and he's hugging me. And I'm shocked. I haven't had a hug in... Forever. It's
not sexual, he doesn't mean harm, it's just innocent and friendly. And I like
it. And I never want him to let go. His arms wrap around my tense back, his
head rests on my shoulder, and he squeezes me close as tight as he can.
"What's wrong, Sugar?" Sugar... Sugar... His voice is like sugar to my ears.
He's like sugar to my eyes.
You're fucking disgusting.
"N-nothing. Same thing as Friday." I say, hoping he won't see through my lie.
Begging he'll just leave me alone. Praying that he won't push. But he does. He
looks me right in the eye and replies with a voice so caring and gentle, I
can't help but wonder if he's a fallen angel, "No, it's not. Why were you
touching your lips?"
Even though I really don't want to, I pull away and it hurts. I don't want to
leave. I don't want the warmth to turn to cold but I'm pissed.
"Patrick..." He starts, a hurt expression on his face.
"I've only known you for three days." I say, kind of mad that he was being so
nosy, "I get that you're trying to be nice and all but... I don't know..."
I sigh out the last part because I'm so conflicted. I want to spill everything.
I want to tell him everything, absolutely everything but I'm scared. I'm scared
he'll turn on me. I'm scared he'll only start bullying me. I'm scared he'll
make fun of me. I barely know him for crying out loud!
There's silence. He's not sure what to say. I'm not sure what to say.
"Sorry..." I whisper, "I just barely know you and I don't know if I can even
trust you..."
"What do you mean?" He asks, nearing me. I don't move away this time.
"Nevermind," I mumble. Because I want to tell him. I just don't trust you.
He sighs in frustration and it's silent for a while. It's awkward. I want to
say something but I get scared every time I try.
"So... Uhm..." He starts, "Look, I'm sorry, but uh... there's this parade
coming to town later this month and... Uh... I wanted to know if you might want
to come with me, maybe? I mean if you don't want to it's alright-"
"Yeah," I reply, my grimace fading because, though I hate how nosy and caring
he is, I wouldn't mind going somewhere with him. I want to be his friend. I
want to know him, as more than just an acquaintance, "Yeah, I'd love to."
What the fuck? You're such a sick whore.
"Really?" He seems surprised like he didn't think I'd actually want to go.
"Yeah, why not?" I ask, "You're my friend."
Friend. Was it true? Was he actually my friend? After all this time was it
actually true? Could I even consider him my friend? What if he doesn't want to
be my friend? What if he's not okay with this? What if he's not that
comfortable with me?
Of course he's not, dipshit.
He smiles, it reaches his eyes. Does he think it's funny that I'm so
comfortable around him? Is he going to laugh? Will he laugh at me?
"You're my friend, too." He replies, "it's weird to say..."
"Y-yeah... Three whole years." I say with a weak smile. Three whole years
without Frank. Three whole years without Ryan. Three whole years without Joe.
Three whole years without Brendon. Three whole fucking years without Pete.
But in the end, I'd do it all again, I think I want my old best friends.
And Gerard. I think they'd like him.
"So what day is the parade?" I ask him, looking up into his brown eyes, holding
a gentle gaze with him.
"I think it's the 23rd. You'll be free, right?"
"Yeah, that sounds great."
Chapter End Notes
     Thanks for the comments! It means so much :)
***** Chapter 11 *****
---Patrick---
Hello.
Try harder. It looks like you're just dying to hell him about this—
Don't even think of sending it.
Patrick: hey... Uh... I need some help... Um...
Did I really just send that?
What are you thinking Patrick? You don't ask people about that kind of stuff!
Especially not people you've only known for two weeks. What the fuck is wrong
with you?
But I don't know what else to do!
Gerard: What is it?
Really? Are you really asking about this?
Patrick: You have to promise not to judge me because this is really
embarrassing... So please please please don't tell anyone...
Gerard: Of course, you know I'd never do something like that.
It's now or never.
PATRICK MARTIN STUMPH DONT YOU DARE-
Patrick: Uhm... Well, you see I... Uh.. Had a uh... Wet dream.... Uh... And I
don't know how to get.... Uhm... Stuff out of sheets, and it's really
embarrassing... I'm so sorry.
Yes. I had a wet dream. It was embarrassing as hell. But I can't help it. It
just happened, and he was... he didn't even have clothes on and... I woke up
too late and... Oh god, this is embarrassing. I have nobody else to rely on,
and Dad'll beat me if he finds out, and Kevin will probably just hurt me
again... And... oh my god this is pathetic.
I twiddle my thumbs while I wait for him to reply. My mind traveling as I push
away my sheets.
Then I twiddle my thumbs some more.
And he doesn't reply.
And I wait for longer and longer.
And he. Doesn't. Fucking. Reply.
One minute turns into two, two turns into three, three turns into five, five
turns to ten. I'm panicking. Because I just lost my one and only friend. I'm
gonna get another beating from Dad, and he'll probably throw out the sheets and
the blankets and force me to sleep on the mattress cold for a few months. Or at
least until he can buy a new set and then he'll probably give me another
beating then. Kevin will... well... I don't want to talk about what he'd
probably do. Megan would be more awkward around me and stop cleaning up my
wounds.
He's gonna tell everyone at school. I might as well just kill myself now and
get it over with.
What is wrong with you? I told you not to say it. Now, look what you've done.
You just ruined everything with the only person who just cares about you. If
you could even say, he cares about you. You know he was just acting, so he
didn't look like a bad person and maybe get a girlfriend. You're gay. You're
pathetic. You ruin everything. First, it was The Incident and now this? No
wonder people give up on you so easily. Why don't you go slit your wrists, it
would be easier than living the rest of your life as a failure.
It's true. It's all true. I'm pathetic. I really am pathetic. Maybe it would be
better if I just died. Maybe I would be less of a disappointment to everyone.
Nobody would care. Not Gerard, not Pete, not Brendon or Joe. Not Ryan or Frank.
They'd all just brush it off and continue with their lives.
Bzzt
The phone slips out of my hands as I rush to see if the text is from Gerard.
This is weird. This is really weird because it's him. He actually replied. Why?
Why did he reply? How can I be that important to him?
It's just a text to say the friendship it over, dumbass.
Is it? Is it really? There's only one way to find out...
I unlock my phone, my hands shaking so much that I have to put the passcode in
two different times before I can check my messages. Is he really ending the
friendship? Is he going to tell everyone at school? Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
Gerard: Soak the sheets in cold water for like an hour or so, and then loosen
it, you can usually just pick at it (I know, gross but it's the easiest way)
and put it through the wash as shown on the tag thingy. It should come right
off if you do it right. I don't know if you have jeans too, but you do the same
thing for those with the cold water, loosen it, and put it through the wash.
Sorry, it took so long, Mama was awake, and she was making sure I was asleep.
I let out a sigh of relief falling back on my pillow. I quickly type out the
next text without giving it too much thought.
Patrick: Thank you so so much.
He actually didn't mind. I can't believe he didn't mind. How does that even
happen? How can he be so caring about someone so broken? How can he be nice to
me at all? I'm pathetic. The only person I could go to for help was him of all
people.
Gerard: No problem. So who was it?
Who was it? What does he mean?
Patrick: What do you mean?
Gerard: Who was in the dream? There has to be someone.
Ohhhhhhhh. Shit.
Patrick: It was nobody
Wow...
Gerard: Uh-huh, sure it wasn't.
My heart sinks. Who the hell am I supposed to say? Billie Joe Armstrong?
Goddamn.
Sometimes I give myself the creeps, don't I? That's a little scary,
I am not telling him the truth. Maybe I could just replace it with someone in
class. A girl so he doesn't think I'm gay. He would definitely leave me if I
told him the truth.
Disgusting, fat pig.
Patrick: Hayley Williams
Hayley Williams. Hayley Williams of all people. Might as well say you have a
crush on Melanie while you're at it. Honestly, couldn't you choose one of the
less popular girls? You'd seen like less of a creep, you're making it sound
like you think you're better than everyone else. Isn't Hayley out of your
league? Oh, you wouldn't know, you're too caught up in Gerard and how much of a
fat, pathetic loser to think about popularity.
Gerard: That's cool. I mean, I'm not really into girls, but yeah, she's cute.
I'm not really into girls. What's that supposed to mean? What. Does. That.
Mean? Does that mean he's gay? Does that mean he's just not interested in
people at all?
Being asexual is better than being gay. You're pathetic and disgusting.
Patrick: Oh, are you asexual?
No, no not at all. I just don't like girls- what kind of question is that?
Gerard: No, haha, I'm gay.
No.
Haha.
I'm gay.
Gerard Way is gay. What the fuck? And he never told me? I didn't think he would
be gay. He seemed like the type of person that would be against it. Then again
everyone seems like they're against gays except for my ex-friends. I thought
he'd be completely against it and if I told him I liked a guy, he'd just kick
me out of his life. Just like Dad would.
So I guess he supports homosexuals. Good to know.
Patrick: You're gay?
Gerard: Yeah. Do you have a problem?
Is he getting defensive? As I read over the text, I can't help but think, he's
a much different person than I thought. But I think I like it. It's kind of
fucking sexy.
I quickly reply, not meaning to make him mad...
Patrick: No, not at all! Sorry, I just wasn't expecting that.
Just because he's gay doesn't mean I'm going to admit my love to him right
away. Just because a girl admits she's straight instead of lesbian doesn't mean
you go straight for her, right? So I'm going to wait this one out. He probably
doesn't like me in that way, anyways. I think he'd like Frank in that way, the
more I think about it.
At least a lot more than you. Just because he supports gays doesn't mean you're
any less pathetic, broken, fat, or lonely than normal. You're still a
disappointment to everyone.
I'm so deep in my truthful thoughts that I don't even realize I have a text
from Gerard until I finally decided to snap back into reality.
Gerard: Okay. I'm sorry I'm just... Kind of defensive about that kind of stuff.
I take a deep breath before I reply. I don't know why but I don't want to tell
him I'm gay. I'm probably not gay, anyways. It's probably just a temporary
feeling, I'll get over it, and maybe I'll think Hayley or Ashley are cute
again.
Ashley. Ashley...
No.
Three years ago, the summer of my seventh-grade year (1 week after The
Incident)...
"Patrick, Baby, are you okay?" She asks, her light aquamarine hair hanging over
one shoulder, like the color of the noon sky mixed with shades of the sea and
grass. Her eyes are like cocoa beans, ready for harvest. Her lips are the red
of the embers of a bonfire, bright and crisp.
I'm just the ash after a bonfire flame. The sky after the sun sets, the sea
after it's drained out, the grass after it's dead, the cocoa beans after
they've been used. I'm what's left of the boy I used to be. I'm just the
aftermath of a "minor accident." I'm broken. I'm useless. I can't take care of
Ashley anymore. I'm too numb. I could barely even get out of bed this morning
without realizing how useless my life is.
"Yeah, why do you ask?" I reply, my voice bland.
She looks to me with concern in her eyes, her lips are closer to a cherry red
the more I search every detail of her like it'll be my last time that I can set
my gaze on her. She's wearing a tight Metallica shirt and dark denim skinny
jeans that fit her frame perfectly. She's hatless today, only get beautiful
hair showing atop her head, and down to her feet, I can get a glimpse of aqua
blue Converse shoes. My wild eyes dart back up to her lips.
The lipstick is beautiful, but they shouldn't be mine. I can't... I don't know
what I can't do. I just feel so off. So afraid. So out of place. Maybe it was
never true, that's just how it looked in the light. Maybe I just need to see
the world at a different angle to understand my feelings. I just need to heal.
That'll happen eventually, right?
"You've been acting... Off... Ever since you were gone for a week. What
happened, Baby? Why won't you tell me? I want to help you..."
She reaches for my arms, but I pull away before she can grasp them. I look
straight into her eyes, my gaze as hard as I can muster. She seems slightly
intimidated, "P-Patrick?"
"Ashley, we're over," I say, trying desperately to get each word out clear,
"I'm over us. I'm over this. I'm sorry, but I don't love you like I did
yesterday."
She looks shocked. Doesn't she know it wasn't love? Isn't that obvious?
"Patrick... What do you mean?"
What do I mean? What do I mean? I'm sorry. I must not have made it clear
enough, "Did I stutter, Ashley? I'm breaking up with you. I don't love you. I
don't think I ever did. The parking lot was spur of the moment, okay? There was
nothing there. There was no spark. There was nothing special about that. It was
just a stupid kiss."
"Oh yeah? Go to hell! You're pathetic! After all those times you said you
wouldn't leave me, all those times you said you loved me, all those times you
invited me over, all those times you said you'd be there for me. Does that mean
nothing to you? What happened? What the fuck happened to you? You're not the
Patrick I used to know." Ashley growls, nowhere near tears like I thought she'd
be.
"Baby, seasons change, but people don't. I'm the same as I was two weeks ago,
I've just come to my senses, it's best you do the same." I spit, a glare in my
eyes. I turn away from her, pissed, and stomp away.
"Patrick Martin Stumph. Don't you dare leave that door, you little fucker."
"Too late, better go find your crybaby Melanie. Go cry me an ocean, bitch." And
with those fourteen words, I leave. I leave her broken and defeated. I'm numb.
I don't care what she thinks as long as it's about me. I want that to leave a
scar because she could never feel half the pain I'm in.
Nobody will ever feel this numb.
Gerard: Patrick, did you fall asleep again?
My breathing returns to normal, my heart slowing again, and sweat drying. I'm
back in reality. Not reliving the past.
Patrick: I'm so, so sorry. Yeah, I started drifting off, I think I need some
sleep.
I don't like talking after flashbacks. I don't like talking at all. I just want
to sleep. What if I sleep and never wake up? I wouldn't have to go through all
this shit. I want to just die.
But I don't...
What the hell. Of course, you do!
Gerard. That's why.
Even if he did date you, you know he deserves a better lover than a pig like
you. He deserves a better friend than you. You just annoy him whenever you get
a chance, don't you? You're so pathetic thinking Gerard could ever save you.
Maybe I am pathetic... He doesn't deserve me... Maybe I should just drop
dead...
Gerard: Wait I want to ask you something.
Just let me go, please... I'm exhausted...
Patrick: Anything
Fuck you.
Not my fault.
Gerard: What's your sexuality? I don't want to sound creepy or anything so if
you don't want to answer, then don't. I'm curious.
I don't even pay that much attention to what I'm replying because I feel like
I'm about to collapse.
Patrick: I think I'm gay... I'm still figuring it out, though. But I'm into a
few guys at school...
Gerard: That's cool, whatever floats your boat, you know? Goodnight, sleep
well.
Patrick: You, too...
I shut my eyes, immediately flopping back into bed. Ashley's words echoing
through my mind.
"Go to hell! You're pathetic!"
I shouldn't have pushed her away. I shouldn't have pushed any of them away. But
I mess everything up. I killed my own mom. I pushed away my friends when I most
needed them.
You never needed them.
Yes. I did. I fucking did need them. Do you see how broken I am now? Don't you
see how much better I would have been if I'd only stayed with them?
Can I really fix all of these burnt bridges? Would any of them even want to
repair those bridges? Or am I going to be alone with my only friend...
Gerard...?
I want to fix it. I want to fix everything. I want my ex-friends back.
But I'm too pathetic for them. I shouldn't think that I'm better. I hear a
fucking voice in my head for crying out loud! I'll never be beautiful like any
of them. I'll always be the odd one out. I'll always be the fat one out of all
the skinnies.
I'm just fucked up inside. The numbness is gone, the anger is gone, I just wish
everything would be back to normal.
But it'll never be normal. It's your fault that The Incident happened. It's
your fault that you only have Gerard. It's your fault you're misshapen. It's
your fault Kevin molests you. It's your fault Dad beats you. It's your fault
you're so pathetic and disgusting and lonely and broken. It's all your fault,
and you can't fix it, no matter how hard you may try.
You're just a mess. An unsolvable mess.
Go burn in hell, cunt.
***** Chapter 12 *****
---Patrick---
And just like that it's three more days. Three more days and I'll be in
downtown Summit beside Gerard watching The Black Parade. The sound of drums and
flutes. Trombones and clarinets. Saxophones and tubas. All of them, filling the
silent air with notes and tones. No cars. No distractions. No Dad. No Kevin. No
flashbacks. Just me, Gerard, and the city block lined with stone buildings and
filthy glass windows that can barely be seen through until someone goes to
clean them.
I don't understand how they can do it. How people can just get on an unstable
platform, be raised to as tall as a skyscraper and just start cleaning dirty
windows. I don't understand how they can be that brave and I can barely take a
day of school. It must take a lot of self-control, how much training to they go
through? How long do they have to practice? Do you get a college degree for
that? Can you get a Nobel Prize for having no fear of heights? What if you fell
and ended up a jello splat on the ground? That would be disgusting to watch.
How many kids would be scarred from that? And then the next generation of
people would never want to work as a window cleaner. So nobody would apply for
the job and-
Damn, I can really get lost in thought.
What was my original thought? Um... Oh! Right, The Black Parade.
Three more days and I don't know what I'll do.
What if I say something wrong and he leaves? What if I break down? What if he
sees my scars? What if he sees my bruises and cuts? What if I go to the wrong
place? What if I get the date wrong? What if I get the time wrong?
I'm scared. No, I'm not scared, I'm nervous. I'm anxious. This is my anxiety.
You're pathetic, Patrick. You can't even go to a stupid parade without having a
million worries.
Gerard's at the lunch table eating a sandwich and it looks fucking tempting. So
tempting that my stomach growls as I'm watching him. I'm hungry since I haven't
eaten since the day before yesterday and I'm actually considering eating today.
No. I'm not talking about Gerard. I'm talking about the sandwich. I mean...
He's tempting, too. But I'd never in a million years do anything like that if
he didn't want it. I mean-
You know what? I'm food hungry. Not sex hungry. And I want to eat.
You fat pig! What is wrong with you? Do you not want people to like you or
something?
No food today, then.
"Hey, kid, are you gonna pay or not?" The lunch lady snaps, dragging my
attention from the beautiful boy at the lunch table, in a slightly less
commanding voice she asks, "You like him?"
I fluster a little bit at that question as I type in my student ID in the
keypad, why would she, of all people, ask me, of all people, something like
that? "Y-yeah..."
"You gay, kid?"
"Y-yes, Ma'am." I stutter out. Why am I telling her this? Is that a lie? Why is
she asking this? Why is she interested? Is she trying to help me?
"Why haven't you asked him?"
"E-Excuse me, Ma'am?"
"Why haven't you asked him to go out with you? He's gay, too, you know. You
don't have to be afraid." She says, her soft arm draped over the cold cash
register. It looks uncomfortable, but I don't question it any further. How does
she know he's gay?
I hum slightly as I think up the answer to her question, but I reply, my voice
untainted by nervousness or worry, "He doesn't deserve me... I think he's too
beautiful to me..."
She snorts, taking me by surprise and making me hunch my shoulders in
embarrassment, "Kid, there ain't nothin' to be embarrassed about, you got that?
And don't put yourself down, it's unhealthy. You know what? You ask him. You
ask him for me."
"W-why, Ma'am?" I'm so fucking confused...
"Because you're really gonna go far, Kid. Now, no more questions, go." She
orders in her commanding, intimidating tone again. I nod, stuttering out a
quick, "Thanks," before walking over to Gerard.
He's sketching in his sketchbook now, touching up Mikey with a pair of skillful
eyes and an even more experienced hand. His black brows are furrowed like they
normally are when he's drawing. I can't help but stare at everything as I sit.
His ebony black hair. It's messier than usual, probably because, I realize with
guilt, I kept him up last night with the flashback and the wet dream. Some
strands are pointed to the left, some to the right and a couple brush against
his nose. One or two even point straight towards the ceiling. It's cute. His
soft brown eyes. They're tainted with a smudge of hazel, but it's so amazing. I
could get lost just gazing into his eyes in an unsolved maze of thought. He
blinks. Every time he blinks is lost time. Lost time where I could still be
gazing into those brown orbs. It annoys me slightly.
His lips are dry and chapped, his tongue coming out every thirty seconds or so
to moisturize them. Those thin lips are beautiful. The way they fold and turn
white when he purses them in concentration. But he'll never be mine. He doesn't
even acknowledge me as I start nibbling on my sandwich despite the fact I
already told myself no. What if I shouldn't have sat here? Oh my god, he
probably thinks I'm weird from last night. I fucked up so bad.
Just leave. Leave before he talks to you about it. You know he will, and he'll
ask why you're such a fuckup. More importantly, he'll talk about you being gay.
Don't forget you told him last night you pathetic fuck.
"Hey, you okay?" Gerard asks, an edge of concern in his voice. I realize I was
staring right into his eyes, making me blush, my face burning from pale to a
deep red as I look away.
"Yeah, s-sorry..." I whisper, "I'm fine."
"Lies." He says, "You're blushing, you're fumbling with your hands. Why are you
so anxious around me? I'm not going to hurt you. I told you I'm your friend and
there's no reason to be embarrassed or nervous. Just forget last night
happened. You needed help. I was there to help you." I blush even harder
because he notices all the small things and that might mean just a little bit
to a normal person, but it means so much more to me. Because somebody actually
notices.
Gerard actually noticed. Gerard. That beautiful guy. Yeah, he noticed the
little things about me. He actually cares.
Idiot, of course, he doesn't. It's your imagination, stupid. Honestly, Ashley
was right about you. You should go burn in hell. You're pathetic. You're such a
nervous wreck.
"Sorry..." I whisper, complete seriousness in my voice and a shameful
expression on my face. I should be more comfortable with him, after all, he is
my only friend at the moment. Why don't I trust him?
Because you're scared, he'll turn out like Kevin. Because you're a coward.
I am. I really am scared. That's why, isn't it? How have I not realized this
before?
He will turn out like Kevin. He'll turn out exactly like him. He'll touch you
just like Kevin does and maybe even rape you. You know it. He's going break you
even more than you are, you miserable fuck.
"Don't say sorry. I'm just trying to make you blush, it's cute." Gerard replies
with a smile and scrunched eyes.
My whole world falls apart at those words. I don't know how this boy does it,
but my mind becomes mush. Absolute mush.
Did he just call me cute!? Did he just say I'm cute when I blush!? Oh, my
goodness and holy smokes! What does that mean? Does he like me in a romantic
way? Does he want to be with me? Does he think it was cute that I had a wet
dream last night or something? What do I say?
Patrick. Martin. Stumph. Calm down. No, he did not find it fucking cute that
you had a wet dream. That's not cute. That's disgusting. He does not want to be
with you. He does not like you in a romantic way, he'll never love a fat pig
like you. He's just a friend, goddamn! How stupid do you have to be to think
he'd ever love you it like you as something more than that? It probably just
slipped, and he doesn't mean it. Go ahead. I'll prove it to you! He'll say it
just slipped. He doesn't mean it.
I can't find my words. It's not like I don't want to reply. I just don't want
to know the answer. I don't want to know if it's true or not. I don't want to
confirm that he doesn't love me. I want to believe he loves me. I want to
believe it all.
Ignorance is bliss... isn't it?
Pathetic!
"Do you mean it?" Is what I wish I would say. Those four words are on the tip
of my tongue, begging to leave and be heard. Begging to be spoken. Just
begging. But I can't risk it.
"Th-thanks..." I whisper, my cheeks still warm. I swallow, feeling embarrassed
and awkward.
There's a small silence between us, one where I take a bite of my sandwich and
he continues to draw, eventually, though, his mouth tilts to one side in a
smirk, "So last night, you uh... you said you had the dream about Hayley
Williams, but you said you were gay. Any explanation behind that?"
I blush a little, then reply, avoiding his gaze, "I-I was just kind of uh...
scared that you'd disprove of me being... gay... I don't know. S-Sorry, I
lied."
He lets out a snort, then hugs me close, "You're so cute. You honestly have no
idea."
I blush harder and look away, but I still have a smile on my mouth as he pulls
back.
Those same two feelings that I get around Gerard are coming back. The same two
feeling that usually means something bad. But now, they're good. They make me
happy. My throat closes up like I'm sobbing. But oh no, I'm not sobbing. I'm
so, so happy.
Happy. I'm actually happy! My stomach knots up, butterflies are swarming again.
It feels so good how they flutter around. Like autumn leaves on the ground
after a soft breeze. It's not normal. I'm not normal. But I don't care right
now. I just want to embrace this warm feeling while it's here.
I want to cherish Gerard while I can because I'll never know when he'll leave.
I'll never know when our friendship will end.
"Hey, Gee!" A familiar voice calls from another table. Gerard's warm eyes look
up from the drawing to a table farther away from ours. My eyes follow his and I
have to grip the end of the table to stop myself from falling out of my seat.
Frank. Joe. Pete. They're calling for my one and only friend. Taking him from
me and I can't... I... Gerard looks to me and with a slight smile says, "Can
I..."
"Y-yeah, talk to you later," I whisper, trying to keep the disappointment from
my voice. He doesn't seem to notice. I don't matter anymore. They do now.
Gerard hops up and takes his lunch and sketchbook with a smile before taking
quick, energetic steps over to my ex-friends. He sits down and acts like he's
known them all his life.
And I try my best not to run to the bathroom. Not to break down again.
And he'll find a new friend, better than I'll ever be.
I walk away, no matter how much I try to resist, leaving my lunch and finding
the bathroom. Emptying the contents of my stomach and becoming just as
miserable as I always am.
But now, I'm alone again.
I'll always be alone. Pathetic. Disgusting. Stupid. Ugly. Fat. Tainted. Sinful.
Nobody ever really likes Patrick Stumph. Nobody ever really understands Patrick
Stumph. Nobody. Patrick Stumph is just that weirdo at the back of the class
with cuts up his arms and a raw throat.
I'm just a fuck up. That's all I ever have been and all I'll ever be. Who could
ever really understand someone like Patrick Stumph? Nobody. Because nobody
cares about him. Nobody.
On Wednesday, the first three periods are by in a flash. Gerard sits by Pete,
Joe, and Frank for lunch. It looks like he enjoys them much more than he enjoys
me. I cut that night. I also feel so dizzy that I almost pass out, so I eat my
first meal in a while and drink lots of water.
On Thursday, I puke it all back up. It doesn't stay down no matter how hard I
try. The first three periods are slower this time, but still quick. Gerard is
getting closer and closer to Frank and still hangs out with Pete and Joe.
Brendon and Ryan hang out with them, too. Gerard seems a little spacey during
art class. When I ask him about it, he says he's fine and goes back to drawing.
Am I doing something wrong? Is it my fault? Does he not like me? I get home,
and my dad beats me. I'm bruised, and my back is red and torn from his belt.
Megan cleans the cuts, and we talk for a while, she falls asleep beside me that
night because she's afraid she'll have a nightmare. I don't cut that night, and
I eat dinner alright. She's a heavy sleeper, so she doesn't hear me texting
Gerard. He tells me to meet him at the bus stop after school, and we'll go
downtown together.
It's Friday, today we're going to The Black Parade.
***** Chapter 13 *****
---Patrick---
The voices. The scurrying. The shuffling. The stares.
My feet carry me through the crowded halls, the voices of teenagers echoing off
of the white walls and the shuffling of feet emitting from the floors as I make
my way through the crowd, trying my best not to shove everyone out of the way.
I feel like screaming because people won't hurry up but I don't show my
frustration. I only bottle it up and hide it. Nobody needs to know I have
emotions. It's not like they pay attention to them anyway. I finally squeeze
through the traffic and speed walk over to my locker, my feet moving as fast as
I can make them without running because I know I'll only get detention if I
run. I don't want to miss The Black Parade.
I see Spencer, Jon, and Bob out of the corner of my eye and quickly hunch down,
afraid they'll see me. Thankfully, they haven't been bothering me much these
past few weeks. I don't know if it's because Gerard hangs out with me all the
time now or what but I still like to be careful. This time is no different.
I'm so lost in thought that I completely pass by my locker and I have to turn
around. Everyone's staring at me. Everyone's watching me. Laughing at me
inside. They think I'm an idiot. I am an idiot.
I turn the lock on my locker, but as I try to unlock it, my hands get more and
shakier. So much that I can barely get a grip on the lock. I slam my hands
against the locker, desperate to calm down and get out of there but I can
barely focus. My mind is mush because I'm scared and I can't get oxygen to my
lungs. It's escaping me, and I can't breathe, making me panic more.
Haha! Gerard's going to leave you, you're so pathetic, just wait until he sees
you panicking over nothing at all.
Everyone's watching, but they're doing nothing as I'm lost in my doubt, I can't
seem to... Focus... They're going to laugh at me. Pin me down and hurt me until
I bleed out and the walls are all stained red.
You're going to mess up, you pathetic, fat pig. You're going to go home early
and get beaten by Dad because he doesn't want to see you. He wants someone who
isn't a failure like you! He wants a son who didn't cause The Incident! It's
all your fault. You can't blame this on God. It's all you, you sick whore!
"Patrick!" I don't know whose voice that is, but it's familiar.
Stupid prick! It's surprising they haven't killed a pathetic cutter like you
yet. They'll get to you soon enough.
"Hey! Patrick! Take a deep breath, name five things you can see," Gerard says.
When did he get here? W-what?
"Do it, now." He demands a little more roughly. I'm a little hesitant to
comply, staring at him instead with a helpless, blank look on my face but soon
enough, I realize I have to.
Inhale
"L-lockers, you, teenagers, Bob, Spencer, Jon, hands, feet—"
Exhale
"Good, deep breath again. Four things you can feel."
Inhale
"Locker, cold, floor, clothes."
Exhale
"Inhale, three things you can hear."
"You, the teens, me."
Exhale.
"Two things you can smell."
"Coffee a-and perfume."
"And one thing that makes you happy."
I open my eyes, and exhale softly. One thing that makes me happy?
"You."
I blink and pull away from the locker, looking around to see nobody is focused
on us, there's too much chaos surrounding us for anyone to notice us. It was
just my anxiety. That's it.
Gerard's hand is in mine, and the other one hand is pressing my shoulder
against the locker, making sure I don't run away. He has a sympathetic look in
his eyes, immediately sparking my anger. Nobody should feel bad for me. I
deserve it...
Before I can stop myself, I'm pushing his warm hand away from my shoulder and
turning back toward my locker, with tears lining my green eyes. I don't want
him to see how broken I am. I don't want him to see all this pain. I don't want
him to know how much I want to be with him. How much I would risk just to be
normal. I don't want him to know how miserable I am, without him and in
general.
"You alright?" He asks as I finish with my lock and pull out my bag. I don't
want to reply, but it would be rude to ignore him, so I do reply, it's a lie,
but it's better than embracing the silence, "Yeah, sorry..."
I shut my locker and immediately fall back, so my back is leaning against it. I
need to regain my control before I end up having another panic attack. I just
need to catch my breath. I don't want Gerard to worry about me while we're at
the parade. Come to think of it, what even is The Black Parade? Is it just like
every other parade but with like... racial equality? Or maybe they just ran out
of names and called it The Black Parade? Is it about death, maybe? I have no
idea. It seems interesting, though, so maybe it's not that bad.
My mind continues to wander as I leave the locker by Gerard's side, my bag
slung over my back, my hands in my pockets, and my head down, making sure not
to lose the young boy. As we reach the front of the school, my heart begins to
sink, and my eyes look up. They shouldn't have. Joe and... and Pete are
there... Time kind of just stops. Pete and I haven't been this physically close
since I shut him out. He always stayed away, and I tried not to get in his way.
But he's here... and I can take him in again...
He's wearing a black Metallica shirt. A white logo on a faded black fabric.
It's more of white on gray now, but the blocky letters are still outlined in a
black that's unfaded and still good as new. His denim jeans are used, but the
holes are still decorative. They haven't been made by him, there are two holes
on each of his knees and one just above his right shoe. The white strings
covering his skin are no longer white, but a dirty gray and I know that part is
his work. He was never one to just sit around and be lazy. He was always out,
finding new adventures. Living a rebellious life with his girlfriend... or me.
His shoes, which were once white, are now a brown and green, probably from dirt
and grass stains while his hair is up and spiked, unlike three years ago when
he had his emo fringe. It's still its regular dark black, though, so he hasn't
dyed it. His forehead shows, but I know it couldn't compare to Brendon's.
I remember when we used to joke about how big Brendon's forehead because we'd
always pull his hair up. Those were the days when I was still happy... I mean I
am happy now. It's just not the same with my ex-friends around. It's not the
same with all this anxiety. It's just not the same as what it used to be. You
know?
I turn my attention back to Pete. His eyes are full of joy and still their dark
hazel color with spots of dark brown, but they're no longer outlined with his
black eyeliner. What happened? What happened to the Pete I used to know? Oh
yeah, he's happier without me. He's probably gotten over his depression because
I'm out of his life. That's why there's a smile on his light lips because I'm
gone. Because I was just a problem to him... What has he been doing lately? Has
he found another girlfriend? Is he always busy with her now? Or does he just
make a living of stealing friends like Gerard?
That's a stupid thought, and I'm quick to realize it. Gerard chose him. He
didn't choose Gerard. Gerard chose him over me. Him to hang out with instead of
a pathetic monster like me.
Joe's there, too. His afro is a little shorter than it was three years ago but
it's still there. I remember I used to weird him out and bury my head in it
when I was bored because I loved the texture. Ryan, Pete, and I would also take
bets on how many pencils we could stuff in it before he noticed. Ryan would
always get the closest with three or four pencils, but Pete and I would always
bet six or seven. Way too high. We lost a lot of money to that game, and now I
almost laugh at the thought because it was a fun game. Almost. Because I'm not
part of it anymore. I wonder if they still play it. Probably. They wouldn't let
a small problem like me end their fun, would they? I can already tell because
they're both smiling to each other and laughing. They'd never let a minor
setback like me ruin their lives.
Beneath his hair, his blue eyes are crinkling with joy, without me... and oh my
goodness, the closer I look, the more beautiful they are. I mean I don't like
him in that way. I probably wouldn't date him, but I do have to admit, he is
fairly cute. His smile, playing across his face moves as he says something to
Pete and it softly transitions to a neutral expression. He's wearing a
sleeveless Green Day vest. It only reminds me of the countless times we'd turn
Green Day up to full volume and scream out the lyrics. That was before they
applied to my life. Before I really did have cuts and bruises, before I really
was the minority. That was before The Incident, but those were my favorite
days.
We'd just hang out at Joe's house, and he always had these speakers that were
really, really loud. We'd sing along off pitch and with terrible tune, but it
was fun. It was one of my favorite memories of us. Of what we'd do. Does he
think of those things, too? Does he think about me, before he starts his day,
does he think of me as I think of him? Does he miss me? No, he's probably happy
I'm gone. He doesn't miss me as I miss him... He's probably happy that someone
as pathetic as me is gone. I want to believe he misses me, but... the best part
of believe is the lie, isn't it?
He looks to me and immediately the neutral look on his face is gone. Like a
flash, he looks... sad? Is that sadness? No, he wouldn't feel sad about me.
Maybe it's something Pete said, and he accidentally looked at me... Maybe...
I'm immediately feeling conflicted as I continue down the stone path, following
close behind Gerard and they leave my sight. I'm shaded by the various trees
planted across the school grounds and a soft breeze rolling through is only
making me feel colder. My hands bury themselves in their pockets as I feel more
and more self-conscious.
Why was Joe looking at me in the first place? Why would he notice someone like
me...? I don't know. I don't want to think about it right now. I just want to
focus on the fact that Gerard and I are going to a parade together. Soon enough
we'll be sitting on the city block watching instruments pass by as they play,
but they're not going to take my mind off of Joe and Pete... I just hope Gerard
won't notice how down I'm feeling. He hasn't noticed it yet. I want it to stay
that way because I don't want to start talking about depressing things when we
have something so big to watch. I want to enjoy it while I can.
We leave the school grounds and reach the sidewalk where we walk side by side,
his hands are in his pockets as well, and he seems slightly troubled like... he
doesn't want to go? Is that what's playing across his face right now? It's hard
to tell since I don't have a lot of experience with this sort of stuff. I'm not
as social as I should be. He, obviously, is a little more social than I am.
Just a little bit.
He swallows as we continue to walk downtown. I'm not sure where we're going
downtown, all I know is we're going to a corner and watching the parade. I
don't know how many people will be there, how many people will be watching as
well. But more importantly, why does he look so sad? Like he doesn't want to
go? Is it because of me? Is it because I'm here? Is it my fault that he looks
down? Why doesn't he want to go?
I don't want to ask because the silence is comforting, but it looks like he's
about to interrupt it anyways. I can't stop thinking about Joe and Pete, even
though I'm trying to get my mind away from it, they keep coming back. Why have
they changed so much? Is it because I'm gone or is it just the passing of time?
Is it because I haven't talked to them for three whole years?
"Hey, Patrick, you alright?" Gerard asks me, a tone of concern in his gentle
voice. How? How does he make out every little detail? How can he tell that I'm
not okay just by looking at me? Why does he care about me so much? It's just so
weird. Nobody has ever done that for me before besides Pete. Why does he always
study me like I'm a work of art? Like he has to take in every single detail?
"What do you think?" The words come out much more hostile than I mean them to
and in a flash, I want to take them back because I didn't mean for it to sound
so rude but he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he just sighs and looks
at his feet. Why is he sad? Why does he look so down? He didn't even bother
with his hair today... What's troubling him? He asked me... so why can't I ask
him, "Why are you down?"
He seems a little surprised that I asked, but he replies with a smile. The
exact same smile Megan uses when she tries to look for the best in a situation.
The sorrowful smile with just a hint of hope. But there is no hope in Gerard's
smile, only nostalgia. He replies, his voice makes it sound like he's close to
tears and he's trying to clear it up, but he's failing, "Just... brings back
sad memories... I guess... I... I'll tell you later if that's alright? I
just... don't really want to talk about it right now..."
He sounds so sad, and it breaks my heart. I want to make him happy, I want to
show him that there's nothing to be sad about, but first I guess I need to know
why he's sad, shouldn't I? It would probably be a good idea. Will he be alright
with me trying to cheer him up? I can't tell... What if it's something he
shouldn't be happy about? What if it's okay to be sad about this? I'm not sure.
I am curious, though. What does he have to tell me? Is it going to be something
big? Is it something that really affects him or will it just be a small thing?
It'll probably be something small. He doesn't trust me with something that big.
I shouldn't be trusted with something like that. I'm so pathetic.
"Yeah, that's fine," I reply. We walk in silence for a little while longer, my
foot beginning to hurt from the day before when Dad beat me. He pushed me, and
I ended up tripping over something, I can't remember what, and it hurt my foot.
It takes all my strength not to limp but eventually I can't take it anymore,
and I'm limping slightly. I don't think Gerard notices, so I just give in and
limp the rest of the way there.
We walk past buildings and trees, and there are several times when I think
we'll stop, but we keep on going. Cars and buses pass us, but I don't focus on
them. I'm focused on Gerard, instead. The way he shuts his eyes gently when he
walks. There are bags under his eyes. Has he not been getting any sleep? Why
not? Has this been bothering him? Does he not want me here? Is it too personal?
Is he regretting inviting me? I'm worrying too much. I don't know why I'm so
worried, but I can't stop. I can't help it. The thoughts just keep coming back
over and over. They won't leave my mind no matter how much I want them to go.
Gerard stops all of a sudden, we're at a corner, and there aren't very many
people around but I can tell the street will be filled up soon. That makes me a
little nervous because I'm scared I'll make a fool of myself and make Gerard
look like an idiot. That wouldn't be good... It's going to be fine, though. I
won't make an idiot of myself. It'll be okay. We'll just sit the whole time,
won't we? The black haired boy looks to me and smiles brightly before gently
saying, "We're here." He takes a seat on the edge of the curb, letting me
follow suit.
And together, we wait for the parade.
***** Chapter 14 *****
---Patrick---
It's always been this city that makes me feel colorblind. This city and this
one only. I've always kind of disliked Summit, though, so it's no surprise.
The city is gray.
The people on either side of the street are mostly wearing black or white and
even something as colorful as my light gray hoodie looks out of place. Gerard
has a neutral look on his features as he drops down on the city block, his legs
hanging over the curb and I follow suit, nervously.
He takes out his phone almost immediately for a split second to look at the
time: 3:50 PM. We'd been walking for twenty minutes. It seemed like five
minutes... Time really does go by fast, doesn't it? I guess it's just because I
was deep in thought, wasn't it? He puts his phone away, and I see that we're
sitting quite a bit apart. Do I scoot closer or are we alright? I don't want to
ask. That would be embarrassing... Instead, I ask him something that he might
know and something that's reasonable, "How long until the parade starts?"
He looks to me, his dark eyes sparkling slightly. Not from the sunlight but
with... tears? Oh, my goodness is he crying? My heart breaks even more, why is
he crying? Is it bothering him that much?
"Are you okay? Holy smokes, what's wrong?" I ask, immediately panicking
slightly. How do I comfort him? I've never done this before! Is he going to be
alright?
"Patrick, c-calm down. I'm fine..." He sniffles like he can read my thoughts.
He wipes his tears with the back of his finger, "I'm okay... I promise... J-
Just bad memories... I promise I'll tell you in a little bit, okay? I just need
to..." He takes a deep breath, "I just need to calm down..." He smiles, and I
see him swallow, "Forty minutes..."
"Huh?" I ask suddenly clueless.
"Forty minutes until the parade starts." He replies, "You asked how long until
the parade starts."
I internally sigh in relief because he's stopped crying before responding,
"Okay, okay..."
His gaze leaves me as it instead goes across the street, there are no cars
parked, and it looks like the city is clearing it for The Black Parade to come
through. Waiting patiently. The sky is cloudy and a dark gray like it's going
to rain. It worries me slightly because I don't want Gerard to get cold or
sick. I could probably let him use my hoodie if he wanted. Then he could have
something more than just a light jacket to keep him warm. Is that weird? I
don't know why I care about him so much. Is it because he cares for me? Or
pretends at least? I don't understand.
There are lots of things I don't understand right now. I'm so confused about...
everything but somehow I can still find peace when I'm with him. He clears my
mind, and he makes me feel like everything's going to be okay even if I'm
seconds from disaster. I don't understand him. I don't understand how he's
so... perfect.
I strive to be like him. I wish I had no problems in life. I wish I could be as
carefree as Gerard. I wish The Incident had never happened. I wish I could be
happy with who I am. I wish I weren't fat. I wish I weren't a failure. I wish,
I wish, I wish. But I'm not. I'm not perfect like Gerard. I'm not problem-less
like Gerard. I'm not carefree like Gerard. The Incident did happen. I'm not
happy with who I am. I am fat. I'm a pathetic failure. My thoughts are going in
circles. I can't think straight. I need to clear my mind. I need... Oh god, I
need pain... I shut my eyes and try to deal with it. When I get home, I'm going
to cut. I'm going to get rid of all this stress.
"Have you ever been to a parade before?"
My eyes open to see Gerard, his black hair looks darker than usual, the
sunlight is gone, covered by moisture in the form of a cloud. The sparkle in
his eyes is disappearing, and he's just taking me in again. Taking in my
details. I pull my hoodie tighter around myself feeling slightly self-conscious
before I reply, "No, have you?" That's a stupid question. Of course, he has,
why else would he have cried earlier? He's been here before... right?
"Yeah," He replies, a gentle smile crossing his face as he looks straight up,
so the buildings look smaller than they really are. I follow his gaze, and I
feel slightly dizzy... but I think I like the feeling. I think I like the view.
I hear a clump, making my eyes dart right back down to see the boy laying back,
his hair surrounding his head as he continues to look up, a ghost of a smile
still on his thin lips. I follow him and lay back, looking up at the buildings
like I would stars. I smile to myself.
Gerard is strange. Gerard is... strangely perfect to me. I don't know how he
makes my heart flutter, but it's like magic because it's never happened before.
I kind of just... forget about my problems, and I lay in peace as I watch the
gray buildings touch the cloudy sky. My fedora is on the ground now, but I
don't care. It can get dirty for Gerard. It's not as important as this. I can
feel something warm creep into my hand immediately making me pull my hand away
in surprise. I look down only to see Gerard's hand laying empty, guilt swallows
me, so I place my hand back on top of his, not wanting to hurt his feelings. He
grips it with a firmly gentle grip. It's a simple holding of hands but it means
so much more than he could ever know. It means I'm safe. I'm safe from Dad. I'm
safe from Kevin. I'm safe from my anxiety. I'm safe from my scars. I'm safe
from the world. The only thing I can think of is: How? How does he do this? I
look back up, watching the buildings and we sit in silence for a while.
It's not awkward. It's a nice kind of silence. Peaceful silence.
"I've gone to this parade ever since I was a baby." He replies, his voice soft,
"My father took me here to see it..." My heart drops and cracks slightly as it
lands. Took? Took? Oh no. Is his dad passed away? Is that why he's sad. I hear
him sniffle beside me, "I'll explain later..."
"No." The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I don't regret it
because I want to know. No. I need to know. I feel so determined, asking, no
demanding he tells me. I need to know what happened to his dad. I need to know
why he's crying. It hurts, seeing him so devastated like that. I need to know
what happened to his father. "Can't you tell me now?" I ask, biting my lip. My
nervousness is just... gone, "Please, I don't like seeing you cry..."
His hand squeezes mine softly, I only squeeze back. The silent reply is all I
need to know that I'm pushing it, so I shut up. That was stupid.
"After this... I need to take you somewhere... and then I'll tell you, okay?"
I'm hesitant to let him make me wait longer, but I realize that if I care about
him, I'll give him time, "Okay."
He gives a grateful squeeze before letting out a sigh. I'm a little frustrated
that he won't tell me, but I don't let it take over. He deserves his privacy. I
shut my eyes, taking in the fresh air. It's been a while since I last did
something like this, come outside and enjoy the fresh air... "So, what kind of
music do you listen to?"
Gerard turns his head so he's looking at me and I turn mine to look right back,
"I mean if you do listen to music, I listen to a lot of music and-"
"Green Day." He replies, "Green Day, The Offspring, Shinedown, maybe some
Nirvana here and there, Blink-182. I really like Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls,
too."
My mouth drops in shock and a grin follows soon after.
"Me too! I love Green Day, and I have tons of Shinedown and The Offspring and
some of The Get Up Kids songs." I smile as I speak.
"Do you have Green Day's latest album?" Gerard asks. My smile falters. No. It
came out after The Incident after Dad was always a drunk. I don't have 21st
Century Breakdown.
"No... I haven't had a chance to get it..." I reply, "I have all the rest of
their albums, though."
Gerard sits up and reaches into his pocket to grab his phone then continues to
scramble through them and begins to panic slightly, "Shit, I forgot my
headphones at school..."
I take my own from my pocket and hand them over once I untangle them, "Here,"
He looks into my eyes, letting a grateful smile creep over his face, "Thanks."
He plugs them into his phone, fitting just right before he scrolls through his
music. I can see Shinedown, The Offspring, Muse, The Get Up Kids, Blink-182. I
smile as he gets to Green Day and opens 21st Century Breakdown. My eyes light
up as I look at the list of music.
1. Song Of the Century
2. 21st Century Breakdown
3. Know Your Enemy
4. Viva La Gloria!
5. Before the Lobotomy
6. Christian's Inferno
7. Last Night On Earth
There are a lot more songs than I thought there would be and damn, I'm missing
out... I'm a little sad to know that I probably will never be able to listen to
all of them but I'm happy that Gerard's going to show me.
"This is my favorite." 21 Guns? Okay.
I take one earbud in my right ear while he takes one in his left ear and begins
the song. I shut my eyes, letting the music take over my senses as I completely
forget about everything around me, I embrace the sounds emitting from the bud,
the guitar, the drums, Billie's voice, it all comes together in my ears, and
it's amazing. The way the sounds just kind of take over, the way the members
perform with all their strength...
We sit for a long time, listening to Green Day, showing each other our music.
I'm happy. It makes me happy being with him, even if it's not in a romantic
way. More and more people crowd around us but I ignore them, it's just us in
our own world. Nobody else exists except Gerard and I. I don't have to question
anything about this parade, I don't have to worry. Nothing can go wrong. Can
it?
"Oh, dream, America, dream
I can't even sleep
From the light's early dawn," He sings into my ear, but he's being interrupted
by another sound in my left ear. It's hard to make out, but as the man
continues, I can hear the sounds of flutes, tubas, and drums.
"Oh, scream, America, scream
Believe what you see
From heroes and cons," Gerard pulls the earbud from my ear, the song over. He
unplugs the cord from his phone before he hands it to me and puts his phone in
his pocket.
"Is that them?" I ask.
Quit asking so many stupid questions.
"Yeah," He whispers, joy in his eyes. He rises to his feet, standing up
straight before helping me up. God, I'm fat...
The sounds are getting closer, and I can't help but look around the corner to
see the parade making its way down the street. And I'm not expecting what I
see.
The first thing I see is a banner held by a woman and a man. The woman is in a
white dress with rows and rows of trim down the skirt. The top is made of what
looks like satin, it covers everything that should be covered and then some. On
top of the silk is a thin, see through layer. It makes her skin look paler than
it already is, so it's basically white. Her hair is white and short. It's
impressive considering how thick it is and how young she looks. It's obviously
not natural. Nonetheless, it takes my breath away as I watch her walk through
the gray street. She's wearing mascara and some type of makeup that makes her
face white as well. She keeps looking at the crowd of people gathered around us
and waving, occasionally giving loving glances to the man next to her.
The man is the opposite. He's completely black. Black tuxedo, black pants,
black dress shirt, black shoes. Everything is completely black, not a single
ounce of white. It's like someone just dipped him in black paint and sent him
on his way. As he passes by, I get a closer look, and he's still completely
black. His hands are a dark, dark gray. It's almost black but not quite, a few
shades lighter, and I can understand that. I mean, how hard would it be to make
someone completely black? Extremely. His face is black, too. Did they use the
same makeup that they used on the girl on the boy just a different shade? He
looks straight into my green with his own dark brown eyes. Thankfully, he's not
wearing black contacts. That would be a little scary. He gives me a smile, it's
a friendly smile, and it makes me smile back. He waves slightly before time
continues and he's waving to other people.
I look up at the banner. The writing clearly shows the words: Welcome To The
Black Parade. The font makes it look handwritten but not a neat handwriting.
Handwriting that someone would write in if they were angry. The 'o' in 'To' is
circled around several times until it's just a clear O with a couple stray
markings here and there. Under the five big, bold letters is a smaller text
reading: Presented by Alexander Hamilton High School. Where is that? Is that in
Summit? Or is it somewhere else?
Gerard takes my hand in mine. This time, I don't flinch. This time, I don't
pull it away. This time, I embrace his warmth and squeeze slightly, so he knows
that I enjoy it and appreciate it. The skin is rough and well textured, much
different than mine. I'm not sure what mine feel like to another person. Are
they soft? Or are they rough like Gerard's? I don't know... I hope they're
alright for Gerard. I want him to be happy with me... But I know he won't. I'm
too ugly and fat and awkward for him. It's just to make him look good to other
people... So I'll play along if that's what Gerard wants...
Behind the boy and the girl is a row of men. All five are in head-to-toe black
and white camo print. Black and white camo shirt, gloves, pants, and combat
boots. On their heads are black combat helmets and in their hands are white
shotguns, held up by one hand and a stiff shoulder. There are two soldiers, one
on each outside column holding a frame with dozens and dozens of small
pictures, showing dozens and dozens of different people. Men, women, and even
children. My stomach twists slightly, are those fallen soldiers? Why would
there be kids in the frames? Were they forced to fight? The row of troops is
passing before I can question it further.
Behind them are five men playing trombones. The golden brass isn't golden. It's
a dark gray. There are decorations of white and black leading up the instrument
like arrowheads. Apart from the instrument are the players, they wear black
marching band jackets, and it looks strangely familiar... I'm not quite sure
where I've seen it before, but I've seen it somewhere... They wear skeleton
facepaint, outlining their eyes, mouths, and noses in black while the rest is a
bright white. Behind the trombone players and trombones, raised high and stiff
like they should be in a marching band is a row of more brass in the same
outfits with the same facepaint. I don't know what some of the instruments are,
but I can tell that they're brass instruments. Tuba, a large brass instrument I
don't recognize, tuba, another brass instrument I don't recognize. They have
the same color as the trumpets in their shining rims, a dark, dark gray. Behind
the row of larger brass is a row of five trumpeters. Raised high and blowing
out of the gray instrument with determination and a loud sound.
Beside the trumpets are two horses, one on each side. They're both a snowy
white with beautiful, silky fur and strong, proud hooves. They're draped with a
black cloth, a black, leather saddle on top of the fabric, and atop the saddle
is a girl with a black mask covering only the area around her eyes. She wears a
hat that covers her hair, a little taller than my fedora and a lot straighter
than it. It's dark with a black feather at the front, the tip of the feather
raised above the rest of the hat. She wears a black jacket like the remainder
of the marching band, but instead of pants with a long, white stripe, she has a
simple black skirt. Her legs are covered in white leggings and below the
leggings are black boots with heels. The fabric isn't leather, but a soft, fur-
like material. I'm not sure what it's called, but it's much softer than the
leather of the saddle. She turns her head to me, her green eyes looking
straight into mine.
Mom's green eyes.
Mom's dead, glassy, green eyes.
She gives a devious smirk and turns her head away to look to someone else.
"Patrick,"
"Hey, Patrick,"
"Patrick!"
"Huh?" I look to my right to see Gerard holding both of my hands, a worried
expression glued to his face. I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath. That was
close, I could have had a flashback and... Oh my god...
"Are you alright? What happened?" He asks, his thumb rubbing the back of my
hand. I pull my hands away before it gets too awkward... I'm going to get a
boner if he keeps doing that...
"N-nothing..." I reply, my voice just above a whisper. He wraps his arms around
my shoulders, taking me by surprise as he pulls me close, his warmth pressed
against me. I find myself melting into the hug. Even though I don't understand
why he always tries to comfort me. Even though I don't know why he keeps
trying... I accept it... I just let him hug me. And I let him touch me, and I
let him comfort me. Because I appreciate it... Even if it might be fake. Even
if he might be doing this just to look good. I don't care. I enjoy it... Even
if it is just temporary...
"Something's wrong." He replies, pulling away, "What happened?"
"Nothing!" I snap, glaring at him. Where did that come from? He looks hurt.
Shit, "S-Sorry... I just don't want to talk about it..."
He swallows but nods, his hair moving slightly as his head bobs, "I shouldn't
be so nosy, sorry."
"Don't say that. It could do people good, just... not me, alright?" I say,
turning back to the parade. There's a row of snare drums passing by, a design
of black clock hands on the white surface, being hit with dark, black
drumsticks. Gerard holds my hand again as they pass in their black and white
uniforms. I don't flinch or pull away this time, only keep a firm grasp on it
like if I let go, it'll never return to me again. I'll be lost in a sea of
black and while paraders.
Behind the snare drums are a row of tenor drums, three different drums, three
different sizes, three different colors. One is black, one is gray, and one is
white. They play three different pitches as they pass but the notes remain a
mystery to me.
The tenors finish moving by, making way, instead, for the two giant bass drums.
I like the bass drums, I decide. They have a pitch black frame and a white
center, but there are four clock hands, one pointing up, one pointing right,
one pointing down, and one pointing left. There are the twelve numbers,
measuring hours, minutes, seconds, all in Roman numerals that decorate the drum
just like an actual clock. It looks fantastic and overall, I like it.
Behind the drums are saxophones. Soprano, tenor, alto, and two basses. All of
them are a smooth black just like the brass before them. The band is going
faster than it was before and before I know it, the black flutes are passing
by, making way for the clarinets. Gerard squeezes my hand tightly. I turn my
head to see him gazing straight into the clarinet section with tears lining his
eyes.
He lets go and steps forward before his hand squeezes another.
And I immediately know where I've seen the uniform before. I saw it on a boy in
a drawing Gerard once drew a few weeks ago. Now, the boy is standing in front
of me. Brown hair, white glasses, the black parade uniform.
Mikey Way.
***** Chapter 15 *****
---Gerard---
My hands squeeze Mikey's, taking everything that I can. Every. Single. Detail.
His fingers, once soft, are now calloused from the strong strings of his bass.
Rough, detailed, textured skin covering the calloused muscle. His palms are
sweaty from either nervousness or work, I can't tell which one but I assume
it's a mix of both from the way I know he is. A shy, introvert just like our
father once was. My brother's eyes turn from the black flute in front of him to
me, the dark orbs made even darker with the sorrow and nostalgia behind them,
framed like a picture frame with a rectangle of white. His lips part slightly
and he says to me in a voice so quiet that I'm surprised I can hear it over the
sounds of the marching band. He whispers out five words which give me hope and
begin a slow build of anticipation inside my stomach, "Meet me after the
parade."
And with that, his hands leave mine cold and empty as they place themselves
right back on the strong strings of the black and white bass before he can get
too far out of the song. He continues on with the marching band, passing by
several more people but I don't move.
I'm still standing, my hands at my sides on the edge of the street even after
he passes because I'm becoming hopeless, the anticipation was only a burst and
now, I can only feel the guilt sinking into my veins. What is wrong with me?
Why didn't I join him? Why did I let him leave on his own? He needs protection.
What is wrong with me? So many questions are flying through my mind in a flurry
and it's somewhat overwhelming. Why did I ever stay...?
I feel a sweaty palm on my shoulder but I don't jump. That's why. I stayed to
take care of the people I love... I stayed to take care of Mom. I stayed to
take care of anyone else who needed me here... Like Patrick...
He's different. He's so much different from the others but I love it about it.
I love everything about him. His flaws, his strong points. Even his anxiety.
That doesn't mean I don't want him to get over it, though. He needs help,
mentally and emotionally... and maybe physically... I notice how he doesn't
eat. I notice how he doesn't sit by Pete, Joe, Frank, Brendon, Ryan, and I at
lunch. I notice how he usually goes to the bathroom after lunch. I notice how
he always covers himself with hoodies. I notice how he always seems so...
scared. I want him to feel better. I want to make him feel wanted. I want him
to realize how amazing he is. But I think there's something more... Something
more than the anxiety and the scars...
I'm scared something is happening at home. He was limping on the way here, he
flinched when I pressed him against the locker earlier, he flinches whenever I
hold his hand or hug him. I know he cuts and I know he's trying to stop but
he's covering more than just his wrists. He's covering emotions and feelings he
shouldn't be covering. Bottle them up for too long, and he's going to explode.
It's unhealthy.
I wish he liked me in the same way I like him... I have feelings for him and it
hurts to know that he probably doesn't for me... He probably never will... He's
still figuring out his sexuality and I don't think he'll turn out gay. I don't
know why... It just... Things don't usually work out for me and I doubt this
will either. But maybe he will and maybe nothing is happening at home and maybe
he just has to go to the bathroom after lunch to actually use the bathroom.
And maybe he isn't trying to stop cutting. They're all assumptions...
"That was Mikey, wasn't it?" He asks in his soft voice. I don't reply. I can't
reply. The only thing in my mind is his soft, neutral face with a ghost of a
smile lining his lips and I can't focus on anything else. Patrick doesn't press
it further, instead he takes my shaking hands and brings me back up to the
sidewalk where I'm safe from the rest of the parade.
He doesn't speak for a while, I'm just standing, leaning against a telephone
pole with tears in my eyes. Patrick is standing in front of me awkwardly, not
sure what to do. I don't know how long we're like that before Patrick's voice
rings through the air, soft and innocent with a hopeful undertone, "Do you want
to go? We can go to the park or find a coffee shop..." He suggests. I only
start sobbing more, grateful that he's trying to help me and feeling terrible
for being such a burden to him, a poor boy who's stressed enough as it is.
"I'm sorry..." I whisper, my breath shaky from the lack of air and the scent of
salty tears.
"Hey, hey," He replies softly, I feel his nervous hand on my shoulder, shaking
slightly in fear, "Don't say sorry, please. Let's go, you can um... tell me
everything." I can tell he's struggling, scared he'll say the wrong thing,
scared he'll mess up. I swallow, wiping my tears and catching my breath as I
finally reply in the most gentle voice I can, "Mikey wants to meet me at the
end of the parade."
He looks slightly hesitant to say yes and it makes me mad but I hide it. Why
would he be hesitant? Doesn't he want me to see my brother? He nods, his warm
palm leaving my bony shoulder and taking my hand, leading me away from the
telephone pole to follow The Black Parade. My black shoes are cushioning my
feet as we walk, he's trying to lead me smoothly through the crowd but there
are so many people it's more of a labyrinth than a sidewalk. There're about
four blocks of it but Patrick keeps his hard grip on my hand the whole way,
determined to get me to my brother.
I don't understand how he still hasn't started trusting me yet but somehow he's
comfortable with leading me by my hand, when he doesn't like being touched,
through a sidewalk filled with people, when he has social anxiety, just to get
me to my destination. I'm grateful, though. I'm really happy that he's
beginning to trust me a bit better. If I want to help him, this is what I need.
Patrick's grip relaxes slightly when we get out of the crowd and we're at the
end of the parade's route.
I don't have time to look around before I see him. Standing by his bus and
casing his bass while talking with another boy I don't recognize. As we near
them I'm able to make out the other boy's details better. He has short, black
hair, straight up in almost a buzz-cut. It looks dark under the cloudy skies
but I can tell it would be quite a bit shinier if the sun was out, bringing
more light to our little city of Summit. He has a small smile across his dark
complexion, a small smirk on the corner of his chapped lips. The smirk plays
across his lips in a way that immediately makes me question how trustworthy he
is. It makes me suspicious but I try not to judge him too soon, he might be a
cool guy and I'm just being an overprotective little shit.
Patrick keeps leading me forward, I'm able to make out more of my brother's
details. His brown hair hidden under his gray beanie and white glasses. He zips
up the casing for his instrument and hoists it up onto his back, hanging over
one shoulder. He looks our way, his dark eyes crossing mine and he has to do a
double take to make sure he isn't imagining things. Sure enough, he isn't and
he immediately drops his instrument and runs to me, catching me in a tight
embrace.
"Gerard!" He exclaims. I squeeze him close. I don't want to let go of him. Not
now. Not tomorrow. Never. I want him back. I want him to come home. I want him
back like I had him four years ago. I wish he would just come home. I wish...
Who am I kidding? He's never coming home... He's happier here than he'd ever be
at home. He has friends. He has people who can comfort him... It's been four
years but that doesn't mean we can just forget. That doesn't make it all okay.
Time can pass and... Fuck, I just got over the third stage of grief at the
start of September. The only way I have to cope is just to cause myself harm
and... I'm one month clean. I'm proud so far... But it's hard especially when
the blade is right there and you're kept up all night by the memories. Straight
into the bathroom and I could dull the pain. I've relapsed too many times to
count...
This time it'll be different. If I want to support Mikey, I have to be strong.
If I want to support Mama, I have to be strong. If I want to help Patrick, I
have to be strong. I have to be strong for Frank. I have to be strong for Ryan
and Pete. I have to be strong for Brendon and Joe. I have to be strong for
everyone. For Patrick. For Mama. For Mikey. For... Dad...
"I missed you so much." I whisper, holding Mikey tight. My voice is cracking,
close to crying. Close. But not quite. I have to be strong.
"How were you?" He asks, pulling away much to my disappointment, "How's Mama?"
"I'm healing. Mama... she's doing alright." I reply. That's a lie. She's been
smoking more than she used to, almost a pack a day. It's scaring me and I don't
know how to make her stop. I don't know what I can do to make her realize it's
useless.
Mikey has a challenging, worried look in his eye, he opens his mouth to speak
and after a moment of thought he replies, "Is she...?"
I swallow, trying to take the guilt of a lie with it but I can't. He knows the
truth and I don't even have to say it. I takes a little bit before I can
finally summon the courage to tell the truth. I don't want him to know. I don't
want him to know how much pain she's in but he's asking. And it's the right
thing to do, "No... She's smoking a pack a day. I... I don't know how to make
her stop."
My brother hesitates before finally letting out a sigh of frustration and
burying his face in his hands, "Tell her to stop for me. Please. Anything...
She needs to stop."
"I can't!" I say, exasperated. I don't know how my voice raised but it just did
and it surprises me slightly.
"Yes, you can! Are you even trying?" He replies and I snap because I can't. I
can't just make her stop. I can't convince her that it's over. That she just
needs to accept it and move on. I can't convince her that she needs to quit it.
I have to but I can't because I'm just about as fucked up as she is. Because
even I haven't accepted it yet and I don't know how to make her realize that
he's gone. I can't just convince her to stop smoking it all away. I'm blind to
everything except my brother and my growing rage.
"Mikey I've tried everything, she just won't stop!"
"Well if you don't make her stop she'll end up just like Dad!" Mikey nearly
screams at me. I stop. I completely stop and he realizes his mistake. He raises
his hands and covers his mouth in guilt, tears sparking at his eyes, "I'm so
sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I-"
"Save it." I snap moving back slightly, "Just fucking save it. Talk to me when
you realize what the fuck is wrong with you because you haven't been living
here for the past four years. You don't know what I have to deal with every
single day. Do you know how heartbreaking it is to see her like this? Do you
fucking know what it's like to see her on the front porch, crying and smoking
and trying to forget? No! No you haven't! She's heartbroken, Mikey! I can't fix
a broken heart! While you've been living in paradise for the past four years
with friends, I've actually been doing something Dad would have wanted."
"Dad wanted us to go to the parade."
I realize my mistake and we're tied in the battle of arguments. I sigh, shaking
my head, as I try to calm myself down. I look back up, not blinded by my rage
anymore. I can see. Everyone's watching us. Patrick has tears in his eyes, he's
covering his mouth in shock and shaking slightly with fear. His beautiful,
blonde hair swaying slightly in the soft breeze. The boy Mikey was talking with
also looks shocked and the rest of the marching band is just watching,
expressionless. Some disappointed, some minding their own business, and some
looking just as shocked as Patrick.
"Here..." I whisper, pulling a piece of tan-white paper from my pocket. Folded
neatly with perfect creases and edges. On the inside is him, drawn in pencil.
Jacket, badge, and all. Shaded in dark and light gray with a bass by his side
but it's hidden by the folds for now. He looks confused as he takes it from me
and he's about to open it up but I quickly add, "Open it on the bus."
He looks back up when I say that but agrees with a short nod, folding the paper
back up and gently placing it in the pocket. He swallows, choosing his words
carefully but I can tell he gives up halfway through when he says, "So... See
you next year?"
I let out a shaky breath I didn't realize I was holding as I urge myself not to
cry but a tear slips out anyways. So that's it, huh? He's just given in. I
reply with a, "Yeah,"
He holds out his arms for me. I take his embrace gratefully, the cold buttons
of his uniform pressing against my chest and stomach but I don't let it bother
me. He's gripping the sides of my hoodie. He doesn't want to let go either. He
has to eventually but he won't. I already know that. He was never one to give
up easily unless for good reasons and I appreciate that as I pull away, I don't
want to but it's time for him to go back on the bus with his friends. If he has
friends. Last time I talked with him, he said most of his friends were in their
senior year last year. That means they've left by now. Off to college, off to
their own lives, to find their place in life. To leave Mikey behind by himself.
I'm guessing he made friends with the boy with black hair. He's not completely
alone, thankfully...
I turn heel, walking back toward Patrick who is pulling on the black strings of
his hoodie nervously. He's biting his lip and he looks a little scared as I
walk back.
"I love you."
My breathing hitches. Mikey's voice still ringing through my ears. The air is
completely silent. Not a person dares move as I stand still, facing Patrick. I
don't reply at first, still deciding if I reply or not. I can't help but wonder
if he wants me to just ignore him. If he wants me to shake my head and pull
Patrick along but that's a stupid thought. Of course he wants me to reply. Of
course he loves me. His words slipped just like mine did. We didn't mean it.
We're at a tie. We're even and it's my choice as to whether or not it'll stay
that way.
It will. The four words are out of my mouth, the short, "I love you, too," and
I'm walking again after a brief pause. I stand in front of Patrick who looks
down slightly but takes my outstretched hand. The marching band is still
completely silent except for the occasional shuffle of a case or the yell from
the crowd a block or so away. In that moment, I want to scream and I want to
cry because there's so much tension but I don't let it show. I have to be
strong for Patrick. And Mikey. And Mama. And Dad. If I'm not, then I've
ultimately failed what I've always wanted to accomplish.
We walk away, up the city block and away from the instruments. Away from the
buzz-cut boy. Away from the bass. Away from the black and white couple. Away
from the tour bus. Away from my childhood and up the city block. Heading
towards the flower shop.
Patrick's hand is shaking violently in mine making me stop and turn to look at
him in worry. What's wrong? The sun is setting, I'm guessing it's about half
past five or so based off of how early the sun is setting at this time of year.
There are maple trees lining the sidewalks. We're just outside of the downtown
area right about now. About ten blocks away from my house and eleven blocks
away from Patrick's. The air is getting colder, a tension in the air that
wasn't there before. It's hard to describe... but it's like a static. The calm
before the storm where it's silent. Too silent to be normal and you know
something bad's about to happen. In this case, it'll start raining soon and
then maybe thunder and lightning. But the rain has already begun. There are
tears streaming down his rosy cheeks and he looks completely terrified. He's
terrified of me. He pulls away, still shaking violently and lets out a shaky
breath.
"Patrick, what's wrong?" I ask, worried.
"I-I'm s-so sorry... P-Please d-don't take this o-out on m-me," He whispers,
just barely audible. Those words break my heart and confirm my growing
suspicions. Who hurt him? Why does he think I would hurt him? Doesn't he trust
me? Is it because I'm mad? Did he think I was going to hurt Mikey? What's
happening at home? Is it his dad? His mom? A sibling? How badly is he getting
hurt?
"Why would I hurt you, Sugar?"
"Y-You were m-mad and I-I didn't know..." He swallows his tears, wiping them
with the sleeve of his hoodie and flinching slightly as his eyes touch his
wrists.
"Hey, listen to me." I say gently, trying not to think of Mikey. Trying to stay
strong.
He looks up at me with those innocent green eyes. It takes all my will not to
snap and start crying of guilt. Did I do something wrong? What's wrong with me?
Why is he so scared?
"I will never hurt you, alright. Never. You're my friend and I'm not like that.
I don't hurt people. Can you tell me why you'd think I'd hurt you? I really
didn't mean to get that mad I was just..." I trail off. He already knows. He
knows what Mikey said and he knows what I said back. Nasty, nasty things and I
don't like to say things so deep.
His breath hitches slightly like he's shocked I asked him. He looks down,
putting his hands in his pockets. He's thinking long and hard about something.
It's a hesitation. He doesn't want to tell me something. He's hiding something
and I need to know what. I'm about to add something but he interrupts me
without knowing, "I'll tell you if you tell me what happened to your Dad. A-And
Mikey..." He says. Fair enough but I want to know more.
"You have to tell me everything." I reply. A mix of a thousand emotions wash
over him in that moment. Anger, stress, shock, fear, depression, anxiety, joy,
shame. It goes by so fast that I barely catch it. His expression stays with
want. He wants to tell me? Or he wants me to just stop, "I need to know,
Patrick. Please."
He shakes his head, running his fingers through his blonde hair and messing up
his bangs. His fedora falls off but I catch it before it hits the ground. It's
dirty and I'm not sure from what but I brush off the dirt and place it gently
back on his head, "Please, 'Trick?"
"I'm scared..." He confesses. There's complete silence in the neighborhood
apart from his shaky whispers.
"Why are you scared?" I whisper back.
"I... Um... Later, okay? B-But I'll tell you, I promise..." He replies still
shaking slightly.
I swallow and take his hand in mine, holding it close despite the fact that he
flinches. A conversation from a couple weeks ago rings through my mind and I
can't help but smile and repeat it back. I promised I wouldn't judge him, so
now he has to promise to tell me everything, "How strong are your promises?"
He looks up with raised eyebrows and wet eyes, looking into my eyes as I wipe
away the tears.
"I-I have yet to break one," He hesitates, then asks, "Promise to tell me
everything about your dad and Mikey?"
I smirk, "I promise."
"How strong are your promises?
"I have yet to break one."
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
---Gerard---
Sometimes I feel like certain moments will never end. They can get to be so
slow and long and awkward and it makes me want to crawl away and forget about
it.
This is one of these encounters.
Patrick wipes his tears as we continue down the gray sidewalk, trying to leave
the conversation behind with each footstep. One foot in front of the other
right beside me. The calm is actually somewhat comforting on this painful walk.
One foot in front of the other. We're walking in sync and I can't help but
wonder what is happening. Who is hurting Patrick? Do they really hurt him? What
did they do? Make him do things he doesn't want to do? Threaten him? ... Abuse
him...?
I don't want to think of the last one but as it sails through my mind I realize
it's a possibility. A big possibility. He doesn't like talking about his
family. He always gets nervous when he's almost home. Everything points to
physical abuse. The flinching, the wincing, the fear. I'm scared that I'm going
to somehow break the trust he already has with me and ruin everything. Why did
I have to get so mad at Mikey? What's wrong with me? He probably hates me now,
I shouldn't have said all those horrible things. I...
I can't think about that now. I have to talk to Dad soon and tell Patrick what
really happened four years ago. I've trusted him so far, and he trusts me so...
I need to. It's the right thing to do...
I stop in front of the flower shop. The faded oak wood sign at the front,
hanging from two rusty chains. The sign reading, Thurman Floral Arrangements
and Décor in soft, neat letters. Beside the sign are five different flowers in
planters at the front of the shop, blocked off by the fence leading straight to
the door of the small building.
The concrete turns to gravel as Patrick and I stroll to the door, the crunch of
the sharp stones under foot is the only sound we can hear in the evening air.
As I look back, I notice the sun is casting long shadows and bright light
across the front of the building, golden rays lighting our way. Finally, I pull
open the door, letting Patrick in first and following soon after.
It's a cozy shop, small but cozy. There's a fireplace in one wall with a brick
chimney leading up and out of sight and bringing the smoke into the cloudy sky.
The fire is warm, supporting the whole shop with its golden heat and the sound
of crackling wood behind black metal bars.
There's a small, tan sofa by the fireplace and a smooth counter but otherwise
the shop is almost completely empty, making the room look spacier than it
really is. The walls are made of red brick and decorated with family photos of
people holding bouquets. Some look extremely old and some look somewhat newer
but I can tell they're all fairly aged. The oldest picture isn't even colored,
it's black and white.
In it, a girl is holding a bouquet of lavender and bellflower, behind her are
two women who I recognize as Uma and Miss Jackson (Nobody knew Miss Jackson's
real name, it was lost, but people just call her Miss Jackson because it's an
extremely generic last name). Both look to be in their thirties with light
brown hair and expressionless faces, their hands interlocked. The girl in the
front looks to be about eight or so, still a child and barely young enough to
run the flower shop on her own but I know that ten years from then, she'd have
everything down. Beside her is another girl who looks to be the same age but
isn't holding a bouquet, I already know that they're sisters and they'd be the
next ones to run the business. All four of them are wearing fancy, light
colored dresses with ugly floral designs, which I guess was fashionable back
then. Their hair is neat and prim with not a single stray in sight. The dark
locks are straightened in such a way that the bottoms curl in at the end.
The next picture is in sepia, the eight-year olds from the last picture are now
in their thirties and they're the ones holding hands while their children are
in front of them. They look almost exactly the same but this time, the girl on
the right has black hair instead of brown and their dresses look slightly
better than the last picture.
There are several of these pictures lined up across the room showing how each
generation has passed with the most recent behind the front counter. It shows
three girls instead of two, this time, the first picture to do that.
The girl on the left has brown hair with blond highlights and is wearing a
completely white dress made of a fabric I can't identify. Her eyes are a
vibrant blue eyes, like the color of the morning sky and a beautiful smile
plays across her face. I know her. That's Sarah. Beside Sarah is another girl.
She has much different hair and it's easy to tell just how much genetics change
through the generations. Her hair is long and dark like a chestnut and it
decorated with lots of natural, small waves coursing through the locks. Her
eyes are a dark, dark shade of brown, almost completely opposite of her white
dress. In this picture, she's the one with the bouquet. The same lavender and
bellflower filling the plastic as in every other photograph in the room. I know
that girl, too. That's Elisa. Finally, on the end is a girl with near pale
skin, pristine and light. She has completely black hair with light hazel eyes
and an enthusiastic smile tracing her red lips. She's wearing a white dress,
too. Just like Sarah and Elisa but I can tell she really didn't want to. She's
not that type of girl.
I smile to myself wondering how the hell they even managed to get her to wear
it. I'm guessing it must have taken a while of persuasion to get her to do it.
Anyways, that's Lindsey. She's cool and obviously much different from her
sisters. I like her.
Behind the three sisters, are two women just like in the other pictures, both
women are in their thirties and it's easy to see whose children go to which
women. The woman on the right easily matches Lindsey's appearance. Pale skin,
dark brown eyes, black hair. I think her name is Helena... or was... She died a
few years back of age. I was invited to the funeral but I never went because I
had to take care of Mama...
I feel guilty for not going but I guess it's over now. Lindsey is doing alright
without her mother, I know she went through a period of grief but she's
recovered and she's accepted it. I have yet to do so... Meanwhile, Elisa and
Sarah's mother, Bonnie, has been doing alright. I know she's going to pass
soon, though. That's what I've heard, at least, which isn't too surprising. I
know that women from the Thurman family pass fairly quickly... Usually about
their fifties or sixties. It's been at least twenty years since that picture
was taken, making Bonnie fifty-two this year while Helena would be fifty-five.
I look away from the pictures hanging around the tiny shop to look to the empty
counter. There's a bell for me to ring to summon one of the three sisters. I
realize I'll have to do it eventually. I don't want to. I don't want to talk to
anyone but Patrick right now but I know I have to if I want to respect Dad.
So, I walk forward, Patrick close behind. He's looking across the decorations
on the brick walls, his eyes taking in each image on the wall and each detail
of the shop. Judging it. But you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.
My fingers press down on the cold, silver bell, making the contraption emit a
high-pitched tone. It echoes through the empty room and into the back where
Lindsey, Elisa, and Sarah are probably working. There's silence for a moment,
and then I hear a sharp, "Is that Gerard?" and my cheeks light up.
Much to my surprise, all three show up at the front counter instead of just one
and I can't help but blush even more. It's been half a year since I last saw
them and they haven't changed much. Sarah still has her long, brown hair
reaching her chest and a black hat atop her head. She smiles slightly but it's
empty because she knows why I'm here. All three of them do. Elisa's smile fades
slightly when she walks to the counter, obviously with a twinge of sympathy
while Lindsey still smiles.
"Gerard! Long time no see," Sarah says in the happiest voice she can muster.
She knows why she hasn't seen me in such a long time. There's no use in
pointing it out.
"Yeah, nice to see you again." I say with an empty laugh.
"You too," Elisa says somewhat quietly. There's a short silence that gets too
awkward, too fast. It needs to be stopped.
"You two can go ahead," Lindsey says to Elisa and Sarah, reading my mind. They
give a slight nod at different times before going into the back, probably out
to the greenhouse. Once the door shuts, Lindsey turns to me, a grim look on her
face, "You doing alright?"
I shrug slightly, "This is four years now, not any better than it usually
is..."
"Same here," she sighs. She knows my pain. I know she was feeling especially
sad when Helena died but she doesn't usually talk about it anymore. It's just a
sensitive topic to her, "So, who are you?"
After a moment of confusion, I realize she's referencing the blond next to me
and out of the corner of my eye, he tenses up. I only take his hand in mine. He
flinches at first but quickly takes in the warmth gratefully, "I'm Patrick,
Patrick Stumph..."
Lindsey holds out her hand across the counter which Patrick takes, leaving my
own hand cold and empty, "Lindsey Thurman. Are you two dating?"
A wildfire spreads across my face almost instantly as soon as those four words
left her mouth, turning my cheeks a bright red and making my voice
exceptionally hard to find. I wish. I really wish. Do we really look that
close? Yeah... um... "N-No, we're just friends."
I see Patrick's tensed up, too, his hand has left mine in disgust maybe? Or
he's just embarrassed. I know he's gay or questioning at least, so I wouldn't
think he'd be disgusted by it. He just... isn't into me like that. I don't
think at least. Lindsey laughs slightly, taking me by surprise and I actually
start to laugh myself, "Sorry, I just thought..." She trails off.
"It's okay." I reply with a smile that reaches my eyes, "No, nothing like that
has happened for a few years... Not with me at least."
Patrick's head is down and he's blushing madly but there's still a hint of a
grin on his face. Lindsey leans over the wood counter, looking across the
walls. She shuts her eyes, a content, warm smile on her red lips, "It's been
three years but I still miss her..."
I feel his hand squeeze mine painfully tight, making me wince but I try not to
let it show. Why? What's that about?
"Yeah..." I reply. I feel slightly uncomfortable and there's a growing tension
in the room but I don't dare let it get too bad, "How's Bonnie?"
Lindsey looks slightly surprised that I ask. I try not to question it as she
replies with a little bit of hope in her tone, "The doctors say she has a few
more years. She'll probably pass at the same age as Helena did."
I nod softly, looking down at my feet. That's good news. Last time they said
she'd pass within a year, so she's made improvement. Patrick's feet are right
beside mine, his shoes are worn and I can tell he needs new shoes soon but I
don't want to ask him about it. I don't want to make him uncomfortable. I want
to wait until later for that...
I hear the back door shut and my eyes dart back up to see Elisa with a bouquet
of black and red flowers. There are dark tulips and lilies and four roses
placed among the bouquet. One for each year. Each pedal pristine and neat.
They're untouched by human hands and they're beautiful. Just like Patrick...
I've found that that's the only word I can use to describe him... Just
beautiful. Sexy is a no go. I mean, I'm sure he could be sexy if he wanted but
I really shouldn't be thinking like that at the moment. Cute could describe him
but he's too... Damaged to be cute. Cute would go with innocent and innocent
would mean he doesn't have much experience with life. He's had too much
experience with life. Much more than me at least, and that's without mentioning
the possible abuse. Gorgeous just doesn't sound right. Hot... that would go
with sexy... Too intimate but beautiful is... Beautiful can describe him. He's
beautifully damaged. And I accept that. The way his blond hair sways in the
wind. The way his fedora tips slightly, crooked on his head. The way he pulls
his hand inside the sleeves of his hoodie. The way he smiles. The way he hides
it because he doesn't want anyone to see. I want him to understand that he's
beautiful. I want him to understand how much he means to me. I want him to
realize that he shouldn't hide his smile. He shouldn't pull his hands inside of
his hoodie. I will make him feel beautiful. One day I'll make him understand
and maybe we'll be together...
That'll never happen, though. What would make him trust me out of anyone he's
ever known? If we ever did begin to date, it would have to be in a few years.
Once he's stable again. Once he's doing okay again. Once I know what he's going
through. I want to make him feel beautiful. Even if it takes more than
persistence.
I realize that I've gotten sidetracked in thought from the bouquet in front of
me so I take it from Elisa and I'm about to pull out some money from my pocket,
"Don't honey," My eyes dart up to see Elisa's sympathetic smile, "Just take it,
alright?"
I smile, gratefully, "Really?"
"Of course. Go ahead and tell your Dad I said hi." Elisa replies with a warm
expression. I hug her over the counter, the bouquet at her back, "Thank you so
much."
I pull away and take Patrick's hand with my empty one, "I'll see you in March,"
"Bye, sweetie. Come back anytime you want if you need someone to talk to."
Sarah smiles. I nod with giant grin as I turn the knob on the door. Patrick and
I walk outside, still hand in hand. We're embraced by the cold air, my breath
visible in the dark. The sun is just over the horizon, now, fading slowly out
of sight but I can barely see it with the pink and red clouds in the way. The
door shuts behind me with a click, the new barrier between the Thurman family
and I is somewhat comforting because now it's just Patrick and I. And all that
matters to me is that we're alone together. I need to talk to him and I need to
know his secrets.
Chapter End Notes
     Be sure to check out Carpe Noctem or Cockslut. If you get a chance
     guys!!!
     Comments are appreciated!
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
---Gerard---
Up until now, this had always been easier for me. Bowing my head and resisting
the urge to cry. Telling myself the lie that it'll be okay when I know damn
well it won't be.
The grass is wet under my knees, each blade bending under the force and laying
down to the dark brown dirt underneath. The moon is barely visible through the
thick clouds, but I know it's up there, watching us live our lives as we try to
overcome this painful grief. Each breath in is like hell, the way it fills my
lungs, the way it fuels my oncoming sobs and presses my tears to my eyes. The
way it builds and builds until I can't take it anymore. The way it just keeps
filling until it hurts and I'm about to crack from the pressure and explode .
The tears just moments away from finally escaping, but I can't let them. The
sobs just seconds away from leaving me but I don't want them to go. At that
point, I'm sure it'll all just escape me, and I'll become undone, and I can't
be strong.
But each breath out is a relief from my pain. My sobs are easier to hold in,
and my tears are moving back little by little. The tension and pressure
released to ease my aching muscles and my hurting heart. With each exhale, my
energy is released in a shaky breath, and I'm able to recover just a little.
My head is down, my hands shaky as they hold the bouquet of tulips, roses, and
lilies.
I need to be strong for everyone. They're counting on me... I can't break down
because Mama will lose the last string of hope she has left. Patrick will only
feel worse than he already does. Mikey will have to go back to stage one, he's
already come so far. He's already accepted Dad's death, but he left me behind
on depression to melt away. I need to be strong, but I'm not. I'm so weak, I
can't accept that he's really gone. I'm so weak, Mikey's stronger. I'm so weak,
I can't face the question burning into my mind like a hot brand.
I don't want to ask it because I'm scared of the answer. I don't want to face
the truth, but at the same time, I can't escape it. I can't stop running away
from it, and I need to accept it... But I can't... He can't actually be gone,
can he? All those times he took Mikey and me to that city block. All those
times we had talked with him on the Fourth of July to calm his PTSD. All those
times we had heard his stories of what it was like in the army. Is it all
really gone to waste? All those years drowned out by the truth of it all?
Is he really gone?
My question is finally released into my mind, repeating itself over and over
again. Is he really gone? Is he really dead? Has he really passed? Each one
getting stronger and stronger, echoing like voice. Like I'm a psycho. Like no
matter what, it'll always be there, and I feel like I'm going to break. In
front of Patrick. I'm going to breakdown and scream into the cold air.
A hand is on my shoulder, and everything is hushed. The hell of my mind quiets
to a complete silence. Yes, Dad's dead... And oh god it hurts... It hurts like
a motherfucker... I've never felt so much emotional and mental pain in my life.
I want it to end. I want Dad back, and I want Mikey back. I want the old Mama
back, too. I want her to stop smoking. I want her to be like she used to. I
want, but I can't have. But it's gone now. Patrick is here and I know I can't
face alone. I want Patrick. I need Patrick. It's selfish... Oh god, it's so
selfish, but I need his help. And he needs mine.
The headstone is made of black marble, his name engraved in the stone with
tall, narrow letters. White on black, making it easy to read.
Here lies Donald Way
Son, husband, father, veteran
Thank you for your service and Rest In Peace
I intentionally skip over the date, I can't bare to look. I don't want to see
it because it hurts... It hurts so badly... But I should be respectful, so I do
the thing I do every year. I speak to him like he could somehow hear me. I want
to believe he does and that he's not gone forever... I want to believe he can
still hear my desperate, pained words...
"Hey, Dad..." I whisper, a grim look on my face. I listen to the shuffle of
grass beside me, and I turn my head to see Patrick beside me on his knees, he's
looking down at the grave and tracing the black and white design. The same
design on Mikey's badge. Four points and an epicenter.
I can see the mausoleum behind Patrick as I try to think of something to say.
It's made out of some type of white stone, I don't know if it's marble or not,
but the stone is cracked and mossy. The building has been deserted for decades,
and now there are only rumors that it's haunted. It was beginning to get too
full a long while back, so the city ended up just using the rest of the block
for graves. Anyways, mausoleums were going out of style. I heard that from
Bonnie before age began to take her health, the mausoleum was still being used
when she was a child, which was a while ago seeing as she's in her fifties now.
I focus back on what's important, it's just Patrick and I sitting together next
to my father's grave. Words finally, finally flowing from my mouth and a couple
tears dripping down every now and then.
"I miss you..." I say as if it isn't obvious. There's a pause as I let that
sink in the cold silence taking up the air, the storm is yet to begin, and my
tears have yet to fall to the frozen earth. I take a deep breath, calming my
sadness before I say something else, my words plain because I was never good at
making things like this meaningful, "This is Patrick... He's... He's my best
friend..."
The boy beside me stiffens up slightly at my words. Flattered? I'm not sure,
but I want him to know I really do care. I want him to know that I'm trying for
him... so I continue, "It hurts, Dad... It hurts so much, and I wish you would
come back... I-I'm trying so hard to be strong for you..." I feel tears rising
to my eyes, but this time, every exhale only fuels my sobs and tears. Before I
know it, I'm choking and sobbing and crying, and I can't stop myself, "I'm
trying to be strong for Mama and Mikey... And I'm trying to be strong for
Patrick... He means a lot to me... You know I've never brought anyone with me
before...
"He's helped me through a lot... And I'm going to tell him everything later...
I guess I've never done that before either..." I chuckle emptily. It's useless,
"Do you still think of me? Are you near me, Dad? Can you hear me? I... I'm
losing hope, Dad... I want to believe you can't really be gone but it... It
just hurts so much..."
The tears are flooding from my eyes now. I can't stop myself. I'm going to
break down in front of Patrick. I shouldn't have brought him. I don't want him
to see me like this...
I feel his hands taking one of mine, forcing me to drop the bouquet on Dad's
grave, the petals swaying as it falls down. I wipe my tears with my free hand
before looking up and seeing Patrick. His beautiful blond hair illuminated by
the faint light of the moon, my eyes are adjusting to the dim light, but I can
easily see a tear falling from his eye. He stands up, now holding both of my
hands and at that moment I don't think I'd ever wanted to kiss him more. His
soft lips are wet from the constant tongue poking out between the chapped skin.
His green eyes are gazing right into mine with a beautiful, sad look. They're
so green. Shades as light as grass on an early spring morning and shades as
dark as the needles of a pine tree. Then somewhere in the midst of all the
green, there's a splash of light blue, like the sky at dawn.
He pulls me in for a hug. His hands wrapping around my back as he squeezes me
closer. I hesitantly wrap my own arms around him, and we sway slightly back and
forth. I bury my head in his warm hoodie, taking in his scent. I don't know
what it is, but he smells good, and oh god I love him... And my mind lingers on
that thought for a little bit. And then at that moment, I realize something. I
realize something big, and it hurts to keep it in. It's a tension, now. A
truth.
I really am in love with him.
I want to wake up by his side, and I want to comfort him when he's scared. I
want to take care of him when he's sick, and I want to hold him through the
night. I want to be with him. I'm so in love it hurts, but I can't believe it
took me this long to realize it. It hits hard when I realize that I might have
a chance... What if he'd be okay with dating me? What if I should ask him?
Would he be okay with it or would it ruin our already built friendship?
I'm taken from my thoughts when he pulls away and takes me by my hand, leading
me over one headstone. He stops, his hand shaky in mine and I'm confused at
first. What's wrong with this one? The stone is also black, but it has a
different name. He points to the words engraved in the stone and I lean down so
I can read it. The next thing I know, I'm covering my mouth in shock.
Rest in peace, Patricia Stumph
Daughter, wife, mother
You will be missed
"She was my mom..." He whispers. I stand up, feeling slightly sick to my
stomach and I don't know why. He takes my hand, looking into my eyes, "I know
what it's like... It hurts... It hurts so, so bad..."
Tears are streaming down his face as he speaks, "Please don't leave me... I'm
so sorry..."
I pull him to my chest, "I'd never leave you, you should know that by now." I
love you, "Come on."
I guide him through the grass, towards the mausoleum where I sit, my back
leaning against the cold stone gently. Patrick tilts his head in confusion at
first but soon after, joins my side, settling down beside me. The grass sways
with a slight breeze as we sit in silence, but it's a peaceful silence. I love
it.
We sit under the cloudy night sky, just us against the world and I get to
thinking. How long has his mom been gone? Is she the reason why he has anxiety?
Did she beat him or did that happen after she passed?
I look over to see him fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie. Would he let me
see the scars? Or does he not trust me? I want to ask. I want to see just how
much pain he's in and I could show him how much I'm in. I open my dry mouth and
whisper out the question before I can stop myself, "Can I see?"
He freezes but looks up to me with confusion, "Huh?"
"Your scars, can I see them...? I'll show you mine..." I whisper gently,
playing with my own sleeves out of habit.
He looks down to his feet, the sleeves of his jacket falling over his hands. He
doesn't say anything at first, but soon after a brief silence he replies,
"They're ugly..."
"So are mine."
"Gerard... I..."
"Please, Patrick. I want to see..." I whisper, moving, so I'm in front of him.
He looks back up for the second time, tears in his eyes.
"Why...?"
"I want to know how much it hurts... How much you hurt... And I want you to see
how much I hurt..." I say, holding out my hand for his arm. He clenches his
hand into a fist, conflicted. I see the war in his mind, and it hurts me, but I
need to see. I need to know. It's burning me.
"Please, Patrick..."
He wipes his tears, and I see that he's thinking hard. Afraid, conflicted,
hurt, but hands over his arm, allowing me to pull up the fabric of his hoodie.
I don't, not yet at least. He's shaking in fear, and there are tears still
streaming down his cheeks.
"Patrick, listen to me," I whisper. He opens his eyes and bites his lip, "It's
going to be okay, don't be afraid..."
He gives a slight nod, and his arm slowly stops shaking as I pull up the sleeve
of his hoodie.
It's completely littered with scars, and I feel sick to my stomach as I see
each cut, engraved in his pale skin. Some have scabbed over, others are just
dark marks, and some look like they could continue bleeding at any moment. I
raise my fingers to one of the deepest scars, but he flinches violently, so I
take my hand away and look up at him. I lick my lips, the chapped skin getting
annoying but I don't let it distract me as I move his arm back.
I pull away slightly. My turn. Patrick pulls his sleeve back over his arm self-
consciously but still watches me intently as I pull up my own sleeve.
He covers his mouth with both hands as his gaze travels across the scars. I
feel slightly self-conscious at first, but after a little bit, I get used to
it. I move back so the mausoleum wall is supporting me and I'm right beside the
blond boy.
"Gerard..." He whispers, "I'm so sorry."
I don't reply. I don't want to respond. So he pulls up his left sleeve so he
can put the scarred arm right next to mine. His skin is much paler than mine,
but he also has much more scars than I do. He's hurting more than me, then. A
lot more. Something else is happening. I don't know what, but I think I'm
having an idea.
I take his hand in mine, placing my fingers gently on his knuckles while he
does the same to me. His head hesitantly goes to my shoulder, and I let it rest
there. I like this. I like everything about this. Lying in the grass next to
the mausoleum, marking the graves. I love this. Being alone together with
Patrick. Mon chéri. I wish it would be like that... I wish he could be mine. I
wish he loved me...
I don't know how long we sit there, hand in hand, Patrick's head on my shoulder
as we enjoy the warmth of each other and getting lost in hopeful thoughts and
beautiful dreams. It's starting to get cold, and I can feel Patrick shiver
slightly beside me. So, I press him away slightly, so he's not leaning on me to
unzip my jacket and give it to him.
"Gerard, you're gonna be cold, though..." He murmurs tiredly. And oh god, I'm
not sure if it's sexy or cute.
"It's alright, Sugar, I'll be cold for you," I whisper, draping my jacket
around him for his hands to grasp. The cold air immediately hits my bare arms,
my short sleeved shirt not doing much to warm me but as long as Patrick is
warm, I'm happy. His head moves to my lap, laying down and hugging my jacket
around him. I want to touch him... Not in a bad way, I mean I want to run my
fingers through his hair and up and down his chest. I want to cup his face and
pull him in for a kiss.
I want him so badly it hurts... Before I can stop myself, my hand is right
above his head, and it's going down. My palm rests on his head. He doesn't do
anything, so I take another risk, tangling my fingers in his soft hair and
moving my thumb back and forth. He buries his face farther into my leg and
kicks his legs out slight as he shifts, so he's looking up at me. I love you.
He shuts his eyes with a warm, content smile and we sit for a while longer. I
don't know how long, I don't want to know. I want to stay there forever,
running my fingers through his hair while he dozes off peacefully. I wish I
could just forget about the world for a while and give way to the silence of
the night. Enjoy his company and let him enjoy mine.
As the night continues, my mind begins to travel. Twisting and turning through
my past... I have nothing better to do but get lost, so I'll get lost.
I went to another high school on the other side of the city with a few friends
(Dallon Weekes, Andy Hurley, and Ray Toro) before I started to go to
Mountainside. But when I went there, my grades started failing once Dad passed
and since it was an advanced school, I was moved down to a more basic school
this year. To Patrick's school. Mikey... of course... doesn't go to my school,
though...
After Dad had passed, Mikey grew extremely depressed, and he couldn't take
seeing the house anymore. Mama rarely cleaned it, she wanted to, she just never
had the will, so it was always messy, but I know that it was Dad's memory that
bothered him the most. There were little things around the house that reminded
him of Dad, the most common being his old badge. The same symbol engraved in
Dad's headstone, the same badge I drew on Mikey's uniform. That was the last
badge Dad earned when the school that held The Black Parade gave it to him.
That badge is a symbol of strength and independence. They give it to people who
have served in the military and attend The Black Parade. The vice principal
managed to get ahold of Dad before he died and they sent it to us through the
mail with a letter.
Dearest, Donald Way
A friend of Alexander Hamilton High School has informed us that you've been
attending our annual tour for the past 8 years in a row.
We've gathered some information from reliable sources and also found that you
served in the military for a long while as well and we'd like to thank you for
your service. Attached to this letter is a badge, a symbol of strength and
independence.
We'd also like to accept one of your sons into our school, they both have shown
high academic success, and it would be our pleasure to have one of the two
attend the school.
You can contact us at this number: 866-740-4531.
Thank you for your service,
Gabriel Gray
Vice Principal of Alexander Hamilton High School
So that was how he got the badge, and after he had died, it went into Mikey's
room. His old room... it's been untouched since he left and I can imagine it
being covered with dust now.
Anyways, it's a boarding school, invitation only, but damn was Dad proud of
that. Neither of us actually attended it for a while because he was diagnosed
with cancer soon after... but once my brother couldn't take it anymore, he left
and stayed at the school. That's how Mikey got into The Black Parade and how
Dad got his badge. And our family has honestly fallen apart since the death. I
can't look at Mikey's room without feeling a wave of sadness engulf me.
All Mama does anymore is work and smoke and sleep. She rarely eats, and when
she does, it's not much. Four years this has been going on. I'll wake up. She's
gone most of the time. I go to school and come home. She's gone until at least
8 PM. That's a 13-hour shift, and she works 6 days a week. She gets Saturdays
off, and even then, she usually goes out with either her friends or sleeps all
day. In her free time, those 11 hours of being at home, she smokes and sleeps.
Thankfully, she's begun to get better, though. She'll eat two meals a day, but
she's still smoking like crazy, and she works for extended periods of time to
support her and me.
All I can do is watch helplessly because I can't get her to stop. I can't heal
a broken heart no matter how much I wish I could.
It hurts. It kills me inside.
How I wish not all good things have to come to an end, but the rain has to
start sooner or later. The first drop is on my shoe, wet and cold with a dull
feel. The next is on my leg with a sharper impact, and next thing I know, it's
drizzling.
"Patrick, wake up." I whisper into the blond's ear, he grumbles slightly,
pulling my jacket around him tighter, "It's raining, let's get out of here."
Patrick sighs slightly as he opens his eyes, looking up at me with those big,
tired orbs (Jesus, he's adorable). He turns, so he's balancing on his elbows
and looking across the cemetery at all the raindrops, taking in the weather and
realizing we really have to go. He finally sits up straight and stands up,
followed by me.
"Where are we going?" He asks, loudly because the rain is pouring harder than
before.
"There's a café not far from here," I say back, my voice raised, "Follow me."
Chapter End Notes
     COMMENTS! ARE! APPRECIATED!
     Thanks to everyone who has been commenting??? So much <3
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
---Gerard---
Patrick's hand is warm as I take it.
Soft, warm, comforting. It grounds me. Makes me realize how amazing it is that
I met him. It makes me want to never let go, to hold his hand and show him how
amazing he is. I can't now, though. We're going to the café. He's going to tell
me everything. About his issues. Family, anxiety, why he feels so... worthless,
I guess.
I continue to lead him at a run through the pouring showers. My shoes squish
the dirt beneath them, the dirt that's quickly turning into mud, as Patrick
follows me, smiling through it all. The shh of the rain echoes around me
blocked out only slightly by the shuffling of Patrick's jackets and his huffing
breath. The coffee shop is only about a block away from the mausoleum and
cemetery, but it feels like forever by the time we finally get there.
My shirt and pants are soaked, but Patrick is almost entirely dry. That's all
that matters. As long as he's safe and comfortable and happy, I'm happy, too.
Is that love? Wanting the best for someone else? Wanting them to be happy? To
do anything to make them happy? What is love? I want to believe I'm in love. I
want to believe I'd do anything for him. I think this is love, but maybe I'm
just a naïve teenager without a clue as to how the world works.
He laughs slightly as we stop in front of the door, red neon light labeling the
place. His eyes crinkling at the edges and the corners of his mouth twitched up
to meet his cheeks.
"What?" I ask with a smile on my own face.
"I don't know, just... You..." He whispers.
"Just me?" I ask as I pull up the sleeve on his arm, making him gasp slightly.
"I didn't give you per-" He's cut off by my lips on the deepest scar on his
arm, resting on the sensitive flesh gently.
Surprisingly enough, he doesn't pull away. I don't know if it's of shock or
because he doesn't mind but either way I stay where I am, looking up into his
eyes. My pink lips linger on the soft skin, leaving sensations on my mouth.
I pull away but he doesn't do anything, he's burning a bright red, and it makes
me laugh even more, "You're so cute when you blush."
"Y-you've told me..." He whispers, finally pulling down the gray fabric, down
past his arms and hand. I turn away for a moment to open the door, and as we
enter, we hear a bell ring in the distance. I let him go first, followed soon
after by me (giving me a damn perfect view of his ass and legs and damn). He
leads me to a table farthest from the counter and farthest from any other
occupied booth, careful to make the conversation as private as possible. The
chairs are wooden, a light brown material which I assume is oak, make up the
legs and back while the seat is just a cushion. The table between the two
chairs is made of wood as well and overall, it's a cozy place. Vast and spacey,
but cozy. We sit down, him across from me and I find myself immediately aiming
my head down in nervousness. I don't know why my mood can go from playful to
grim so fast, but I guess Dad just does that to me.
We sit awkwardly for a little bit because we both know what's next. We both
know that we can't hold off any longer. I had completely forgotten about it for
a blissful hour or so of my life but... It's over now. And we have to confess
everything to each other... I wonder if this is really healthy. I wonder if I
really want to tell him what happened to Dad and I wonder if he'll actually
tell me what's going on in his life but I'm determined to get the truth out of
him.
I swallow, my nervousness building before I say something softly, "Do you want
to go first or..."
"Y-you..." He says quickly, "Just... Tell me everything..."
I love you. I'm in love with you...
"Okay... Well... Um..." I blush slightly, pulling my hands into my lap, I'm not
sure how to start, but I just decide if begin where all stories begin. My
birth.
"My dad wasn't around when I was born... He was out working for the military...
So Mama had to go through labor at the hospital without him. I know it was a
lot of stress on her, though. She had to take care of a kid all on her own
while still working. As I grew up, I'd heard stories about him, and Mama always
told me how brave and strong he was as lullabies. All the video calls could
only do so much...
"One year later, he came home for a little bit. I was only one, but Mama always
talks about how my eyes lit up when I first saw him. I was so happy and
surprised and a little scared, but I eventually started to warm up to him.
After Dad had left back to the army, Mama found out she was pregnant, and soon
enough, Mikey Was born, again when Dad wasn't there. Mikey and I got along at
daycare, and two years later, Dad came home for good.
"As we grew up, Mikey, Dad, and I hung out all the time, and since I never
really got to talk with him for the first four years of my life, we kind of had
a bond, y'know? He... He was the best Dad I could ask for. Every year, he'd
take Mikey and me to see The Black Parade. We'd sit at that same corner year
after year, and he told us to always be brave. That no matter what happened, we
had to be strong and we had to take care of ourselves. He also wanted us to
join The Black Parade when we got older, he said it had a good message. No
matter what happens, always have hope. You'll be okay, just keep fighting.
"Seven years passed. We went year after year and every year he'd take us there
and tell us the same thing. Mama never came because she thought it was more of
a father-son bonding thing, I guess. So it was just Mikey, Dad, and I.
"Um..." I purse my lips because this is it. This is the part where it hurts,
"Five years ago. H-he... He was diagnosed with cancer..."
Patrick reaches out and takes my hand under the table as he tries to comfort
me, but it's useless. The tears are already appearing in my eyes.
"H-he died after a year of fighting. He... He... He just gave up on us." I
whisper the tears are streaming down my cheeks, "He was in so much pain, and he
couldn't take it... So he gave up and waited for it to kill him... He didn't
care, he just wanted it to end... He gave up on us. He told us to be brave but
he just stopped caring, and it hurt..."
Patrick squeezes my hand tighter but doesn't say a word, waiting for me to
finish my story.
"We had a funeral... Mikey joined the school that hosts The Black Parade which
meant he wouldn't be living with us anymore. He said it was because Dad asked
him to but I know it's because he can't bear to be at home. He can't bear to
see Mama crying and smoking. Hell, I can barely take it.
"So... Now he's in Los Angeles, and I'm stuck here with Mama." I finish, "And I
guess you know why I cut..."
He nods, looking down, "I'm sorry..."
"There's nothing we can do about it... It's not your fault," I reply, "Your
turn."
Patrick's grip gets stiff. He doesn't want to go, but he has to.
"Gerard, please..." He whispers, fear in his eyes.
"Patrick, I know you can say it. Just tell me everything, if you're scared I
will judge you, I won't. I promise."
"How strong are your promises?" He asks.
"I have yet to break one," I repeat.
His grip relaxes slightly, comforted by my words. As he stutters to begin, I
wonder exactly what's happened to him. I think he's being beaten, and I know
his mom died. He showed me her grave for crying out loud. What's happening to
him at home? What's it like? What's it like to be Patrick Stumph?
"Okay..." He whispers, shutting his eyes, "S-so... I was born here, same place
and everything. I... I have an older brother, he's eighteen right now... Um...
And I was happy. My... My mom and Dad and Kevin and I were all pretty happy...
When I was four and Kevin was six, my little sister, Megan, was born. And we
kind of kept growing up. I had a group of friends at school, and I was happy.
There was nothing wrong, and we were just a regular family. Um... I-I got a
girlfriend, too... When I still thought I was straight... Her name was Ashley
and... I don't know... I was just happy..." He smiles slightly, but I know he's
close to the wrong part, so it's not strong.
"One night I was driving with my mom... And... Uh..." The tears begin leaking
out of his eyes, his voice lowers to a whisper, "We got in a crash."
"I was uninjured but... She died... Sh-she passed away in the accident..." I
squeeze Patrick's hand.
"Afterwards, I began pushing my friends away, I broke up with Ashley... D-dad
started drinking..." He whispered, "And that's it... That's all..."
A lie. I know it is. Nobody just says that's it, that's all to end a story.
It's obviously not it, "Patrick, the whole truth." I murmur.
"There's nothing else, Gerard. That's it. I swear." Patrick says, but I can
still see the lie behind his green eyes. I don't know if he wants me to keep
pressing or not, but I don't care. I need to know what's happening. This is
unhealthy, and it hurts, I know, but I need to know what's going on.
"Patrick, you limped on the way downtown, you flinch every time I touch you,
what's going on?"
"Gerard..." He cries out, trying to keep his voice low even though nobody can
hear or see us.
"I know you can do it, come on," I whisper, trying to soothe him. He says
something, and I can't quite hear, "Hmm?"
"He hurts me..." He whispers, "He beats me almost every night, and it's all my
fault. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I'm such a failure, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so
sorry..."
I pull him up from the table and hug him hard, squeezing him and letting him
cry into my shoulder.
"Shh," I hush, "It's going to be okay. You don't deserve any of it, you
understand? You don't deserve any of the beatings, you don't deserve this life,
you don't deserve those scars on your arms. Don't ever say you do."
"B-but I do, I'm such a fuckup, and I'm so pathetic and stupid, and I can't
stomach anything I eat and—"
I pull away from him and yank up the sleeve of his hoodie, he flinches, but I
hold him still as I kiss each and every scar, his face going bright red again
at my determination and the fact that I'm kissing him. Well, kissing his skin
at least... The scars feel odd on my lips, different from any kind of normal
skin but I love it. I love him. I'm in love with him.
"Patrick, don't you understand? It hurts to see you like this. It hurts to see
you like this. It hurts to know you put yourself down like this." I say as I
pull his sleeve back down and kiss my way up his other arm.
"K-Kevin..." He starts, but stops, trailing off.
"Kevin?" I ask.
"N-Nothing..." He whispers, shaking his head and looking away.
"Patrick," I warn sternly
"I'm sorry." The blonde whispers, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing the
lump in his throat. After a minute, he speaks again, "He does things to me,
too..."
"What does he do?" I ask, sliding the sleeve down to his wrist and letting him
adjust it himself. He doesn't. Instead, his eyes stay to the ground, his face
burning a bright red in embarrassment.
"H-he touches me..." He whispers gently. So gently, I almost don't hear it.
Almost.
"What?" I can't believe what I'm hearing.
"He touches me, and I don't like it... He told me not to tell anyone, or he'd
kill me..." He says. He isn't crying anymore, just staring into the patterns of
the wooden floor. His head darts up so he's looking into my eyes, fear tracing
his own, "I'm scared, I don't want to die."
"You're not going to die." I whisper, placing my hands on his shoulders and
making him flinch slightly, "We're going to call the police, and we're going to
have them take your Dad and Kevin away for a long time, and they can't make a
scratch on you."
"No," He whispers, "Gerard, no."
I bite my lip, "We have to."
"No! They're my family I'm not just going to send them off to jail. You know
what they do to guys like them in prison."
"We don't have a choice!" I snap.
He flinches, accidentally falling down in surprise and fear. His jaw clenches
in pain but doesn't make a noise as I hold out my hand. Almost as if my hand
controls him, he flinches, even more, backing away in a panic as he gets back
up.
"Gerard, just... No..." He says, "Give it time, alright? I promise I won't let
them hurt me."
"Patrick," I say warningly. I'm not letting him go home to just be beaten and
possibly raped. Oh god... I can't believe he has to go through that... For
three years he's been abused and molested. I can't let him go through that
again. I can't let him go home... Maybe he could come to my house or...
"Promise me you won't call the cops on them, please, they don't do it often
and... and..." He hugs me, burying his face in my chest as quiet sobs come from
his mouth. I let out a sigh. If he really doesn't want me to call the cops
then... I guess I won't... but I need to figure out a way through this problem.
I don't want him to be scared, and I don't want Kevin to touch him anymore. I'm
really surprised he told me, he's usually so shy and untrustful, but he puts
all his trust in me for some reason. I don't know why.
"I can't promise anything, Sugar, but I can promise I won't call the cops
tonight..." I sigh, pressing him closer.
"Thank you, Gee," He whispers. Gee. I haven't heard that name since I was
friends with Ray, Andy, and Dallon... I look down slightly to see him gazing to
his left, his face still pressed to my chest. I wish I could kiss him... Even
just his forehead but I have a feeling even it would be too intimate for him...
I mean kissing the scars is one thing. We both understand that pain but kissing
his forehead would be too far, wouldn't it? I don't want to risk it.
"Do you want to leave? There's one more place I always go after The Black
Parade." I suggest. The rain outside is stopped for a little bit and I know
it'll be back soon but I don't care if I get soaked right now. All I care about
it making Patrick realize he is amazing and respecting Dad's memory.
"It's going to start raining soon." He replies, his face squished against me.
"That's what the jackets are for."
"But won't you get soaked?"
"It's alright."
"But you're going to be so cold."
"I don't care."
"At least take your jacket back."
"I don't need it."
"Please, Gee? For me?"
"You're making it sound like we really are dating."
"You're the one kissing me."
"I'm trying to comfort you, dammit."
"Ugh, just take your jacket and let's get out of here." He smiles, looking up
at me.
"Fine," I reply, rolling my eyes and taking it from his shoulders. I drape it
over my own shoulders as we leave our table and I hold the door for him on our
way out, his hands in his pockets and his head down as we begin to walk away
from the cemetery and towards both of our houses but our destination isn't
there. It's the old bridge by the river. Dad took Mikey and me there after The
Black Parade, and we sat and talked for a while, sometimes he'd be generous and
bring donuts. Those were always fun times... Before he left...
All we can hear is the soft tweets of birds and the scurrying of the squirrels
in the distance as we walk in silence. The breathing of the city giving us
light through the growing darkness. Lampposts and moonlight guiding our way.
Stars hidden by the lights of the shops and buildings and houses and... it's
peaceful...
"Hey, Gee...?" He asks, interrupting the silence very softly.
"Hmm?" I reply.
"What... What are we...?" He says. What? Aren't we just friends...? Unless...
well... he wants to be more...
"I don't know... Just a couple of gay friends." I say.
"Oh," He seems disappointed. But... that can't be it. He doesn't like me. He
can't love me. Not after everything he's been through, it's probably just my
imagination. How could he trust someone enough to love them? Maybe that's just
very stereotypical of me, but it seems like that's what he's going through.
"What do you want us to be?" I ask. My God, it's risky, but we're getting
close, and I already know we've broken the friend zone at least twenty-one
times tonight.
"I..." He sounds like he's going to say something... like more than friends...
but no, "I'm okay with us just being friends... Really close friends, but
friends..."
"Alright," I reply with a smile. There's a small silence, just him and I. The
clicking of shoes on the sidewalk, the occasional tweet of a bird in the
distance. The smell of rain in the air and it's refreshing, "So... about the
whole story... and stuff... um... Can you promise me you'll take this to your
grave... a-and I'll take it to mine?"
"Of course," He smiles, looking up at me, "I... I've never really told anyone
before... I mean..."
He blushes his smile fading slightly, "I told one person once..."
"Who?" I ask, curious. The bridge is only a block away, but it seems like
forever before we'll get there.
"Um... My best friend... I told him about The Incident... I mean the car
crash..." He says shaking his head slightly.
"But who is he? Who was your best friend?"
"Uh... I mean I don't want to stop you from hanging out with them or anything
but... Um... I had a group of friends before The Incident... The ones I pushed
away. Th-There was uh... Frank," Frank? What? "Ryan," Ryan, too? "J-Joe...
Brendon... and... and uh..." Oh my god I'm breaking his heart. I'm such an
idiot. That's why he never hangs out with us at lunch! "Then my best friend...
W-Was Pete..."
The bridge is here, and Patrick looks like he's about to cry as we take a seat
at the edge of the bridge. He sits down with his back leaning on the railing,
and I just plop my head in his lap, burying my hair in his crotch (It's weird,
but neither of us really seem to mind).
He's upside down in my eyes, but he looks peaceful. Blonde hair, soft lips,
green eyes, gray hoodie.
"I'll stop talking to them if you want me to," I suggest with a sad smile.
"No... I want to talk to them again... I... I think I want to get them back."
He says quietly. Not quite a whisper but not quite normal volume. Those words
make me happy... He really is trying to fix himself...
"I'll help you," I say, "If that's what you want..."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I promise."
He laughs and replies, "How strong are your promises?"
"I have yet to break one," I smile back, happy with this little routine we've
made.
He smiles, "Thank you..."
I shut my eyes, humming in reply to his gratefulness as I feel Patrick's hands
on my arms and we sit in silence. I enjoy this, the silence... The feeling of
Patrick's breath on my forehead... His soft breaths in the silence, the crisp,
fall air. The way Patrick shifts his hand in my hair, the feeling of his lap
rising and falling slightly with his breaths.
The feeling of his lips on mine.
Chapter End Notes
     Comments are appreciated! Thanks to everyone who's been reading!!!
***** Chapter 19 *****
---Gerard---
Patrick's lips linger on mine, and it takes me a moment to process what's
happening. A moment that passes far too soon. A moment that feels like a snap
of his fingers. Time is fast forwarding like a DVD player because the next
thing I know, he's gone, running down the road and out of sight towards his
house. Or I presume so at least. He looks scared in his light gray hoodie and
denim jeans. His worn out shoes slamming down on the concrete, moving as fast
as they can in fear. He's not hesitating in running away, he just goes and
doesn't stop. He turns a corner out of my gaze, and I crave him again. Just to
look at his body one last time.
That was... Beautiful... I can taste him on my lips, the taste of honey and oh
God it's tasty. I find myself craving more than just the sight of him but his
lips and his touch and his warm breath on my neck and... I crave him. Much more
than I did before. I want him. I want to feel him and see him, all of him... I
want to kiss him again. I want to kiss every inch of him and taste that
addictive taste. He's worse than nicotine, and I've only had one taste. I feel
my pants getting tight at the thought of it all. His fingers traveling lightly
against my sensitive skin, tracing circles into my thighs, then pressing me
against a wall and saying everything he knows will make me hard. Oh god... Oh
god if he did that... But compare that to the fact he actually kissed me. With
his lips on mine. And then it all comes down on me, it's crashing, but it's no
wave.
Patrick Stumph kissed me. That shy, timid boy in the back of the room. That
beautiful boy with a troubled past. That boy whose only escape is with music
and razor blades. That boy with no friends. That lonely, self-conscious boy who
probably couldn't love if he tried. He kissed me. Me of all people! Does he
love me...? Does he really love me or was it spur of the moment? I sure as hell
know I love him. I want to kiss those beautiful lips and run my fingers through
his blond hair.
The sensation of his lips on mine is still there as a constant buzzing, the way
they moved against mine for just a split second, clinging onto my bottom lip,
almost sucking and then leaving me empty as he got up and ran. I'm propped up
on my elbows, taking it all in. I can't get that thought out of my mind.
Patrick Stumph kissed me! Patrick Martin Stumph actually kissed me!
And then my mind begins to ground. Is he coming back? Does he think I don't
love him? Of course, he does, I haven't told him anything, and until I do, he's
going to be confused. He's going to hate himself. He might pick up the blade
tonight...
That thought hurts. That thought hurts a lot. Patrick locked in his room, his
earbuds blasting Green Day or Blink-182 or The Offspring into his ears as he
slices a blade down his wrist and sobs. Because he thinks I don't return the
emotion.
***
I shut the door behind myself, the white wood making a loud slamming sound but
I don't care I need to talk to Patrick. I'm such a fucking retard. I need to
tell him everything, and I need him to know the truth. I need to tell him I'm
in love. I need to tell him what he does to me. I need to ask him the one
question that's been on my mind since the day I met him. I take my phone from
my back pocket, my fingers getting stuck which only quickens my movements more
as adrenaline courses through my veins. I'm trying my best to ignore the tent
in my pants as I lean against the wall, sweat clinging to my face from the jog
home.
Gerard: Hey, Patrick
I wait a little bit, and he doesn't reply, I assume he's probably asleep, it is
8:00 PM and we were out all day... Maybe I should text him anyways so he can
wake up to it... I don't know... He just needs to know before he does something
he'll regret.
Gerard: I need to tell you the truth. I'm so sorry I've been holding back
but...
Gerard: I love you. I'm in love with you, and I've loved you ever since I met
you. I was so scared that you didn't love me back and I'm sorry I didn't tell
you. I'm so fucking sorry that I'm like this. But I wanted to know if you maybe
want to get together? Would that be alright? I mean I understand if you don't
want to. It was kind of spur of the moment...
Gerard: I loved it, though... The kiss... It was nice and... I want to do it
again... I really want to... I'm so sorry... I'm such a creep...
I'm talking to an empty room, maybe I can try again tomorrow morning. If...
He's not getting hurt... Oh god...
Gerard: Goodnight, Sugar, sleep well.
I sigh as I throw my phone into the bed and pull off my hoodie, throwing it
over the chair beside my desk. The black fabric piling over various other
jackets I have. Some leather, some just soft material, some button up, some zip
up. I mean, I was called a jacket slut for a reason in my last school. I
continue to undress, throwing my shirt in my clothes hamper. It's a Get Up Kids
shirt. I haven't listened to them for a while... Maybe I should. I don't know.
I really just want to listen to 21 Guns on repeat all day and sit next to
Patrick again on the city block. Or just lay in bed with him, even as just
friends. I need to know he's alright. I need to know that he'll be okay...
Damn, I'm exhausted. I can barely keep my eyes open as I throw my jeans into
the hamper as well and being thankful they weren't skinny, or I would be about
ten times more uncomfortable. I fall into bed, pulling the blanket up over
myself and... actually feeling kind of lonely. Patrick isn't here... I want
Patrick to be here... I want him to know that I want to be his boyfriend... I
want to get together with him...
I find myself drifting off to sleep, but the only dreams that accompany me are
of lonely nights on the block at years past. Watching the stars pass over the
sky, long after everyone's left, so everyone else just thinks I'm poor and
homeless.
***
"Gerard."
"Gerard, hey, do you see the pictures? In the frame?"
My eyes open and we're on the city block, the sun high above us, the sound of
The Black Parade playing through the buildings. The familiar song, "Welcome to
the Black Parade." I don't know who wrote it. I only know that they always play
it. Flutes and clarinets with melody, trumpets with countermelody...
"Do you see the pictures?" Dad asks, his finger pointing to the five soldiers
in a row, three of them holding frames.
I nod, watching them intently.
"What are they?" Mikey asks beside me, innocence and curiosity in his gentle
voice.
Dad chuckles and adjusts me on his lap, "Those are people who have been very,
very brave. Some of them had to fight cancer, some of them had to fight in the
US Army..."
"Just like you?" Mikey interrupts.
"Yes, just like me." Dad smiles.
"Are you in there, Dad?" I speak, the soldiers past us. The frames are hidden
from my sight, and I want to follow them, but I know he'd only get upset if I
did.
"Well, no, I'm not." Dad says, "Yes, I was brave when I fought. Yes, I did
fight, and though I don't have cancer, I could still be on there."
"Why aren't you?" Mikey asks.
Dad smiles gently, "Those people on the frames, well, they're not with us
anymore. They passed away after a long, long time of fighting and being brave."
"Are you going to be in that frame, Daddy?" Mikey asks, his eyebrows furrowed
in worry.
Dad swallows and nods, "it should be a long time before I'm on there but
someday, I will. You just gotta promise me to be brave and everything will be
okay, all right?"
"I promise."
"I promise, too, Daddy!"
***** Chapter 20 *****
Chapter Notes
     Trigger warning for rape :/
---Patrick---
One.
The first punch is in my chest, right under the place where my neck meets my
shoulder.
The second makes me yell out as Dad hits me over the head. I try to block out
his fist but I can't, and I end up sobbing, breaking much earlier than I
usually do. I can't hold back my emotions as he hurts me, I'm crying and
begging, tears streaming from my eyes at each hit. I fucking hate it.
I hate being this pathetic and weak. I hate how he gets to me but we both know
his words are true and we both know I deserve this. I don't care what Gerard
said about how I don't deserve this, he's wrong. He has to be. He just doesn't
know it yet... He doesn't know how much of a disappointment I am. He has yet to
see... all of me... He doesn't know how misshapen I am. He doesn't know
anything yet... But I still told him so much... Another hit takes me from my
thought, back to reality and yet another causes my back to hit the wall.
I beg out a word, hoping, praying he'll obey, "S-stop..."
"Stop? For a stupid mistake like you? You are such a fucking disappointment!"
He barks at me, hitting me over and over again, then spits out a sentence that
breaks me inside, "I can't believe she left me with a stupid cunt like you."
The tears are streaming down my eyes, and I wish it would just end. I wish he
would just leave me alone but I shouldn't. I really am a disappointment, I
really am a stupid cunt, I really should have died in The Incident. It would
have made everyone's life much easier.
He shoves me against the wall again but this time with my back facing him and I
immediately know what's going to happen. My eyes widen in fear, but I don't
dare try to move. He could end up hitting me in the eye or something, and I
don't want to go to school blind.
Before I can process where we really are in this, my back is on fire, and his
leather belt is tearing up my hoodie. I let out a scream in pain, not expecting
the fresh pain as he continues to whip my back, each lash replacing old scars
and only making it ten times worse.
I keep sobbing, but I stay stone still because I know he'll only hurt me more
if I don't. So, I clench my fists, press my forehead to the wall and grit my
teeth just waiting for it to end, hoping he'll get bored and I find myself
praying again. I find myself begging God to just make it stop. Make it all just
end, but God never answers me. Not even in my darkest moments.
My mind flashes back to the living room, the belt coming down on my back yet
again. I'm counting each time he hits me. The belt goes down once. Once turns
to five times, five times turns to ten, ten turns to twenty. Each strike sends
my back tensing and my teeth gritting harder and harder. Each time he pulls the
belt back I take a deep breath and try to calm myself, but it's like a jump-
scare. I never know when it'll come. I only know that it'll hurt a lot. I can't
relax too much because I always have to be ready. Always...
I can't take it when he reaches twenty-five. I'm going to black out from the
intense fire licking my skin, unconscious to the ground. I'm getting dizzy, and
it takes me a minute to realize Dad's done. I can hear him getting his belt
back on soon after walking past the pieces of broken glass, a few crunching
underfoot as he walks to the door. He isn't too drunk tonight, but I know he's
going out... And I know that just leaves Kevin, Megan, and I... Oh no...
"I'm going to be at the bar, if I hear a single complaint from Kevin, you're
dead, you hear, Boy?" He threatens. I nod, turning so my back is against the
wall, just enough space to leave an inch between the scars and the cool
surface, to release the pain and instead focus on the blood streaming down my
back.
He grunts slightly before the door slams shut, shaking the pictures on the
walls. As they settle, I work out a plan so I might be able to skip Kevin
tonight and just get Megan to work on my wounds. I think Kevin's sleeping in
his room so, careful not to wake him, I head to my sister's on light feet, the
floor creaking slightly. Not too much, but enough to make me tread lighter.
My back hurts horribly, and I have the urge to double over and puke, but I
manage to hold it in. Nothing would come up, anyways, I haven't had anything to
eat for a day or so and I know Megan doesn't really force me to eat... she
doesn't know.
I let out a sigh running my fingers through my hair. Today was a shitty day. A
really shitty day but I don't want to think about it yet... I want to forget
for a little while. I want to hurt myself. I need to hurt myself. Or just sleep
or just music or... something.
I knock on her door, the white wood cracked and faded under my knuckles because
Dad has yet to replace it. There are a lot of things he needs to work on, but
with his job and Kevin's, there isn't much they can buy. Just food and whatever
they have to pay for to take care of the house and Dad's car. They spend all
the free money on beer, and whatever weed Dad can find.
Megan turns the knob, opening the door and her smile fades to empathy as she
looks over me. I can feel fresh blood trickling down my nose, and there are
several bruises on my sore, sore body, not to mention my back. I hate feeling
this way. So pitiful, pathetic, vulnerable...
"Hey, 'Trick."
"C-can you help me with my... Uh... Back..." I whisper shamefully, I should
just work my way through the pain because I deserve it, but I know an infection
could lead to death. I... don't deserve death, do I? She sighs and pulls me in
for a hug, her head on my chest only reminding myself just how short I really
am. She soon breaks it to lead me to the bathroom, grabbing some rubbing
alcohol and bandages from the cupboard over the sink.
While she gathers supplies, I lay down on my bed, face down but not before
hastily pulling off my ruined hoodie and shirt, making sure to keep my scars
hidden so she can't see. She's the only person I'll take my shirt off in front
of. She never complains about how fat I am, and we've kind of trusted each
other with a lot these past few years. Megan and I, we're used to this. The
same thing almost every time Dad beats me, but it's different tonight because
there's more on my mind. I really don't want to think about it yet.
My phone buzzes. But I ignore it. I don't want to talk to anyone except Megan
right now, and I know it's Gerard. Insulting me for being such a dumbass. Can't
I tell a friend zone when I see one?
"So why were you out for so long?" She asks, trying to start a conversation
while she begins to clean the scars. I grit my teeth from the pain but reply,
knowing she's trying to distract me and I'm grateful for that, though, a little
hesitant to tell her because she might think I'm stupid, too. But I've trusted
her with so much... I mean it couldn't be that bad, could it? Probably...
"Um... Y-you're not... You're not against... Like... Homosexual stuff... Are
you?" I ask, stuttering slightly because I really don't want to lose my sister
either. That would hurt, badly.
"No, of course not. Why?" I sigh slightly, relieved as she begins to bandage up
a wound.
"I... Um... Well, you know Gerard? The boy I talked about a while ago?" I
decide to start there...
"Yeah, you've talked about him in the past... What happened?" She asks,
curiosity filling her young, pristine voice. How is she so innocent and caring?
After everything Dad's done to her, she's still the little girl she was three
years ago.
"He..." I trailed off and decided I should probably tell her the whole story,
"He invited me to see a parade with him downtown... And we went, and it was a
lot of fun... I mean... It was- Ah!"
The stinging is worse, and I have to bite into my pillow to hold back a groan.
"Sorry," Megan apologizes as she only rubs the wound harder, causing more pain
and a near scream to leave my mouth, my eyes watering. She pulls the cloth
away, relieving the pain and letting a sigh leave my mouth, "So you went to a
parade..."
"Right, s-so we went to this parade, and we hung out for a bit. It was kind of
a weird thing, but I think I liked it. It was like... dark themed, the flutes
were black, and there was a man dressed in completely black and a woman who was
completely white, and the marching band was dressed to look like skeletons. It
was cool. When it was over, though, we went to a café."
I'm not going to tell her everything, I don't know how she would react if I
told her I told Gerard about The Incident, and she doesn't need to know about
his past, "And we talked for a while. We went back outside to this bridge a few
blocks away from our house... And... Something happened there... H-he's gay...
A-and I think I'm gay for him..."
"You're gay for him? What's that supposed to mean?" She asks with a slight
chuckle. I'm not grinning, though, I'm completely devastated because I've
ruined everything with my only friend.
"Like, I'm not really gay, but I am gay because I would totally fuck him," I
whisper, blushing at the words coming out of my mouth without thinking. She
bursts out laughing at that, making me laugh, too. Only a little bit because I
really think I'm going to kill myself tonight, "Anyways... W-we were on this
bridge and... Uh..."
She slows her rubbing at my wounds, letting me think a little straighter, "I...
I don't know what happened b-but next thing I knew I was... I-I... kissed
him..."
She stops completely, and I'm scared she's going to hurt me, so I stay still,
my breathing getting faster. Much to my surprise she continues and replies,
"That was your first kiss, wasn't it?"
"No, I kissed Ashley," I reply so quietly I'm afraid she can't hear.
"Did he kiss back?" That question kills me inside. I'll never know. I was too
much of a coward...
"N-no... I ran away before he could do anything... He doesn't love me,
though... Not like that..." I whisper as she bandages the last cut on my back,
"He probably never will..."
"How do you know?" She asks.
"I... I don't know... I just... I'm me. Nobody likes me... Hell, all of my
friends are gone because I'm such a fuckup..." I reply, my voice getting more
and more of a frustrated edge to it as I talk.
"You're not a fuckup." She sighs running her fingers down my back to make sure
the bandages are secure, "Trust me."
"I couldn't save her, Megan. I can't even face the guy I like without messing
up and making him hate me. I pushed all my friends away because they were
annoying. Dad and Kevin are telling the truth. I'm just a stupid cunt. I have
anxiety. I almost had a panic attack today just because the hall was crowded."
I'm close to tears, "I want to die..."
She yanks me up from the bed rather hard, making me wince slightly but the next
thing I know, she's hugging me, her blonde hair tickling my nose, the pink
strings on her sweatshirt trailing across my bare chest.
"Don't leave me," She whispers, "Don't you dare leave me. Patrick Stumph, I
swear to God. Do you know how much it would kill me? Do you know how much we'd
miss you?"
"We? Don't you mean just you? Dad hates me. I'm just Kevin's sex toy at the
moment. Gerard hates me. Pete couldn't care less if I died. None of them would.
And that's all. Just you. And I'm so fucking close to giving up." The tears are
streaming from my face now as I pull away from her embrace. She looks
devastated at those words, her face turning from shock to denial to anger.
"Of course Gerard would miss you! Of course, Kevin would miss you! Dad, too.
Just because he hurts us doesn't mean he doesn't love us. If you leave, then so
will I, don't you dare," She says. I sigh, shaking my head. She doesn't see
what I see. She doesn't know what I know. She could never know.
I walk over to my closet, slipping on the first shirt I find which is just a
random, gray plaid button-up with long sleeves.
"I'm sleeping with you tonight." She says, "Okay? I don't want you to die..."
I swallow, pulling my sleeves up past my scars but finally agree after a
hesitation, "Okay..."
She hugs me again, I hug back, feeling slightly better about myself but I'm
still a nervous wreck... I want to leave. I want to leave so badly. Death
couldn't be much worse than this, could it? If I took my life, everything could
just end, and I would no longer exist... That's hard to process... but it would
all be over... And Megan would be alone, too... Nobody to protect her. Would
she really take her life with mine? I... I honestly believe it... She's going
through just about as much as I am, minus the incest and relationships... I
should stay. Just for her... B-Because things can't get much worse than they
are now, can they?
Oh yes, they can...
The door swings open, banging against the wall as Kevin barges in. My heart
sinks. Really damn far.
"Megan, cover your ears and get out," I mutter into her ear as I pull out of
the hug.
"No..." She whimpers, clinging onto my arm.
"Out!" I yell, I'm not letting her get hurt and I'd rather she not have to hear
what's about to happen. She looks extremely hesitant, and she won't move but I
finally just scream at her, "Now!"
She squeezes past Kevin, fear in her eyes and once she's gone, I'm able to turn
my attention up to my brother. He slams the door shut behind himself once Megan
is gone and nears me, a smirk across his dark expression. I know exactly what
he wants, I know what he came for, and there's really no use in fighting
against him anymore. He begins to unzip his jeans, and I drop to my knees,
waiting for him to force his way into my mouth. Waiting for that awful taste.
That's how it always goes, isn't it? But it never comes.
He pulls me onto the bed, instead, and yanks down my own pants, making me blush
self-consciously, trying to cover myself. What the hell is he...? He grunts
slightly, pulling down his own pants and it kind of just clicks. Everything
clicks into place in my mind, and at that moment I feel scared and exposed and
vulnerable. Terrified because I'm about to feel pain on a level I've almost
never felt before. I've lost control again. I can't stop him. I have to take it
no matter what happens. There is no emergency exit. There is no, "Stop."
There's only wanted, begging enduring.
He's going to rape me.
I gasp as he finishes undressing his bottom half and I scramble to get away. I
scramble to get out of there, but he restrains me as I yell out a, "No,
please."
He yanks me back down by my hair, forcing my face into the bed and I can't
escape, I'm trapped, and there's no way out, "Shut up you little slut and take
it."
"No, no, no, please," I say a little louder, begging, pleading. This can't be
happening. He lets out a stream of desperate curses as he pulls on a condom,
much to my surprise, before lining up, "Kevin, please, please, don't!" I sob,
tears lining my eyes, "Please, no, no, please, stop! I'm sorry! Please!"
Next thing I know, I'm screaming in agony and begging him to leave. But he
won't. Of course, he won't, why would he?
Through it all, though, there's one thought stuck in my mind. Through all this
agony and pain, even though it hurts and I want it to go away. As the pain
fades to rhythm and I've stopped struggling. I'm staring at my cracked ceiling
while Kevin pants above me and even though I'm struggling to remain conscious
and my mind is fading into a haze, there's one small thought on my mind. One
realization. Another crushed hope.
I'm no longer a virgin.
***
I don't know how long I'm laying there. Taking in everything that just
happened. My eyes are wide, and I haven't moved a muscle. I'm so sore, my ass
hurts like hell. I doubt I can even stand up, so I'm just laying limp, my mind
completely blank. I want to die. Please. Just let me die. I can't take this
anymore. I can't take anything anymore. Kevin is gone. He seems happy. Happy.
Oh god, I don't think I've ever felt this devastated since The Incident.
My only friend has left me because I was such a selfish, ignorant ass. My
sister is mad at me for wanting to die. There are scars on my arms and thighs,
scars across my back, scars on my mind. My neck is sore from all the places
he's sucked. My voice hurts from screaming. My lower half hurts from...
Everything that happened down there... Everything just kind of hurts and I feel
like I'm going to fall apart at any moment.
What did I do...? What did I do to deserve a hell like this? Why do they do
this to me...? Oh yeah... Cause I killed my mom. I killed her. I'm a murderer.
I don't move, I continue to lay sprawled across the bed. I don't look up at the
alarm clock beside my bed. It's not that I'm tired, I just don't have the will
to do it. How did I get this far? Faggot, whore, stupid. Ugly, fat, disgusting.
Damaged, pathetic, slut. I should cut the words into my skin so I know the
truth and I can't forget. Nobody will ever love me. I should just die. I
deserve it.
I never cry after he molests me. I never, ever cry, but I think I'm about to. I
just need to end it. The bleach is downstairs. There are painkillers in the
cupboard above the sink. I have a bathtub and a knife. There are skyscrapers
downtown. What would it be like? To finally end it? Would I like it? Would it
hurt? What would it be like to feel the rush of wind at my face seconds before
death? What would it be like to bathe in my own blood? What would it be like to
never wake up again? I'm craving it. I'm craving death, what would Gerard say?
He'd probably celebrate. One less loser out of his life. Face it, I'm the only
loser in his life. The rest of my old friends knew it, and I know it.
Faggot, are you finally finding your common sense?
There's a knock at the door. I don't reply, only pull my blankets over my cold,
pained body.
"Patrick are you alright?" Megan asks.
I don't reply, I only stare at the wall, letting my mind flash over what just
happened. His teeth. His lips. His hands. His grip. Dirty. Disgusting. Pig. I
should die.
The door creaks open, but I don't move. I can't move. Why would I move? I can
barely think straight. I feel dizzy. Loopy.
She crosses my vision, but I don't focus on her, I only grip my pillow and shut
my teary eyes. Not a word leaves her mouth as she crawls on top of the covers
and lays beside me, her eyes looking downwards at the blanket covering me,
"It's gonna get better, Patrick... Someday we'll get out of here. We can be
happy..."
I shake my head and reach over Megan, grabbing my phone. There are texts from
Gerard, but I ignore them. I don't want to see the stream of insults... I don't
want to do anything but lay in bed with comfort from Megan and Billie.
I set one earbud into my ear and offer the other to Megan, she refuses, knowing
she'll probably be able to hear it from where she is anyways. I always turn my
music up too loud...
I press on the touch screen, shuffling my music. I expect Basket Case or Good
Riddance. Maybe even Misfits or State of My Head. But I'm not disappointed when
the acoustic guitar begins ringing in my ear followed soon by his voice, bland
but relieving,
"Summer has come to pass
The innocent can never last
wake me up when September ends."
I don't know how long it takes before I'm drifting off to sleep, but my mind is
occupied with dreams of the parade, Mikey, and Gerard. And those beautiful,
thin lips...
And Megan's soft voice whispering in the distance.
"We'll be okay someday, Patrick...
"I promise..."
***** Chapter 21 *****
---Gerard---
So.
He's not here.
He's not here. Patrick isn't here. Why isn't Patrick here? What happened?
I went to first period, science with Mr. Tennant and Joe and Ryan. We learned
about stars and the galaxy which, in my opinion, is pretty damn fascinating.
I've always wanted to draw a picture of the galaxy or something themed like
that. Anyways, first period was cool. Neither Patrick nor I have that class
together. Joe kept throwing pencils at me but Patrick's words from Friday night
kept echoing through my mind. "I had a group of friends before The Incident...
The ones I pushed away. Th-There was uh... Frank, Ryan, J-Joe... Brendon...
and... and uh... Then my best friend... W-Was Pete..." I did kind of brush Joe
off. I felt a little guilty especially when a look of concern crossed his soft
face but I didn't let it get to me. Ryan was just being quiet the whole period,
sitting and actually doing work.
The bell rang and I continued to my second class, English with Ms. Kristen.
Frank was in that class with me and we get paired up a lot. He's cool, I think
my second best friend. I hang out with him more than anyone else in our gay
little group. I almost fell asleep in English so I can barely remember what
happened there. Frank kept poking me in the arm to wake me up every time I did
doze off. I was aware that he's in Patrick's list of ex-friends. I also
realized that I'd have to talk to them at lunch... I need to tell them what
Patrick said. I did promise to help him, after all.
Third period was Social Studies with Mr. Collins. I didn't actually have any
friends in that class so I kind of end up falling asleep with nobody but the
teacher to wake me up and that's embarrassing so I always try my best to stay
awake. We learned about... Um... Something? I can't remember. We took notes in
textbooks. I think it was something about England and... Spain... Kind of...
I'm not actually sure but I managed to survive Social Studies. That's when I
began to get a little uneasy.
So now here I am. Lunch. Patrick isn't here and he's almost always at lunch.
Maybe he's just being held back by Ms. Kristen. So I sit by Brendon, Ryan, Joe,
Pete, and right beside Frank. They're talking about Homecoming... Which I guess
Homecoming is this Friday. I don't know who to ask besides Patrick but, he's
obviously not here yet. I actually am a little excited to talk to him and ask
him. I can't believe I forgot. I mean... The school isn't against homosexuality
and I already know Ryan and Brendon are going together. So... Maybe Patrick
would want to go? I'm not sure. Then again, we still have the problem of
sorting out what we are with each other... Kissing obviously isn't something
friends do.
Ten minutes pass and Patrick still isn't here. I don't know where he is and I'm
getting worried. Where is he? Did he stay home for a reason? Did he lock
himself in a bathroom? Maybe he'll be back in fourth...
Frank seems to notice my distress because he rests a hand on my shoulder and
asks, "What's wrong?"
I swallow, looking to him. Into those soft brown eyes, "Patrick's not here...
And I need to talk to... everyone..."
Frank pulls his hand from my shoulder before yelling at the rest of the group
to pay attention to me. Brendon and Ryan are gazing at me, making me slightly
squeamish and uncomfortable while Joe has an eyebrow raised and Pete... "My
best friend... I told him about The Incident... I mean the car crash..." "Um...
I need to talk to you about Patrick," I say, looking down. My bravery is gone
and I'm getting uncomfortable. Why do I have to be the messenger? Oh right, I
promised Patrick. And I'm not breaking a promise with him, they're our only
form of currency, "He... H-He told me about... three years ago... How um... He
pushed you all away." I see Pete tense up slightly out of the corner of my eye,
"He... He wants to be friends again. And I... Promised him I'd try..." I look
up, swallowing my fear, "He said sorry..."
"Why isn't he here then?" Brendon asks, a trace of hostility in his voice.
"I don't know..." I replied shaking my head.
"Is he healing?" Pete says. He's worried. I can tell from his tone of voice and
it lightens my heart a little bit but I knew that he isn't. He's going through
a lot of shit at home.
"He..." I trail off, I don't want to tell them something Patrick doesn't want
them to know, "He's doing okay... But, look. Would you be willing to give it a
shot?"
Brendon looks bitter about it. Mad that Patrick left him in the first place.
Pete on the other hand looked willing to take him back in a heartbeat. Joe's
nodding slightly, leaning towards Pete's side while Ryan's agreeing with
Brendon and Frank doesn't really have a say.
"He needs you." I finally say with a hint of frustrated, "He's... He's really
not doing well. I don't want to give away anything he doesn't want me to but
he's going through a lot of shit and I need you to please, please, please just
talk with him once. He needs you."
Brendon looks to Pete who nods and says to me, "Okay, Are you going to
Homecoming?"
"Um, I, Uh," I blush a mad red, "I was hoping to ask him."
Brendon gives me a very bewildered look while Joe yells out a, "What?" And Pete
signals me a thumbs up, a smile across his lips.
"Brendon and Ryan are going. We were all planning on meeting up at Joe's after
the dance," Pete replies, "You up for it?"
I smile, "Yeah, sure."
We continue to talk through lunch. Lunch passes. Art comes next with Mr.
Cumberbatch. I talk with Brendon and Ryan but again, Patrick isn't there.
School keeps flying by but he never shows up.
Fifteen minutes after school ends and I'm sitting on the bus, worrying.
Something is wrong. Did he skip school? Did he end up in the hospital? Did his
dad do something? Or Kevin?
My thoughts turn darker and I realize my worries from the weekend are becoming
more and more possible. Did he not like the kiss? Did I scare him off? Hasn't
he checked his texts?
I'm getting slightly jittery as I look out the window, sketch pad and pencil in
hand but I'm not drawing. I'm scared of what I'd draw...
The autumn air has begun to leave frost on grass in the early mornings,
replacing the dewdrops of summer and crystallizing the vapor. The windows of
the bus are cold as I lean my head back against it, my wispy black hair falling
over my face but I don't care. All I care about is Patrick's safety. Everything
is cold right now and my hoodie isn't helping. Is he cold, too? He isn't here
to keep me warm inside. He isn't here to lean against my shoulder and doze off
under the waning half-moon. It makes me wish I could have screamed into the sky
that night, and said to the stars, "Hey moon, please forget to fall down." The
night could have lasted. I could have told him my real feelings. I could have
told him how I want to kiss him over and over again next to the mausoleum and
make him believe he's beautiful. Someday I will. Someday he'll tell me he
believes it. Even if he doesn't love me. I'd rather let him be happy with my
heart broken than to make him uncomfortable with my happy heart. I'll put him
before me and make sure he knows I care. I wonder if he's at home. I wonder if
he's thinking of me the way I think of him. What if I knocked at his door?
Would he let me in? Or would Kevin be busy with him...?
I need to get him out of there. Maybe I could call the cops... I don't know...
Maybe he's doing alright and maybe they've stopped. Maybe he was just sick
today and his dad forgot to call the school. Maybe he's doing alright and I'm
just overreacting. I hope so. I want him to be alright.
The bus comes to a stop, jerking me forward unexpectedly and it takes me a
moment to gather myself before leaving the row and walking down the aisle. This
is my stop. The green hedges lining the neighboring houses and the two signs at
the corner reading 4th and Fremont. My house down the street and Patrick's
house in sight.
My feet seem to drag as I walk down the two black steps, glistening in the
sunlight, pulling my hoodie closer around myself, my sketchbook still in hand.
I don't need to focus on where I'm going, I already know so I just let my legs
carry me. My eyes move up from the sidewalk to gaze at that house. Patrick's
house. I can imagine him there right now, getting hurt, getting beaten. Should
I knock at his door? I need to tell him...
He's probably just sick, he's fine.
I guess...
I keep walking to my house despite the bad feeling in my stomach. I keep going.
Patrick's probably fine... Maybe...
Next thing I know I'm walking towards his house.
Oh no. No, no, no. What are you doing, Gerard?
I'm checking on Patrick. Even if he is sick maybe I could hang out for a
little.
That's rude, showing up without invitation.
It's fine. I'll just leave afterwards. I'll just check in on him, it's just a
friendly gesture... Right? I step up the creaky porch in front of his home, my
sketchbook tight in my hand. Am I really doing this? Fuck it.
Knock, knock, knock.
I wait for a little bit, my nerves building. What if I'm not welcome here? What
if Patrick's getting beaten? Oh god what if I walk in on something?
The door opens and I'm confronted by a tall boy, he looks like a teenager and
he's somewhat muscled, quite a bit taller than me, too. It's a little
intimidating and I'm more scared when I realize he must be Kevin. Patrick's
brother... This is the guy who makes him scared. He fills him with fear and I
hate him for it. I'm a little tempted to sock him in the face but I know he
could easily overpower me if he wanted.
He fakes a smile and says to me with a sweet voice which I really don't buy,
"Hey,"
"Hey, um... I was wondering if Patrick's here? He wasn't at school today...
Um... I'm Gerard by the way." I say, plastering a fake smile on my lips.
"Kevin, and no, he's not." Kevin replies with confusion. It isn't fake which
only makes me worry more, "I'm not sure where he is, actually. You haven't seen
him at all?" I shake my head, "Oh, okay, we'll get it figured out and I'll have
him text you if he gets a chance, alright?"
My heart sinks. Where is he? What happened? Is he alright? Did he skip school?
Oh no. Did he do something bad? My only thought is that he thinks I really
didn't like the kiss. That he regrets it. I need to talk to him beside he's
obviously not checking his texts. Why not? Fuck. His anxiety. How could I
forget? No, no, no. This is all going wrong.
"Thank you," I reply. I don't know what else to say as I turn and leave, the
door shutting behind me. I pull out my phone, it's useless, I know it is but I
still text him, I'm hopelessly hopeful...
Gerard: Where are you? I'm so worried, Sugar.
I keep walking and texting even though he doesn't reply...
Gerard: I understand if you didn't like the kiss, that's completely fine but
please. I'm so worried about you. I need you to text back please.
I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. Where is he? Where the fuck is he?
Maybe he just didn't want to see me. Maybe he just skipped school. Maybe his
dad made him stay home. Maybe he was hurt. Maybe Kevin touched him again. Maybe
he's in the hospital. Maybe... Oh god... Maybe he attempted suicide and Kevin
didn't tell me.
Don't be ridiculous. He hasn't been suicidal before and one kiss couldn't push
him over the edge. For fuck's sake, get a hold of yourself, Gerard.
Okay, okay. Maybe he didn't kill himself. Maybe he just didn't want to see me
at school. I'm just overreacting. It's fine. Deep breath.
Look for him.
Gerard: Talk to me. Check your phone. Please. Please please.
***** Chapter 22 *****
Chapter Notes
     My favorite chapter tbfh
---Patrick---
Everything looks so far down.
Especially the street. It's like a small black strip the size of my thumb with
tiny, tiny white specks lining the middle. Ants are walking the sidewalks, some
wearing hats, some wearing hoods, some letting their hair flow in the soft
autumn breeze. I wonder what they would do if I fell. No. I wonder what they
will do when I fall. Will they stop or just keep going? Would anybody even
care? No. Nobody cares about me. Nobody except Megan and even she's tired of
me. I know it. I deserve this, and honestly, it's the first thing I deserved
that I also want. I'm craving it. Just one step and I'll be falling, the wind
whipping my hair. My hoodie possibly flying off and landing somewhere else. My
fedora falling maybe ten feet away and my glasses glued to my face. My heart is
racing. Am I really going to do this? Oh fuck, I want to... But what if Gerard
does love me...? What if-
Stop.
Oh god. It's back.
Yes, I'm back you little whore. Just do it. You're such a fucking pussy.
I step up to the ledge. The thrill of it all is sending my heart pumping in my
ears. I want to scream. Oh god. I'm going to die. I'm just going to kill
myself. My eyes are wide as I take in my surroundings for the last time. The
adjacent buildings. They're gray and worn out but much newer than my
neighborhood. The white clouds in the sky. The occasional pigeon flying by and
landing on the rooftop beside me. I look straight up into the sky, and I shut
my eyes, but I don't dare fall. Not yet. I want to remember everything. I want
to take in... Life... It's the last time after all...
The cracked pavement of my street is the first thing that flashes through my
mind. It's a dark gray, not black, though. It's much too old to be black. I
remember tripping over one of the larger cracks once. I was on a walk with Mom,
and I didn't see it, so I ended up tripping and falling, landing on my hands
and scraping them up pretty bad. I was... Four I think... She picked me up
while I was crying salty, salty tears and even though the memory is slightly
fuzzy, I remember her taking me home and cleaning me up while calming me down
whispering, "It's going to be okay, Honey, shh, it's okay."
Kevin and I got along back then. He'd always tease me but in a big brother sort
of way. He was always a lot of fun to hang around, and when Megan was born, he
teased her more, and I honestly got a little jealous. I remember how he'd
always blow a puff of air into my ear and make me squeal.
Then there was the time I got the talk. Crap, that was cringy. I remember
running straight to my room and screaming into my pillow because I was so
embarrassed. Dad was laughing his ass off the whole time, and Mom was there
glaring at him with her light green eyes and huffing slightly. Megan and Kevin
had been sent to bed early that night, but it didn't matter because they were
soon awakened by my hysterical screaming.
Time passed. I grew a little more distant from Mom and, frankly, I felt guilty.
I was spending more and more time with Pete, Brendon, and Joe. I laugh slightly
to myself, my breath showing cloudy in the cold, late September air. I remember
when I first met Joe. That was awkward, I was eight, he was seven, and we had
both been dragged to the bookstore by our moms.
He was pretty outgoing and me, well I was shy. I'm still pretty fucking shy.
I'd always hang out behind my mom's leg until she told me to go socialize. That
day, though, she didn't push me to leave her side because she was looking
through books. Then the next thing I know, though, this kid with short, curly
brown hair comes sprinting at full speed down the aisle and stopping right in
front of me. I was looking at him like he had just grown a horn from his
forehead and you know what he did? He just got real close, my mom was
completely oblivious, but he leaned into my ear, and he whispered five words
which immediately sparked a friendship, "I really like your shirt."
I looked down and saw the American Idiot logo on the front of my shirt. The red
grenade heart held in a fist and the words 'American Idiot' printed right
beside it.
I looked back up with a grin ear-to-ear on my face. He was smiling back at me
and giggling slightly.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Joe, what's yours?"
"Patrick."
"Nice to meet you." He says. I blush slightly before I hear another voice in
the aisle over.
"Joe, it's time to go." It's his mom. I'm pretty sure at least.
He gives me one last smile before running into the next aisle. The next
September, when school started again, I saw him, and we quickly became friends,
we were in the same class, and it turns out we'd been going to the same school
since kindergarten, but we were never put into the same class. He introduced me
to Pete, and the three of us became fast friends. Soon enough, we met Brendon,
and we hung out all the time. Ryan and Frank came a little later. So most of
the time it was Joe, Brendon, Pete, and I hanging out, but there were special
occasions when I could invite Frank and Ryan, too.
I remember once when the four of us were hanging out at Joe's house. His
parents were gone, and he'd got hold of some beer. Now, he wasn't a heavy
drinker, and he knew full well that what we were doing was illegal. We were
halfway through seventh grade, and his parents had the smart idea of leaving
alcohol in the fridge.
"So I know it's probably not smart to drink a ton, maybe a bottle a person?"
Joe suggested, dividing the bottles between the four of us, I didn't take mine,
though. It stayed in the middle since I refused to drink.
"That's fair," Pete agreed.
I only shrugged and whispered out a, "I'm not gonna..."
Thankfully, neither of them pushed me. Brendon, on the other hand, was pulling
out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
"Joe, you're doing it wrong." He said, pulling out a white and orange cigar and
biting it before lighting it. The flame was warm for the split second it was
lit, but once it was gone, I was embraced again by the cold of Joe's room. He
handed over the pack to Pete who only rolled his eyes and gave it to Joe (he
took it and lit himself a cigarette).
"That stuff's bad for your lungs you know," I said. I was a little worried, but
I knew that they almost never smoked or drank. Only on special occasions like
this so I didn't usually push them to stop.
"Eh, it's nice." Brendon shrugged. Joe was plugging his phone into the speakers
and playing his playlist which he'd named, "Joe's Badass Playlist of Badass
Shit." Which his parents had found a little bit afterward and quickly told him
to change it to leave out all the cussing. He'd only changed it to, "Joe's
Slightly Less Baddass Playlist of Slightly Less Badass Shit." But of course it
was so long, it only showed, "Joe's Slightly Les-" So his parents didn't bother
him about it after that. He put it on shuffle before taking a long swig of beer
and leaning back against the edge of his bed.
"Show me how to lie,
You're getting better all the time
And turning all against the one,
It's an art that's hard to teach,"
Pete quickly began singing along, me picking up right after and Brendon and Joe
tagging along. We listened to lots of songs, we could honestly listen to Green
Day, Blink-182, Nirvana, The Offspring, and Shinedown all day every day and the
songs would never get old. None of us cared for pop music, only the comfort we
found in whatever genre this is.
I open my eyes to find myself still on the edge and vertigo takes over, the
world spinning around me. I have to step back to the platform of the building
to gather myself, but once I do, I step right back up and look down. Mom is
dead. Kevin is a rapist. Dad abuses me. Megan is a victim. I'm suicidal. Gerard
is done with me. All my old friends hate me, too. My phone vibrates in my
pocket, but I don't want to take it out. I only have the will to fall forward
into the black street.
A strong wind rips through making me shut my eyes and clench my jaw. My fedora
flies off of my head, and even though I try to grab it, it's gone. The wind
carrying it to the street below. I guess it doesn't really matter... It's not
like I'll need it again.
I sigh. Time to do it... Oh god... Am I really doing this...?
Just do it you, coward.
I lean forward slightly, my heart quickening impossibly faster and my stomach
dropping as I feel myself begin to fall forward. Off the building, to the black
street below.
This is the end of your life, Patrick. Enjoy your last few seconds.
I'm on the edge of losing control. I'm about to fall forward, I'm about to die,
and at that moment, fear has a death grip on me. I'm terrified and second
thoughts take over my mind. I'm falling, I'm going to die. I'm going to die.
I'll never breathe again. I'll never see Gerard again. Pete, Brendon, Joe,
Ryan, Frank. I'll never be able to see any of them again. I'll never have to
chance to fix the broken relationships with them. Never. Do I really want that
to happen?
Fuck.
I jerk myself back just in time, falling back onto the platform of the roof. I
can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this. My phone vibrates again, but I
can only feel tears of fear and self-loathing rise to my eyes. I bury my face
in my arms, pulling my knees up. I can't do this. I can't fucking do this. I
feel myself falling apart, I feel my heart shatter in my chest and leak through
my eyes. My chest is heaving, my hands are shaking, and one more vibration from
my phone sends me over the edge. I yank it out of my pocket, tears streaming
down my cheeks and I don't even read his texts before sending Gerard a message.
Patrick: STOP TEXTING ME I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT HOW MAD YOU ARE. I WANT TO
DIE. ISN'T THAT ENOUGH FOR YOU? I just want it to end. I want it all to end. I
don't need your insults pushing me on because I swear I'm going to do it. I
know I'm a disappointment. I know I'm a slut. I know I'm worthless and a faggot
and a whore and a fat pig. I know I'm a fucking mess and I know you don't love
me so stop texting. I don't want to hear how pissed you are at me. I'm going to
kill myself. I promise... So stop because I know what you're doing. Please.
I lean back against the short wall surrounding the roof of the building and
feel myself begin to cry. I'm so pathetic. I can't even kill myself when I most
need to... I have to kill myself. That's what everyone wants, isn't it? Just to
die? I know it... That has to be it. Otherwise, my life would be at least a
little bit better.
My phone vibrates. I let out a long sigh... I should probably just read it...
Gerard's last words to me and then I'll work up to courage to do it again. I
can do this, I will do this. I deserve it just like I deserve every scar on my
arm. Just like I deserve every last insult Kevin screamed at me. Just like I
deserve every hit my dad put on me. Just like I deserved what Kevin did to me
Friday night. I deserve it all just like I deserve Gerard's last insult. I type
in the code to my phone, slowly. I don't know why I put it in so slowly. Maybe
it's because I'm so ashamed of myself for giving up. Maybe it's because I can't
stand to see the boy I like put me down. My eyes dart over the text.
And then they dart over it again.
And again, more slowly this time. I must be misreading something. He didn't
really say that. He... couldn't have... Nope. It's the same thing. W-What?
Before I know what's happening my phone is dropping onto the solid concrete,
and I'm covering my mouth. The message still playing through my mind, crystal
clear. He couldn't have said that. He... He doesn't mean it, does he? Oh god,
oh god. How could I be stupid?
Gerard: I know I can't stop you. I wish I could. I don't want you to go, but if
you will, I just want you to know that the world is ugly, but you're beautiful
to me. Please don't leave. I need you.
I grab my phone again and rush through all the past texts, my heart dropping to
my stomach.
Gerard: Talk to me. Check your phone. Please. Please, please.
Gerard: I understand if you didn't like the kiss, that's completely fine but
please. I'm so worried about you. I need you to text back, please.
Gerard: Where are you? I'm so worried, Sugar.
Gerard: Goodnight, Sugar, sleep well.
Gerard: I loved it, though... The kiss... It was nice and... I want to do it
again... I really want to... I'm so sorry... I'm such a creep...
Gerard: I love you. I'm in love with you, and I've loved you ever since I met
you. I was so scared that you didn't love me back and I'm sorry I didn't tell
you. I'm so fucking sorry that I'm like this. But I wanted to know if you maybe
want to get together? Would that be alright? I mean I understand if you don't
want to. It was kind of spur of the moment...
Gerard: I need to tell you the truth. I'm so sorry I've been holding back
but...
Gerard: Hey, Patrick
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. This can't be real. He didn't send those
texts. I roll up my sleeve and pinch one of my scars as hard as I can, making
me nearly yelp in pain, but I hold it back. I'm awake. This is my reality. He
actually sent those texts.
Gerard loves me.
Gerard fucking Way loves me.
No, he doesn't you-
Shut the fuck up. Can't you read?
I push myself off the ground and sprint down the stairs to the elevator where I
stand impatiently, getting some weird looks from a few people, but I don't
care. My adrenaline is overpowering my anxiety, and I feel like screaming. I'm
not sure how to feel about this, but one thing is for sure. If he wants a
goddamn kiss then I'm going to go all the way from this skyscraper, through the
streets, past everything and I'm going to go straight to his house, and I swear
to God (That little shit up in heaven who's been giving me a hard time these
past three years) that I'll give him that goddamn kiss. The elevator stops at
the bottom floor, I immediately squeeze through the door, and I sprint out the
front door of the building. I completely ignore my surroundings, not even
stopping to pick up my fedora from the ground, to run down the route leading
toward my house. Toward the Thurman flower shop. Toward the cemetery. Toward
the mausoleum. Toward the cafe. Toward the bridge and to Gerard's house. I keep
sprinting as fast as I can despite the growing fire in my lungs which scream
for me to stop but I can't. If what Gerard said is true then I need to go to
him. I need to find him. I need to tell him the truth. I need to tell him
everything, and I need to kiss those delicate thin lips.
I don't think, just act. I don't regret, just embrace. I don't stop myself as I
pass the Thurman bouquet shop. I don't stop at all even when I pass the
cemetery gates and the mausoleum. I don't stop once as I pass the cafe. I don't
stop. I don't even stop when I find him sitting on the bridge, tears flowing
from his eyes as the sun makes his dark hair glow. I don't stop myself as I
pull him up, his eyes wide in surprise and I don't give him anytime at all to
process what's happening as I press him against the railing roughly with
want—no need—in my movements. I let my face hover for just a split second.
Stopping for once and taking in what I'm about to do before I kiss him, hard.
Shutting my eyes with tears dripping down my chin. Tears I didn't realize were
there until they're mixing with Gerard's and he's pulling me closer in the
bright sun. His hands wrapping around my waist and pulling me so close that our
chests are touching and I can feel his warm breath on my cheek.
That bittersweet taste fills my lips again. That beautiful, addictive taste.
Like... Like...
Sugar with a hint of black coffee.
The taste of Gerard.
***** Chapter 23 *****
---Patrick---
Driven to madness.
I think that's how I feel right now. I'm being driven to madness.
His hot breath leaves droplets of moisture on my cheek as I suck on his bottom
lip, gazing down at the pink flesh. I don't know how long I'm taking in
everything but I feel like I need to. I need to take in every last detail
before it's gone. Before he has to leave because I know he will... His
pleasured breaths and the way they warm my cheek. Just from that I already know
this wasn't a mistake. He's panting slightly and it sounds like he's trying to
hold back a moan... but I'm not sure. I do know that he isn't mad, which is
good. His hands are on my lower back, pulling us close from a tight embrace.
Another reason why this wasn't a mistake. Maybe he really does want this... He
really does love me, maybe the text was real. The last one lifted my heart but
I can't think about that now. I'm lost in the moment and I love it.
The disgustingly sexy sounds of my lips sucking on his gently... I don't know
where all this bravery came from. Hell, if I was in this situation three weeks
ago, I would have probably killed myself by now, fallen off of that building
with no hesitation because I hated life and myself, text included or not. I
mean I still do, but I don't hate life as much anymore. That was all before
being gay was okay. That was before Kevin took my virginity. That was before I
fell in love with Gerard. In only three weeks I'd found myself a crush who,
somehow, returns the feelings and makes me completely forget about anxiety when
I'm around him. How the fuck does he do it? How is he just so... Perfect?
My eyes dart up to his, gazing intensely into the dark pools of surprise and
want. He lets out a tiny whimper and I giggle slightly into his lip, the
corners of my mouth folding into a smile as they let go of the pink flesh. He
pulls away but only kisses me again, his addictive taste on mine. It's slow,
each kiss feels like an eternity but it's such a pleasure-filled eternity. Like
heaven. His fingers drag up my back, sending shivers down my spine and making
it arch into the touch.
He lets go but not quite. Instead, he bites on my bottom lip and gazes up at
me. Immediate boner. I stifle a moan because fuck that is hot but finally pull
away even though I don't want to. I don't want to be empty but we need to talk.
We need to talk about... everything. He leans in again but I only shake my head
and pull away even more, leaving him disappointed.
"Where were you?" He finally asks, understanding what I'm trying to do and
leaning against the railing. I don't reply at first. I let my stomach drop
first. That bad feeling you get when someone finds you out and the guilt takes
you over begins to settle as the unanswered question rings through my mind. I
hate it... I hate that feeling... It's the feeling I got when Pete asked what
was wrong. It was the feeling I got when Dad showed up at the hospital with a
hard gaze and asked, 'What happened?' and all I could reply with was, 'There
was a car crash.' A week later, he hit me. A month later, he beat me.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. I shut my eyes, the city streets flashing through my
mind. The way people would walk in long strides, the way my hair blew in the
wind and my fedora fell to the ground. If I had waited just a split second
longer, I would have fallen to my death. Down, down, down. And splat to the
ground. I half wish that had happened but at the same time I don't. I'm
conflicted just like I've been every single day since The Incident and I feel
like I'm about to sob, "I'm sorry, I, I thought you hated me and I was so
scared. I didn't want to see what you had to say. B-because I honestly thought
it was impossible that you could ever love me when I don't even love myself."
He nears me again about to hug me but I shake my head. I'm too guilty and I
honestly feel like I'm about to puke so I turn and lean over the railing incase
anything does come up.
"Okay, so where were you then?" He asks, coming to my side.
I look down in shame, gripping the rail, "I..." I trail off. Do I really want
to tell him? How would he react? Would he be mad? Would he hurt me?
"I won't be mad at me, please just tell me the truth, Sugar." He whispers,
rubbing my back.
"I'm... I'm sorry... I..." I feel the tears rising, "I w-was..." I decide to
just... Make it somewhat foggy, it's easier to say than just spitting out the
truth, "I was at the top of a skyscraper..."
He squeezes my waist slightly and I can't stop the tears.
"What were you doing?"
I let out a shaky breath, I have to answer him but guilt it killing me, "I... I
was..." He walks behind me, rubbing my shoulders as I continue to sob over the
edge of the bridge.
"Did you overdose?" He asks, sudden worry filling his voice. I don't blame him.
"No, no," I quickly reply when I get a break from my loss of breath. I take a
deep breath making sure I don't gag again... I shut my eyes, his hands still
rubbing circles into my shoulders, "I was... gonna jump..." I whisper. There's
complete silence and it kills me. Just his shaky breathing and mine and I wish
I could just die in that moment. We stay completely still for God knows how
long and until I can't take it anymore. I begin to pull away. It's over. He
hates me. He thinks I'm an idiot. An attention whore but he grabs my wrist and
pulls me back, pressing me against his chest. I look straight down in shame but
soon after, I can feel his lips on my forehead. I blush slightly.
"You mean so much more than that, Patrick." He whispers, "I love you. You are
perfect in every fucking way. You should never, ever feel that way because
you're special to me. You always have been and you always will be. I love you
so, so much. Never leave me, please."
"I won't," I whisper, feeling him wrap his hands around my waist, "I think I
love you, too."
We stand for a moment, just listening to each other's breaths until the
negative emotion fades away and Gerard chimes in on a lighter note, "I wanna
kiss you."
"We just admitted our love for each other you know..." I mumble in
embarrassment before he presses our lips together again.
"Well, quite honestly, I've been wanting to do this to you for a while. And I
wish you would have admitted it sooner..." He pauses before adding, "Why didn't
you jump?" I can't help but wonder why he isn't mad. Then again, this is
Gerard. He's really unpredictable.
I ponder the question for a moment and reply, "I couldn't, I was close, but I
couldn't, I was too scared..." I reply, trying to make him understand, "it's
hard to explain, I was just... Scared."
He runs his fingers down my jawline, forcing my head to look to his and the
tears come harder than before as I see his beautiful face, blurry through my
sadness. His breathing is shaky and I see a tear drip down his chin. Why is he
crying? Oh no, I hate seeing him cry. It's my fault, too, isn't it?
"Promise not to do it again...? Please?" He asks, basically begging. There's so
much sorrow and fear in his voice. Does he mean it? All that troubled emotion?
Does he really love me? It can't be true...
"I promise..." I whisper. And I mean it.
"How strong are your promises?"
"I have yet to break one." I smile.
He pulls me in again, burying his face with a grin and it makes me giggle.
Giggle.
"So, Patrick," he says, pulling away. He giggles slightly himself, changing the
mood, and presses his forehead to mine. I begin feeling really giddy and I
smile myself. God I love him...
"So, um... I guess I should probably ask," He pauses, "W-Will you be my
boyfriend?"
I smile, squeezing him close, "Of course," I reply. He kisses me again, hard
and passionate. I immediately kiss back, not as passionately, though... I don't
have a lot of practice with kissing.
"I have one more question." He pulls out of my grasp and walks to the other
side of the bridge to pick up his sketchbook. I watch as he flips through the
pages, swallowing nervously, before looking across a certain page for a moment.
He looks up at me, turning the paper and I can immediately see the drawing.
There's a heart, very detailed and colored a dark gray with his pencil, shaded
perfectly. It's big and, honestly, beautiful just like its owner. Beside it is
a word. And my heart practically bursts out of my chest as I read his perfect
handwriting, tall and skinny.
Homecoming?
***
"If they bother you at all, be sure to call me, alright?" Gerard asks, his
mouth close to my ear and his hands squeezing my sides. The sun is setting
behind him, right in my eyes but I don't mind. It's beautiful. Just like my...
My new boyfriend. Oh god, I love him so much.
I look up to his warm eyes, the color of dark oak. I'm tempted to tell him
about what Kevin did... To tell him that I'm not a virgin anymore... To tell
him how violated I felt... But on second thought I don't want him to worry and
I can barely think about it without going into a state of mind where I feel
dead, numb. So, that's not a good idea, "Okay, okay," I plaster a fake smile on
my face and he only lets out a worried sigh.
"I love you, Patrick..." He whispers, taking my hands in his and gazing down at
our intertwined fingers.
"I-I love you, too, Gee..." I reply, pressing my forehead to his. I bite my lip
before kissing him softly. The taste of sugar and coffee on his lips, and soon
after onto mine.
"Text me, alright, Sugar?" He asks.
I nod, "Goodnight for now,"
"You, too." He replies, kissing me on the cheek and making me blush a dim red.
He turns away, his fingers leaving mine cold and empty. His hands in his
pockets with his head down as he walks away and I can't help but admire how
beautiful he is in the night sky. A black canvas littered with soft white
specks and the moon, high in the sky. The air is cool, crisp. It smells like
rain even though the last rain was three nights ago. It's a nice smell but it's
being overtaken by the taste of sugar and coffee on my lips. That beautiful,
beautiful taste.
I grip the hand railing leading up the steps as I get lost in my thoughts. It's
beginning to rot because it's become so old over the years but I don't focus on
it because I can only focus on the beauty walking into the distance. The artist
with black hair and brown eyes. The boy who draws Black Parades and boys with
badges. That wonderful boy who I love with all my heart. The boy who I kissed
on the bridge, the boy who held me close as we laid under the half-moon by the
mausoleum. That boy who makes all my anxiety leave. The boy with a bad past but
oh god, I come to a realization and I shut my eyes as I process it.
Gerard is mine now. Mine to love. Mine to hug. Mine to kiss. Mine to... make
love to...
But the more I think of it. It seems a little scary if we ever get to that... I
don't want to sleep with him but... I don't want to disappoint him. I'd be
lying if I didn't say I want him but I'm scared he'll turn out like Kevin. He
doesn't have my consent yet but what if he just rapes me? I'd give him full
control of my body and I don't know if I can trust him.
On second thought, we've only been dating for... an hour. It's a bit too early
to be thinking about that. Maybe six months or more before I should even begin
to consider letting him take me. Maybe a bit less, too. I smile to myself as he
turns the corner and through the bright moon, I can see a warm smile on his
face. My heart melts.
I look back up at the door. Time to face my fear... Unless... Gerard would let
me stay with him...
No. Stop he would never let you stay at his house.
I guess you're right, huh?
I walk up the creaky steps, my hand rests on the doorknob.
I shut my eyes.
One, two, three
My eyes open. Dad is laying on the couch watching TV, Kevin is nowhere to be
seen, I'm guessing he's in his room either sleeping or jacking off, and Megan
is in the kitchen making dinner. It's probably the most peaceful I've seen the
house yet.
"Good evening, Patrick!" Megan calls, I can hear her grabbing something from
the fridge, the rattling of the bottles in the door give her away. I nod to her
as I shut the front door behind myself and turn to Dad, taking in the scene. He
has an empty bottle of beer in hand and a lit white and orange cigarette in the
other. His once young face looks wrinkly and tired. Smoking's really taken its
toll on him and it hurts. He used to be so young and so... in love... What
happened?
You happened.
I happened.
"Where were you?" He asks, looking over at me with dark green eyes and I'm not
going to lie, it's a little intimidating.
"I don't know." I reply with a shrug. He glares.
"Where were you?" He asks again, a little harder.
I swallow, "I just skipped school, no big deal."
He rises to his feet, my heart drops, my stomach flips. I'm terrified because I
know what happens next. It always happens and I deserve it. I deserve every
bruise and cut he inflicts on me.
"Where. Were. You?" He growls as he nears me. I back up against the wall, tears
of fear crowding my eyes.
"I just went for a walk downtown. That's it," I cry, trying to stifle my tears.
He slams the glass into the wall, it shatters and I can already tell there's
going to be a crack there for a long while.
"Who were you with?" He demands.
I bite my lip feeling tears stream down my cheeks. He huffs slamming me against
the wall, "You're fucking weak."
"I'm sorry," I whimper. Next thing I know, he slaps me, hard and I feel fire in
my cheek. It burns and begs for a relief, any kind of relief that I can't give.
So instead, I shut my eyes and bite away the pain.
"Go," He growls pointing to my room. Relief fills me and I take the first
chance I get to scramble away and run to my room, my space where I can let out
my emotion, my space where scars form. The place where I turn my music up and
tune out the world. My safe haven, tainted by the occasional visit of Kevin.
Tears are still in my eyes as I slam the door shut. I hate it. I hate it here.
I hate everything. I just want Gerard and Megan and my old friends. I want my
old life back. I want Dad to stop drinking, I want Kevin to stop following in
his footsteps, I want Megan to be happy again, I want Ryan and Frank back, I
want to hang out at Joe and Brendon and Pete's houses, I want Mom to come back.
I want so much but I can't have it... I've never been able to have it... And I
only have three ways to numb the pain.
Gerard. But he's not here. I won't be able to see him until tomorrow but that's
too long and even if he could somehow come over, he would call the cops on Dad
and Kevin. I can't let that happen. I deserve what they do to me and I
shouldn't try to escape it.
Music. I could use music now, Billie's or Mark's or Kurt's voices. The bass
pushing the blood through my veins. The guitar guiding my breaths. The drums
beating my heart as I shut my eyes and try not to cry but I'm craving something
different...
The razor blade. Nobody's told me to stop. So why should I?
I look to my door, making sure it's locked. It is. The button on the knob
pressed in. Adrenaline is pulsing through me as my eyes dart to the crack in
the wall and a look of want crosses my face. I drop to my knees, like I would
if Kevin was here. He's not, instead I reach in and pull it out. The sharp
razor. I need this now. I need to feel the pain. I need to be brought back to
reality. Now.
Bzzt.
I need it... But Gerard is first priority.
Gerard: Hey sugar
I shut my eyes as I take a deep breath, gripping the razor. But as I exhale, I
hear it drop to the ground beside me.
Patrick: Can you talk later?
Shit he's going to be suspicious. Please just trust me...
Gerard: Yeah, whats happening?
Quick Patrick, just make up an excuse
Patrick: Have to make dinner
Gerard: Alright, see you <3
I smile to myself. He put a heart. A heart. That's cute.
Patrick: You too <3
I pull out my earbuds from my pocket and surprisingly, they're not a tangled
mess like usual. I plug one into the phone and place the buds into my ears
before picking up the razor blade again and hearing lyrics to songs I've heard
a thousand times.
"I never thought I'd die alone
I laughed the loudest, who'd've known?
I traced the cord back to the wall
No wonder it was never plugged in at all,"
I position it about in about the middle of my wrist and my elbow, trying to
avoid some of the other scars which is fairly difficult, considering my arms
are basically a mess of them. The blade slides across my arm anyways and I
can't help but notice that usually I'd go down, elbow to wrist, but I'm finding
it harder to do. I don't want to die anymore and I know going straight up and
down would definitely increase my chances of hitting a major artery. Is it
Gerard? Or it just common sense that's kicked in? I can never be sure but I
know I'm making some progress on getting better. I was on the edge three weeks
ago I had wanted to die, I mean that was when I first began having the thoughts
but, he changed that. He changed everything about that... I live for Gerard. I
love Gerard.
Bzzt
I look down, taken from my suicidal, depressed thoughts. Thoughts that people
think I should have a counselor for. Thoughts that I probably should have a
counselor for but... We're low on money. Even if we had enough money, Dad would
never let me. He knows what I would tell them.
Dark, dark red blood is rising to the fresh cuts but they haven't flooded over.
Yet. I can't stop myself from staring for a moment. Taking in the weight of
what I just did. I love it. I love it but I hate it. And I don't understand why
I hate it. Nobody has told me to stop so why do I feel so guilty? I know Gerard
probably doesn't want me hurting myself but he hasn't done anything to stop me.
So why stop?
I pick up my phone and look at the text. I'm done with those thoughts.
Gerard: I need to talk to you when you get a chance... About... Um... A few
different things... Anyways, text me. Love you.
What does he want to talk to me about? I don't know... I should probably finish
this before I start on anything else tonight... I don't want to make too much
of a mess and have Megan worry so I get up from my place on the floor. Right
beside my bed. I open my door, the knob is cold. Cold...
I don't know what happens. I don't understand why it happens. I don't know how
to stop it but the next thing I know, I'm in the hospital.
***
"David Stumph?" A doctor calls from the doors. I immediately shoot up, out of
my seat ignoring my arm's protests. I need to go with Dad. Is she okay? Did she
survive? Oh please, please, please. Anything.
Dad walks to the doctor but when I try to follow, he only gives a sad smile and
leans down, "This is just a private conversation."
"No, I need to know. What happened? Is she alright?" I ask, a little harshly.
The doctor, Dr. Eccelston, I think is his name only shakes his head and looks
up to Dad for help.
"Go sit with Kevin," He says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I look
to the other boy with blonde hair, my brother, who's staring right back but
only shake my head as I look back up at Dad, "It's going to be okay, you're
going to be okay, I promise."
I pull away from his hand, but still return to my seat. Except, I don't sit
down. I'm pacing back and forth. I can't stop but it helps a little bit. I'm
honestly scared. I thought I lost hope earlier but I know there has to be a
chance, no matter how astronomically small it is, there's a chance. And maybe
God will be nice and give me the opportunity to get her back.
Maybe she will survive and maybe I just didn't check her pulse right. Maybe I
really did start her heart I just didn't feel it. And her breathing. Maybe...
Maybe I just couldn't feel it. That's right. It's gotta be. How else would she
survive? She has to survive, there's no way she could ever die. She's my mom.
She's never been hurt in her life and I believe she might have a chance.
"Sit down, Patrick," Kevin snaps, taking me from my rapid thoughts, but he
immediately backs off, "I mean... I don't know it's just stressing me out
more."
I nod slightly, sitting down but jiggling my foot up and down. I'm nervous. No.
Nervous isn't a good word. Nervous is for when you have a class presentation
and you're scared of presenting. Nervous is like a first date. You don't know
what to expect. I'm... Restless. I can't stop worrying but I know it's going to
turn out good. She'll live with injuries but she's going to end up alright. At
the same time I can't stay still for more than two seconds before fiddling with
my thumbs or getting up and pacing even more but it's better than her being
confirmed... Gone...
As I wait, I can't help but wonder what's taking Dad and Dr. Eccelston so long.
Maybe she's alright and he's just gone in to talk to her. Maybe he's just
really happy. There's no way she could die. If she did... It would be my
fault...
I can't think about that. It'll be fine. Everything is going to be fine. It's
going to be okay. I don't have to worry about anything because she's going to
live.
I pull my knees up to my chest, it has to be okay. I feel my throat close up as
tears reach my eyes, she can't die. I begin sobbing into my knees, it can't be
my fault.
"Patrick, Kevin," Dad says. I didn't even realize he'd come into the waiting
room again. There are tears in his eyes and he's trying to hold back. He's
trying to be strong.
No, Patrick. Those are tears of joy. Right?
"What happened? Is she okay?" Kevin immediately asks, a thousand emotions in
his voice. Depression, sadness, uneasiness, fear, anger, hate. He sounds like
he's holding back a scream. The same scream I made at the crash. That same
scream of agony and fear and emotions with that same fiery hate.
"I..." He has to choose his words carefully. My hope is fading, "She's..."
Alive? Alright? Injured but going to live?
"Gone,"
Kevin is gone in a flash, sprinting through the doors and running through the
halls.
Dad chases after him but I can only sit in silence and take in those words.
Those kinds of jokes aren't funny, Dad.
I can't stop myself. I need to see so I follow Kevin but not quite, I walk
through the halls. I remember Dad repeating the room number to Dr. Eccelston
several times... Room 511.
Kevin's already passed it, I can see the room and neither of them are there
although I can hear them yelling down the hall.
"Where is she! Where is she! She can't be dead!"
"Kevin, calm down she's gone, we can't do anything."
"It's all Patrick's fault. All of it. If he wasn't such a fucking idiot this
wouldn't have happened. I hate him. I hate you. It's your fault, too."
I don't listen anymore. Instead I walk into her room.
She looks peaceful, lying there. Like an angel. That's how it should have
ended. Peacefully in her sleep, with no pain, without a worry. It's all my
fault that she's gone. I look to the clock: 12:52. We've been here for an hour,
it took an hour for the ambulance to show up, ten minutes to gather myself.
Something like that...
Her blond hair sways in the soft breeze glowing through the window. It's long
and reaches just under chest in straight locks that curl just slightly at the
ends. Her lips are separated slightly, she would be breathing through them if
it wasn't for me and if I had only told her to stop, it would have turned out
so much better. If it weren't for me, she would be smiling and breathing. If it
weren't for me, she wouldn't be dead.
I killed her.
My hand reaches out. Holding her ice cold hand. Cold and blue. And I can't warm
her up. It'll never heat up again until she's in the furnace, turning to ash.
Cold like the knob on my door.
***
I blink.
The house is silent. Completely silent. Too silent. What happened? I'm on the
floor. When did I get on the floor? Did I fall?
Through my windows, I can see the darkness of the evening. The clock by my bed
reads: 8:52. I was out for maybe an hour because of those stupid flashbacks. I
hate them. They make one second feel like an hour and an hour to feel like a
year. I hate when I have to go through it all again like a nightmare I can't
escape. It is a nightmare I can't escape. I hate waking up. I hate that odd
feeling when I look around and realize I just lost an hour of my life. An hour
I can never get back. An hour wasted to the depth of my mind. That dark abyss.
I look to my arm. There's dried blood on the cut but it's mostly healed. At
least it won't bleed for a while. It's stopped.
Then, I feel a weight being pressed on my shoulders. I feel exhausted. So
exhausted but I need to... I need to talk to Gerard...
I need to...
I...
***
"Hey," Gerard smiles as he sits beside me. His dark hair kissed by the morning
sunlight and his brown eyes look brighter than usual.
He's beautiful.
"Hi," I reply, feeling a slight fire rise to my cheeks in a dark red ember.
"Did you get my text last night?" He asks. He's keeping his hands to himself
and I honestly wish he didn't... I like it when he touches me I mean not in a
bad way. Like soft touches on shoulders, when his hands rest on my thigh, the
way he cups my cheek when he leans in to kiss me.
"No, I fell asleep, sorry," I reply. I'm beginning to feel guilty... I'm not
sure why... I mean he can't know everything... He's leave me for sure and I'm
honestly scared. I don't want him to leave. I love him. He loves me.
He looks at me with a worried face, "Did you really? Just fall asleep?"
He's catching on. He's catching on fast. No, no, no.
Don't tell him.
I need to. He's asking.
Patrick. Don't.
"No..." I reply. My voice isn't shaky. They're just flashbacks... Just tiny
little flashbacks that exhaust me and make me want to die. Flashbacks that
bring back the worst of memories.
"What happened? Did he beat you?" He asks, his hand finally reaching for my
knee and I can't help but lean up against him. My head on his shoulder.
"Kind of... I mean... He slapped me and sent me to my room... B-but I had a
flashback..." I reply, "Th-they happen sometimes and random things will trigger
them and I don't know how to make them go away..."
"You have PTSD?" He murmurs gently.
"PTSD?" I copy. The hell is that?
"It's..." He trails off but eventually starts up again, "Dad had it, too.
Because he was in the army for so long. It's... A condition I guess... You have
flashbacks and nightmares about something tragic that happened in your past..."
I bite my lip. First Mom dies, Dad and Kevin beat me, I get anxiety, a fucking
eating disorder and now some kind of fucking condition that gives me
flashbacks? What the hell has my life come to? A maze of conditions and health
issues? For fuck's sake could I have a fucking break please?
"Are you alright?" He asks, "I'm sorry... If you don't want to talk about
it..."
I shake my head slightly, "Maybe in a while I just... We've only been dating
for what–a day?–and I'm trusting you with more than I've trusted Megan with. I
want to... Take this slower... I mean... Sorry..."
"Don't say sorry, we'll take this as slow as you want, okay?" He says, "I know
it hurts so I'll give you all the time in the world..."
I smile slightly, blushing in the warm autumn light.
"You're cute when you blush."
"So you've told me."
"It's true," he replies, pecking me on the cheek and making me blush even more.
"Staaaap!" I say, over-exaggerating the 'ah' so he knows I'm not serious. I
like it. I love it. I love him.
He kisses me again on the cheek but this time he doesn't stop. He keeps pecking
my cheek and I can feel him moving but I don't know what he's doing until he's
straddling my lap, still pecking my cheek but he eventually stops to look into
my eyes. I feel heat rush faster than ever before to my cheeks because holy
shit so many things are happening and it's hard to process.
I've never been this close to Gerard before. His legs on either side of my
hips. His crotch pressed up against mine. I actually have to run my mind over
that thought a few times before it starts to sink in.
Gerard Way's crotch is pressed up against mine. Gerard. Fucking. Way. That
hottie I met in art. He's fucking straddling me by a bus stop right now.
Holy shit.
I swear to god if my blood starts heading south...
"I hope this is okay," He says, blushing slightly himself and taking me out of
my dirty, dirty thoughts.
"I... It's okay..." I whisper, I can barely talk. He's driving me crazy and if
I wasn't so fucking scared of having a dick up my ass, I would have brought him
home and let him fuck me into the bed.
Shit. That's hot.
But honestly I'm not sure how to feel about this... He could grind into me any
moment, but he has advantage of me like this. He could hurt me if he wanted and
I can't run away. He could slap me. Hit me. Choke me.
He wraps his arms around my neck, they're warm but that's not what I'm focused
on. I'm focused on calming the fuck down because I just flinched. I flinched.
I'm pathetic. I can't even take my boyfriend straddling my lap without being
scared.
What is wrong with you?
"Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?" He asks, beginning to pull back.
"N-no," I quickly reply holding his arms in place.
No? It's either you have a panic attack now or completely avoid it. Why the
hell do you want him to stay?
"Just... Give me a moment..." I whisper, gripping his hips gently after some
hesitation.
He strokes my cheek as I take a few deep breaths and shut my eyes. It's
comforting and scary. I hate it but I love it. I'm scared but I'm happy.
"I love you, you know I'd never hurt you, right?" He asks. I nod emptily,
biting my lip but I still find myself relaxing slightly as he continues to
stroke my cheek.
I can hear the squeaking of the bus in the distance as it makes its way
downtown and forces Gerard off of my lap. We know we could easily be insulted
for being caught in that position and I don't need any more bullying than I
already have. As he leaves, I feel relieved. He can't hurt me anymore. Even
though I don't think he would, it's better safe than sorry. I never thought Dad
would... Until he did...
At the same time, though, I feel empty. I want him there. I want it and I
shouldn't because I know he'll take advantage of me. He'll start touching me
like Kevin does without consent. It takes a moment to process his lips on my
cheek, a quick peck but it's enough to keep me going. He helps me up off of the
ground and pulls my hoodie down over my crotch, his lips getting near my ear as
he whispers four words that make my face go strawberry red and my mouth to
become extremely dry.
But god I love those words.
"Sorry about the bulge."
***** Chapter 24 *****
---Gerard---
Tuesday. Three days until homecoming. Patrick was at school, thankfully, and we
talked at lunch but I could tell he had yet to be invited to sit with his ex-
friends so I sat with him, instead, he seemed relieved. I told him about what
we're going to do after homecoming and he looked nervous but hid it with
excitement. Did I do the wrong thing? I hope not, I want to help him. I want to
make him feel better and this is part of my promise.
It was Wednesday. Two days until homecoming. Brendon and Pete got into a fight.
Verbally. But it still scared the hell out of Patrick, he was shaking and
trembling, so I held him close while they yelled at each other. It was about
Patrick. Brendon didn't want to forgive him but Pete did. Patrick just wanted
them to stop and it took all my will not to slap Brendon across the face. Can't
he see how hurt Patrick is?
It was Thursday. One day until homecoming. Joe, Frank, and Pete sat with us and
we talked. Patrick was partly excluded even though we tried to include him
several times. It was awkward and he's shy but he was happy, too, so I guess I
did take a step in the right direction. Brendon and Ryan met up with us after
lunch and apologized, much to my relief, Patrick forgave them and they hugged.
Homecoming.
It's homecoming.
Patrick said yes on Monday when we were on the bridge. When we admitted our
love for each other. So it's official. He said he'd meet me at my house before
it started because he obviously doesn't want me going to his house. It worries
me, though. He really shouldn't try to hide it. I know what happens there and I
know how much of a fake Kevin and his Dad are but I'll respect his decision if
that's what he wants. I just want to get him out of there but he won't let me.
It's frustrating.
Anyways, homecoming starts at five and lasts until about eight. It's just a
dance so hopefully it won't be too bad for Patrick. I'll hold him close and
comfort him if he needs it. If my own anxiety doesn't get to me first...
Thankfully, Ryan, Brendon, Patrick, and I are probably going to leave early and
go straight to Joe's. It's just a dance after all and I'm excited to drink a
little. Only a little, though, I still want to be there for Patrick and I know
he doesn't have a good experience with drunk people.
It's 4:24 right now and Patrick said he'd be here at 4:30, so I have a few
minutes to destress. Or try to at least.
I'm nervous. It's all I can focus on right now. I'm really nervous. What if I
embarrass him? What if something triggers his PTSD? What if he has a panic
attack? I'm afraid someone's going to trigger something in him and I don't want
that to happen. What if-
It's going to be okay Gerard. As long as you're here for him, he's going to be
okay. You're fine.
It's going to be okay. The only way for him to be okay is if I calm down
myself.
I gaze in the mirror for what has to be the tenth time. It's a casual event
which means a black jacket and skinny jeans for me. I don't wear tuxedos. I
hate tuxedos. They're too uncomfortable and not my style. So here I am, about
to go to a dance in a pair of dark black skinny jeans, holes in the knees, a
black jacket, messy, black hair, and vans with a guy I just started dating on
Monday, and a couple other gay dudes. Not how I was planning to spend this year
but I like it. It's nice.
I rinse my face with water trying to clear my thoughts.
Mama is excited to meet him, too. Really excited, I honestly haven't seen her
this happy since Dad passed and it warms my heart. She's making progress,
hopefully she'll be able to accept it and continue with life, cigarette-less.
Maybe she'll never pick one up again. I hope so... The smoking really affects
her. It makes me worry a lot.
"So how old is he?" She had asked as soon as I admitted I started dating him.
It was on Monday night and I had just gotten home. She'd asked where I was
because I usually don't come home that late but she obviously wasn't too
bothered, she was on the porch smoking a cigarette. Like always.
"He's my age, sixteen," I chuckled as I sat beside her, trying not to inhale
the toxins.
"Is he sweet?"
"Yes, Mama," I replied with a smile.
"When can I meet him?" She asked. The questions wouldn't stop until I told her
she'd have to wait and see. I even made a deal with her, "If you approve of him
and I chose right, you have to cut down on two cigarettes a day for the next
week."
Those are the deals we make. The deals that I try to make to help her. The
deals we make to save both of our sanities. She agreed.
Knock, knock.
I sprint into the living room from the bathroom, accidentally tripping on
nothing and stumbling to the entryway. Me and my clumsy ass.
I brush myself off, though, making sure my hair looks alright, my jacket is
straightened and I don't look like a fuckup before I finally open the front
door and greet the boy.
Sure enough he's there, cheeks that remind me of light roses with the way he
almost always blushes. Hair the color of an amber wheat field in a sunset,
emerald eyes, and that small, fragile smile. One wrong move and it'll break.
He's wearing a loose black sweatshirt, it looks soft above his denim jeans and
black converse shoes. His hands are in his pockets nervously but he still has a
glint of excitement in his eye. He's beautiful.
"Hey, Sugar," I say, returning the smile as I open the door and let him in. He
smiles a little more, looking down as he steps awkwardly into the living room
with short strides.
"Hey," He replies.
He looks around a little, taking in my house, there are two couches. One is two
cushions long and against the same wall as the door and the other is three
cushions long. They're both a dark brown, the color of freshly harvested coffee
beans while a table rests in the center of the room, in arm's length of the
couches. It's the same color brown. The wall are a tan-white color and from the
living room, there's a large, door-less entrance to the dining room where four
chairs circle a long, pill-shaped table. There's a sewing machine beside the
table and an area behind glass built into the wall where Mama keeps all her
fancy plates for Thanksgiving and such.
"Is that him?" Mama calls from the kitchen before he can look around any more.
"Yes, Mama," I call back. Patrick takes, my hand squeezing it nervously, so I
turn to him with a reassuring squeeze back, "It's alright, she's nice. She
won't hurt you,"
He looks into my eyes for a second, searching my face for a lie as he hesitates
on whether or not to trust me but finally gives a slight nod, finding no reason
to call me untrustworthy. She walks through the dining room and stops in front
of us with a giant grin on her face. Her wavy brown hair reaches the tops of
her shoulders but I can see it's starting to gray slightly, strands are
highlighted by the fading color and it hurts slightly but I'm learning to
accept it. The lights above us illuminate her chocolate eyes but can't make
them much brighter mood wise. They're dim, sad, but somehow, lightened only
today by the sight of my boyfriend. It makes me warm inside, like I just drank
a warm cup of coffee. She hasn't smiled in a while. It's a beautiful sight to
see her eyes crinkle again.
"Mama, this is Patrick, Patrick this is Mama." I say awkwardly. I hate
introductions.
Oh well.
"Nice to meet you," Patrick says with a smile. It's real. That makes me happy,
too.
"Nice to meet you, too sweetie," Mama replies, shaking his outstretched hand,
"Gerard's said a lot of nice things about you,"
Patrick blushes, shoving his hands back in his pockets in embarrassment. That's
alright. He's cute when he blushes, "Th-thanks,"
I kiss his cheek, causing his face to flush even more. Before the silence can
last too long, I quickly add, "So, um... We're going to go. I'll be back
tomorrow," I smile.
"Alright, Hun," she hugs me, making me blush slightly in my own embarrassment,
sharing Patrick's feelings, "Don't drink too much."
"I won't, Mama, it's just Joe."
"And Brendon and Ryan and Pete and Frank."
"Brendon isn't that bad and Ryan almost never drinks. Neither do Pete and
Frank. I'll be fine."
"Okay, well be careful," she replies, squeezing my shoulder. I give a slight
smile before turning to Patrick.
"Ready to go?" I ask.
He nods with a slight smile, following me out the door with one last goodbye to
Mama before we step down the stairs of my porch and make our way to the bus
stop.
The air is cool, the sun still high in the sky but it feels like it should be
later than it is. I don't know. It must be because the days are getting shorter
or maybe it's because school wears me out. It could be because I wish I could
be at the mausoleum again, laying with Patrick under the cloudy sky. My best
guess is it's because Autumn is here and quite honestly, it's my favorite
season. I love the warm coffee on cold mornings, sitting on my porch by Mama
and watching my cloudy breath escape my lips while hot steam rises from my mug.
I love the auburn leaves falling to the ground from the tops of oak trees,
crunching the dried blossoms as I pass by with my shoes. I love passing by
chestnut trees and picking up the fallen harvest from the ground, juggling the
smooth nut in my hands. I love the crisp air the way it fills my lungs with a
sharp edge of cold and as I exhale, feeling myself warm again. I love pumpkin
and brown sugar in my coffee. I love the earlier sunsets and later sunrises. I
love the light oranges and soft browns and dark reds and vibrant yellows, the
warm colors of the season.
I love everything about autumn. It's beautiful.
Just like Patrick.
I squeeze his hand and kiss him on the cheek, the skin is cold but I don't
care, it makes him giggle and I love that giggle. I could listen to it for
hours and hours and never get old of it. It's so happy and joyful, the opposite
of what that boy has been through. It makes me happy. It makes me realize I
made him do that after so much shit has happened to him with his parents,
siblings, and emotional crap. It reminds me there's still hope for him. It
reminds me how in love I really am. I'd give him the world if I could. Anything
to see his toothy grin again.
"So, Baby," I kiss him again, pecking on the cheek. I don't know why I'm so
goddamn clingy. I guess it's because I get him to myself tonight. I guess it's
because he makes me happy and I embrace it.
"So?" He replies as we stop at the bus stop. The bus be in here in about twenty
minutes, we have time. I remember what happened on Monday and... We haven't
talked about it. I feel a little guilty to be honest. But before I can confront
him about the event, he adds on, "Your mom reminds me of how mine used to be.
Same overprotectiveness but not really. Mom... she was always so carefree. If I
drank, I drank, as long as I don't end up killing myself."
"Yeah?" I reply with a gentle smile, "Mama's like that a lot of the time. It's
nice, though. Not having a parent that's super strict. My dad, he was the same
way. Always told me to have fun and enjoy life while I could. I looked up to
him because of that..."
Patrick nods, avoiding my gaze for a moment and when the silence gets too long,
I finally decide to breach the subject about Monday, careful to break it
slowly.
"I'm sorry... I've kind of avoided talking about Monday..." I bite my lip,
taking in just how far I went. I kind of regret it. I shouldn't do that kind of
stuff without talking to him first but... I... I don't have an excuse.
"What about it?" He asks, looking up at my eyes. Those green orbs are so
beautiful. I could gaze into them for hours.
"I'm uh... Sorry... I shouldn't have done that..." I blush slightly...
Remembering that bulge in his jeans and holy shit.
"I liked it."
I look up at him in disbelief, "You looked like you were about to cry,
Patrick."
He shakes his head, "No, I was a little scared but it's just you. I know you'd
never hurt me."
"But after Kevin-" I start. He cuts me off.
"Don't mention him... Please..." His eyes immediately begin to lower, weary.
He's been through a lot with his older brother and tonight is supposed to be
fun. I'm not supposed to ask about him because it only gives Patrick bad
memories. There's something more this time, though. Something that scares him
past what it usually does.
I look up at him worriedly. Is everything okay? What did he do? Oh my god I'm
supposed to be here for him. I'm supposed to protect him and I can't.
"What happened?"
"Nothing, I just don't want to think about him tonight," He replies, quietly.
He leans against the bus sign, his hands in his pockets and he immediately
looks scared. Anxious.
Shit, Gerard. That wasn't good.
"Sorry," I walk so I'm right in front of him and brush his blond hair out of
his eyes, gently like he's fragile. He is fragile. He's been broken and he's
tried to fix himself with weak tape and glue. It didn't work as well as he may
have hoped, though, he still has cracks in his smile and darkened eyes. He
flinches slightly at my touch but I try my best to ignore it, "What happened to
your fedora?"
He looks up at me. Sometimes I forget just how short he is compared to me and
how much work he has to do to even reach my lips. Whenever he kisses me, he has
to stand on the tips of his toes and whenever he hugs me, his face is buried in
my neck. It's cute, though. I like his shortness.
"It fell off of my head when I was on the skyscraper." He replies.
I smirk slightly, I need to get him a new fedora, then. I don't care if he
doesn't want me to, I'm going to.
"I'm sorry, Baby." I reply. He shrugs.
I kiss his cheek. He smiles and blushes.
"You're beautiful, you know that?" I ask kissing his cheek again.
"Whatever you say,"
"But it's true. You're the most beautiful person I know," I reply, leaning down
and kissing his lips this time. He smiles into the kiss but something about it
tells me it's fake. I just know. Intuition I guess. I don't press it no matter
how much I want to, he needs to have an evening without having to think about
his problems and anyways, I'm planning on talking to him about it on another
night, one where we're not celebrating. It's homecoming. It's supposed to be a
good day and I'm going to make it a good day.
I press my forehead to his as we sway back and forth gently, the setting sun at
my back in hot beams. It's a comforting feeling, though, warmth. It feels like
the mausoleum again. Silence. Nothing but him and me and me and him. Nothing
but our breaths intermingled. Nothing.
"Mmm," I hum. I don't know how long we're holding each other. I don't want to
know. But I know it's a long while because that's when I hear a soft sound in
the distance. A squeaking. The squeaking. It's the bus and it makes me cringe
slightly but it's slightly relieving. I'm excited to get the dance over with
and get to Joe's house. I want Patrick to get his friends back and I want to
get him through this. I'm honestly scared for him. I don't want something
triggering his anxiety or PTSD. I know how bad they can get. I know it hurts.
"You excited?" I ask him, lightening the mood.
He shrugs, "Nervous... You'll stay by my side, right?"
"Wouldn't even think of leaving you," I smile.
I kiss him softly, letting my lips rest on his for just a moment. The taste of
honey on his lips. I love the taste, absolutely love, love, love that taste.
It's sweet and satisfying. I love the way he kisses back, somewhat nervous but
still letting his body take control.
His fingers tangle in my hair because this is the last kiss of the evening. The
last deep kiss until we're alone together again. Might as well make it
passionate.
My lips move hard against his as I stumble forward, pinning him awkwardly
against the pole holding the bus sign. His hands squeeze my dark hair harder,
pain shoots through my scalp but I love it. I love the way he hurts me, even if
it isn't as kinky as it sounds.
He pulls away, catching his breath as the bus comes to a stop behind me.
Arrived at its destination, it blocks the sun from the blonde's eyes but I know
he can still see my hungry gaze from the way he blushes slightly, still
panting.
"You ready to go, Sugar?" I ask, pulling away and taking his hand.
"Yeah, sure," He replies with a breathless grin. It's much more real.
I walk to the doors of the bus, Patrick behind me as they open just for us,
sliding out and letting the warm air inside free into the evening sky. I walk
the two steps up, show the driver my bus pass. He gazes over the card for a
moment, checking my picture, the bus company, blah blah blah. His gray hair
sways slightly as he nods me away, letting us continue through the aisle. I can
feel 'Trick's hand gripping mine tightly as we walk. He's nervous, scared,
anxious. The feeling where something bad is going to happen, you know it, and
you can't shake yourself from it. It grows and grows. You become scared and
paranoid. You start jumping at nearly everything.
I get that feeling sometimes but not nearly as bad as Patrick does. He needs
help. I need to help but I don't have the experience. He needs counseling and
he needs it soon. I shouldn't keep letting him go home because it breaks my
heart to know he's still getting hurt. He's still being touched and hit and I
want to protect him. I should be protecting him but he keeps denying it. He
keeps telling me not to. He keeps telling me it's okay when it's not.
I stop at an empty row and let Patrick in first. He sits down and waits for me
to take a seat beside him. I do. He takes my hand and leans against my
shoulder, resting slightly.
I turn my head and press my lips to his head softly, taking in the sweet scent
of his hair. I can't place the smell but it's as sweet as his lips. If not,
sweeter.
I lose track of time again as the bus continues through the streets. I'm lost
in my worries and my fears.
What if something does trigger his PTSD? What memories does he have flashbacks
about? Does he have nightmares too? Has he ever had counseling? Does he talk to
anyone after he has them? What if he has a panic attack? What if someone
insults him? What if someone there is homophobic?
I take his hand and try to drag my mind away from it as we talk for a while
about lots of different things after that, ending one subject and starting
something new. Our favorite songs, Hottest people in school, whatever else. He
manages to get me to play 21 Guns again for him, too. He likes that song a lot.
We lose track of time and before we know it, it's 4:52 and the bus is arriving
at the school.
"This is our stop," I say as the front doors open. I pull out of the row,
helping Patrick out behind me, and we leave down the aisle. I thank the bus
driver as we walk down the two steps and continue up the concrete path that
leads to the school. It's lined with maple trees and dark oaks, lit by the sun
in the west.
I open the door and let him through first, his hands are in his pockets
nervously. It makes me feel bad but I know we'll have a good time. A couple
guys from my math class are going to be playing. I can't remember their names
off of the top of my head but they're pretty cool.
One of them, he has red hair, is a drummer. He knows the answers to math
questions 90% of the time but he's the type of person to never raise their
hand. The other one, who has short, black hair, plays a few different
instruments. I've heard him in the music room playing piano and ukulele. I'm
guessing it's just going to be an instrumental performance. I'm not sure yet
but I know Patrick will like it.
The gym is right by the front door but before we go ahead, I pull him back so
we're in the entry way. There's nobody here, just him and me. Almost everyone
else is already in the room over.
"Patrick, listen to me," I say, stroking his hair, "If you feel a panic attack
coming, tell me and we can leave. We don't have to do this if you don't want
to."
He nods slightly, "I'll be okay, I promise."
I smile and before I can stop myself I whisper him a question he's asked me
countless times, "How strong are your promises?"
"I have yet to break one," he replies, matter-of-factly.
I lean forward and kiss him softly on the lips, shutting my eyes and feeling
him kiss back. I don't know how long we're there, his lips moving against mine,
his hands wrapped around my shoulders, my hands squeezing his hips. I enjoy it.
Fuck homecoming I just want to stay here for the rest of the evening and forget
about the world. I feel him lean forward and pin me to the wall, kissing a
little harder but soon after backing away for a breath and blushing, "S-
Sorry..."
I smile but only pull him in again, running my hands up his chest. He's on the
tips of his toes, I can tell by how unsteady he is so I make sure my hands stay
around his waist, keeping him balanced. He begins kissing a little harder, more
heated, more want and need. His determination surprises me because of how timid
he usually is but I like it.
But I'm not satisfied.
I turn us so he's against the wall this time. He inhales sharply, taking my air
and causing me to pull back.
"Is this okay?" I whisper, want lacing my voice.
He bites his lip but after a moment's hesitation, nods vigorously. I kiss him
hungrily, my lips moving fast against his. Sucking, biting, licking. Everything
I can do in the attempt to get some sort of reaction from him. His fingers tug
harder at my hair as I slide my fingers down his chest.
Down, down, down. He's tensing up. I should stop. I really, really should but I
want him so much. My fingers keep tracing down his figure, down his stomach...
"Nice show," I hear a voice say. My heart sinks. I swear to fucking god I am
going to kill him. Patrick pulls away, blushing furiously as he glances at
Brendon.
"Brendon fucking Urie!" I hiss, frustrated, "How long were you two standing
there?"
Ryan laughs at me, his brown eyes crinkling in joy. His wavy chocolate hair
reaches to about his jawline while a gray and white scarf hangs around his neck
messily. He's wearing a dark brown sweater, each thread looks soft and honestly
I'm a little jealous of it. To top it all off are dark blue skinny jeans, black
vans, and a black fedora atop his head.
Brendon, on the other hand, has his black hair spiked slightly and his bangs
spread out just above his right eye. His brown eyes look energetic, excited,
like he just drank a pot of coffee straight out of the mug, a monster, and a
bottle of beer. He's wearing a light brown jacket over a plain white shirt. One
arm is slung over Ryan's shoulder and then, of course, in his hand is a packet
and I know exactly what that is.
"Since you started," Brendon replies with a smirk.
"You are such a little shit." I growl, "What's the condom for?"
"Well, Ryan and I were going to use it once we got to Joe's but it looks like
you need it more than we do." Brendon replies throwing it over. I catch it.
"You're stupid if you seriously think we'd go that far in one night," I reply.
He shrugs, "You two seemed to be having fun."
Patrick has a stone hard grip on my arm, embarrassment on his face. A look of
pure shyness. I kiss his forehead once more, stuffing the condom in a pocket of
my jacket, he pulls away slightly.
"Whatever, are we ready to go?" Ryan asks impatiently.
"Sure, just keep your dicks to yourselves, please, thank you." I say in a sweet
voice, my best Professor Umbridge impression.
Patrick laughs lightly grabbing my hand with a gentle grip, "Let's just go.
This'll be fun."
And I can't help but smile to myself as he leads me into the gym.
***** Chapter 25 *****
---Patrick---
"Oh, hello there! Good evening, staff and students," Our principal, Mr. Nye,
calls through the gymnasium. His voice is raised in the tone he always uses for
presentations. The voice most of these students know by heart, "And welcome to
this year's homecoming.
"We've had a great year so far, grades have been up, and it's easy to see that
a lot of you have opportunity." He lists out a few dates, announcements, I
don't pay much attention, Gerard's hand keeps fumbling with his pocket. The one
with the condom.
I'm conflicted about what happened in the entryway. I... I was scared and
uncomfortable... I didn't like where he was going with it, but at the same
time, I liked it. I want him. I want him so very badly, and it makes me want to
scream. I'm frustrated with it and him and Kevin and most of all myself.
But I can't think about that now. Gerard is here, it's homecoming, I'm here to
dance for about three hours straight or so, and I honestly don't feel all that
anxious. There aren't a ton of people, but I've already seen Melanie, Hayley,
Taylor, Jon, Spencer, and Bob.
And Ashley.
"Anyways, tonight we have a couple of very talented students performing for us,
Josh Dun and Tyler Joseph." Mr. Nye announces, gesturing to the stage.
I turn my gaze to the two boys on the platform. There's a piano, a drumset, a
ukulele, and a microphone on stage. One boy, Tyler, is at the piano, a
microphone at his lips while his hands are positioned at different keys on the
keyboard while the other boy, Josh, is on the drums with a pair of black
drumsticks in his hands. I immediately like him more. It's not that I dislike
Tyler, I just used to play drums. I still do kind of.
"Thank you for coming and have a good evening!" The principal concludes with an
applause from the students and teachers who showed up. He sets down his
microphone somewhere, I don't see where, and all attention is directed to the
stage. To Josh and Tyler and I wonder how the hell they can do it. I'd have a
panic attack and probably end up passing out.
Josh taps his foot four times, marking the tempo. It's in the middle of fast
and slow. Maybe a traditional paced dance... I don't know how to dance for shit
so this will be kind of interesting.
The piano starts, Tyler pressing down on the keys softly. I can't identify the
chord, but I decide that I should probably just enjoy the music instead of
analyzing the shit out of it like I usually do.
The drums cue only a split second after Tyler starts singing and damn he can
sing.
"I'm taking over my body,
Back in control, no more shotty,
I bet a lot of me was lost,
Ts uncrossed and Is undotted,"
Gerard bites his lip, trying to figure out an okay pace while I just stand
there awkwardly. Oh dear god.
He smiles and laughs, making me laugh, and we both turn into a giggling mess
while people around us actually start dancing. We try to copy them, somewhat,
we had gotten a week or so of dance lessons before this through gym but we just
barely passed so here we are, awkwardly holding onto each other while Tyler
sings his heart out.
"You are surrounding all my surroundings,
Sounding down the mountain range,
You are surrounding all my surroundings,
Twisting the kaleidoscope behind both of my eyes,
"And I'll be holding on to you
And I'll be holding on to you," Gerard pulls me closer as we move, starting to
get the hang of it. Just barely.
We dance for a long time. Seven songs pass by, a few we can barely dance to and
a few we just end up sitting out while others are easy to move to.
Then a song hits me. It's their first slow song. Before this one were some
faster-paced songs, I think I got the names down: there was House of Gold, one
either called Doubt or Don't Forget About Me, Polarize, The Judge, Semi-
Automatic or Twisted Up Inside, Fake You Out... Um... Ride... A cover of a song
I've never heard before...
Anyways, this is their first slow song, and it starts out with piano. It's just
Tyler now, Josh is sitting and watching the boy with such adoration in his
eyes, I wonder how hard it is for him. Does he like Tyler? As a friend? Maybe
more? Maybe just an idol. Either way, I know Josh looks up to him just from the
way he looks at the singer.
It's Tyler singing the lyrics, Tyler playing piano. Lyrics that make my heart
break a little inside. Notes that make me squeeze Gerard's arm for comfort. A
piano that sends goosebumps down my spine.
Gerard and I immediately find a pace with this one. I bury my head in his
chest, he wraps his hands around my waist, and I wrap mine around his neck
while the boy on stage sings lyrics I've never heard before, but they nearly
make me cry just listening to them.
"Now the night is coming to an end
The sun will rise, and we will try again,"
I continue to sway back and forth, sweat clinging to my forehead as Gerard's
breaths guide my movements. Guide my body. Guide my mind through the darkness.
"Stay alive, stay alive for me,"
Those lyrics hit me. Especially when Gerard holds me impossibly closer as they
echo through the room. An endless, "for me... for me... for me..."
"You will die, but now your life is free
Take pride in what is sure to die,"
This sounds like my near suicide. And now I can feel tears stinging my eye,
chills shaking my bones.
"I will fear the night again
I hope I'm not my only friend,"
Gerard is here now.
"Stay alive, stay alive for me,"
I look up.
And Gerard has tears in his eyes.
I kiss him hard, tears streaming down my own cheeks softly.
"You will die, but now your life is free
Take pride in what is sure to die."
"Stay alive for me. Please." He whispers, so quietly I almost miss it. But I
don't.
"I will." I reply, then press my head to his chest, "I promise."
"How strong are your promises?"
"I have yet to break one." I reply, just before I shake against his body in
soft sobs.
***
"Lay down your arms
Give up the fight
"One, twenty-one guns
Throw up your arms
Into the sky
"You and I,"
I don't know how long we're riding in the back of Brendon's car under the
moonless sky, Ryan is half asleep with his fedora tucked over his eyes while
Brendon is still wide awake. It makes me begin to think that he drank a whole
pot of coffee, a monster, and a bottle of beer because of how hyper he is at
the moment.
Gerard has me pulled close to him with an arm around my shoulder and an earbud
placed in my ear. Green Day is playing because I requested it again.
Thankfully, Gerard doesn't seem to mind, he plays it for me again, and I
appreciate it.
Ever since we left the dance, he keeps fumbling with that goddamn condom, and
it makes me a little uneasy. Does he plan to use it? I... don't want him to use
it but I do. I'm scared, but I'm eager. I'm conflicted, and the more I think
about it, the closer to tears I am until one finally leaves me, and I hope to
God Gerard doesn't notice. Then again, I don't believe in God. I can't keep on
blaming him for all this shit if it's really my fault. I'm the one who makes
him do it to me. I deserve it. I'm a mistake.
"Patrick, you alright?" Gerard asks beside me. He places a kiss on my cheek
making me smile slightly. A tainted smile but it's still real. It's always
real.
"Yeah, we can talk about it later," I whisper loud enough for him to hear but
out of hearing range for the brunettes in the front. He gives a slight nod in
understanding, squeezing my shoulder slightly, before returning to his silence
as his soft eyes watch the city pass by.
I gaze at the houses zooming by outside Brendon's car. Buildings and trees but
there's only one thing that isn't bland to me right now: The black haired boy
beside me, Gerard. Compared to him, the world is dull, gray in the darkened
sky. The sun has set, and the stars are coming out over the horizon. All the
clouds from the past week have gone, and for the first time in what seems like
forever, it's a clear night. Not that I can see anything anyways. There's too
much light pollution, so the city's twinkles will have to do for now.
I feel the car slowing down, pressing us forward gently and with that, I
recognize the block. I avert my gaze from the window to look past Gerard. A
smile plays across my lips at the familiar sight of Joe's house. White walls,
brown roof, and an oak tree in the front, housing bundles of leaves. Just as I
remember it from three years ago.
And I'm back.
"Is this it?" Gerard asks, but it's obvious as Brendon gets out, the car door
slamming shut behind him. I hand Gerard his headphone back.
"Yep," I reply.
Ryan groans, waking up and replacing his fedora atop is head before he stumbles
out of the car himself, followed soon after by Gerard and I. We stroll to the
front door, one foot in front of the other as we crunch the fallen leaves.
Gerard's gentle breaths beside me, his hand in mine. He's beautiful. He's so
beautiful, and I don't understand how. How he could be more beautiful than the
world.
Knock, knock
Ryan leans against the wall of Joe's house drowsily. His hair is a mess of
stray strands and tangles, but it's mostly hidden by his fedora. We'd seen
Brendon and Ryan dancing pretty hard. By dancing, I mean sneaking off to the
men's restroom and fucking each other. Ryan's also limping slightly now which
he wasn't doing before the dance.
Brendon, on the other hand, is wide awake with much more stamina than Ryan.
It's obvious in the way he's drumming on his hips with his thumbs and shifting
weight between his feet constantly. His hair is also a bit of a mess, the
spikiness flattened by his sweat and his jacket's collar uneven, from either
dancing or fucking, I can't tell.
I'm doing alright. Gerard kept kissing me whenever we took breaks, but it
couldn't get too heated as there were teachers everywhere and it didn't help
that half of them are homophobic. Thankfully, nobody bothered us. Not even my
ex, Ashley, she went with a boy named Brent while Melanie went with a boy I'd
never seen before.
Neither of them talked to us, but Ashley kept giving me strange looks. Staring
with a neutral look on her face but quickly looking away whenever I caught her.
She looked like she... missed me... but it couldn't have been. It must have
just been how she looked in the light.
Hayley, I saw, was with a boy named Taylor. They seemed to be having fun
together. Meanwhile, Bob, Spencer, and Jon kind of just hung around awkwardly,
trying to get a date but it was evident neither Spencer nor Jon wanted to be
there. It seemed like neither of them even liked hanging out with Bob, but they
have no other choice. How else are they supposed to get a name for themselves?
It's none of my business, though. I shouldn't poke around like that.
The door opens, taking me from my thoughts and revealing my ex- I mean... my
friend. I guess he's officially my friend again, isn't he? At least after
tonight, he will be. It was clear Brendon hates me. The way he fought with
Pete. I would understand if they never want to talk to me again. I did leave
them for three years without a word, and all of a sudden need them back again.
Through the doorway stands Joe with that giant Afro and I immediately know I
plan on burying my face in it tonight. Just to make up for lost time, you know?
"Hey guys," he greets, holding the door open for us, "Pete and Frank are
upstairs in my room."
Brendon and Gerard enter followed soon after by Ryan and finally me. Joe shuts
the door, but while everyone else goes upstairs, I wait behind for him. We had
barely talked yesterday, and I want to catch up a little bit with the little
time we have.
Gerard looks to me from the bottom of the stairs, but I sign him to go ahead.
He complies.
"Hey, 'Trick," Joe greets behind me.
"Hey," I reply with a small smile and a turn, "It's been... forever..."
He nods as he locks the door, "I know..."
I swallow nervously but finally let out a sigh. I know what I have to say. It's
my fault I made him go through all that trouble. Then again, I don't think he
missed me. It must have been a relief to have me out of his life, and now I'm
back, and I just made his life worse.
"I'm sorry..." I whisper, my head down. I swallow nervously, "For um...
everything..."
He looks surprised that I'm apologizing by finally just pulls me in for a hug,
"I missed you so much."
I'm shocked.
How? How can he still care for me after everything that I've done? After I left
him for three years, how can he even look at me? Much more, why did he miss me?
I'm such a fuckup. There's no way he could have, he has to be lying. Right?
The only thing that I can say is a word. One tiny, little word, "Why?"
Joe pulls away. I expect him to hit me, hurt me, yell at me. Anything and I
flinch.
"Because you're my friend. You always have been. How could I not miss you?"
I bite my tongue, trying to stop myself from saying something I'll regret but
no matter how hard I try, I can't stop myself, "But... I'm a fuck up."
"What? Patrick! What are you talking about? You're not a fuck up, you're one of
my closest friends, please don't call yourself that, you are an amazing person
and I really did miss you. I missed you so, so much why can't you see that?" He
wipes tears I didn't realize were escaping me, "I barely survived those three
years. I was worried sick, Man."
"I'm so sorry," I mumble, clenching my teeth to stop myself from sobbing.
"Patrick, stop, it's okay," he whispers, holding me close, there's a small
pause then, "What happened? What happened to you while you were gone?"
"What do you mean?" I ask, pulling away and wiping my tears.
"You used to never cry. Ever."
I look straight up at him but look away in defeat, "I'll tell you, I-
I promise... but not now."
He sighs and hugs me again, "I'm worried about you, I don't want you to be
sad."
I shake my head, "Let's just go upstairs..."
He looks at me for a moment, taking in my expression but nods, patting me on
the back as I follow him to his room, my head down and my shoulders tense.
***** Chapter 26 *****
---Patrick---
Donning my best false smile, Joe opens the door, to reveal Brendon, Frank,
Ryan, Gerard, and finally Pete. The room is just as I remember it. A bed in the
far right corner, a bedside table beside that. A few shelves here and there
storing books and Green Day merch and the new edition of homework, too.
And a pack of cigarettes.
Gerard looks up at me and smiles, patting the space beside him. He has a bottle
of beer in hand, it makes me a little uneasy, but I do as he wishes, sitting
with my back to the wall. His hand snakes around my shoulder, and I can't help
but flinch, scared of nothing but I still flinch, and he notices.
Brendon and Ryan are telling Frank and Pete about the dance while Joe's getting
started on the conversation and Gerard and I are a little out of it. He kisses
my cheek softly and slowly inching his way to my mouth with soft kisses until
he reaches my lips and kisses me hard.
I pull away as soon as I taste the alcohol on his lips. I'm uncomfortable. I
don't want anything to happen right now, he's drunk.
He looks into my eyes with concern but soon realizes what's wrong when he
whispers, "I won't get drunk, I promise. It's just one drink."
I swallow nervously and whisper back, "Sorry, I'm just really uneasy. How
strong are your promises?"
He smiles, "I have yet to break one, Sugar. You'll be okay."
His lips meet mine again, this time, I don't pull away.
"Okay, what about you two, how did the dance go for you?" Brendon asks, taking
me from my boyfriend.
"It was good, it was hard to dance to half the songs there, but they were
talented," Gerard says. I smile slightly.
"They're cool," I shrug.
"Okay, what about..." Brendon shuts his eyes trying to think of something to
ask as he lies back on the wall, Ryan grinding in his lap slightly.
Pete is sitting comfortably with his back against the wall, to my left, his
arms draped over his knees while Frank sits on the other side of Gerard, a
bottle of a half-drunk beer in his hand. Joe sits between Brendon and Pete,
lighting a cigarette between his lips with Brendon following close behind.
"What about you, Patrick, what have you been up to?" Pete asks when Brendon
can't think of anything else to ask.
I blush when everyone's attention turns to me, and Gerard squeezes my shoulder.
"Not much, I learned drums and... um..." I shrug, blushing wildly. Things. Will
never be the same time between us, I'm just going to be an awkward fuck around
them now.
"Come on, there's gotta be more than just that," Ryan says.
I shrug, "Not much has happened,"
"Whatever, you're boring," Brendon says, "Pete, how are the lyrics going?"
And with that, the night continues. We talk and talk, I'm included in the
conversation, but I swear to god, Gerard won't stop fondling his goddamn
pocket, and it's driving me crazy. I want it, but I'm scared of it. He keeps
his promise and only has one drink but either way, it still conflicts me.
We hit a point where everyone is kind of just drifting off to sleep. Joe's
drowsily resting his head on Pete's shoulder. Frank is fast asleep, and Ryan is
draped across the bed, but Gerard, Brendon, and I are still awake. Brendon's
beginning to drift off.
"I'm going to sleep. So have fun you two," He finally says, "There's a guest
bedroom in the room over if you want privacy."
"Sleep well," Gerard replies as Brendon flops down on the bed beside Ryan and
shuts his eyes.
I look over to Gerard who has a mischievous look on his face, "Let's go,"
"W-what?" I whisper, my cheeks flushing as I blush because I think I know
exactly what he has planned for me. And honestly, it's giving me a boner, but
like I said, I'm scared.
He pulls me out of the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind himself. He
turns to me, his brown eyes look vibrant in the dark, but I'm distracted by the
wiggling of his eyebrows, making me giggle.
"Come on," He looks excited, there's anticipation in his face and an obvious
boner in his pants, but somewhere in his face, I can see the slightest bit of
worry. Is he scared he'll trigger my PTSD? Or give me a panic attack?
He pulls me down the hall and into the guest bedroom with a soft grip on my
wrist before he shuts the door and crawls over me on the bed. I'm terrified.
Are we really doing this? Should I tell him? What if he thinks I'm ugly? I am
ugly, of course, he'd find me ugly and fat and disgusting. He'll leave and
never talk to me again I'm so disgusting.
More importantly, does he have any experience with this? Or is he a virgin,
too? What if he does something wrong?
I'm overwhelmed by emotion, and I know it would be best if I just calmed myself
down and tried to enjoy what he's going to do to me.
Just like Kevin.
"Gerard, stop." I blurt out, taking a breath I didn't realize I was holding. He
hasn't done much, though, he's just resting over me on his hands and knees with
his lips just inches above mine, his breath leaving moisture on my lips.
Then I realize what must be happening.
"How drunk are you?" I ask, panicking slightly.
He pulls back and raises his hands in surrender, "You saw, it was only one
bottle..." he bites his lip, looking away before finally saying, "Look, I'm
sorry if you don't want to do this. I'm stupid, I shouldn't be doing this to
you. We've only been dating for a week and... after everything that happens at
home with Kevin I completely understand if you don't want to. I just... I don't
know... I'm sorry..."
"I... I..." I can't say anything... I don't know what to say but I know I have
to make my choice. Do this and possibly have a panic attack or just say no and
play it safe, "I'm scared..."
"I know," He whispers, lowering his hands and stroking my hair. I flinch, "We
don't have to if you don't want to."
"I..." I take a deep breath, shutting my eyes, "I... I want to do it. I really
do, but I don't want to go all the way, I'm not ready... b-but I mean if we
could... um..." I blush, looking away. This is embarrassing, and it doesn't
help that I feel absolutely filthy agreeing to this.
He bites his lip, "Okay... I think I know what you mean."
He inhales sharply before leaning down again and kissing me. Starting off with
slow, kisses, our lips rest on each other's for a long moment before he pulls
away for breath, meeting my eyes, and going back down. His lips part slightly
against mine so I copy him until I can feel his tongue slip into my mouth
slowly.
I inhale sharply, surprised as I pull away and it makes him laugh slightly. I
huff slightly, frustrated with him and myself, but I still find myself pulling
him back harder, craving it again. I sit up so my back is resting against the
headboard and he's straddling me, his crotch against mine for the second time
this week but this time we're actually going somewhere.
He kisses harder with more passion and roughness in fast movements, and it's
getting harder to keep up with him as he begins unzipping my hoodie, sliding
the contraption down with a zzz.
"Sto-op," I half moan urgently as I hold his hands in place, "I... uh... don't
like taking my shirt off... I'm uh... self-conscious. Really self-conscious,
please."
He looks concerned but nods, too horny to care. He licks his lips oh so sexily
as he looks down at the growing bulge in my jeans. It makes me squirm slightly
because his gaze is so goddamn piercing, "I'm taking this slow if that's
okay..."
"Okay," I pant out, blushing slightly. I pull him in again letting our little
makeout session continue with his lips pressing against mine and his tongue
slipping into my mouth again. Our tongues fight for dominance, and it's a bit
strange. This had never happened with Kevin before, and I'm a little surprised
that I'm not as scared as I thought I'd be. I let him win the small fight. I
guess I'm a bottom anyways.
I can't focus very well as thing become more heated and desperate, he's making
my head spin and all my blood rush south, it doesn't help that I'm breathless
either, leaving my top half emptier than before. My heart is pounding in my
chest as my fingers weave their way into his hair, squeezing hard and showing
him my pleasure.
He pulls away for a split second, leaving me feeling empty and letting my
thoughts get back to me. This is filthy. This is absolutely disgusting. Why am
I doing this? He's breathless and hungry, and I honestly feel like I'm going to
come from the sight, "We need a safe word."
I'm confused, "What?" My heart drops, "W-wait are you a... are you into BDSM?"
He looks confused, then shocked, then humored and shakes his head with a slight
giggle, "No, no, no. For your PTSD."
Stupid.
"O-oh..." I blush. I have no clue.
"Something short," He whispers, barely able to keep his hands to himself.
"Parades," I reply softly.
"Good boy," He smirks.
"I thought you said you weren't into BDSM," I mutter, scrunching my nose.
He shrugs with a, "Maybe I am, maybe not," before he finally begins to take
this somewhere when his lips trail down my neck and start sucking around trying
to find something. I don't need too much experience to know he's leaving tons
of marks on the sensitive skin as he searches. Marking me as his and leaving
his bite. That's when he finally finds a sensitive spot just below my ear that
causes a low grunt to pass through my lips. No matter how much I try to
restrain it, it comes. It surprises me. How does he do it? It's like he has
complete control over me. All I can do is cover my mouth and blush a mad red.
He pulls my hands away, kissing me hard.
His hips move slightly against mine in an attempt to get more sound out of my
mouth and holyfuckthatfeelsamazing. I can't stop my second groan from escaping
my throat, I don't even try to stop it.
"I love you so much," He moans softly into my neck, his hips rolling harder
against mine and his unsteady breath making my neck wet. I shift uncomfortably
when I can feel his bulge in his jeans. The more he turns and grinds and
scratches into my back, the more pleasure I feel and I end up bucking back into
him in a wild attempt for more friction.
"G-Gerard!" I cry out needily letting all my self-restraint go. I want him so
badly. I want things I never thought I could want after Kevin but I do, and I
fucking need it. It's filthy, but god it feels so good.
He kisses me hungrily and holds onto my shoulders tightly as he grinds
impossible harder, the friction in my jeans is incredible, and I honestly need
him now. All my fear is gone because I fucking need this.
As if he can read my thoughts, his hands glide to the zipper of my jeans, and
he pulls away from my lips to focus on undoing the restraints.
And then I begin blushing madly because at that moment I realize he's about to
see all of me and I don't know if I'm ready for this. Oh my god what if I'm too
short and- and- what if he just laughs at how pathetic I am and rapes me? W-
what if he doesn't want to do this? Hell, I don't know what average is, and
I've never bothered to measure. Not to mention, I'm vulnerable again, out of
control. I have to put all my trust in him. I can't. I want to, but I'm afraid.
I'm afraid he'll only leave me...
"W-wait-" I squeak out, but it's too late.
"Holy shit, Patrick, you're huge." He gasps the slightest bit of a whimper in
his tone. I realize he's just gone ahead and pulled my jeans and underwear to
my ankles. There's a draft passing through now and shit. This is actually
happening.
And apparently, I'm huge. Shit.
My cheeks burn up, and my hoodie feels ten times hotter in my mad fluster as he
stares.
"Th-th-thanks." I breathe kicking my feet out uncomfortably.
He looks up at me, flashing a reassuring smile, "Are you sure about this?"
"O-only if you are..." I reply I can barely talk because I'm so breathless, my
heart is pounding in my ears as he kisses me one last time. I squeeze my eyes
shut.
I'm honestly not all that scared, to be honest. I guess it's because I'm not
the working on the dick. I am just a little weirded out and uncomfortable,
though. I'm not sure how this will feel and... I don't know how I'm supposed to
move or... what am I supposed to do with my hands?
"Patrick, hey," He says snapping his fingers and grabbing my attention. My
emotions must have crossed my face, "What's wrong?"
I bite my lip, laughing awkwardly, "I-I- I've never done this before a-and
um... I'm not sure how to... really..." I blush even more than I already was
and I'm sure my cheeks are a beet red by now.
He only laughs slightly, "It's okay, you'll do just fine, just relax and tell
me if you want me to stop or if something feels good."
The way he says the last two words with complete lust and want in his voice
make my stomach tighten up like I'm about to puke and my throat close up like
I'm about to cry. I absolutely hate those butterflies, but somehow I still love
them. They're family.
I nod slightly and let my tensed muscles unclench and sink into the bed.
There's a short pause where I can feel his hand hovering over the sensitive
skin. It makes me bite my lip because holy shit, I'm about to get a handjob-
possibly a blowjob-from Gerard Arthur Fucking Way.
After a deep breath, he wraps his palm around me, but I can barely focus on
that and more on the fact that his hands are fucking COLD. I yelp with a slight
jump as one slides down my length, beginning to spread the precum to lubricate
his movements.
"God, Gee, warm up your hands a little bit," I whisper. He laughs slightly,
continuing his work and beginning to palm me roughly. I feel pleasure rip
through me like a wave, and I can't stop my low grunts.
"Your sounds are really fucking sexy by the way," Gerard mumbles.
I smile slightly. So I'm doing okay... yay...
He flicks his wrist just right, causing me to buckle my hips up into his hand
and let out short, "Ah!"
I'm a panting mess, my hands grasping the sheets and I'm squirming under him,
sliding back so I'm flat on the bed and he's jerking me off. He slides his
sweaty hand over the tip, making me moan loudly and cover my eyes in
embarrassment. He continues this, eventually straddling me again and kissing up
and down my neck, leaving even more hickeys and it's just so... real. I can
feel everything all at once, and everything is turning out to be very, very
hot.
"So fucking big..." He whispers as he bites his lip and stops for a moment to
wipe his hands on his pants (ew) before continuing. My eyes are shut as he
continues, but after a while of the slow buildup, I hear him say, "Okay, I'm
gonna try something different now... so just hold on."
He pulls his black hair out of his face as I relax my grip on the sheets
slightly, knowing what he said about telling me to relax. I take a deep breath
and wait for him, my eyes shut and my lip between my teeth.
I can hear some sucking, but I'm not quite sure what he's sucking until I feel
his fingers rubbing at my entrance. Just like Kevin.
Before I know what's happening, my eyes go wide, and I'm half yelling out the
word, "Parades-"
Megan's in the other room, and Dad's out at the bar. It's just Kevin, me, and a
bed. It doesn't take long for me to realize it's September 23rd. The day of The
Black Parade. The day I lose my virginity to my older brother.
One of his hands is pinning my wrists above my head while his other is lining
himself up. He's so much stronger than me. It's terrifying because it means he
could cause me serious damage if he so chooses. It's going to hurt enough as it
is. I know. I've tried before. It hurts.
"K-Kevin, stop," I whisper, tears running down the corners of my eyes. I'm
scared. I'm terrified just like I felt on the fifth day of school. The day I
met Gerard...
"Shut up, Slut." He growls. I feel him yank back my hair and slam into me with
a long grunt.
I scream as pain rips through me and I squirm, desperate to get out of Kevin's
grip. He begins a fast pace, already going far too rough. I swear I'm going to
black out at any moment because I can see stars in my vision. Stars and
planets.
Places I would rather be besides here.
And just like that, it's over. It's short. It's really short, but Gerard is
still panicking at the end of the bed when my eyes flicker open.
"Patrick, Patrick, Patrick, oh my god are you okay, Sugar?" He whispers. I'm
too focused on darting my eyes around the room in a wild search for... him, but
as I look around, I see that he's not there.
Gerard looks so shaken, and it's my fault. His hands are clasped over his thin
lips in shock, and he's shaking all over not to mention he looks close to
tears.
"I-I'm fine," I whisper, rising weakly, so I'm supported by my elbows.
He leans forward, only making me flinch, but as soon as I calm myself down, he
wipes a tear from my cheek, "You were only out for five minutes or so, but I
was so scared. You tensed up and you stopped talking to me and I called your
name and you just looked so scared and I didn't know what to do and-"
I pull him forward and kiss him softly, "I'm okay, I'm just... never mind, I'm
okay," I give him a reassuring smile, and even though I'm thoroughly exhausted,
I add a, "I'm sorry. I can keep going if you'd want."
He lets out a sigh of relief but not before kissing me again with those
delicious coffee lips, "do you want to stop? We don't have to do this if you
don't want to, Baby." He asks, but it only sparks my determination.
I pull him back down in a passionate kiss and begin unzipping his jacket, "I
really want to. I need to get better. Please."
After a moment of hesitation, he kisses me harder and his hand goes back down
to my length. As soon as he begins palming me again, I feel myself becoming
semi-hard because God I need this. I need him. Kevin won't stop me. I can't let
him.
I finish slipping off his jacket and weave my fingers into his hair as I let my
tongue slide into his mouth. I don't know where all this energy came from, but
I do know that adrenaline is pumping through my veins and I want him to
continue touching me. I need it.
"G-Gerard..." I moan out as his finger traces the vein on the underside of my
length gently.
"Can I try something else? If you don't want me to, I won't I just... I wanna
make you feel good..." he whispers sending chills up my spine. Whatever he
wants, I'll take it. I've completely forgotten about my brother at this point.
As long as it's not fingering, I should be okay, I think.
"Please, do something, anything,"
He kisses down my neck and sucks for a split second, making me moan loudly
before his mouth keeps going down, "Keep your eyes open for me."
I'm confused as to why he'd ask that of me, so I vocalize my confusion.
"Why?"
"If you keep them open, maybe you'll be sure that it's me and not him," He
replies, softly rubbing his hands up and down my thighs which I quickly realize
are covered in scars. I was self-conscious about my thighs enough, but with the
scars, it just makes it worse... but I trust him, so I don't say anything about
it, "Okay."
He goes down on me, and the first thing I feel is the wetness around my length.
And god it feels fantastic.
"Ugh," I grunt out, thrusting up and making him choke. He pulls off almost
immediately, coughing and gagging. Guilt swallows me as my mind flashes back to
Kevin.
No flashbacks, just a small memory of how he gripped my hair tightly as he
thrusted over and over again into my mouth, making me nearly vomit but I had
managed to keep it down. Grunting, moaning. The wet sounds, the tears gathering
at my eyes.
"Gerard, wait," I say, stopping him from going down on me again. He looks up at
me with curiosity in his eyes, "You don't have to... if you don't want to... I
mean... th-that's what Kevin usually um..." I blush slightly.
Gerard shakes his head, crawling back over me so his lips are inches away from
mine and I feel rather exposed under him because he's still completely dressed
and I want him to at least take his shirt off, "Hey, it's okay. Listen to me,
tonight I want you to forget about Kevin. I want you to forget he ever happened
and focus on me, understand?"
"But-"
"Understand?" He presses. I bite my lip hesitantly. He really shouldn't if he
doesn't want to and I know it sure as hell doesn't feel nice for him. It can't.
"Yes..." I whisper then bite a little harder and add, "Can you take your shirt
off?"
He chuckles slightly, "Of course, Sugar," His hands pull off his black shirt,
throwing it to the floor. That's when my eyes widen. And I let out a whimper.
Because holy shit Gerard is fucking hot shirtless.
He kisses me softly, before leaning down and whispering into my ear, "And if
you really want to, I'll let you fuck my throat raw."
"Gerard," I hiss, blushing.
He gives me a toothy grin and one last kiss before returning down to my shaft
and beginning to bob his head up and down again.
It feels so good. Good is the only word I can use to describe it. Pleasure,
satisfaction, it's just... good. I weave my hands in the sheets and shut my
eyes, letting the feeling take me over as I moan softly.
"Eyes open, Sugar," He murmurs. I quickly obey, looking down at him. He looks
back up, and as soon as our eyes meet, I feel my cheeks turn a bright red. His
cheeks hollow as he sucks and his eyes go back down when it starts to get a
little awkward.
Of everything happening, the haze of pleasure, the comfort of the bed under me,
the actual oral sex, of everything happening what gets me the most are the
sounds. They're fucking disgusting, but somehow they're the hottest thing I
think I'll ever hear. It just sounds so... saliva-ey and the kind of stuff that
would make me cringe and cover my ears like a fork squeaking against a plate or
styrofoam but it's such a turn on right now, and I don't understand how.
Then there's the bed which is squeaking slightly under me as Gerard bobs his
head and sucks and blows. It's comfy, and it kind of makes me sink down
slightly as I lay. It's just so squishy that I kind of want to keep it; take it
home and replace my old mattress. I'm jealous of Joe.
Then there's Gerard and the fact that he's giving me a full on blowjob. He puts
just enough suction on to make me lift my hips off of the bed and arch my back.
Then he kind of drags his teeth across it which kills me. It's utterly
irresistible, but the thing that makes me grunt the most is his hands squeezing
my thighs and his tongue. Honestly, those two things alone are enough to make
me finish. I know he's going to leave bruises on my thighs like his
fingerprints, but I don't mind. They're going to hurt, but I'll hurt for him.
His tongue, on the other hand, is bliss. He licks exactly where it feels good,
creating friction at every sweet spot and causing me to just barely hold on.
Finally, there's the haze that is my mind. It's the same haze that came when
Kevin raped me, but this time, it's a pleasurable haze. A haze that blocks out
everything but the feeling of his mouth around my cock, sucking, blowing, and
bobbing and that's just about the only thing I can focus on. Like it's just him
and me in the world.
"Jesus, Gerard," I grunt out.
I can feel something rising in my stomach. It's like the butterflies from
earlier, but they keep fluttering around nonstop, and I realize with
disappointment but want that I must be close. I don't want this to end, but I
know it's bound to happen eventually. I can't stay breathless forever.
"I think I'm gonna cum," I grunt out with difficulty.
He bobs faster, sucks harder, and drags his teeth more all at once as his
fingers dig even further into my hips, just above my thighs.
I'm getting so close, so fast and I know with just a few more bobs it'll be
over.
The intensity is getting to me as he bobs. A thousand thoughts fill my mind,
but at the same time, there are none.
Up, I feel myself twitch inside his mouth. Suck, I buckle my hips against him.
Down, I feel my hips hit the bed again. Suck, the build-up is let out and sent
straight down his throat.
My toes clench tightly, and so many things happen at once as he sucks
impossibly harder and stays in one place, letting me finish my release into his
mouth.
My hands grip the sheets tightly, trying to find anything to hold onto through
the intensity while my back arches off of the bed, my hoodie making my top half
so very hot and sweaty. My eyes roll back into my head, and I'm overcome with
darkness as my load shoots into Gerard's mouth. Finally, there's the complete
exhaustion that overcomes me as my pleasure fades into a slight buzz and I'm
left panting hard.
"That wasn't too bad, was it?" He asks as he crawls back over me. A faint,
tired smile plays across my lips when he kisses me, and I can taste myself.
It's gross, and I'm not sure how in the hell Gerard could swallow that. It's...
don't even know how to describe it other than the fact that it tastes just
slightly better than Kevin does.
"That was good," I whisper, looking up into his soft brown eyes. He kisses me
again gently but I can tell his jaw is tired from work on me.
He collapses beside me on the bed, not even bothering with the blankets before
he pulls my jeans back up, zipping and buttoning them, and pulls me closer to
him.
Our legs tangle with each other as I drape myself over Gerard's bare chest and
find myself too exhausted to change my position. With the flashback and the
blowjob/handjob, my body is just barely hanging on, and my eyes are drooping.
"Hey, Patrick..." he asks quietly.
I look up at him, curiosity in my gaze as he bites his lip, "Can you promise me
something?"
I swallow hesitantly and reply, "Of course."
"C-can you promise me to stop cutting..." he requests, "I... It hurts to see
them... to see that you're going through that much pain and I want you to stop,
please... You're beautiful, and I want to help you..."
I swallow. Can I promise him that? Can I promise him something that big and
still expect myself to keep it? I've never broken a promise before, but this
sounds hard. Stop cutting? Completely?
"I-I...,"
"Please, Patrick. I promise to stop, too. Please..." He whispers as he strokes
my hair.
"I promise..." and those two words are out before I can stop them.
He replies with the same five-word response we've built like he really means it
even though he knows the answer.
"How strong are your promises?"
And I reply to his question.
"I have yet to break one."
***** Chapter 27 *****
---Gerard---
Overhead, the birds are tweeting outside my open window.
That's the first thing I hear as they call to each other, telling each other
about their night, their food supply. Most likely fighting for nests. I've
never studied birds much, though. I have no idea what they say to each other in
the early morning when the sun is just coming over the horizon in vibrant
colors. I don't know how they communicate through only tweets. Maybe each
twitter is a war-cry, and they're in constant conflict with each other,
demanding food and shelter. Maybe that's their way of moaning during morning
sex. Maybe I should stop thinking about birds.
The next thing that wakes me up is a cold breeze upon my chest, it makes me
shiver and pull the blankets around myself as I try to gather as much warmth as
I can in the crisp morning air. The fresh scent of fallen leaves floating
through the open window, the scent of our season. Autumn. The scent of
September, October, and November. The scent that reminds me of The Black
Parade. Mikey.
Dad.
The third thing that wakes me up, though, is that there's something in bed with
me. It weighs down the blankets, and at first, I'm convinced it's a serial
killer about to plunge a knife into my chest. So, as if I actually believe it,
my eyes shoot open in fear.
The sunlight in the room is blindingly bright, but once my eyes adjust, I
quickly realize I'm not home and, much to my relief, there is no serial killer.
Only a beautiful blonde boy beside me. Mouth open slightly in his undisturbed
slumber. His green eyes shut and lined with long eyelashes while his hands are
spread out across the bed. That's when my mouth curves into a smile and the
memories of last night invade my mind.
"Holy shit, Patrick, you're huge,"
"Th-th-thanks,"
I bite my lip as I gaze down, remembering the way he arched his back in
pleasure. The way his hands gripped the bedsheets. He did that. I made him do
that and oh my god. I gave Patrick a fucking blowjob.
I'm still kind of shocked that he let me do it in the first place, I mean...
He's always so shy and embarrassed and troubled, but for some reason, he was
okay with me giving him a blowjob. I guess it's because Kevin's never done it
to him and... I don't know... I honestly should get more experience with sexual
abuse so I can understand him better. So I know what he feels like. How he
reacts. Like I could be his personal counselor...
Who am I kidding? I could never do something like that. I'm not experienced. I
know nothing of psychology. I would probably make the situation worse. I need
to get him to a professional. Someone who could actually help him. It's not
healthy for him to keep it in. Even I know bottling feelings isn't good.
His lower half is covered by the blankets, but I know he's not naked. His pants
are still on, and it honestly frustrates me a little. He shouldn't be so self-
conscious. He's beautiful, and I want to see him all but, I also know he might
be purging.
I can't talk to him about that for a little bit. I want him to trust me first
or tell me on his own.
Crash!
That's the fourth thing that wakes me up, it's a loud sound of a dining plate,
muffled by the door but I already know it came from one of the other people in
the house. I don't know who yet but as I check the clock beside the bed, I
realize it could be any of them. It reads 8:03 AM and none of them usually
sleep too late that I know of.
I hear another crash and Joe's voice, "For fuck's sake, Brendon, get a fucking
room!"
I chuckle slightly, Brendon's probably stuffing his hand down Ryan's pants.
He's the kind of person to do it.
My eyes dart back down to Patrick, his blonde hair is tickling my nose, and I
honestly could go again. I don't mind that I didn't get a release last night
because as long as he's happy, so am I.
I bite my lip softly, my eyes gazing down at him as I prop myself up on my
elbows. I evaluate my choices. I don't want to disturb him, but I know it's
probably time to get up. Everyone else is already awake, and I'm feeling really
clingy this morning. Slightly horny from last night, too. But he's cute when he
sleeps.
And the more that I think about it, the less I actually feel like I should do
something about my semi-hardon and I should probably just deal with it later.
I'm not just gonna wake him up by straddling him and tugging off his pants.
That sounds like a very Kevin thing to do. So, instead, I just give him a peck
on the lips and call his name gently. I want to let him sleep in, I really do,
but I want to go downstairs and talk to people, too. And I know I could just
leave Patrick up here but I don't want to, it seems kind of rude.
"Patrick, Sugar, hey."
He frowns a little and whines with a strong, "Nooooooo."
"Patrick, hey, we gotta go downstairs."
The blond boy finally squints his eyes open and looks up at me, an expression
of pure reluctance in his honeyed features.
"I love you," I say with an innocent smile.
He smiles himself, rolling his eyes and throwing his pillow at me, straight in
the face, "I love you, too."
I laugh slightly, pressing the pillow away and crawling back over to straddle
him (also desperately trying to hide my morning wood at the same time, might I
add) with my hands quickly weaving in his hair as I kiss him.
He follows along for a couple minutes, closed mouth, chaste, the whole sweet
and cute kind of thing, but eventually he pulls us away with a look of
nervousness in his eyes, "So, uh... About last night..." He says.
"I liked it," I reply, "We could do it again if you want..."
"No," He says quickly. Too quickly and my heart sinks. Did he not like it? Was
he disappointed? Did he not want to do it halfway into it? He continues, "I
mean-" He sighs, frustrated, "I like it... I just... I don't know... I
shouldn't have done it... It's not your fault..."
I feel a saddened look cross my face, "Why not? Why shouldn't we have done it?
We had fun, you're getting better."
He shakes his head slightly, "I just... I... I don't..." He looks so afraid and
nervous to say it, so I rub his arm gently, trying to comfort him a little, and
it seems to work. He squeezes his eyes shut and releases a breath before
finally speaking, the words flowing alright again, "I feel like a slut. I am a
slut. I don't know why I feel so bad about it-I know I shouldn't-but I just do
and... and Kevin always calls me a slut and a whore and he's right," He pauses,
looking up at me with sad eyes, "I'm not making any sense am I?"
"You're making perfect sense." I reply, phrasing it differently, so he believes
me, "Kevin calls you a slut and a whore, and he's basically made you think you
are. Words hurt, I understand, but you need to listen to me. You're not a slut,
and you're not a whore, whatever he's said to you it's not true. You haven't
been sleeping around, have you? And you don't sleep with people for money, do
you?"
"No, but-"
"Butts are for gay sex." I reply blandly, "What I'm trying to say is no matter
whatever he's called you, it's not true. And the next time I see him I'm going
to fucking kill him."
Patrick smiles crookedly and nuzzles his face into my neck, "Can we stay here
for a while? Please?"
I hold him in place as I lay down beside him and brush his blonde hair out of
his eyes, as bright as the stem of a rose.
"Fifteen more minutes." I reply, "And then we have to go downstairs because
everyone else is awake."
"Thank you," He smiles, hugging me tightly.
I rest my lips on his forehead as he begins to doze off again in my arms. His
breathing becoming steady again and eventually slowing down to a sleeping pace,
letting my mind wander like it always seems to do at times like these.
I want to protect him from the world for as long as I can. I want him to know
that I love him and I'll be here to keep him safe.
I want him to know he's worth being protected. I know he doesn't think that
yet, but I'll make him realize it. Someday he'll realize how sweet and
beautiful he is. He'll realize it, and I'll be the one there helping him
understand that he's not a whore or a slut or a failure or a mistake. All those
things he'd sent in the text at the skyscraper broke my goddamn heart. So I had
to text him the truth, and that's all he needed.
I didn't expect it to affect him that much, but it did, and after a while of
crying, he was there. His lips inches away from mine, my back against that
railing, my feet planted on the bridge. And he kissed me. For real.
I feel my hands squeezing him closer like if I loosened my grip even the
slightest, he'd disappear. Without him is how I'd disappear and I can't
disappear yet. I still have a job to do.
My eyelids are getting heavier as he shifts slightly beside me. Heavier and
heavier... and... I can't stop myself.... as I fall into... sleep...
***
"Gerard, wake up," Patrick mumbles beside me in a sleepy voice, "We should get
up..."
I open my eyes, rubbing the sleep from them and as soon as they rest on him, my
lips curve into a smile. He's sitting up and holding my shirt out for me to put
on while he's wearing both this hoodie and my jacket.
That little thief.
"Come on," Patrick laughs, pulling me up. I only give him a mischievous smirk
and tackle him on the bed, attacking his neck with kisses. My hands pin his
hands above his head, roughly into the bed, and my lips leave more marks on his
neck. At this he gasps, his hands struggling frantically against my grip, and
cries out a soft, "Gerard. No."
I pull away as soon as I hear it. My smile fades as I see his look, the look of
fear and there's a plea in his eyes. Pleading me not to hurt him. Pleading me
to just leave him alone and my heart fills with guilt as I pull off of him. My
mistake carving into my heart like a knife, "Sorry, fuck, I'm so sorry."
He sits up, taking a deep breath and rubbing his wrists before he shrugs with a
soft bite of awkwardness to his strawberry lips. His eyes dart to the bed in
shame and guilt before he replies, "Let's just go,"
I sigh and cup his jaw. I'm so fucking stupid...
I nod as I pull my hand away and slide shirt back on, so I'm dressed in guilt
and clothes... He was doing so well, what happened? He let me suck his dick
(and might I say he is really fucking long) and now he's calling himself a
slut, and he's scared of me. The more I think about it, the more I realize it's
my fault. I'm the one taking this too fast, I'm the one who offered to have
sex. I'm the one who's making this relationship much more intimate than it
needs to be. He's still getting beaten at home and just because I sucked him
off doesn't mean shit. It just means we're taking this relationship somewhere.
I need to get him out of there as soon as possible because he needs to heal. I
need him to realize it's not safe and Kevin and his dad are better off in jail.
We walk down the stairs one step at a time. Patrick looks slightly shaky on his
feet, but it disappears as soon as we're downstairs, masked by a fake smile and
his tired eyes. That hurts me a lot. His fake smile looks so real. All the
smiles he's flashed me in the past could have been just as fake as this. When
did he get so good at it?
As I climb down the last step, I realize my scars are showing, but I don't
really mind, they've seen them before and they know I'm trying to stop.
Frank and Brendon are sitting at the table while Pete is in one of the couches
in the living room half asleep and we can easily tell Ryan and Joe are in the
kitchen from the loud rumbling of plates and the smell of pancakes. It smells
delicious.
Patrick's knuckles turn white as he grips the railing of the stairs, but he
still continues, sitting down at the table next to Frank with me following
suit.
"Okay but you've gotta admit, Josh is so much hotter than Tyler," Brendon says
to Frank.
"Nope, Tyler's better," Frank replies as he holds his coffee close.
"Good morning," I say, interrupting them. Patrick takes my hand in his, the
warmth of his fingers covering my cold, and leans against me, so his head is in
my lap and his legs and crisscrossed on his chair. There's a ghost of a smile
on his sleepy face as he shuts his eyes and cuddles into me in a search for
even more warmth than he already has.
"Morning, you have fun last night?" Brendon asks with a smirk that basically
screams my-friends-and-I-know-what-you-did-in-the-dark, and honestly, it scares
me.
"We didn't do anything," Patrick grumbles from my lap, his voice muffled by my
shirt.
"For fuck's sake. We heard you," Frank laughs, "Patrick is loud."
Patrick whimpers in embarrassment as he presses his face even further into my
stomach with shame.
"Patrick isn't that loud..." I say defensively, still extremely embarrassed
that they heard us.
"You woke up Ryan, and you know he sleeps like a goddamn brick." Brendon
laughs.
"Really, though, you haven't gotten complaints about it before?" Ryan calls
from the kitchen.
I roll my eyes, "You're all a bunch of sluts. No, we haven't gotten complaints
before. That was... a first..."
Frank perks up slightly, "So, Patrick isn't a virgin anymore?"
"I'm still a virgin," Patrick says, pulling his face from my shirt, "That was
just my first blowjob."
He smiles slightly as he looks up at me, "And it was fucking hot."
Joe fails to hold back a laugh, and I can hear him from the kitchen trying to
regain his breath as more plates crash into each other.
I'm honestly a little surprised by Patrick's confidence. He's not embarrassed
about it. Why not? He was embarrassed last night and this morning. Is it
because we're with his friends and he's comfortable around them? More
comfortable with them than with me? I don't know, but it makes me kind of
happy. Like a warm feeling in my stomach. It may not be me, but he's showing at
least a little improvement.
"Ten inches," I say with a smug grin on my face. Patrick's cheeks go a bright
red, his eyes go wide.
Everyone kind of just shuts up after that. Frank drops his spoon in his coffee,
Brendon chokes on air, I hear yet another crash from the kitchen and Ryan's
head peeks out from the doorway, "Excuse me?"
"Ten inches long," I reply with my best know-it-all expression. The jealous
much? look. The 'that's fucking right this little squish has a ten-inch hard
dick.'
"You gotta be kidding me, Patrick? No way." Brendon says, shocked.
"Oh my God, Gerard, they're not supposed to know that." Patrick blushes.
"Oops," I say, sarcasm dripping from my voice like honey from a toothpick.
"Fuck you," He groans, a hint of playfulness in his soft voice.
"If you insist," I reply.
"You little shit,"
"Have you ever considered having a threesome?" Brendon blurts out.
I look up at him before I squeeze Patrick closer in mock defense, "Mine."
The blonde giggles slightly as I nearly suffocate him against me and then I let
go, not wanting it to trigger him.
"Rude," Frank scoffs.
"Says the guy who insulted Pete for not being gay enough," I laugh, remembering
what had happened about a week ago.
"You shut the fuck up about that!" Pete yells from his place on the couch.
Patrick smiles up at me before looking at the clock on the wall. My gaze
follows his, and I see the clock, it reads about 8:50.
"When do you want to go home?" I ask Patrick, leaning down to his ear.
"As late as possible... I don't want to see Dad for a while..." He replies,
still in a whisper.
I'm frustrated. Not necessarily with him but still kind of with him. I want him
to just turn Kevin and his Dad in. His life would be so much better, and prison
couldn't be that bad. Even if it is, they deserve it after everything they've
put him through.
I shut my eyes as my breath leaves moisture on his lips, my tongue prods my
lips quickly before I kiss him. Our lips rest together for just a second, his
breath on my cheek, my eyes shut, leading me to darkness, and his hands
pressing me down softly.
I pull away, much to his disappointment but there are other people here, and he
said it. He doesn't want to do anything like last night, so I'll give him time
and try my best not to be sexual if I can, that is. I honestly won't be able to
achieve that for long, though, because frankly, I don't exactly have... limits.
It's just that nothing like that embarrasses me or makes me uncomfortable.
Hell, if I were paid for it, I would probably masturbate on stage in front of
millions of people for no reason at all. Why not?
"I love you," Patrick whispers to me.
"I love you, too," I whisper back before raising my head away from his lips and
watch as his eyes shut again.
"What are we doing today?" I ask.
"Brendon and Ryan have to go home soon, so it'll just be the five of us in a
bit. Dying the tragic death of boredom," Joe calls from the kitchen as he sets
a plate of pancakes on the table, "Sorry it took so long, I kind of suck at
cooking."
Patrick sits up immediately, accidentally banging his head on the table and
yelping out a "Shit," in pain.
"You clumsy ass," Brendon laughs from across the table. Ryan comes in,
following Joe and sitting on Brendon's lap like he almost always does.
"Fuck you, too, Forehead," Patrick growls.
"At least I wasn't named after a tree," Brendon replies.
"Like Urie is any better. Mine isn't Japanese for lesbian." Patrick spits back
as I serve myself a pancake and drizzle syrup on top.
I burst out laughing, trying to hold it back as well as I can while Brendon
huffs in defeat but I know he's just too lazy to finish the argument because
pancakes are here. I begin eating as soon as I serve myself and look to Patrick
who's basically drooling over the fluffy disks of beauty. Nowhere near as
beautiful as he is, though.
"You want to eat?" I ask him once I swallow down my bite.
His head snaps to look at me, but instead of nodding, he only shakes his head
and says, "I'm not really hungry."
My heart sinks, but I don't press it. Not yet anyways. The comment basically
confirms my suspicions that's he's been starving himself and the fact that he
wouldn't take his shirt off last night only raises my suspicion.
Like I said, I want to wait before I confront him about it. He's happy. I don't
want to spoil it for him.
"Whatever you say," I smile, it's fake, but it's better than a grimace. I take
another bite and softly chew as I gaze down. I feel like I'm about to pass out
of exhaustion quite honestly, and it doesn't take me long to realize why "Is
the coffee still warm?"
Frank nods, "Should be,"
I sit up from the table, careful not to hit my knee on the surface, which I've
done dozens of times in my life before I walk into the kitchen, grab a mug from
the cupboard, and fill it with coffee, still emitting steam.
"Good morning," Pete says to me as he comes into the kitchen right behind me.
"Morning," I reply tiredly. I need coffee.
"I need to talk to you, about Patrick," He mutters, "In private."
"We can go out on the porch for a bit after breakfast, if that's alright," I
suggest. I'm a little surprised that he asked it since we haven't really talked
much and I honestly have no idea what he has to talk about.
"Okay," He replies simply, serving himself a mug of coffee. I leave the
kitchen, grabbing a spoon on my way out, and sit beside Patrick, setting my
coffee down. I fill my spoon with sugar and stir it in the blackened liquid.
It's the only way I'll take coffee. Black with sugar. No creamer or anything
else, just sugar. It's the way I've always taken it, and it's the way I always
will take it.
We eat in near silence, Brendon makes a few comments, but they're followed by
an incredibly awkward silence, so he shuts up after that.
It's 9:20 by the time we've finished eating, and while everyone starts getting
cleaned up, Pete pulls me aside. He gives me a nod and takes me out the front
door, onto the porch.
The air is cold, cold enough to see my breath, and goosebumps immediately cover
my bare arms as I step forward and take a seat on one of the stairs of the
porch. Pete sits beside me with his own mug of coffee.
"What did you want to talk about?" I ask, taking a sip of the Heaven in a cup.
"Patrick." No shit Sherlock, "He... look, I love him as a friend. I care about
him, and I don't want to see him get hurt."
"Are you giving me the Dad talk?" I ask with a grin.
"Basically," Pete shrugs with a smile himself, "But really, he's been through
some shit, and I don't want him to hurt any more than he has to. I want you to
take care of him. He means a lot to me."
But really, he's been through some shit.
What? He knows about what's happening at home? And after three fucking years,
he hasn't bothered to do anything? My smile fades fast.
"What happened?" I ask, clenching my teeth.
"He... um... probably doesn't want me telling you this but... his mom died
three years ago in a car crash..." he bites his lip.
"Oh, yeah... he told me..." I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying
anything else, "I'll take care of him. I promise."
"Thank you," Pete replies with a hug, he looks out across the street, blowing
out a warm cloud from his nose, "I just... take care of him for me, alright? I
miss him, we've always been good friends and I don't wanna lose that. I'm going
back inside so talk to you in a bit."
"Okay, see you," I reply as I shift myself, my back against the railing of the
stairs and my legs bent in front of me while my head is turned to watch the
house across the street. It doesn't look like anyone is home and I wonder who
lives there. Josh? Hayley? Hell, maybe even Ray, Dallon, or Andy. Those were
some of my friends from my old high school before I moved to Mountainside.
The front door shuts, and it's not long before I hear it open again.
"Hey,"
I turn my head to see Patrick, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and my
jacket hung over one of his arms, "Here's your jacket back... sorry I stole
it..."
I take it gratefully, wrapping it around myself and taking in the much-needed
warmth, "Thought I'd never get it back,"
He sits down beside me and leans his head on my shoulder, "I'm sorry about this
morning... about calling myself a slut and stuff... I... I'd be willing to give
it a try again... if... you wanted..."
I smile before I kiss his lips and pull him on top of me, so he's straddling me
this time. His breathing hitches softly, I can feel him pressing against me
while his hands rest on my shoulders and his wide eyes soak in what just
happened.
"I could teach you..." I whisper, "If you'd be up to it."
His eyes dart back up to mine and like a spark my stomach flutters with
butterflies and my blood begins to rush, "Not now... I mean we're on a porch,"
"Well of course not," I laugh gently, "We could go somewhere a little more
private, alright? But I do want you to get better. I love you."
"I love you, too," He smiles, those green eyes crinkling in the sunlight and
that blond hair covering part of his eye. I brush it away, still gazing into
those endless green orbs and smiling again before I hug him close, nearly
choking the life out of him.
"How the fuck did I get so lucky?" I ask.
Patrick rolls his eyes but hugs me back despite his obvious reluctance, "Can I
listen to it again?"
"21 Guns?"
"Yeah..."
I laugh slightly but take out my phone anyways, followed soon after by my
headphones.
He takes a bud into his ear, and I take one before I scroll through my music
and find it: 21 Guns. My thumb taps the button turns up the volume, and I set
it down beside us before Patrick's lips collide with mine, slow but passionate
as the music flows through our ears.
"Do you know what's worth fighting for
When it's not worth dying for?
Does it take your breath away
And you feel yourself suffocating,"
His hands tangle in my hair, pressing my head further into his with want and I
let him take the lead as my hands slide up to his waist.
"Does the pain weigh out the pride?
And you look for a place to hide,"
Patrick rests his head on my shoulder and shuts his eyes.
"Did someone break your heart inside?"
"I love you."
"You're in ruins."
"I love you, too."
***** Chapter 28 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
---Patrick---
"Have fun and we'll see you later!" I call to Joe as he drives away. Gerard
waves to him as well but as soon as he's out of sight, he turns and smiles down
at me, taking my hands.
"So uh..." he blushes slightly in the haze of this thing we call, 'awkward.'
"I'll see you at school tomorrow? Er... Monday?" I ask, cringing slightly at my
mistake.
"Sure love," He chuckles, but neither of us move. We don't want to. It's like
we're glued to each other and the silence is killing me and I just want him to
do something. He continues to stare at me for a moment, then finally presses me
against the wall of my house, running his fingers up and down my sides, "is
this okay?"
"Gerard," I whisper with a tired smile, finally just pulling our lips together
and feeling that coffee taste enter my mouth as he explores me. I find myself
moaning into the kiss, one hand around his neck, the other cradling his jaw
until I can't breathe and I pull away, smiling a little, breathless.
Gerard squeezes my hips, enough for me to wince a little. I still have bruises
from the Friday before last and it's a not so gentle reminder of what happened.
I brush it off quickly, though, careful not to let him know what's going on in
my mind.
He drags two fingers under my chin, forcing me to look into his soft brown
eyes. The troubled whiskey eyes I feel in love with the moment they met mine,
"I love you,"
"I love you, too," I smile sadly.
He gives me a kiss on the cheek, bringing a giant grin to my lips, "Talk to you
later,"
"See you,"
I head up the steps of my porch while he walks away, down the block and towards
his house. A little bit of a bounce in his step.
I'm left to look to the door, still as stone.
I can't do this. What am I thinking? Why don't I just call the cops and get
this over with? It would be so much easier, and I really shouldn't do this
alone. What will Dad say? Will he be mad I stayed until late or will he be
happy? What if he's at the bar and Kevin is the only one there? What if he
rapes me again? I look behind myself, but Dad's car is still there. What if Dad
rapes me?
You deserve it.
I do. I shouldn't try to run from it because I deserve every last ounce of pain
he inflicts on me. I deserve every lash, every hit, every cut and bruise, every
scar, every thrust... whatever they did, I deserved it, and I deserve what's
going to happen tonight.
My hand rests on the door, do I really want to do this? When I look, Gerard's
gone, and I'm overcome with a sense of loneliness. There's no other way out
now, anyways. Even if I did get out of this, it would mean I'd never see Gerard
again... I don't want that to happen.
I open the door, my decision final.
The house is completely silent.
The only things that remind me this really is my house are the beer and blood
stains on the carpet, the broken glass scattered across the floor, and the
sight of the hall leading to my room. It's so alien apart from that. The house
is almost never quiet.
The door slams shut behind me on accident, it sounds like a sonic boom compared
to the silence in the house, and it makes me jump.
And my heart sinks when I hear footsteps coming up from the basement.
Dad appears at the door once he reaches the top of the stairs, a look of pure
hate glued to his face and a half-empty bottle of beer in hand.
"Why were you out so goddamn late?" He growls.
"Joe and Gerard wanted to spend more time with me." I reply, "Sorry,"
He growls before pinning me to the wall, his hands holding my wrists above my
head in an extremely tight grip. It feels like my wrists are going to break
from the amount of force he's pressing on them and my scars aren't helping.
"Dad! Stop, please!" I whimper out.
"What the fuck are these?" He yells as he raises my chin.
My heart stops. Gerard left hickeys there. All. Along. My. Neck. Dad can't know
I'm gay. He's going to kill me.
"Where did they come from?" He growls.
"Th-there was a girl there, sh-she was letting us-uh..." I trail off. Why the
fuck would there be a girl? He already knows you're lying.
Are you ready to die, Patrick? You know you deserve it, you little attention
whore.
"You never once mentioned a girl and unless by some kind of magic you were with
boys all day." He growls, making the magic part extremely sarcastic, "And I
know how those boys act."
"Dad-" I whisper with fear.
"Did you sleep with a boy?" He whispers.
I can't think straight, I'm sobbing and choking, and I've never felt so fucking
scared in my life. I want to disappear and never return, and I want this to
just end. I wish he'd let me go.
"No, please..." I sob.
He slams me into the wall, taking a swig of his beer.
"I think you were, you little slut." He growls.
"Dad, please," I cry.
He smashes the bottle above my head, so the alcohol spills into my hair and
dampens my blonde locks. Shards of glass bounce off of me to the floor.
He grabs me by my throat, slams me against the wall again, then yells, "I DID
NOT SPEND MY LIFE TO RAISE A FAGGOT!"
My feet kick out, my throats already begging for air and my lungs deflating
fast as my hands grip my dad's wrist.
He finally has the mercy to throw me to the floor and kicks me hard in the
stomach, forcing bile and blood out my mouth.
"Get up!" He growls at me.
I struggle to my knees, but as soon as I get up, he punches me hard in the jaw,
pure hate and no mercy in his movements, "Weak, you're fucking useless."
I open my teary eyes to see Megan's door flying open, but that's all I see
before Dad's yanking me up by my hair and slamming me into the wall over and
over again by my throat.
"Dad! Stop!" Megan screams, but as I open my eyes again, I see her being
restrained by Kevin.
Dad drops me to the floor, giving me a split second to clutch my head in my
arms, waiting for another blow. Nothing comes.
"I swear to God, if you defend your pathetic excuse for a brother, I will beat
you. I know you haven't been getting much lately because he thinks he's so
brave. He's stupid. Just like you are." He growls.
I find adrenaline begin to flow through my veins and I know exactly what I have
to do while Dad's distracted. It's risky. Really, really risky.
My phone is in my pocket.
Gerard is home.
Do I do it and risk being killed? Maybe even risk Megan being killed? Or do I
take my death as it is? Why do I even ask? I've chosen my answer. My mind isn't
in place, but I can feel my feet guide me as I scramble to get into my room,
spitting out a wad of blood on the way before I slam and lock my door shut
behind myself, clicking the button in place. Dad doesn't have a chance to catch
up as I dial Gerard's number.
And it rings.
"Patrick Martin Stumph!" Dad yells, "Open the goddamn door, or your sister will
get it."
And rings.
"Patrick!"
"Hello?" Gerard asks, he sounds tired, and I hate to wake him, but it's an
emergency.
"Gerard, I need help, send help. Anything, please. I won't be able to contact
you after this but do whatever you can do. Please." I whisper, careful not to
let Dad hear.
"What? Slow down. I'll get help but what's happening?" Gerard replies,
panicking.
"It'll be okay, I promise, I love you," I whisper.
It might be the last time I get to say it if I don't get help in time. I need
to hurry.
"Patrick, please don't go,"
I feel a tear drop down my cheek.
"If you love me, let me go," I say.
"PATRICK LET ME IN YOU PATHETIC SHIT!" Dad screams banging on the door.
"I love you..." Gerard whispers.
And I hang up.
"Patrick!" Megan screams I hear a bang against the wall, but I don't have to
see anything to know Dad's hurting her.
I take a deep breath. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins, and I have two
options right now. Stay in my room like a coward and wait for Gerard to show
up, or open the door and stop Dad from hurting Megan. I know whatever Dad's
doing to Megan, it's going to be ten times worse for me. But Megan can't go
through this. It'll be okay. I'm going to be fine. Megan is the first priority.
I'm always last.
I unlock and open the door. It feels like slow motion as it opens to reveal
Megan, Kevin, and Dad in the hall but it still isn't enough time to process
what's happening. The next thing I know, Dad has me shoved down on the floor,
and he's slammed his foot into the side of my head, sending my room spinning in
front of my eyes.
He leans down and growls into my ear, "You're such a pathetic waste of space,
you know that? I doubt she ever loved you. You're so pathetic, and I will not
be responsible for a gay freak."
After that, I feel another swift kick in the head, and my vision goes black
before I can say anything back.
And just like that, I'm engulfed in complete darkness.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry it’s been a while!!! Comments and kudos are appreciated!
***** Chapter 29 *****
---Gerard---
At least once in everybody's life, someone will get taken to the hospital and
you'll hear the call of sirens rushing to you.
The sirens. The lights. The yells. The flashes. Red and blue and black. The
stars above me, the concrete below me. The shuffling of belts and the clicks of
switches on handguns. My fists beating on the front door. The pain in my hands.
The blood running down my knuckles. The blood I can't feel. The pain I can't
process. The freedom of the air, the captivity of the ground.
Everything is pushed aside into a blur of hate, and it's all in my
subconscious. I know it's there I just don't care. All I can care about is
finding Sugar, Darling, Love, Mine. Patrick. Whatever you want to call him.
He's my first priority. He'll always be my first priority.
If you love me, let me go.
I feel sick to my stomach. I feel like I'm going to puke up everything that I
ate today at any moment and completely lose it. He sounded so scared. He
sounded terrified, and I wasn't there to protect him.
I still can't protect him, not yet at least. The front door is locked. I can't
get in no matter how hard I hit. I'm banging on the door, my knuckles are
bleeding, my voice is cracking. I'm screaming Patrick's name into the cold
night. I'm begging him to answer me. I'm begging for anything but nothing. I'm
screaming, but I'm hopelessly hopeful. I can barely hear myself over the siren,
anyway. All my attempts are for nothing. Just a small whimper among the
screams.
I can't breathe as a cop pulls me out of the way. I can't breathe, I'm
panicking because Patrick is in there are he's probably dead. He could be gone,
and I can't do anything about it but watch as a firefighter breaks down the
door, armed with a handgun.
I'm sitting with my knees against my chest, rocking back and forth on the curb
of the block. How did I get here? Who dragged me here?
I'm terrified. Is Patrick alright? Will he survive? What if he really is gone?
My heart sinks as more thoughts come into my mind.
What if he is gone? He sounded like he was in danger over the phone... oh god,
oh god, oh god, oh god.
Before I know what's happening, there's a tear running down my cheek, and I've
puked on the street. Bile and food dropping onto the road in a yellow-orange
shade. It's disgusting.
"LET ME GO YOU BASTARD!" A man shouts. My head turns so fast that I'm surprised
it doesn't snap.
A large man with wide shoulders and greasy blonde hair is yelling and
struggling against the cops' firm grasp. He's shoved into a car followed soon
after by another boy I recognize as Kevin. That little shit.
I keep watching, waiting for Patrick. Praying for Patrick. He can't be gone. He
has to be okay. Please.
"We need a medic!" Someone yells, "He's in critical condition!"
No, no, no. I watch as a woman runs into the house with a first aid kit in
hand. No, no, no.
Someone is talking, but I can't concentrate. Is Patrick okay? How much pain is
he in? Will he survive? What if I came too late?
"Kid!" A man shouts, finally grabbing my attention. As I turn my head, I see
it's another medic, holding out a bag for my vomit, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine just worried," I reply taking the bag and wiping my tears.
"Is he your friend?" He asks, sitting beside me.
"He's my boyfriend," I reply with a soft smile.
And I break down.
"I can't lose him. Please," I whisper, as the tears begin streaming down my
face, "I love him so much..."
"Hey, it's gonna be alright, okay? I promise," he says, patting me on the back.
I promise
How strong are your promises?
I have yet to break one
"Don't make promises you can't keep," I growl, hostility in my voice.
He remains silent after that, eventually getting up without a sound and leaving
to head into the house. I can only watch helplessly as the scene unfolds. A
couple stretchers go in, one comes out. It's Megan.
My heart sinks further. Where is Patrick?
He can't be gone. Please. No, no, no.
I vomit again, into the bag this time. The foul taste lingering in my mouth. As
disgusting as Kevin and Patrick's dad. I can't stop myself I'm just so stressed
and scared. What if he doesn't make it? I take a deep breath, trying not to
gag.
"We need to get him to the hospital," someone yells in the distance. I don't
pay much attention until another man approaches me, "do you need a ride there?
Are you family?"
I look up at him, I must look pathetic. Sitting here on a curb with a vomit bag
and puffy eyes, crying, puking, stressing over something I can't fix. I still
nod despite my embarrassment, "N-Not family but I'm his boyfriend. Please."
"We can only accept family, I'm sorry, Kid." He replies.
My eyes widen, and it takes all my will not to scream, "No, please, please. I
need to, please. I love him so much. You can't do this to me. Please."
He furrows his eyebrows, conflicted. After a moment of thought, he finally
replies, "Are you a witness? You know him well?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Okay... Good enough for me. You gotta keep quiet, though."
"Thank you so much, I-"
I'm interrupted by yelling to my left, and my eyes widen as I realize who it
is.
Patrick out on a stretcher, unconscious and I can't tell if he's breathing or
not, but the sight alone makes me bring the bag back up to my mouth. His blonde
hair is matted with blood and alcohol while shards of glass are stuck in his
hoodie. Blood is streaming from his nose, there are bruises on his neck, and
his eyes are shut, sleeping peacefully like an angel. No, no, no.
The man helps me up on my shaky knees, and we stop at the back of an ambulance,
"Hop in, Kid," The man says as he climbs in. As soon as I'm in, he shuts the
door behind me, "We need as much information as we can get, can you tell us...
what happened, his name, the situation?"
He grabs a notepad from his back pocket, a chewed pencil attached to the side
and I honestly just feel more like shit than before.
A medic wraps a blanket around me once I've sat down, and the ambulance starts
moving.
"I-I..." I take a deep breath, shutting my eyes. Name, "Patrick Stumph," what
happened?
"I don't know exactly what happened... but I know th-that... the taller man is
his Dad, um... David Stumph I think... the younger man is his brother Kevin
Stumph." The man is quickly writing down everything I say, "The girl is his
sister Megan Stumph. Patrick told me a while back that... he was getting
abused..." I bite my lip, "I shouldn't have let it get this far. I tried to
tell him that he had to get out of there and I should have done something."
"Hey, it's gonna be okay. Just keep answering the questions." The man says,
"What's your name?"
"G-Gerard Way," I whisper. The vehicle bounces slightly as it speeds down the
road.
"And what's your relationship with Mr. Stumph?"
"He-He's my boyfriend," I reply.
"How long have you known him?"
"Since the fifth day of school... um... September second..." I say, "We've only
been dating since Monday..."
"Do you know if he has any medical issues? Um... depression, anxiety, blood
clots..."
"He was diagnosed with anxiety, but he doesn't take medication. He also has
PTSD... S-suicidal tendencies..." I'm just listing everything I can think of,
"S-self harms... I think he starves, but I'm not entirely sure... Depression,
maybe."
The man swallows, keeping a straight face as he scribbles the information down,
"Can you tell me what exactly happened? In your point of view?"
I swallow, struggling to keep answering these questions, "We... our friend, Joe
just dropped us off after a short party with five friends, and I told him to
call me if he needed anything or if something was wrong... I went home...
"About fifteen minutes later, he called me and told me to get help. He hung up,
and I called 9-1-1 and came to his house. The door was locked, and you found me
at the door. I must've been there for fifteen minutes before you came..."
I feel the urge to puke again, so I quickly raise the bag to my mouth, emptying
absolutely nothing, just gagging painfully.
"Was there alcohol involved at the party?"
"No," I lie. There was... just none this morning, and Patrick sure as hell
wasn't drinking.
"Drugs?"
"No."
"Okay, well we're going to get you and Patrick to the hospital, and we'll have
you in the waiting room for a while. They told me he's in critical condition
which means he'll be sent to the E.R." The man says I nod in understanding, but
I don't understand. I'm so conflicted. I want to scream.
"Do you have a parent or guardian you can call to come to the hospital?" He
asks.
"Yeah," I whisper, then I realize what he's asking, "Yeah, hold on."
I pull my phone from my pocket.
2 missed calls from Mama
I dial her number and hold the phone up to my ears with guilt swelling in my
stomach.
It rings once. Twice. Three times.
"Hello? Gerard?"
"Hey, Mama. I need you to get to..." I look up at the man, asking for the
hospital.
"Linda Vista Community Hospital,"
"Linda Vista Community Hospital downtown. Patrick's in critical condition and I
need to be there for him."
There's silence for a moment. Then, "Alright, I'll be there in a bit."
I hang up the phone, my head immediately burying itself in my hands. Everything
is happening so fast. The world is spinning. I'm trying not to be stressed, but
Patrick's in the hospital.
He could die. He could live.
If he lives, I won't be able to see him again because he's going to be
transferred to a foster home. My sugar will be gone, and I'll be left alone.
What would Pete say? Or Joe or Brendon? What about Ryan or Frank? They never
see him again. I'd never see him again. Pete might become depressed again like
he did when Patrick first left... that's what he told me at least...
He'd attempted suicide in his car in a parking lot while listening to
Hallelujah... he called Brendon who called his mom, and they eventually got him
to the hospital where they got his stomach pumped... that's what he told me
anyways... that's also what Brendon said to me.
He's gotten better since there and now that Patrick's back, he's been a lot
happier. If Patrick did manage to survive this, though, God knows what it would
do to Pete. Patrick would be shipped to foster homes, different schools, the
only contact would be long distance, and everyone knows long distance
relationships never work out.
I know it.
Mikey knows it...
I can't let Patrick go... I don't know any other way to be able to contact him
besides calling him but... at the same time, it's better than the alternative.
He could keep his life and get a job. He could be successful...
Then the alternative...
He could die.
That would be it. That would be the end. He would be dead. Even the sharpest
lives know that's how he'd disappear to join the Black Parade, it would kill me
inside because I can't just say, 'I don't love you,' and let it end because it
hurts as much as a house of wolves. It's so conflicting, and it makes you want
to scream. After cancer had hit Dad, I came crying to Mama for hours, but all
she wanted to do was sleep away that terrible feeling in her gut. It was like
everything was disenchanted and the only thing I could think of was his famous
last words and the blood flowing from the IV...
"You're not gonna let him die, are you?" I ask, looking up at the man.
The man looks back down and opens his mouth, hesitating, before saying, "I
can't promise anything. But we'll try our best to save him."
I nod. It's the only thing I can do right now other than trying my best not to
gag.
The ambulance comes to a stop, the back door opens, and I immediately run out,
searching frantically for Patrick. Please, please, please.
He comes out on a stretcher in another ambulance, an oxygen mask taped around
his face, and he's still unconscious. Megan comes out soon after, and they're
rushed inside, out of sight.
I guess Kevin and David were sent to the police station...
The man escorts me into the waiting room where I stay for a long time, Mama
joining me soon after. The moment she enters the doors, my eyes widen and I run
to her, sobbing into her chest.
"What happened?" She asks softly, looking around the waiting room like Patrick
would be here. Like he actually has a chance at life.
"P-Patrick, h-he was hurt by his d-dad. They're putting him in the ER r-right
now. I-I'm so s-scared M-Mama, I don't want him t-to die." I choke. Eventually
she hushes me and pulls me with her to a couch where I cry myself to sleep in
her arms in an old waiting room that seems to take my happiness from me.
The same waiting room that I waited in for Dad.
***
I wake up late Sunday morning when a man shakes me awake. I'm still in Mama's
arms, and it takes me a moment to realize where I'm at. The couch I'm in is
uncomfortable, lined with bumps and my ass honestly hurts from sitting in it.
Mama's snoring softly beside me, still in peaceful sleep but I know she'll be
disturbed as soon as I move.
I finally look up at the man to see it's a doctor. He has short gray hair atop
his head, strands of white and dark gray weaving their way through the locks.
His face is wrinkled, but he doesn't look too old to be working here.
"You're Gerard, right?" He asks as I slide off of my seat. When I nod he greets
me, "Dr. Capaldi, pleased to meet you,"
We shake hands, and as soon as it's over he lowers his voice, "Patrick, isn't
doing too well. There's some significant damage to his airpipes, he has cracked
ribs, a twisted ankle, minor head damage..."
I feel sick to my stomach as he lists everything off, but before he can finish
I whisper, "Is he going to live?"
"We don't know yet, we're working as hard as we can, but there's only so much
we can do before he has to decide." Dr. Capaldi replies, "What I'm trying to
say is he's not doing well, and you should go home. At least until he wakes up.
Staying here and worrying isn't going to do anybody good."
I sigh, realizing he's right. I don't want him to be right but he is, and it's
frustrating. But I also remember the last time I was here. What had happened.
***
"Gerard, Mikey," Dr. Smith calls, his brown parted to the side in this weird
ass part, his light green eyes filled with sorrow. Something is wrong.
Something is seriously wrong.
"What happened, how is he?" I ask, worried. Mikey takes my hand, trying to
comfort me but it's useless when he can't even comfort himself. My eyes are set
on Dr. Smith, and I can't look away because I'm determined. He got worse, but
just because he's worse doesn't mean that he's going to die, right?
"I... I'm sorry to inform you, but he's on his last few hours," Dr. Smith says,
his head down.
Last few hours. Dad.
"No," I smile slightly, "You're joking..."
Dr. Smith purses his lips and looks away, "I'm not kidding, Gerard, he's almost
gone. If you'd like to say your last words, now is the time to say them."
"No!" Mikey shouts beside me, in just as much disbelief as me, if not more,
"You said they'd heal him. You said he would be okay."
Mikey's not talking to Dr. Smith anymore, he's yelling at me.
"I-"
My brother glares at me, "You what-lied to me?"
"Mikey, please, I thought he'd heal, too," I sigh, devastated.
He shakes his head and walks away, off to room 511. To Dad's room.
I can barely even look at the doctor. I want to scream. There's no way Dad
could be dying. There has to be something wrong with this. Anything. Dad's
supposed to live. He's supposed to be there for us. I guess it just hurt too
much and his family wasn't worth it.
I speed down the hall stopping at Dad's room. My heart kind of breaks in half
as soon as my gaze rests on them, though. Mikey's crying into Dad's chest,
clinging onto the blankets and mumbling out, "No, please, don't leave. I love
you so much."
My hand grips the door frame. Dad really is leaving, it really is over, that's
why Mama ran off crying earlier.
The blood flowing from the IV to his arm. His famous last words...
"Gerard..." He whispers, his voice so silent it hurts. It actually physically
hurts. Like a broken heart. It is a broken heart.
I walk forward, beside Mikey who immediately buries his face into my chest. I
feel like I'm in a trance as I run my fingers through Mikey's hair
comfortingly.
"Dad," My voice cracks but I barely pay it any mind.
"I need... to talk... to... you..." Dad whispers. He's so weak like even a
pinch in the arm would send him away forever.
I look down at Mikey, "You need to go, you can come back in a little bit,
okay?"
Mikey nods softly before leaving my arms and going into the waiting room. That
goddamn waiting room...
"Gerard," Dad whispers, "There i-is... one thing... you have t-to do for me...
bef-ore I l-leave..."
"Anything," I whisper, trying to ignore the tears dripping from my cheeks.
"I l-love you so m-much..." He whispers.
"You've d-done... so well w-with th-this... E-Eight y-years is a l-long time...
I'm so proud of y-you..." his voice is getting softer and weaker.
"While o-one of y-you needs t-to go to Th-The Black Par-Parade." no, no, no.
It's over... isn't it...?
"I n-need both of y-you to s-stay bra-brave. T-take c-care of your brother f-
for me... D-Do you understand?"
I let out a shuddery breath as a tear escapes my eye, "I understand..."
He smiles as his eyes get glassier and glassier, "Go-Good..."
And he stops. He lets out one last breath, and his face stops tensing.
He's gone...
They said his final hours. They should have said his last minutes because he's
lifeless now. A limp body to go to the grave. I feel numb. I feel... empty.
With the heart monitor a long, never-ending beep confirming my thoughts.
I walk out.
I leave through the waiting room. That's the last time I'll be there for four
more years. Watching someone else waste away on their deathbed.
***
"Okay," I whisper, snapping back into reality.
Dr. Capaldi places his hand on my shoulder, "We'll call you when he wakes up."
If he wakes up.
"Okay."
***** Chapter 30 *****
---Patrick---
Underneath my skin, it hurts. It's always hurt so horribly but this time, it's
so much worse. Everything hurts. My throat hurts. My legs hurt. My chest hurts.
My back hurts. My arms hurt. My head hurts. It hurts to open my eyes... or
attempt to at least. It all just kind of aches with a few sharp pains here and
there. Especially in my chest as my breathing quickens.
Dad must have hurt me bad last night. Strangely, though, I can't remember last
night. I remember the breaking of glass. Megan screaming, a phone call...
My eyes dart open, but that ceiling isn't mine. It's not cracked. That's not
the ceiling I watched as Kevin hovered over me, breathless. This room has a
clear roof, flawless... am I dead?
I can hear shuffling coming from beside the bed, but as I try to turn my head,
I find it restrained tightly to the bed I'm laying on, and I begin to panic. I
can't move. I'm trapped. Just like how Dad and Kevin trapped me. Pinning me
against the wall and hitting me over and over again. My breathing gets faster,
and I'm panicking more because I can't move. I'm closed in, and there's nowhere
to go. I can't escape.
"H-hhh," I can't speak. My voice is whiny and sore, and my throat hurts.
"Hello there, Patrick," A man says. I try to turn my head again but it's
pounding so much, and it's still restrained. I feel even more scared. I want to
scream and bury my face in my arms. I'm terrified, and I want relief.
I want Gerard.
"Wuhhh..."
"Don't try to talk, your Dad caused some major damage to your throat, and it
needs to heal. Here," The man does something, making me flinch but I can feel
my head move better and my wrists are free from restraints I didn't realize
were there. My breathing returns to normal as I move around, rolling my
shoulders and looking down.
My heart nearly stops.
My scars are showing in the hospital gown. They're everywhere. The man can see
them. If he's seen them then that only leads me to wonder who else has seen
them. And if they see those, what else did they see? The bandages across my
back? The ugly scars that have made their home on the soft skin? My misshapen
stomach. The way my rib cage juts out. It's disgusting. I'm disgusting. I want
to scream and cry. This can't be happening. Please, please, please.
"And this, too," The man hands over a notepad and pen which I immediately grab
eagerly scribbling down words.
I need Gerard
The man looks up at me with those piercing green eyes but nods, "Of course. I'm
Dr. Capaldi by the way."
Whatever.
He stands up and leaves, but as soon as the door shuts, I feel myself crumble.
The silence in the room is broken by my quiet sobs as I break down into tears.
This can't be happening. Please. This is embarrassing and, fuck, I don't even
remember how I got here. I hurt. Gerard is probably pissed.
What happened to Megan? Is she okay? I remember her screaming and Dad yelling
at me. I remember seeing her face for a split second. Pure terror etched on her
regular innocent expression. Was she hurt?
What about Gerard? I know he's pissed. There's no way he couldn't be pissed.
I'm such a fuckup. Oh god. Will he hurt me? Is he even here? How long was I
out?
And my friends... how is Pete? Where's Brendon? Is Joe alright? Do they know I
haven't been eating? Are they going to force me to eat now? They're going to
start feeling sorry for me again just like Pete did... I don't deserve their
sympathy... It's my fault... it's all my fault... and now I have to pay the
consequences like what happens next.
What does happen next?
They've found my scars. They know I've been beaten. They've discovered my
secrets. What are they going to do? Mental institute? No, probably not that
far. Therapy. Foster homes. Foster homes... no...
Gerard is gonna be gone. I'll be with someone else. I'll be in a different
family. What will that do to Gerard? Would he even care? I'll never see him or
possible Megan again and... I can't let that happen. Please. I love Megan so
much, and I can't leave her. I love Gerard, and I can't leave him. I don't want
to leave Ryan or Frank or Brendon or Joe either. I can't leave Pete again.
Where is Gerard?
I'm so scared and sad and stressed and guilty. Oh god, I feel terrible. What
happened? Did I call the cops or did Gerard?
My thoughts turn darker as I wait. Gerard is my only will to live. Without him,
there's no reason to continue, and if I get sent off to a foster home, I'll
possibly never see him or Megan again. With my luck, I wouldn't be surprised if
Bob's parents adopted me.
The door opens.
Gerard comes through, tears in his soft brown eyes and Mr. Capaldi right behind
him.
"Can we have some privacy, please?" Gerard asks, turning to the doctor.
Dr. Capaldi looks to me for permission to which I reply with a nod. He
hesitantly leaves, shutting the door behind himself.
"Patrick... oh my god..." he whispers, tears streaming down his face, "You were
out for so long."
He rushes over to the bed, draping his arms around me and sobbing into my
shoulder, "I missed you."
My hands go to his black hair, eagerly running my fingers through the greasy
black locks. They're greasiest than usual, and as he pulls back, I see his eyes
have dark bags under them, and he looks utterly exhausted.
He cups my face, quickly pulling my lips under his. The kiss is rushed and
passionate, his lips moving messily against mine and I can feel his tears drop
down onto my cheeks. His tongue prods my lip, but I deny his entrance. I'm so
confused. I'm not scared anymore, only confused.
He pulls away in disappointment, tears still leaving his eyes. I raise my hand
weakly, it's hard. I don't have strength, but I'm able to find enough to wipe
his tears with my thumb, letting the salty droplet run down my hand until I
wipe it on my hospital gown. He smiles sadly, "You were out for a near week...
W-we thought you were going into comatose and I was so scared..."
A week? A whole week?
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
I open my mouth to say something, but I remember what Dr. Capaldi said... I
pick up my notepad and reply.
How is everyone else?
"They were devastated. I had to tell them, I'm so sorry I should have asked for
your permission but I couldn't, and they wouldn't stop asking," he looks away
with shame. I scribble down something else with a more negative tone.
It's okay. Just about everyone knows anyways...
He gazes over the note then looks up into my eyes, changing the subject, "Dr.
Capaldi is putting you on medication for your anxiety and depression and PTSD.
He's also put you in for counseling," he lets out a shaky breath, "I won't be
around for long. I have to get back to my life, and you're going to be
submitted to a foster home."
My fears are real.
He chokes slightly, a new wave of tears coming to his eyes, "I'm going to miss
you, we're all going to miss you. So fucking much."
No, please. This can't be happening. This can't be it. Please, please, please.
There has to be another way, any other way. I can't live without him.
No please
I'm crying now, scribbling down words as fast as I can.
Gerard please I love you don't leave me. I can't live without you, you saved my
life. There has to be another way.
I shove the notebook in his face, he's trying not to cry. He's trying so very
hard to hold it in but he can't. I can see it from the look on his face and the
way his hands are trembling.
He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, "Patrick, face it, we've only dated
for two weeks."
What?
"One week, you were asleep the whole time. That's not very long. You'll find
someone else I'm sure of it..." He smiles softly, but it's sad, "I... You need
to accept it... we were never... anything really... other than a couple horny
teens with shitty pasts. We barely have anything in common.
"I'm sure you'll find someone else... and you'll have a great family and you'll
be happy..." He kisses my forehead, "We were never meant to be, Sugar..."
I grip my chest because it hurts. It actually, physically hurts. He has to be
kidding. This can't be happening. Gerard can't be saying this. We had
something. Anything.
No please don't leave me
"I have to... I'm so sorry, Sugar but... you have a new family... and you get a
new shot at life... I... I hope you like it..."
He draws in a shaky breath watching my shaky pen write in five words I'll
probably regret... sixteen letters... down, around, up, dot... I write the last
words of the day...
Did you ever love me?
A tear drips down, smudging the pen. His tear. His soft brown eyes gaze into
mine for a second. The longest second of my life. What will he say? Yes or no?
His eyes say yes. His words say, "I don't know."
***** Chapter 31 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
---Patrick---
Nothing. I had nothing. The memories, the love, the friendship. It was all
coming to an end. Only a few simple words were left and I knew even those won't
last long.
"I guess this is it." She whispers with a shaky voice and wet eyes; her blonde
hair pulled back in a messy bun and Kellin's light gray sweater draping over
her shoulders. I guess she has her own family now, too.
"Y-yeah..." I reply, my own voice just about as shaky as hers. It really is the
end, the last time we'll see each other. Through it all: the pain, the healing,
the bills, the moving. Through this mess of everything, everything we've
survived together. Ten years happy, three years terrified, and one week numb,
the hardest part of this is leaving her. Leaving the people, I love Gerard,
Megan, Pete, Joe, Brendon, Ryan, and Frank. I'll never see any of them again.
Megan runs forward and hugs me tight, soft sobs leaving her throat and tears
streaming down her cheeks, "I don't want to leave, please, I want to stay with
you..."
I feel my own tears leaving my eyes as we rock back and forth just outside the
hospital. Megan's sobs become louder, and I know she's given up on being
strong. She's given up on toughing it out, and she never gives up. It breaks my
already shattered heart because she's finally broken. Finally, as empty as I.
Nobody deserves to be this empty. To feel this depressed.
"It's going to be alright... Shh..." I whisper as I rest my chin on her head
and stroke her back, "He'll take good care of you. You'll have a better life
now. Dad's gone and-and Kevin won't bother us again. You've got Kellin now.
He's going to be a great dad, you understand?"
I pulled away slightly and leaned down slightly to wipe her tears, "Do you
understand? Y-you gotta be strong for me."
She nodded slightly, lowering her eyes, and taking a deep breath.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I love you, too..." She replies. I press my lips to her forehead before
pulling away and looking into her newly risen eyes, "Goodbye, Megan..."
"Bye, Patrick... m-maybe we'll see each other again..."
"Someday..."
***
Another week gone. That's two weeks without Gerard, six hours without Megan.
Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. Twenty thousand, one hundred
and sixty minutes. Four-hundred three thousand two-hundred seconds.
Six days I spent in a dreamless state of unconsciousness. The last eight days
I've spent healing in the hospital on a bed with nothing to do but cry about
Friday the Seventh of October.
What happened? He loves me. He has to love me. He can't just say, "I don't
know," and leave. I hate it. But mostly I hate myself for thinking he ever
loved me. I was so stupid. Nobody loves me. Nobody has ever loved me, nobody
ever will love me. How could they? He was using me, and as soon as I'd called
him, he realized just what he was getting into. I don't understand why he was
even using me in the first place. I'm ugly. Why didn't he try something with
Frank or Joe or Pete?
I still have his phone number, but I've been too hesitant to text him. I'm
scared of what he'd say. I'm afraid of what would happen. What if he only
starts insulting me? What if he doesn't reply and I just make a fool of myself?
I don't know. I don't know what to do. All I know is that I'm scared, I'm
nervous, I'm anxious, I'm hungry, I'm exhausted, and I need to heal because
that's what's important, isn't it? Therapy and drugs. I have to get better now.
I have to start healing. I have to stop being so reliant on Gerard and actually
do something about... this...
So here I am, sitting in the waiting room. My new parents beside me...
I just met them today. They're decent so far... kind of strict but they don't
mind what I do for the most part.
My new, "Mom's," name is Allie. I'm not gonna call her Mom. How could I? She's
not my mom. Mom's under the fucking dirt right now, a tray of ashes. Allie
could never replace her. Nobody could. Anyways, Mom had beautiful blonde hair
that sparkled in the sunlight and glowed in the moonlight. It would flow in the
soft breezes that passed through during summer nights. Her green eyes were
always bright and filled with joy as she looked upon Megan, Kevin, and I. When
she was young, did she dream about her life? Did she dream of having a caring
family? Three kids, two boys, one girl, and a husband? Did she know how much it
would hurt when she left us? Did she know it would tear apart our family?
Never mind.
Allie is nothing like Mom. She will never replace her. She has light brown hair
and dark brown eyes, her eyebrows always calm. Neutral, really. Her eyes aren't
filled with joy like Mom's were. She has calm, neutral eyes. Emotionless and
bland. She's nothing like Mom, she'll never replace Mom no matter how hard
she'll try.
Then there's Mark, my new dad. Thankfully, he told me to just call him Mark.
Nobody could ever replace Dad either. Sure, he went wrong, but before that, he
was an amazing person.
He was happy and bright-hearted. He smiled genuine smiles, and he always had a
brightness in his eyes. Just like Mom did. They were hopelessly in love. They
were inseparable. They were the adorable couple with the three kids who would
walk through the park on a Saturday afternoon. The kind of couple that people
would, "Aww," at. The kind of couple with the relationship that others strived
to have. They were happy. We were all happy, and now we're all broken.
I hug my knees tighter to my chest, imagining Gerard here. He would hug me
close and whisper in my ear, telling me it's going to be okay and it'll be over
soon. He'd be there for me, he'd hold my hand and run his fingers across my
palm to soothe me.
If he loved me.
My hands are beginning to shake, softly and a tear leaves my eye.
"You okay there?" Mark asks, concerned.
Is that a joke?
"I'll be okay," I lie.
I'm not okay... I promise.
How strong are your promises?
I have yet to break one.
Lies. He promised to keep me safe. He promised he loved me, he promised me so
much and then broke it all along with my heart.
Shattered promises and torn hearts.
I hate him. I hate him so very much. How could he say that? How could he just
say that he doesn't know if he loves me after he saved my life? He told me to
stop cutting, he kissed my scars, he held me under the moonlight beside the
mausoleum, he was the one who accepted my kiss, he was the one who invited me
to Homecoming, and somehow in just one week, it all broke down.
It doesn't make sense...
"Patrick?" A woman calls softly from her office. I blush slightly, taking one
last glance at Mark and Allie, who nod me off, Allie shining me a fake smile,
before going into the counselor's office.
"Go ahead and shut the door, Patrick." The counselor says, her hands filled
with papers. My heart is racing but at the same time, it's like an injured
horse on the racetrack, it doesn't beat right, still limping from Gerard's
words.
I hesitantly take a seat on a tan couch opposite her desk, after shutting the
door, of course, sinking into the cushions tensely and knotting my fingers
together nervously. I look around the room while she files through her papers,
taking in the place where I'll basically be interrogated for a long while.
Talking about my problems until they go away.
It's so fucking funny I forgot to laugh.
Her desk is a light brown with papers scattered everywhere. Documents,
information, notes, folders, everything she needs to know about her victims.
Including me. She probably already knows about me. Every little thing I've done
to myself and other people. The way I killed my mom.
Hanging on the walls are pictures, mostly paintings and I wonder who painted
them and where she got them... I don't know... it doesn't matter.
"How are you doing today?" She asks abruptly, I think her name is Dr. Strauss
but I don't know...
"I... uh... I'm good..." I lie. Can I die? Nobody could stop me.
"Are you?"
I look up at her, she has these sharp green eyes, all her attention focused on
me as she leans over her clipboard, leaning forward in her chair like I'm a new
sort of species. An alien to her.
"N-no..." I reply, avoiding her gaze.
"Talk to me, what happened?" She asks, and I can see her legs cross out of the
corner of my eye.
"Where do you want me to start? The part where my life was okay? Or the moment
I stepped into hell?" I ask flatly.
"Well, first of all, you don't have to act that way-" she starts, but I cut her
off.
"I have every right to be like this!" I exclaim, glaring right into her eyes,
"My mom is dead, my dad is in prison, my brother is in prison, my sister is in
a foster home, and the boy who saved my life doesn't even know if he ever loved
me! I'm sick of this. I'm tired of my life, and I wish it would just end! I'm
sick of everything going bad. I've had enough of everything!"
She purses her lips, hums slightly, her eyes slide down to her clipboard and
begin writing something. I take a deep breath realizing what just happened and
cover my mouth, "I'm so sorry,"
She smiles sadly, looking back up at me. She bites her lip, hesitating on what
to say next but finally asks, "Tell me about Gerard."
My breath hitches at the mention of his name, my gaze settling back down on my
lap. It's only been five minutes, and I've already broken down, I can't believe
I'm letting my emotions get the best of me.
I bite my lip, whispering out, "What about him...?"
"What was he like? His personality? What did you two do?" She asks, leaning
back in her chair.
And I tell her.
I tell her everything despite my instincts that scream at me to stop and
realize it's pointless. I tell her. And it's pathetic. I'm pathetic. I can't
believe I'm telling her everything. There's only one detail I leave out...
Kevin and what he did to me.
Nobody knows that's the only secret Gerard kept. I don't talk about it despite
the fact that it bothers me and I probably should but it makes me feel filthy,
I can't tell her.
"So Pete, Ryan, Frank, Brendon, and Joe were all your friends?" She asks.
I nod softly, "I mean... I'll probably never see them again but... yeah..."
She purses her lips, looking to her desk, "I'll look into medication for you
soon, and we can see what we do from there. In the meantime, get some sleep and
try not to worry too much."
Pfft.
"Next week same time work for you?" She asks.
"Yeah, that's fine." I reply, "See you in a while."
"You, too, Patrick,"
I shut the door behind myself as I meet Allie and Mark outside, both of which
are talking quietly to each other. As soon as they see me, though, they stop
and smile. I want to punch one of them really hard in the face.
"Ready to go?" Allie asks, her long, brown hair swaying slightly in the draft
coming through the door.
"Yeah."
Mark pats me on the back as we leave through the front door, his feet crunching
the dried leaves scattered across the ground. I flinch at the touch. I don't
like being touched. I don't like people feeling pity for me. It's stupid.
"How was the appointment?" Allie asks.
I shrug. I don't feel like talking. I want to die.
I get in the back of the car, buckling my seatbelt and sitting in silence.
After a while, though, once Allie and Mark start up the car, and we're driving
back to their house, I take out my phone and start reading through Gerard, and
I's past messages. It makes me happy and sad at the same time. I love reading
through them, remembering what he said to me but at the same time I want to
text him again, and I'm scared.
Friday, September 2nd, 10:26 PM
Patrick: Hello? It's Patrick you gave me your number on the bus.
I smile slightly... That's when I first learned about Mikey...
Gerard: hi :)
Gerard: I just want to apologize really quickly. I shouldn't have tried to get
into your business, and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean
to...
Patrick: No it's fine. You didn't really make me uncomfortable. I don't mind
talking about it
Gerard: Alright... So what are you doing right now?
My eyes continue to scan through the messages as I remember exactly what I was
doing when we texted...
And then I come across:
Gerard: Tell me about yourself. Just random facts, I don't care what. I barely
know you except for the fact that you have anxiety.
Patrick: I don't thiink there's anything to really say
Gerard: Yes there is. You're awesome, and I'd love to hear about you. You can
tell me anything. I won't judge you, I promise.
Patrick: How strong are your promises?
Gerard: I have yet to break one.
The first time we made that... I continue through the messages. Finding small
pieces of chit chat, nothing special.
Thursday, September 8, 9:25 PM
Gerard: do you like sushi?
Patrick: What the hell haha. Idk I've never tried it.
Gerard: I'm taking you to a sushi restaurant soon because you are missing out
on so much
My knees pull up to my chest as the car continues to drive down the street.
Signs and buildings passing by in colorless blurs while people with their own
tragedies cross streets and drink at cafés. I'm left in a car with two people I
hate and a phone that reminds me of just how miserable my life is but this is
nothing compared to others. They've been through much worse than me. I know it.
I'm really not that special.
Monday, September 6th, 8:25 PM
Gerard: I need to talk to you when you get a chance... About... Um... A few
different things... Anyways, text me. Love you.
I didn't reply to that message until the next Wednesday...
Wednesday, September 28th, 7:36 PM
Patrick: Hey sorry I didn't reply earlier. What did you want to talk about?
Gerard: nevermind, it can wait
Patrick: You sure?
Gerard: Yeah :) I love you, Sugar I have to go but I'll ttyl
Patrick: okay
I still don't know what he was talking about... it doesn't matter, does it?
It's over. He's over me. He doesn't love me. He never did love me. I don't
deserve his love. I don't deserve anyone's love.
I leave my messages with Gerard, instead going to my messages with Pete to find
a new text.
Pete: I need to talk to you
Patrick: What
I feel the car slowing to a stop, my eyes dart up to see our house, a big place
with lots of wilting flowers and orange trees in the front yard.
I follow Mark and Allie, leaving the car and I'm the first inside, going
upstairs to lock myself in my room.
"Patrick, do you want to come downstairs for a bit? We have board games..."
Allie calls. Board games? Does she think I'm some kind of toddler?
"No," I call back, then bite my lip guiltily adding, "Maybe later."
I hear a long sigh, "Okay, Sweetie."
My door shuts behind myself, and I look around my room. It's not my room. This
is a prison cell. There's no escape without facing the law, and I'm left alone
with my thoughts. I already know I need to block them out with music. Any kind
of music I just need an escape.
I shove my earbuds in my ears, start my music (which just happens to be Basket
Case), and turn up the volume as far up as I can.
"Do you have the time
To listen to me whine?
About nothing and everything all at once,"
I shut my eyes, leaning my head back against the mattress of my bed and let his
voice take me to heaven.
Bzzt
Pete: It's about Gerard...
I bite my lip. Does he love me? Did he change his mind? Maybe he wants to get
back together, and he's sorry... maybe this really could work out.
No. He doesn't love you. Nobody loves you. Nobody will ever love a pathetic,
fat, damaged, broken, worthless, lost pig like you. You're unlovable. Gerard
never loved you. Ashley never loved you. You're so fucked up inside. It's
disgusting. Mom was just there because she was responsible for you. You should
have been the one to die in The Incident, not her.
And just like that, the past flashes past my eyes. My mother's name echoing
through my mind and I go blind as the sight of a church clouds my vision, just
next to the mausoleum, a couple blocks away from the café. A 13-year-old boy
who's losing hope.
***
"Good evening, everybody." Pause, "We gather today to mourn the loss of our
dearly loved Patricia Stumph." The pastor calls through the room. The rain
outside has died to a small sprinkle, but my tears are still falling from my
eyes as I grip the edge of my chair. My cap has dropped to the floor, but I
haven't bothered to pick it up. I can't no matter how much I want to, "she
passed on the Nineteenth of July, one month ago, much to our disappointment...
"She was a good wife and an even greater mother. She will be missed." He says,
"Before we continue, is there anybody willing to speak in Patricia's memory?"
Already?
Dad stands from his seat, his head low and his hands folded behind his back.
His posture is stiff but weakened by his sadness for Mom's passing. She didn't
deserve to die, it's my fault. He places one foot in front of the other,
slowly. It seems too delayed like time is running in slow motion. I wish it
wouldn't because I just want this day to end so I can go home and cry to myself
in peace. Honestly, it's taking all my will not to just break down right here
and now. To let all my emotions flow through my eyes. To break open and reveal
to the world just how devastated I am.
He continues up to the podium, looks down at the papers in his hand, and clears
his throat. His voice is little and shaky as he tries to keep control, but in
the end, he fails. We all fail. In the end of all things, we'll always break
down into a mess of grief.
"Patricia was... my true love. If such a thing really does exist, then this is
the best example I can find. I loved her with all my heart. If I could, I would
die to have her back. I remember when I first met her, she was just a waitress
working at an old restaurant with barely any money. She always had these bright
green eyes, the color of grass on a rainy day. I remember the way she smiled
with her sweet, raspberry lips. I loved her with all my heart, and I'll never
forget the day we first kissed, under the cork tree at the park near our houses
at the time when we lived in Chicago.
"This was a truly tragic incident, and I hope we all remember her for who she
was: beautiful, caring, sweet woman with high hopes and a free spirit." He
takes a deep breath.
"You will be missed."
He looks up, into the crowd of relatives, friends, family, everyone who came.
The eyes of the broken. He looks like a boy, lost and scared. A complete mess.
It makes me realize just how human we all are. A single death can screw up
someone's life so much it's actually disturbing. I'd never seen Dad cry before
today I used to think he would always be happy, that he couldn't be sad, but
today I'm proven wrong. He looks so... gone... A different man.
He turns, bowing his head, and leaves the stage, his feet echoing through the
silence of the large room and the tension in the air is only making me more
uncomfortable than I already am. Megan squeezes my hand, reminding me that
it'll be okay. It'll be okay. I just have to keep lying to myself. He had
beaten me the night before but... that was just a one-time thing, right? It
won't happen again? I don't know. It'll be okay.
Kevin is the next one up. His black suit is prim and tidy, but underneath, he's
a mess. He looks like he's about to cry and his hands are shaking as he walks
to the stage. My eyes stay low, I'm up next, and I'm honestly terrified. What
if I screw up? What if I say something disrespectful? I've been having these
thoughts lately. I'm always nervous and hyperactive.
"She was an amazing person..." Kevin starts, his bottom lip trapped between his
teeth. I watch his chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath, trying to
calm his nerves and stop shaking just like Dad had before him, "I don't think I
could have asked for a better Mom. She was one of the sweetest people I've ever
known.
"I... I don't have much to say except... I'm gonna miss you..."
He leaves the stage without hesitation before he can burst out into tears, his
hands in his pockets and his head still low as he quickly walks back to his
seat.
"Patrick, would you like to say a few words?" The pastor asks.
I look up, swallowing my sadness, and stand. My knees are weak, and I feel like
I'm about to collapse. My turn. Already. But it can't be that hard, right?
My lip becomes trapped between my teeth as I make my way to the podium. Each
step sounds like a sonic boom and the drumming of my heart in my ears is only
making me lose more confidence in myself. I swallow, but my mouth is already
dry enough as it is.
I find myself at the podium, my hands resting on the cold, wood platform. How
did I get here so fast?
My eyes slide down to the paper on the small table, my writing clear on the
lines sheet.
"I'll never forget you." I start, "Through thick and thin, you helped me
through so much. I couldn't thank you enough for being my mom and I..." I blush
slightly, "I'm so sorry that I c-couldn't save you..."
My head lowers in shame. It was my fault. It was all my fault. I couldn't save
her. I didn't try hard enough, and now she's dead because of me. If only I'd
tried harder, used all my strength and then some she could have survived. She
would have survived if it wasn't for me. I could have saved her.
"I love you so much, Mom. S-so long and goodnight..."
***
My fingers are shaking. My breathing is ragged like the torn black banners in
The Black Parade. My earbuds are still playing music, but I can't listen to
them. I can only hear the words, "So long and goodnight," ringing in my ears.
"Patrick, sweetie, are you alright?" Allie calls from downstairs.
I bite my lip, the tears slipping from my eyes silently.
"Y-yeah," I call, "I'm all right."
"Okay," She says back, "If you need anything, just ask. Your dad and I are
going out shopping. I love you, and we'll be back soon,"
"Bye,"
The door shuts. I immediately drag myself onto my bed, curl up in a ball, and
start sobbing, crying myself to sleep. Too scared and tired to do anything
else. Too miserable to try to take care of myself.
Chapter End Notes
     As always, comments are appreciated!
***** Chapter 32 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
---Gerard---
"Tomorrow, he should be awake, and when he does, I need you to tell him you
don't love him."
Those words tug at my heart. They basically yank it, like someone had squeezed
it and it was close to popping. It felt like a punch to my gut. Tell him that I
don't love him? Why? What good will that do but break his heart more?
"What? Why?"
Dr. Capaldi sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose before he murmurs, "It'll
make the healing process slower, but it's easier this way. You know long
distance relationships don't work out. I promise it's easier this way."
"I don't want to break his heart, though. I can't... I can't tell him that..."
I feel like I'm about to cry, one week he was asleep and now I have to
basically break his heart?
"I know it's hard, Gee, but you're strong, and if you want the best for him,
this is the way to go."
I turn away, but I realize he's right. If I want Patrick to heal, this is what
I have to do. But I need to be with him. I love him so much. How can I just
throw that all away?
"I... can't..." I whisper.
"Gerard, please, you want him to get better, right? This is all you have to do.
After this, he'll live a better life, and he won't have to worry about David or
Kevin. It'll all be okay."
"He'll get better... he won't have PTSD or anxiety or... or any of it?"
"Correct,"
"I..." I purse my lips. I'm so conflicted and miserable... I can't let him
leave, but I know it's for the best. Just like it was best for Mikey to
leave... "Okay..."
"I'm gonna go in. One more day, Gerard," Dr. Capaldi says with a gentle smile,
"I'll call you in after a bit," and then he turns and leaves.
***
Gerard: Hey
My fingers are shaking. I can't control the flow of tears draining my eyes and
running down my cheeks. I'm not sobbing. I'm just sitting in silence, Mom's at
work, Mikey's at school, Dad's in a grave, Patrick's moved on. Funny how the
world works. How so many things can come crashing down on you at once, and all
you do is silently cry alone. It's pitiful. Absolutely pathetic.
Frank: Hey, how are you?
I'm not okay. I promise.
How strong are your promises?
I have yet to break one.
Gerard: I'm okay. I'm missing Patrick but I'm doing okay...
I wish.
Frank: That's good... I was talking to Pete earlier. He sounds miserable, and I
just feel terrible for him... especially after he found out everything
Gerard: yeah
Gerard: I miss him so much... I just I don't know. After I told him I don't
love him I just... hurt inside... sorry if I'm getting too sappy for this
I don't bother to wipe my tears. It's like my back has been breaking from this
heavy heart. I want to just sleep my life away until I'm nothing.
Frank: It's going to be alright. You'll heal, he'll get a better home. I'm sure
it'll all be just fine.
I fucking wish.
Gerard: Sorry for bothering you. I'll talk to you later, k?
Frank: r u sure?
I bite my lip. No.
Gerard: yeah :) cya
Frank: Bye :/
I throw my phone into the wall. It hits the wallpaper with a loud noise that
makes me flinch before falling to the floor. I sit, staring at it and I don't
know why. Why not? That's how I feel right now. I feel like someone ripped out
my heart and threw it into a wall. It hurts. I miss Patrick... I want to hug
him and call him mine. I want to kiss him and make his cheeks turn rosy with
embarrassment, then kiss the new warmth and get him to giggle like I always do.
I want to hold him as he cries and tell him it's going to be okay. I want to
sleep with him, no sex, just sleep in the same bed with him again so I can wake
up and watch him sleep in his hoodie and jeans, curled up beside me. I was
fucking it up as it was. Trying to push it all on him. I should have treated
him right while I could.
Now, I can't.
I want to text him, but I'm afraid it would only mess him up emotionally.
I get up, pulling my phone from the floor and wiping my finger across the newly
cracked screen. Each piece of glass looks sharp and jagged, the lines have a
texture that I know could easily cut me if I tried hard enough.
It looks just like how I envision my heart right now. Cracked with sharp,
jagged edges that I could use to slit my wrists.
I press my forehead against the wall and take a deep breath.
It's going to be okay.
If I lie to myself, everything will turn out fine. My heart will heal, I can
forget about Patrick...
But I can't forget. You don't just forget someone like that, someone you love
with all your heart, someone you wake up thinking about and lose sleep over.
You love them so much, and they're on your mind 24/7. You can't stop thinking
about them even when you want to. Everything about them is just so perfect.
Patrick is perfect. Patrick is beautiful.
His blonde hair and the way his bangs are swept to the side just over his right
eye. It shines in the sunlight. It shines in the moonlight. It shines in the
starlight. I love brushing it out of his face and pressing my lips to his baby
soft forehead. I love how soft his hair is and how I can bury my face into it,
the way it tickles my nose. I love running my fingers through it to comfort the
both of us... I mean... then I also love when he lets me tug it the slightest
bit when we're kissing. Just the slightest because I don't want it to be a
trigger, but damn I love pulling on it.
I love his eyes. I could get lost in his eyes. I have been lost in his eyes.
It's like a maze of beautiful color that I can't seem to look away from. I love
the way they crinkle when he smiles, and I love the way they look down when
he's embarrassed. I love the color. I love the shades of green, the light
shades like ferns or grass in the sunlight. I love the dark shades, like the
dark moss on a bland stone or the color of the needles on a pine tree. I
especially love the colors in the middle: the color of a clover or an emerald.
I love his lips. The pale pink color. They're not perfect, the skin is almost
always broken from his constant biting and tearing, but I'll still kiss him. My
lips have yet to be chapped and faded. If... I could kiss him... I loved the
way they would curve when he smiled, I loved the way he would giggle when I
kissed his cheek.
I loved everything. I loved him. I still love him. But... he's gone now... he's
moved on... I guess it's for the best... isn't it?
I walk to my desk. The counter filled with old pictures of Dad. Him, Mikey, and
I on the beach when he first came back. I was four years old, Mikey was two. I
remember small bits of that day, running up and down the beach, collecting
shells and showing them to Dad. I remember Mikey's curious eyes looking up at
me as he followed me down the white sand.
Another picture is of Mikey, and I huddled together in a blanket. Dad took it
when I was six and Mikey was four, we'd both gotten a cold and I had to stay
home from school, so we ended up eating soup and cuddling on the couch, half
asleep.
One year later, Dad took a picture of him, Mikey, and I as we watched The Black
Parade. The pale girl and the dark boy behind us holding up the banner, "The
Black Parade," beneath, "Presented by Alexander Hamilton High School."
Beside the photographs is my sketchbook. Open to a new page, a boy in a black
fedora looks up at me with a lopsided smile and beautiful light gray eyes.
I rip it out and tear it in half. Just like my heart feels right now, I throw
it into the trash. It was a shitty drawing anyways.
I fall back into bed, clutching my chest because I just want it to go away. It
hurts so badly. I want Patrick back. I want that beautiful boy back in my arms
to love again. I wish it could have worked out somehow...
The front door shuts, and I hear Mama call through the house, "I'm home, Honey
are you doing alright?"
I inhale sharply, "Not really..."
I hear her set down her purse and walk to just outside my door, her necklaces
clinking against each other before she knocks softly, "Can I come in?"
I'm overcome with darkness as my eyes shut, more tears falling from the
corners. My throat is closing up as I reply, "y-yes..."
The door open and she walks in, she's wearing a black sweater across her
shoulders, a pair of dark blue jeans, and a sad smile on her face, "You still
sad about him, Honey?"
She sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls my charcoal hair from my face.
"How could I not be... I love him..." I whisper.
She swallows and replies, "I understand... it hurts, and it takes time to
heal..."
The only sound in the room is her gentle breaths and my silent sobs as we sit
together. Me, a broken-hearted son, and her, a broken-hearted mother.
"I'll always be here for you, Gerard. I love you."
"Love you, too, Mama..."
Chapter End Notes
     I really need to rewrite this tbh
***** Chapter 33 *****
---Patrick---
Everything. Hurts. Please. Stop. Please.
"Kevin, Kevin, stop please!" I cry out, tears lining my eyes as I struggle
against his grip. My world is slipping from my fingertips. It's straining
against me. I'm losing all control. I've lost all control. I'm stuck. Trapped.
Useless. I can't do anything anymore, "Please, it hurts, please, stop."
"You're a fucking whore, I know you fucking like it." Kevin growls into my ear,
"Come on, scream for me, slut."
I don't want to. I don't want to give him what he wants.
But I have to.
It hurts so badly, and I can't stop the earsplitting sound from leaving my
throat. The screech of agony. Of hate. Of guilt. Of devastation.
Kevin hoists my legs up farther unrestraining my hands for just a split second,
but I use it to cover my face with the sleeves of my hoodie, still sobbing and
yelling and begging and crying. I've never felt so scared or miserable or
embarrassed in my life.
He yanks my hair back, forcing my head back and he bites into my neck, leaving
marks I know won't go away for a long while.
I scream again. My whole body is on fire. I would do anything for it to just go
away but all I can do it cry and beg for it to end.
"Patrick,"
Stop, stop, stop.
"Patrick,"
Please just go away!
***
"Patrick! Hey, wake up, Honey."
My eyes dart open. I'm still screaming, and I see Allie beside me, worried and
trying her best to calm me down. Her brown hair covering parts of her eyes. Her
brown eyes gazing worriedly into mine. I look around, expecting to see Kevin.
Expecting him to be hovering over me. Expecting another dagger of pain.
There's nothing.
As I look around, I realize I'm in reality. Kevin is in jail. Dad is there with
him. Megan is... gone.
"You had a nightmare, you were screaming, and I was worried-"
Funny joke.
"You're paid to worry about me," I snap, "Go away, please."
She clenches her jaw, frustrated, but leaves, standing up and turning, slamming
the door shut on her way out which only makes me jump.
The image of Kevin is still burning in my mind, and I need a distraction. Now.
I pull my phone from my bedside table, shoving my earbuds in my ears and
turning the volume up, the music already playing.
As my eyes rest on my screen, I see Pete's texts that I missed during the
flashback earlier.
Pete: I need you to go to the bridge tomorrow.
Pete: I have some really good news.
Pete: Okay?
I frown, confused as to what he might want. And why the bridge? It's not really
the place I'd usually meet up with a friend... only with Gerard.
Gerard's gone, though. He's not coming back. It's just me now and whoever
doesn't bully me in my new school.
Patrick: What about Allie and Mark? What if they don't want me to go? How am I
supposed to get there?
My eyes wander my room while I wait for him to reply. I guess I could take the
bus... and Allie and Mark aren't super overprotective of me...
Pete: If they give you trouble, just sneak out and take the bus there. I
promise we'll be there, you can make it at like... 4PM, right?
Patrick: Yeah, if they let me. I'll text you if they don't...
Pete: Sweet! See you there :)
Patrick: Goodnight lol
Pete: Night
I shut my eyes and lean back in bed. Why does Pete want to talk? Is it
important? Or does he just want to talk? Can't he just text about that kind of
stuff?
I'm not sure...
I'm sure as hell excited, though.
I open my eyes again and look around the room and... I don't know why the
thought crosses my mind. Maybe it's because I'm craving it, but I can't help
but wonder where my razor is. I know it was at the old house when I still lived
there, but I wonder if the cops found it or something. Maybe it's in a lab
somewhere. Maybe someone pocketed it to remember The Incident. To keep in mind
that I slit my wrists deep. To remember that this actually happened and it
won't be forgotten over time. To remember the way Dad beat us.
Or maybe I should just go back to sleep.
"I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone
"Read between the lines
Of what's fucked up and everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone
"I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a..."
***
"Hey, Mark?" I ask, biting my lip nervously and gripping the sleeves of my
hoodie.
"Hmm?" He hums curiously, not looking up from his work on something. I'm not
sure what he does for a living or anything like that. All I know about him is
that he is good to me and he lets me do things Allie wouldn't normally let me
do.
"Do you mind if I go out for a bit? I have my phone and bus pass, I just need
some... uh... fresh air..." I lie. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Yeah, of course, be back by seven?" He agrees. Agrees. How? Dad would have
never agreed.
Then again, Dad's not here anymore.
"Thanks!" I smile, immediately heading to the front door.
"No problem," He replies with his own smirk.
I leave, shutting the door behind myself and immediately heading to the bus
stop. I pull out my phone and check the time: Sunday, October 16th, 3:28 PM
Perfect.
The bus arrives in about 12 minutes, it'll head down to the school and then
towards my house-my... old house-where I'll walk to the bridge and meet up with
Pete. And talk about whatever he wants to talk about. If he's pulling me away
from my house just for a talk, it has to be somewhat important, or just
something he doesn't want Allie and Mark to hear...
Leaves scatter the solid ground, reds, browns, yellows, oranges on gray. It's
breathtaking but... it's not as breathtaking as Gerard.
I'm so pathetic, thinking he'll ever come back. Tricking myself into thinking
he ever loved me. It was just a stupid one-week relationship. Why am I
overreacting?
I guess it's because he healed me in that one week. He made me feel so much
better than I had felt in 3 years...
During that one week, whenever I was around him, my anxiety faded from a scream
to a soft whisper. I only cut once in that entire week. I haven't cut since I
made the promise to him. I mean it's not like I have much of a choice since
there's nothing to cut with but I find myself trying not to cut for him. I had
fewer flashbacks in that week alone than most weeks before. I felt... happy. I
really was.
It's over, though. He's dead to me now.
I get on the bus, flashing my pass to the driver who nods to me and lets me go
ahead. My knees are shaky as I walk through the aisle, my confidence beginning
to melt to complete anxiety and I have to take a few deep breaths to stop
myself from panicking.
Everyone is staring. Don't make a fool of yourself, Patrick.
I'm trying, dammit.
Try harder you pathetic shit. You're such a fucking waste of space. No wonder
Gerard left you. I fucking told you it would happen and you know what's about
to happen now? Pete's gonna say his last goodbye now. You'll never see any of
your friends again, you're such a goddamn loser for fuck's sake why haven't you
just killed yourself yet? Oh yeah, because Gerard just happened to send that
text to an attention whore like you.
I'm so sorry.
Damn, right you should be, die in hell, Cunt.
I sit in the first empty seat and gaze out the window, wishing the voice would
just go away. It never goes away, though. It stays, taunting me. Telling me the
truth...
You'll be downtown anyway, why not just jump off of the skyscraper that you
were on last time? It would be less painful than having to deal with this shit.
But what if... what if he still loves me...?
That's all it takes before it explodes on me.
You seriously think he could still love you? Or even, loved you at all? You're
pathetic. Who could love a mess like you? You're ugly. Your hair is too messy,
and you should get a new fedora because, honestly, nobody wants to see it. Your
eyes, they're too... green. You would look halfway decent if you had brown eyes
or something like that, but even with a different color, the rest of your face
is way too misshapen. You're too fat. You barely have any jawline, it's all
just... flab... then there's your chest. Just... ew. Your arms are fucking
littered with scars, it's disgusting, Patrick. Do you really think anyone can
love you when you don't even love yourself? You deserve each of those scars
because you are such a goddamn fuck up. Not to mention your stomach...
I pinch one of the many cuts in my arms, desperate to make the voice go away
but it only starts talking more.
Ha! You think you can get rid of me that easily? Stupid. I'm always here. I'll
never leave you no matter how much you want me to. I'm always here telling you
the truth, and you can't even handle that. You're fucking weak and pathetic.
Unlovable. Broken. You're what's left over of a boy who actually might have had
a chance at life. You fucked it all up when you killed your own mom, didn't
you? And now you keep having nightmares of her dead body on the side of the
road. That cold, dead body. You were too weak to save her.
Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!
So weak. It's fucking pathetic. No wonder Ashley hates you so much. We both
know she was going to break up with you anyways. Remember the parking lot? When
she laughed at how stupid you were? Yeah, that's just another example of how
much of a fuckup you are. Tonight, you'd better be home on time because we're
going to have some fun.
I promised Gerard. No.
But Gerard isn't in your life anymore, is he? You just had to call him up, not
to mention that you shouldn't have been dating him in the first place. You
really are a faggot. Isn't it funny how you thought I'd just completely forget
about that? Nope, not even Gerard can change me. I'm going to be in your head
until you finally decide to take your life. It will happen. You do deserve it.
The bus is almost to the stop, I'm struggling not to break down as I gaze out
the window but no matter how hard I try, a tear still escapes my eye, and I
have to wipe it away before anyone can notice. They're all staring at me.
They're watching.
I just need to be strong.
Chestnut and oak trees are passing by the window of the bus as I try to hold
back my tears. The buildings on the edge of the center of the city also flash
by, only streaks of gray. It's bland. It's very bland, but that's okay, I hate
this place all the same. This city only makes me think of Mom and Dad and Kevin
and Megan. All the people I've lost.
If there's anywhere I'd love to live, it would be Chicago. We went there on
vacation before The Incident, it was wonderful. Not to mention Mom always
talked about it. There were so many shops and places to go and things to see it
was just amazing. My favorite part was going downtown at night when you can see
all the city lights. Neon blues and yellow and oranges and pinks. They make
your eyes light up, and a smile go to your lips. It's just beautiful.
Everything about it. Everything about... him...
The bus stops, my old school coming into view through my window as I'm thrown
forward in a jerk. I straighten myself up as I keep gazing at the school. The
red bricks, the doors leading inside, the oak and maple trees lining the
sidewalk.
This is probably the last time I'll ever see this sight.
The school, the trees... everything... Hell, that was probably the only time
I'll ever see The Black Parade. The day that I told Gerard about my scars, Dad,
Kevin... The Incident... the day we lied in the grass under the new moon next
to the mausoleum. The day I met Elisa, Lindsay, and Sarah Thurman. The day I
learned about their tradition. That night when we sat together on that bridge.
That evening when I kissed him and ran into the rainy night.
That night when Kevin raped me.
It'll be the last time I'll ever see the school, the walk downtown, the corner
where we sat and watched The Black Parade. This will be the last time I'll ever
pass by the Thurman Flower Shop. This might not be the last time I'll ever see
Mom's grave but it sure as hell is a possibility. Then there's the café... and
the bridge.
I stand up, my shaky knees becoming slightly stronger and able to hold my
weight. My feet drag under me when I walk down the aisle and down the two black
steps of the bus which immediately takes off. It just wants to get away from
me.
Bzzt.
I'm hesitant to take out my phone. I'm deep in thought about... this...
Pete: You almost here?
I look to the time. 3:40 PM, twenty more minutes.
Patrick: Just got off of the bus, I'll be there in a little bit. Sorry.
He's waiting for me. I should go.
I start walking, crossing the cracked street. Not nearly as cracked or faded as
the street by my house but still pretty bad.
The walk is a blur. I'm lost in my thoughts, the same thoughts over and over
and over again. Kevin, Dad, Pete, the Thurman Flower Shop, Gerard, the bridge,
the mausoleum, Gerard, the suicide attempt, Gerard, Brendon, Gerard. He's like
a song stuck in my head, like my favorite record and he can't be replaced with
any other tune. When will he ever leave my thoughts? Can I heal?
I don't know. I don't know, and it scares me. What if I'm damaged forever?
Therapy can't fix everything, and my mind is still a fucking mess. My thoughts,
my body, my anxiety, my PTSD, everything is just... messed up...
The corner is passing by. The corner Gerard and I sat at. The first time I
listened to 21 Guns and I had to give him my earbuds, we sat at that corner. I
remember how helpless I felt when I watched him cry about his Dad, and I had no
idea why he was sad. We stood at that corner while we watched The Black Parade.
The white girl and the black boy, the line of soldiers holding portraits and
guns, the brass players and the percussion. The giant bass drum with the clock.
The girl with my mother's eyes riding down the street on a silky white horse
with proud hooves and high heads. The black woodwinds close behind and finally,
Mikey on that jet black bass.
The way I remembered him just as he was in the drawing. Dark hair, beanie,
snowy white glasses, that dark, dark parade jacket with those silver buttons.
I continue to walk, I'm far past the corner by now as Shinedown blasts in my
ears, "They don't know, where we've been
We got that concrete street skin
The only way I'm leavin' is dead
That's the state of my, state of my, state of my head,"
I see the corner where Gerard and Mikey fought. The nasty words they said to
each other and I can't help but wonder if they've always been like that... I
remember a little bit of what they said, and now I know just how horrible those
insults were...
"Mikey, I've tried everything, she just won't stop!" Gerard had yelled. It was
about how their mom wouldn't quit smoking, Mikey was mad at Gerard for not
trying hard enough to get her to stop.
"Well if you don't make her stop she'll end up just like Dad!" Mikey said that
those words were the ones that confirmed my suspicions about their Dad.
I remember after he said sorry, Gerard only snapped, saying something along the
lines of, "at least I'm doing something Dad would have wanted."
Mikey replying with, "Dad wanted us to go to The Black Parade."
That was the second strike, they were even, but that didn't mean Gerard would
give up. They left with a bitter thought of each other. Gerard fuming and
squeezing my wrist as he dragged me away from the corner. I remember crying out
of fear. I thought he'd hurt me just like Dad does... just like Dad did, I
mean...
I'm at the flower shop now, across the street from the cemetery. My eyes rest
on the faded sign, I've read those words before, Thurman Floral Arrangements
and Decor. I can imagine Elisa with her dark chestnut hair working away next to
the black haired, cherry-lipped Lindsey. Lindsey's cousin and Elisa's sister:
Sarah working in the back, watering the roses and tulips and lilies. I imagine
the pictures on the walls, remembering how all those mothers and daughters
gazed into the camera expressionlessly. The only picture that's different from
the rest is the one with the current sisters.
I nearly trip over a crack in the sidewalk but avoid it. Barely. The sun is
already beginning to lower above the horizon, and I can't help but wonder what
time it is, I know I'm going to be a little late since the walk to the bridge
is at least 30 minutes long if it's uninterrupted. I think I'm making okay
time, though...
The cemetery is next. Each gravestone sparkling just slightly in the bright
sun, each grave littered with dried leaves. It's honestly a little depressing
looking at the graves. I know exactly where Mom's is... that means I also know
exactly where Gerard and Mikey's Dad's is, too.
The mausoleum looks beautiful. The white marble smooth, each pillar looks
perfectly round... the wall that Gerard and I leaned on when we sat and we both
kind of cried...
In the end... I'd do it all again... I think he was my best friend...
My feet are taking me inside the cemetery gates. I don't know why... but I do.
I know exactly why and for some reason I don't want to stop myself. At the same
time, I want to run away. I want to get out of here but... I can't. My feet are
determined. Therefore I am determined.
Each headstone looks so familiar but so alien. I know them, but I don't know
them, you know? Hell, how could I know when I barely understand it myself?
The graves continue, going on and on for what seems like forever... and then I
come across Donald's grave. The black marble headstone, engraved in a lighter
color with the parade's symbol and the words:
Here lies Donald Way
Son, husband, father, veteran
Thank you for your service and Rest in Peace
Gerard cried at this grave. He was on his knees, begging his dad to come back.
That broke my heart. Of course, my heart's more broken now than it ever was
before.
I lean down and shut my eyes, feeling goosebumps run up my arms and past my
neck. The same reaction I would have if I could hear Donald whisper words into
my ear.
"Hey there..." I whisper, "I know... I'm probably not welcome here after... how
much Gerard hates me right now... I... I just wanted to say sorry for being
such trouble to him... If I could, I'd say sorry to him but... he's gone...
"I... I wish I could have known you. I'm sure you were a great dad and... this
is probably the last time I'll ever get to speak to you but... I love your
son... I know, you can't do anything, and I'm probably just wasting my breath
but... if there's any way to get him back, I would die for it-no-I would live
for it.
"Thank you for being such a great Dad to him. B-but... sleep well...
"So long and goodnight."
I stand up. My knees are shaky as tears flood from my eyes. When did I start
crying? How long have I been here? I feel like that took an hour but at the
same time, only a minute.
I continue down the next two graves, stopping at the person I came to talk to.
Her name hurts to read, it's a tear in my heart just like Gerard and Ashley and
Pete. I wish I could just boycott love but...
Guess I was just made to be broken.
Rest in Peace, Patricia Stumph
Daughter, wife, mother
You will be missed
"Hey, Mom," I say, my voice is now just barely above a whisper, and it takes
all my will not to scream.
And then I'm taken from reality.
***
She's motionless. Her blonde hair stained with dark red blood, a blank, glassy
look in her green eyes. My heart stops. Time stops. I'm completely frozen, and
I can't move. This can't be happening. This just can't be happening. No. No.
No.
I unbuckle the seatbelt and drag her out, setting her on the gravel and falling
to my knees by her side.
No. No. No.
I lean over her, hovering my ear just over her mouth, there's nothing. Not a
breath. Not a word. Not a whisper. No warmth at all.
No. No. No.
My hands immediately take place on her chest, one on top of the other, right on
top of left, hoping I'm doing it right.
No. No. No.
I press down hard, over and over again, pumping her heart, hoping it'll start.
Praying for it to start. I can't let this happen.
No. No. No.
My heart sinks. There's nothing. I try over and over again. It's no use nothing
is happening.
No. No. No.
"Please, please, please." I beg as I continue pumping her chest, "Wake up."
No. No. No.
"Wake up, wake up, wake up." I plead with each pump. Then I scream. I scream
with all my emotion because I'm scared. Because I'm sad. Becuase I'm fucking
pissed. Because I'm disappointed in myself. Because I can't save her. Becuase
she's going to die. I scream as loud as I can. I scream so loud I hope the
world hears my anger, I hope universe hears my sorrow, and I hope God himself
understands my pain. And I want everyone to know this new tear in my heart. And
I want each and every person to know how much this hurts. That one wish to the
universe. That one demand to my mother.
"Wake up!"
***
It's long. Too long. I'm on the ground, how did I get here? There are also
tears streaming down my face. I hate that one. I hate it so much. It makes me
want to vomit and scream and just cut myself out from the world. I push my arms
out behind me in an attempt to pull myself up from the dirt and leaves to see
the sun on the horizon now. Too much time passed.
I take out my phone from my pocket in a hurry, knowing Pete is probably pissed.
13 new messages from Pete Wentz, 4 missed calls from Pete Wentz.
4 new messages from Gerard Way.
My breathing hitches as my eyes travel to the time: 4:48 PM
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I don't want to leave. I want to sit and cry and just forget, but I know Pete
wanted to talk.
I look through the messages, my heart sinking a little more at each one.
Pete: Hello?
Pete: Hey where are you?
Pete: We were supposed to meet up 10 minutes ago, are you okay?
Pete: Patrick?
Pete: Patrick? Are you okay?
Pete: We're looking for you, it's been 30 minutes
Pete: Where the hell are you?
Pete: Goddammit Patrick I'm crying rn where the fuck are you?
Pete: Patrick???
Pete: We still haven't found you.
Pete: Oh god
Pete: Gerard is here. Will you please come? We're at the café rn...
Pete: Dammit Patrick. I'm leaving.
Why the hell am I such a fuck up?
Patrick: I'm so sorry omg I was at the cemetery because I wanted to talk to Mom
really quick and I had a flashback. I'm such a fuckup I'm so so sorry omg.
I'm sobbing now. I want to die. I let my own friend down. What is wrong with
me?
Yep, we're definitely breaking that promise you made to Gerard tonight.
No. No. No. I know I deserve it but I promised him, and I can't break my
promise.
Speaking of Gerard... what did he have to say? Why was he with Pete...? I
thought he hated me...
Gerard: Patrick, hey
Gerard: i'm guessing pete already texted you
Gerard: I'm staying at this café all night if I have to
Gerard: I really need to talk to you so when you're ready, just meet me,
alright?
Patrick: coming
I pull myself to my feet but as soon as I'm standing up, my knees buckle under
me, and I'm leaning down on my hands and knees. Tears still streaming down my
cheeks. I let out a choky sob.
Pathetic. Get up.
I do. My knees still weak but as I begin to walk, I find them growing a little
stronger.
Hurry the fuck up.
I walk faster, sniffling.
Oh, my god, Gerard is waiting.
I run. Past all the graves. Through the gates and to the right, heading
directly towards the café. What does he want? What could Gerard possibly want?
My heart is a mess as it is, does he want to break it more?
My breathing is a little unsteady as I stop at the entrance to the café, but
before I can open the door, I feel a vibration in my pocket, and I take it out
again.
Gerard: I'm at the bridge, sorry haha
Uggghhh
On the other hand, Pete texted me, too.
Pete: I'm so sorry. Meet you at the bridge?
Patrick: K
I shove my phone back in my pocket and try to hold back my tears as I begin to
jog the few blocks to the bridge. I remember just what Gerard and I were
talking about when we walked past here. Hobbies, Tyler and Josh, hobbies,
sexuality, how our days were...
I can only think about my mom now...
The bridge is in sight. I see Pete, but it's not Pete who I focus on. Rather,
the black haired boy sitting with his sketchbook. Just the way I saw him on the
day I nearly committed suicide...
It's been two weeks but goddamn it hurts to see him again, his brown eyes
sparkling as he gazes across his sketch. They're so dark but so beautiful. Deep
but soft. Depressed but happy. They're empty right now. Not quite depressed but
not quite happy. Like he's missing something...
He's wearing a black coat and has a dark beanie over his head with The Ramones
logo on it. His earbuds are in his ears as he works, probably playing Green Day
or something...
I'm at the edge of the bridge now. Gerard still hasn't noticed me but... I'm
not sure if I want him to... I want to run and cry and scream. My heart is
drumming in my ears. My palms are sweaty, and my throat is dry...
"H-hey," I murmur, my voice cracking. It hurts. My heart hurts. Everything
hurts.
His eyes dart up to look into mine, the brown orbs immediately lighting up. He
stands up hurriedly, dusting himself off, "Patrick!"
I feel mad.
I don't know where it comes from, but I do. How could he just talk to me like
nothing happened? Like he still loves me? He doesn't. He said it himself.
"Do you still love me?"
"I don't know."
I step back, wiping my never ending tears.
"Patrick, what's wrong?" He asks in a concerned voice. What's wrong? What's
wrong? You fucking broke my heart and left me with a couple of retards.
But my guilt swallows me instead. I can't be mad at him. It's his own feelings.
He can't change them no matter how hard he tries and the foster home was
required. It's not like he can do anything about it. As he keeps gazing at me
and I continue staring at him, I feel myself slipping up. Breaking.
"I'm sorry..." I whisper, then bite my lip, "I... I was stupid... for thinking
you ever loved me... I'm sorry for being so goddamn stupid."
He gasps, "Patrick, hey, calm down," He says, standing up and walking over to
me. He leaves his sketchbook on the bridge, but before I can see the drawing,
he's embraced me in a hug. He feels so warm... I want to stay here forever and
never leave. His arms are so comforting after the flashback and the heartbreak
and... everything. This whole mess... he makes me forget and remember at the
same time.
Forget about Kevin and Dad. I forget about what they did to me. I forget about
how Kevin touched me. I forget about how he made me scream. I forget about how
he hit me and screamed at me and tugged my hair and what he forced me to do. I
forget about Dad and how he hurt me. I forget about the smell of alcohol on his
breath and the feeling of his hands around my throat. I forget about how his
belt stings and how many scars are across my back and torso.
I remember. I remember how this boy held me at Homecoming and I remember how I
kissed him on the bridge. How he straddled me by the bus stop. How he held me
under the sheets at Joe's house. I remember the words he texted me when I was
on the building about to jump to my death. I know I can't stop you. I wish I
could. I don't want you to go, but if you will, I just want you to know that
the world is ugly, but you're beautiful to me. Please don't leave. I need you.
"I'm so sorry. I love you, Patrick. I always have. I always will. The doctor
told me I needed to let you go. I'm so sorry for everything. I'm sorry for
leaving. I'm sorry for lying to you," He says. I only squeeze him closer,
sobbing into his shoulder and shaking. It's a relief, knowing he didn't mean
what he said. It heals my aching heart but only a little. He could be mine. I
could be his, but he's still just out of reach.
I whisper the only words I have the strength to whisper, "I love you, too..."
He nudges my head up by his fingers so he can see my ugly face. And then he
leans forward. I shut my eyes at the collision of our kiss. The taste of coffee
with a hint of sugar overwhelms my senses as he pulls me closer, one hand
tangled in my hair and the other on my ass, right up against him. It's utter
bliss. I love his hands on me. I love his shaky breath on my cheek. I love it.
It love him.
But it's over before I can fully appreciate it.
He pulls away and squeezes my shoulders, "Sugar... there's one more thing..."
Sugar... I missed that nickname... "What is it?"
"How... how would you like to live with Mama and I?"
***** Chapter 34 *****
---Patrick---
Dying can't be worse than this.
School.
I think I'm going to have a panic attack.
There are so many teenagers, and it's terrifying. I don't know any of them,
they don't know me. It's not that I'm afraid of teenagers, I'm just scared of
what they could do to me. I haven't forgotten how Jon, Spencer, and Bob bullied
me at my old school. I'll never forget...
It constantly talks to me now. The voice in the back of my head. Confirming all
of my self-loathing and doubt and... everything. It's bringing me closer and
closer to the edge of breaking, the only thing stopping me from ending it all
is what's happening this afternoon. I'm getting called out of school early to
go to the Foster Care Center and have a meeting with one of the ladies there,
Donna, Allie, Mark, and Gerard.
I look down at my phone: Wednesday, October 19th, 9:56 AM. Only three more
hours of... this...
On Monday, Donna called Allie, and they talked for a while, eventually making
plans to me up at the foster center. I almost cried in joy because that meant
I'll be able to see Pete and Joe and Ryan and Brendon and Frank again. Most
importantly, Gerard. I'll be able to go to Mountainside... I'll have another
chance...
So far I've been in school for three days. It was stressful. I didn't know any
of the teacher's names, I was immediately loaded with homework, and nobody
talked to me. I wanted to scream because I didn't know half of the shit they
were teaching. I did meet three people, though, who immediately accepted me
into their group and they were okay with me hanging out with them for some
reason.
As I sit at my desk for English, I can already see one of them: Ray. He reminds
me of Joe with his dark brown Afro with stray hairs popping out here and there.
I'm tempted to bury my head in it like I did to the other boy but... Ray isn't
Joe, Ray is Ray and Ray doesn't really appreciate it. He's a bit serious, but
it's the kind of friend that fits me right now. I never smile like anyone else
does, my mouth is constantly resting, and I can't seem to smile without a
little bit of effort. Ray fits me right now, and so far, he's been there when I
need him, mostly with the constant bullying that happens to me... He wears
mostly just plain black tees, jeans, and converse, like ever other person at
this stupid school. The only difference between Ray and the rest of them is how
caring he is, he gives me my space and doesn't force anything on me, or bully
me. I'm grateful for it, and I honestly wish I could get to know him better. I
gave him my phone number, and we've texted back and forth a few times but not a
whole lot.
Next, there's Dallon. He has dark hair and blue eyes that look identical to
sapphires. I could honestly get lost in them, like a maze... or Joe's hair. He
has clear, light skin, too, and often wears leather jackets and dark jeans.
He's a cool, relaxed kind of guy but he has my back when I need it. He's right
by Ray, Andy, and I's side when trouble happens and he's not afraid to fight if
it's needed.
Finally, there's Andy. He's probably my favorite. He looks like he could kill
you on the outside but on the inside, he's a fluffy sweetheart. Not to mention,
his voice does not fit his build. He's really muscled, but he sounds like a
goddamn seven-year-old when he talks. The first time we met, I thought he was
screwing with me. In the end, I was embarrassed and couldn't stop feeling
guilty for getting mad at him. He's a really sweet guy, and like Dallon, he's
not afraid to fight when he needs to. A few kids were giving me trouble on my
first day of school, and he was the first person there. He socked one of them
in the jaw and asked if I was alright, then invited me to sit at his table with
Dallon and Ray (Which I accepted, of course).
Now, I'm in first period English with Mr. Parkman. He's teaching something I've
already learned at my last school, and it's honestly boring. It's taking all my
will not to fall asleep but I know if I do, he would snap at me and everyone
would start staring and-
It would not end up good...
I knot my fingers together nervously as I look up at the clock: 9:57 AM. Only
one minute has passed. It's too slow.
It reminds me of a century ago. When time would go too fast. I would sit in the
back of English gnawing on my lip and look at the clock every five seconds. It
was a bad habit of mine, still is... but the danger is gone. Dad isn't at home
anymore, I have a new family, and I might get another soon. No more beatings,
no more scars, no more lies, no more fake smiles.
Who am I kidding?
Just because they're gone doesn't mean the pain will be. The scars across my
back and thighs and arms still sting, I'm okay is still the most told lie
that's come from my mouth, I'll still smile when I don't want to. I'm still
anxious, I'll still starve because I'm still ugly, I still miss Mom, I'd still
trade my life for hers...
The bell rings (finally), and I take the chance to immediately get out of my
seat and walk out the door as quickly as possible. I don't want to be here. I
want to be in Gerard's arms. I want my sugar back where he's mine, and I'm
his... only a couple more hours, right?
Next period is an hour of Social Studies, then one of Math, and finally
Science. It's honestly a really boring day of classes. There is nothing to say
about them. I get in each class, take a seat, do the work (which I've already
done for all three classes), and wait to leave. The same thing happened at
Mountainside but still...
It's halfway through Science. The room is near completely quiet, and the only
sound is that of pencils scribbling on paper, the occasional sigh. It's a test
that nobody wants to do, and the only thing stopping us from not trying is the
fact that it could raise some of our grades by nearly 10%. I don't need it, but
there are a few people who are here that do. It's almost entirely silent, and
when the announcement finally does come over the intercom, I nearly jump out of
my seat, half out of excitement and anticipation, half out of surprise.
"Can I please have Patrick Stumph to the office? Patrick Stumph to the office?
He'll be leaving for the day."
I immediately stand up and pack my backpack with the papers even though I
seriously doubt I'll need them again. A soft blush crosses my face when a few
classmates start whispering to each other, but I try not to let my anxiety get
to me.
"I'll see you in a bit, Patrick," Mr. Nakamura calls as I leave. Or never.
"Goodbye, Mr. Nakamura."
The walk to the office feels like an eternity. The halls are too long to be
normal, the turns are a little too broad. I feel like I'm going to puke out of
nervousness (not that I have any food in me at the moment) as I continue down
the hall and finally reach the office.
As soon as Gerard's in sight I lose my self-control and begin sprinting down
the corridor. It's only been three days since I last saw him, but it felt like
a good ten years and then some. As soon as my arms wrap around his shoulders,
he hugs back and hums in satisfaction, "Good morning, Sugar."
"I missed you," I whisper as I look up and into his beautiful brown eyes.
They're just... beautiful... That's the only way I ever have and ever will be
able to describe them.
"I missed you, too," He whispers back as he brushes my hair out of my eyes, "I
got you a present."
I blush, "why?"
"Because I love you," He smiles, "You're fucking adorable..."
"Language," Donna snaps as Allie signs me out.
"Sorry, Mama," Gerard replies, it's not real, though. Everyone knows that.
He reaches over and pulls a fedora from Donna's bag, it's a blur, and I don't
know what the colors are in the bad lighting. He proceeds to brush it off and
setting it on my head.
"What?" I blush a dark red as I take it off and examine it. It's a dark brown,
the color of Gerard's eyes but lighter... it's the color of dark chocolate. The
band is a white, cream color and all together it looks like coffee and sugar.
"I love it," I whisper a small smile on my face, and I feel like I might cry.
Nobody's gotten me a present in at least 3 years, neither birthday nor
Christmas.
"R-Really?" My boyfriend asks shyly.
I pull Gerard into another hug, but this time my lips are pressed on his as we
embrace. His hands rest on my hips while mine wrap around his shoulders and I
let myself get lost in those delicate coffee lips, with just a hint of sugar.
It tastes like a cold autumn morning or early sunsets over Monroeville (a small
town just outside this little city of Summit). His lips take me to days where
I'd smile as I gazed at Kevin and Dad talking about woodshop. That taste takes
me to happy memories.
But most of all, it reminds me of my boyfriend. The boy who saved my life, the
boy who was brave when I couldn't be. The boy who made me promise to heal. The
boy with long, dark hair and troubled whiskey eyes. The artist on the bus. The
broken boy whose lost nearly all of his family to grief or death. He's the
strongest, but he's the most likely to go back to help others.
He pulls the fedora from my hand and places it back on my head.
"Okay, you two, you ready to go?" Mark asks with a slight laugh at how attached
to each other we are.
"Sure," Gerard smirks before he kisses my cheek and makes me blush and smile.
He knows it always makes me all flustered and I hate him for always doing it.
We leave the school, Gerard and I holding hands but my thoughts lie to my
actions. I'm nervous because the same thoughts keep stirring in my mind like
leaves in a breeze. What if Donna isn't qualified? What if Mark and Allie don't
want me to go? What if the people at the center don't approve of the decision
and instead think that I'd be better off at Allie and Mark's? I don't know.
It's just scary, and I'm worried. It's not making it any better.
Would you stop referring to me as it? You're pathetic, and you know damn well
they don't want you with Gerard. It would only cause more flashbacks than you
already have. You don't want that, do you?
Whatever.
I try to ignore it, but it won't go away. It just makes me want to kill myself,
which is not what I really have planned right now.
In my perfect world, Gerard would be mine, all mine. It would just be him and I
spending day after day together. In my perfect world, Pete would talk to me
more, and we would be best friends like before. In my perfect world, Brendon
and Ryan would be living happily together, visiting often. In my perfect world,
though, Mom would be alive, Dad wouldn't be abusive, Kevin would be normal, and
Megan would be happy again. In my perfect world, I would look beautiful. I
wouldn't be an ugly fuck. In my perfect world, there would be no reason for
scars up and down my arms and thighs and back. In my perfect world, I wouldn't
flinch every time someone would touch me. In my perfect fucking world, I
wouldn't get nervous every time I go in public. In my perfect world, Donald
would be alive, Donna wouldn't smoke, and Mikey would live with them again.
But this isn't a perfect world. We have school, Pete and I aren't friends like
we used to be, Brendon and Ryan don't live together, Mom is dead, Dad is in
jail, Kevin is fucked up, and Megan is being torn apart from the inside. I look
ugly and fat and misshapen, I have scars up and down my arms and things, and
back, I do flinch every time someone touches me, I do get nervous in public,
Donald is dead, Donna is an addict, Mikey is in The Black Parade. Life fucked
us all over pretty bad.
I'm so lost in thought that I don't even realize we're halfway to the orphanage
until I look to my left and Gerard isn't sitting in the seat beside me. Only an
empty cushion takes up the space. Real sexy.
The drive is somewhat short since the school isn't too far from the center and
there isn't a lot of traffic since (surprise) it's the middle of the day, but
it's long enough. Allie and Mark are whispering in the front, but that doesn't
stop me from eavesdropping on in their conversation.
"I don't know if this is the best option for him, I mean Gerard's dealing with
enough problems as it is with his Dad's death and to have to take care of
someone with PTSD, depression, anorexia, and anxiety? It's near impossible not
to mention he's still going through grief for his mom..." Mark whispers. I
swear I hear my heart crack with those words. Am I really a burden to Gerard?
I... hadn't thought about that before...
Idiot, I've known this for a while. He doesn't want to take care of someone
like you. He's just nice. You know that if you stay with him, it'll end up
badly. You're going to get into a fight with him. He's going to get stressed.
He could kill himself because of you. Do you want that to happen? Do you want
him to die?
No, but-
Fucking idiot. If you don't want him to die, you shouldn't have gone through
with this.
I really am a burden, aren't I...
Yes, you really are. Did it really take you this long to realize this? You're
dumber than I thought. I guess it makes sense for a faggot like you.
I'm so sorry...
Damn, right you should be.
"Mark, he's going to be okay. Gerard's healing from his dad and having another
son again might cheer Donna up a little bit. He might be able to help her stop
smoking." Allie replies sweetly.
"So he'd just be there to replace Mikey, huh?" Mark says skeptically. Whatever
the first sentence did to me is quickly put to shame with that. I'm just a
replacement to fix a hole in Donna's heart. I'm just the new Mikey... but I'll
never be like Mikey. I'm too broken to be like Mikey. Mikey is strong and a
fighter. He'd never give up like I have.
I don't need to know him all that well to know that. He fought with Gerard the
first time I met him. I'm not like that. He actually looks kind of hot but me?
I'm a disappointment to everyone who knows me. If I really am a replacement,
Donna's gonna be pretty damn disappointed in me. I'm fucked up. Really, really
fucked up.
"Mark, don't say that. He's a good kid, Donna offered to take him in. I think
it'll be good for all of them and I'm happy to know some people can take care
of him. Sure, it might not be our happy ending, but that doesn't mean it can't
be his," Allie snaps.
Now I feel guilty. I didn't even think about how this might affect Mark and
Allie. I mean, I'm sure they're happy to get rid of me, but now they'll have to
apply again, won't they? I'm actually not really sure how foster care systems
work other than I get put into a house to heal until someone adopts me.
I don't know, maybe I'm overthinking this whole thing, and I need to let my
mind rest for a bit.
The rest of the car ride is slow as my anxiety keeps building and I feel like
I'm about to scream by the time we finally get there. My hands are shaky and
sweaty as I hobble out the car and immediately take Gerard's hand. He must have
noticed my nervousness because soon after we're inside the building, he asks,
"Are you alright?"
It's all I can do to reply with the first lie that comes to my mind, "Yeah, I'm
all right." The words don't feel like they're coming out of my mouth. They're
coming from it. That thing in the back of my mind. I want it to stop, but of
course, it won't stop, why would the voice stop? It just wants to see me fall
apart beneath it. I don't even know where it comes from.
I come from you, Idiot. You made me. This is your fault that I'm here. You
can't blame it on me, it's all you this time.
I guess that's my fault, too. There's a lot of weight being put on my
shoulders, and I don't know if I necessarily like it. Gerard only shakes his
head as he takes a seat, me right beside him while Mark, Allie, and Donna chit
chat beside us.
"Patrick, I don't like you lying..." He whispers.
"I'm not lying. I'm okay." I reply. I nearly add an 'I promise' but... I don't
want to break a promise, no, not yet.
Gerard sighs, his frustration easy to see and I lean back slightly, trying to
shrink. It's what I did when Dad got mad... Gerard could be just as dangerous.
"Sugar, I need you to promise me something." He asks. I nod hesitantly, I know
exactly where this is going, "Promise not to lie to me? I don't like it, and I
can never tell if you really are okay or not. I want to help you, and whatever
your anxiety tells you, you aren't a burden. You are wonderful, and I want to
help you through this."
I lower my eyes. I can't promise that. It's crazy. As stupid as saying I'm so
masochistic, I liked it when Dad beat me and Kevin raped me. I can't promise
Gerard something that strong...
"I... Can't..." I whisper. My voice cracks. I'm pathetic.
"Please, Sugar," He begs. I feel bad for making him go that far, but I really
don't want to keep that promise. I don't want him to know the truth. I don't
want him to ask that question, and when I reply with the truth, it only puts
more weight on his shoulders, and he'll feel like he's not doing enough when he
is.
I don't know why I reply with the answer opposite my thoughts, but I say it
anyways, "Okay, I promise."
"How strong are your promises?" He asks a slight smile sketched on his worried
expression.
I lean forward so our lips are brushing and I whisper six words that seal the
vow, "I have yet to break one."
He breaks the space between us, kissing me slowly while his hands run up my
leg. I jump slightly as it reaches around my crotch but they only continue to
travel up, past my stomach, to my shoulders, and down my arms, warming my
scars.
"Can I see Patrick Stumph, Mark and Allie Hoppus, and Donna and Gerard Way,
please?" A woman calls. Gerard pulls away, leaving my lips empty and my heart
even more desolate. I miss his touch almost immediately, and I don't understand
why. I shouldn't be this clingy...
Get your lazy ass up already, you don't have all fucking day.
I follow it's instructions and stand up, helping Gerard up soon after. He
kisses me once again, and I swear I hear someone whisper, "Faggots," Somewhere.
I quickly pull away blushing in embarrassment and shame.
Well, they aren't wrong.
They're not wrong. I am just a useless faggot.
My knees feel wobbly as I pull Gerard along behind me, following the adults
into a backroom. The room reminds me of where I go for counseling with Dr.
Strauss except now we're in Nikki Sanders' room with multiple couches in a
circle. I take a seat beside Gerard, but Allie sits on my other side, only
making me feel more nervous than I already do.
Gerard notices again, but this time he tells me, "Patrick, listen to me, it's
going to be okay, all right?"
I nod softly, emptily, but once his words actually reach me, I nod with more
enthusiasm and reply, "Okay."
The door shuts behind Nikki, and as I look at her, I realize she looks almost
exactly like Dr. Strauss. She has the same blonde hair, pale lips, piercing
blue eyes. It must be a coincidence...
"Good evening," She says as she takes a seat and looks over her clipboard for a
moment, "It looks like... Patrick," She makes eye contact with me, it's
terrifying, and I shrink back into the couch, "you want to... change your
foster home and live with Donna and Gerard instead?"
"I-I... uh..." I blush at my attempt and fail to find words, but Donna
interrupts, saving me.
"I've offered to adopt him." She says proudly.
"Is that so?" Nikki asks, looking over the files. Her eyes widen somewhere in
there and she purses her lips before continuing. It must be mine, "And why is
this?"
"Patrick deserves a long-term home where there isn't a risk of him being moved.
He needs somewhere stable, especially with some of his... erm..." She looks
over at me before continuing, "Conditions.
Nikki crosses her legs and purses here lips like that wasn't a valid answer,
"And what about you, Patrick? Why do you want to live with Donna and Gerard?"
"B-Because..." I trail off, finding it significantly hard to answer, "I love
Gerard... And I want to live with him. Donna is a great mother and I-" I look
to her as I say the last few words with a soft confidence, "I trust her."
"Mark, Allie? Do you have any say in the matter? Any questions, comments,
concerns?" Nikki asks as she finishes scribbling down a note on her clipboard.
Mark and Allie exchange glances beside me, Allie is the one to speak, "I
think... I think this would be good for Patrick. He can have some of his old
friends, and he'd be happier living with his boyfriend and in contact with his
friends."
Mark nods in agreement, raising my hopes. Is this really going to work? Can I
really stay with Gerard and Donna? Maybe even meet Mikey?
Nikki nods slowly as she turns and takes a few files from her desk, "Donna,
you'll have to fill out some paperwork but otherwise, Patrick," She looks to me
with a soft grin. Tracy's sweet smile, "You're free to go."
The words don't process right away. You're free to go. You're free to go.
You're free to go? You're free to go. Oh... Oh! You're free to go!
Gerard pulls me into a tight embrace and kisses me with a soft smile.
"We did it, Baby, we did it," He sounds close to tears. Tears of joy of course.
"We... We did?" I smile, "We did..."
He kisses my cheek, only making me blush and laugh before kissing his soft
coffee lips.
***
I set my bag down in Gerard's room. We made it. We actually made it. I still
can't believe. I get to live with Gerard, my own boyfriend. We can share a
bedroom, eat breakfast and lunch and dinner together, I can know what it's like
to live with him. I might even get to have some sex...
If you can. Oh my god, you're pathetic. You want to, but you know you can't.
He's just going to rape you like Kevin did, not to mention you couldn't even
take a handjob-blowjob. You're a fucking disappointment.
I am pathetic...
So maybe no sex and I really don't want to be the one to dream when I know this
won't last long before he gets upset with me. He'll probably start beating me
within a month-no-a week. It took a month for Dad to beat me after the funeral,
maybe Gerard will beat that record.
"Hey, Sugar," Gerard whispers lazily behind me as he hugs me. I flinch and let
out a whimper of fear. I was lost in my thoughts again.
"It's just me, Baby," He whispers as he kisses my neck. I find myself smiling
once I calm down and his hands trail up and down my stomach. I pull them to my
arms instead, though, I don't want him anywhere near my stomach right now. I
don't like how I look... there...
He moves my bag to the edge of his bed before coming back to me and kissing me
softly, "Mmm..." He hums, "I like this..."
I smile softly, "Me, too."
I leave his arms soon after, though, still needing to unpack my bags. I begin
to think as I work, my thoughts turning from Gerard to the drive here. I saw my
old house on my way, thankfully, there wasn't a flashback, but I did end up
crying into Gerard's shoulder for a bit, much to my embarrassment. He didn't
seem to mind, but I know he did. It's annoying. I'm annoying.
Unpacking takes forever. I have to unpack my bag, put it into an old drawer
that Donna had stored in the basement, and then everything that wasn't clothes
(A few pictures and a couple CD's) had to go into Gerard's desk. Okay, so I
guess it didn't take that long but it still was a lot of hard work, and by the
end of it, I was a sweaty mess, and I had to take a shower.
Gerard offered to join me, but I said no, I don't want him to see me naked from
the waist up. It's disgusting, and it just makes me want to puke. As I stand,
watching myself in the mirror while I wait for the shower to warm up I can see
each and every thing that's wrong with me. The scars along my heavy arms, the
scars on my chubby thighs, the occasional mark along my big stomach. I'll never
look good enough. I wonder if he has a knife or razor somewhere. I could really
use it right now. He used to cut, right? So there has to be one...
I keep looking, then turn to see my back, scabbed over but it looks like any of
them could break at any moment. It's disgusting. I'm disgusting. As I keep
looking I feel tears rise to my eyes, how did I get so ugly? How did this
happen to me? How could something so simple as stress eating lead to this? I'm
pathetic. I killed my mom, and I resorted to stress eating. I gained weight, so
I resorted to starving, I wasn't losing enough weight, so I resorted to
purging, too. I'm still fat, so I began cutting along my stomach. I still see
words I etched into my skin long ago, U-G-L-Y. Disgusting and pathetic would
better fit me now.
I can't take it. I turn away and walk into the shower before turning the
temperature down, down, down. It feels like tiny icicles stabbing at my
unwanted body, but I know I deserve it. I deserve it all. I just sit and let
the pain soak into my skin.
The temperature keeps going lower and lower and lower until I can't take it and
I need to turn it back up.
Don't you dare. You deserve this. You deserve all of this you little shit. You
did this to yourself now this is your punishment.
I don't. It's true. It's all my fault.
I turn the temperature all the way to the left, so it's completely cold and at
its lowest temperature. I'm shivering, but I don't bother to turn it up as I
massage shampoo into my hair and feel hot tears stream down my cheeks. It
hurts. It fucking hurts, and I don't feel adrenaline coming anytime soon. I'm
just gonna have to take it.
I finish washing and quickly rinse myself off before turning off the water and
stepping out. There is no steam on the mirror so I can only see my ugly self.
Every little flaw in my design. I used to look good. I used to look okay.
You wish. You never looked good, you were always this much of a useless fag.
I'm done arguing with you. I agree. Maybe I never did look good. I was always
just an ugly whore.
Whore. I haven't used that word in a while. It is true. I should use it more.
Kevin said it, Bob said it, I'm saying it now. I'm a whore and a slut. Gerard
might disagree, but he's wrong.
I am a whore. I am a slut. I am disgusting. I am a faggot. I am pathetic. I am
a cutter. I am a cunt. I am a piece of shit. I am stupid. I am fat. I am ugly.
I am annoying. I am depressed. I am a sad excuse for a son. I am a
disappointment.
I am already falling back into my old habits.
I want someone to save me from this. It's a black hole that sucks me back in
every time I even get the tiniest bit depressed, and I can't escape.
I'm a goner.
Somebody catch my breath.
***** Chapter 35 *****
---Gerard---
Blue and black.
That's the color of his sweatshirt as Patrick's breathing stays steady against
my wrists, his soft exhales warm my skin but I can't sleep no matter how easy
it would be for him to ease me into a gentle slumber. I want to sleep but I
can't. There are too many things running through my mind right now. Things
should be better now, shouldn't they? Why do I feel so uneasy? I feel sick to
my stomach and I feel like things will never be the same.
The same... There is no same anymore. What? Same as in when Dad lived? Same as
when Mikey was here but Dad was gone? Same as when Mikey and Dad were gone but
Patrick wasn't here? It'll never be the same. There is no same. It's all
different but... The more I think about it, I think I know what my same is...
Maybe there doesn't need to be a same. Maybe I'm okay with things being
different. Maybe my same is everything that's new. Maybe my same is just what I
want the future to look like. Mom stops smoking, Mikey comes home, I get over
this depression and grief, I stop cutting once and for all, Patrick eats
normally, he stops cutting, he stops being so insecure about himself, he stops
being afraid of being hurt. He understands how he looks in my eyes. A
beautiful, talented, smart, wonderful boy that there's so much to learn about.
Sure, he has a troubled past but he'll heal. I believe he can. I will help him
heal if it takes my life to do it. I want him to be happy. I would give him the
sun and the moon and the stars if I could just to see that delicate smile on
his face again. I would die for him, I would live for him. I will do anything I
can to make him realize he's beautiful. I'll draw a thousand drawings and call
him beautiful every day.
Cheesy much? I guess that's what love does to you. I guess this is what being
in love feels like. It's... different. I've fucked around a few times before
with a few guys I'd met in the past. One time I even let Dallon fuck me. That
was a one time thing though.
We never talked about it again, the only time we did was when we were joking
around or drunk. I lost my virginity to him in my freshman year of high school.
We were both drunk off our asses. He kissed me, I kissed back, one thing lead
to another and the next morning I woke up with a sore ass in his bed while he
was draped over me. I still remember the sudden realization, the regret, the
way my stomach flipped. I remember the horrible hangover, the taste of vomit in
my mouth and the fight. I left sobbing and he was devastated.
As I look back on it, I realize just how stupid I was to do it. I can't believe
I ever let him do that to me... There was so much regret so many, "If only I
had..." and, "What is wrong with me?". I hated it. I wanted my first time to
be... romantic. I wanted it to be slow and I wanted both of us to be sober.
Guess that never happened, huh?
As my eyes look down at the sleeping boy I can't help but wonder if he's ever
had sex. What was his first kiss like? Was it with a girl? A boy? His
brother...? Is he a virgin or not? Maybe he's experienced but damaged. He's had
lots of sex but once Kevin came along, it fucked him all up. But then I
remember what he said the first time I gave him a blowjob, he said he'd never
done it before and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to do it so I'm guessing
he's still a virgin...
Unless Kevin took that from him, too.
I can't lie. I hate Kevin.
I hate him with my heart and soul right now. Patrick's so innocent and
beautiful and fragile. He has enough problems with his self-esteem, why did he
have to come along and make it worse? How could Kevin be such a monster as to
completely fuck him up? Now, he can barely go out in public without having a
panic attack, he constantly doubts himself, he wants to kill himself, he hates
himself, he can't take his shirt off without being scared of being judged, and
he has trust issues. I couldn't hug him without him flinching on Thursday but I
guess I shouldn't completely blame that on Kevin. There's his Dad, too, and The
Incident that contributed to those issues.
I remember when I first saw him in the hospital bed when he'd asked me to call
911. I had gotten a glimpse of him, his ribcage was jutting out and it
horrified me. It still horrifies me. It's not that I find it disgusting or
ugly. It just gave me nightmares because I couldn't believe he'd do that to
himself. I remember seeing the word U-G-L-Y across his stomach. It was just a
dark mark but I could easily see it amongst his other scars that litter his
body. I remember how peaceful he looked once he was showered and all the glass
of the shattered beer bottle had been plucked from his body, when all the cuts
were bandaged and it was just him laying across that bed with a gown on and a
resting face. A whole week I kept visiting and no matter how many times Dr.
Capaldi told me I should leave, I couldn't. I didn't want to leave because...
Because I was scared that if I did he'd die and I wouldn't be there. I couldn't
get the news first.
No need to say, I broke down on every single night of those weeks. It may or
may not have involved me cutting myself once or twice. Crying, shaking,
screaming when Mama wasn't home. I tend to do that sometimes. I get stressed,
oversensitive. I shut down and I can't function right. I used to do that
whenever someone mentioned Dad, but things have changed since then. I'm still
going through grief but I've begun to cope with it.
Back to not leaving the hospital, though. I think it was just the false hope
that if I stayed, he wouldn't give up the will to live. Not that he had any
choice but it's one of those things where when tragedy hits, you start going to
things, anything to help you believe. Tarot cards, palm reading, false hoping,
stupid superstitions whatever makes you feel better and you know it never works
but in the end you'll always go back to it. You'll always accept the lie over
the truth because the truth hurts worse than anything I could bring myself to
do to anyone.
Except Kevin. I'd kill him if I got a chance. Both Kevin and David. I want them
to die.
Okay, Gerard, time to stop your psychotic thoughts.
Maybe I am taking it a little too far to think about that but I'm still pissed
at the both of them. I want them to suffer for what they did.
I'm taken from my thoughts when I hear my phone buzz on the bedside table, my
heart pounds out of my chest like a jump-scare as I attempt to silent it,
trying not to wake up Patrick.
He wakes up anyways, a yawn emitting from his mouth loudly.
"Guarard... Whassat..." He groans softly, exhaustion easy to hear in his voice.
He's adorable.
"It's nothing, Sugar, go back to sleep..." I whisper, pressing a kiss to his
forehead. He smiles lightly but complies, turning and burying his face in my
chest no matter how curious he might be.
I open my phone, squinting at the bright light as I attempt to adjust to it.
Through the blurriness, though, I can see Pete's name lit up on the screen.
A new message.
Pete: Hey, is Patrick doing alright? I can't sleep. (Sorry if I woke you up)
I hold back a chuckle, Pete and I honestly have so much in common.
I lazily type in a reply with just one hand.
Gerard: Same tbh hes ok u woke him up tho. he hasnt had nightmres or anythin so
thats good
I send the text, the grammar is extremely cringy but I don't do anything about
it. My excuse is that Patrick's trying to sleep.
Pete: Shit sorry man. That's good. do u thnk i can come ovr tomorrow or
something? I wanna talk to him and we dont have school
It's the 22nd tomorrow, Saturday. I can't believe it's only been a month since
The Black Parade came to town. It felt like a year ago.
Gerard: Yea I'll figure somthin out.
I yawn softly, finding my eyelids beginning to droop in exhaustion.
Gerard: I'm gonna go 2 sleep so ttyl?
I'm dozing off when he finally replies.
Pete: K ttyl :)
***
I wake up to the feeling of Patrick's lips pressed against mine, slowly moving
down my neck as he unbuttons my jeans and begins sucking down my bare stomach.
"Thefuck..." I groan tiredly then my eyes widen when I feel him grinding
against me and I'm hard almost immediately, "Patrick, what are you doing?"
I see him blush slightly and falter his movement, "D-Do you want me to stop?"
I quickly reply, "N-No, you're fine, I just... why? Aren't you scared?" I
realize how bad that sounds and try to cover it up, "I mean-"
He cuts me off with his fingers pressed to my lips, "I want to try to get
better... Y'know... less flashbacks and shit. It's stupid. I don't like them or
what... what he did to me... I want to forget about it and get better and....
I'm so sorry," His face goes a dark red as he looks away, ashamed, "This is
stupid..."
"Hey, hey, Baby," I stroke his hair softly as I lean up and kiss him, "I'm
completely okay with it, p-please..." Am I seriously begging?
He bites his lip, "Are you sure...?"
"Goddammit, Patrick, please. You've already given me a problem," I chuckle
softly as he rolls his eyes.
"O-Okay..." He pulls down my pants and his eyes go wide as he sees the bulge
through my boxers. He moans softly at the sight but quickly covers his mouth. I
can see a look of doubt and shame cross his face, it's only for a split second
before he becomes determined again and he licks me softly through the fabric.
It feels amazing. I feel bad for not being the one to give him pleasure but the
farther he goes, the more my thoughts say, "Damn he can give a good blowjob."
He pulls down my boxers and I can feel a few hesitant breaths on my length,
he's thinking. He's regretting.
"Patrick," I whisper, he looks up at me, he looks scared, uncertain,
conflicted, "You don't have to if you don't want to."
He shakes his head, "N-No it's... it's fine..."
"Keep your eyes open, Baby." I reply, remembering the last time we did it and
how well it worked.
His eyes dart up to mine for a moment as he goes down. A low moan escapes my
mouth as he slides down and back up, his tongue pressing against the bottom
where he knows I'm sensitive.
"F-Fuck..." I whisper, my eyes shutting in pleasure. I thrust my hips up to
meet the back of his throat but he immediately pulls off and catches his
breath, coughing.
"S-Sorry," I quickly say, guilt filling my heart, "I-I didn't mean to..."
"It's fine," He says, "Just... try not to do it again..."
I nod as he slides back down and bobs his head. It takes all my self-control
not to fuck him into the bed but I know that's what Kevin probably did and I
feel horrible for even thinking it. For considering it. I know if I keep that
up, I'll give him more flashbacks than any trigger could...
He holds my hips down as he begins going faster, his moves seem a little jerky
and not really in a good way. I don't need him to say anything to know
something's wrong.
"Patrick, eyes up here, Baby." I gently say, trying to remind him because I
really don't want him to get carried away and start having a flashback.
His eyes dart up immediately and meet mine, a blush immediately coloring his
cheeks rosy, his eyes teary.
My hands grip the covers slightly as I keep watching him, leaning up on my
elbows, I don't want to break eye contact because no matter how awkward this
is, it's fucking hot and I don't want it to end. His bobbing gets a little
faster as he gets farther into it, I feel so many things happening at once as
he rises up and takes a deep breath before he goes back down, beginning to add
some suction. His fingernails digging into my hips but I can feel him release
some pressure, trying not to cause me any pain (which I honestly find really
hot and I wish he didn't try to relieve it). The soft pants leaving my mouth as
I look down at him. The constant eye contact and the way his beautiful green
eyes light up in pride like he's silently saying, "Shit, I'm doing this right."
I can almost hear the words.
Finally, there's the slow growth in my stomach, the feeling of my release
building up. The feeling of my muscles tensing up more and more. My toes
curling, my fists in the sheets. It's so intense but so amazing. It's so much
different from Dallon because it actually has meaning. It's not just drunk
fucking it's love. I think it is at least...
My release is almost here and I let out a slutty, "I'm so close," my voice
cracking from the want and need and pleasure and pain.
He rises for a split second for a breath (At first I think he wants me to cum
on his face which would honestly be hot but I could imagine Kevin doing that so
I doubt it) before he goes back down and sucks my tip, watching my pleasured
expression change from pleasure to just.... ahhhhhhhh. If that's considered a
facial expression.
My buildup is faltered as I reach my climax and with a twitch, I release into
his mouth, my lips forming an, 'O' as my load leaves me and my eyes rolling
back as I let out an extremely whorish moan. He takes it all and swallows much
to my surprise.
My breaths are shallow as my high goes back down and I don't know what he's
doing until he's by my side, one hand draping over my chest while the other is
buried somewhere else (can't tell where).
"W-was that okay?" He stutters then traps his lip between his teeth.
I take his lip away and place it between my own teeth, "It was amazing, Sugar.
Best blowjob I've had in my life..." He smiles weakly then lowers his eyes
right where I knew they'd go eventually.
"I think I liked it..." He whispers, then blushes, "I-I mean... I don't want to
sound like a-"
I cut him off with a kiss. I know exactly what he's about to say, "Don't say
that word because you are not a slut and you're not a whore and you're not
dirty for liking it. It's completely fine, Baby."
He nods, "What are we doing today? O-Or you... if you're going somewhere..."
I lean up out of his grip and straighten out my messy hair, "Pete wanted to
come visit to talk to you. Otherwise, we have the day to ourselves..." I pull
my boxers up, "I'm getting dressed unless you wanna try something else."
He shakes his head with a soft blush, "N-No, I'm okay."
I'm about to throw my jeans on when I realize most of my clothes are dirty so I
end up slipping my boxers and shirt off into the dirty clothes hamper and
quickly grab new clothes from my drawer.
"You are okay with Pete coming over, right? If you want me to quit plans that's
totally fine with me, just say the word." I say as I button up my shirt. He
nods softly, "It's fine."
My hands slow their process as they reach my collar, done with their work. They
reach for my phone and send a message to Pete.
Gerard: When are you coming over?
I take it in the bathroom with me to give Patrick some privacy because I know
he gets extremely self-conscious around me with his scars, his stomach, his
back... it makes me sad but I realize I would do the same if I was in his
situation. I would probably hate myself as well and hate going to school. I
would be scared of getting hurt. It's hard to imagine that my dad would ever
hit me...
If he was still alive.
The door shuts behind me with a soft click before I begin to get ready, running
a comb through my hair, brushing my teeth, whatever else I need to do. The
process only takes about ten minutes before I'm out and knocking on my door
again, asking permission to come in.
"Go ahead." Patrick calls softly.
I open it, half expecting to walk in on him naked but I only get a glimpse of
his back before he's thrown his shirt over himself.
It's enough to his his ribcage, though, and I quickly act like I didn't, not
wanting to lower his self-esteem any more than it already is. It's better to be
safe than sorry.
"I have a counselor's appointment tomorrow," He murmurs softly. He doesn't seem
excited at all, "C-Could you... um... maybe come with me?" He pauses for a
split second but rambles on like he usually does explaining how I don't have to
if I don't want to and it's just a suggestion and...
"That's fine, Baby." I reply, "Whatever makes you comfortable."
He blushes slightly, flustered, before hugging me, "I love you so much..."
"I love you, too, so much." I smile, burying my face in his hair and quickly
kissing the bridge of his nose. He blushes, embarrassed but it quickly passes
when I turn and bend my knees slightly.
"Hop on." I smile. He blushes, "A-are you sure?"
I nod in reply, giving him permission. And sure enough he does. He crawls up my
back so his hands are wrapped around my neck tightly but not too tightly and
his legs are weaved around my thighs. He's light. Really, really light and I
immediately know what the easiest thing is in this whole... healing process
thing.
"What do you want for breakfast?" I ask.
"I-I... uh..." He blushes, "I'm not really hungry..."
"You're lying, Patrick. I thought you said you've never broken a promise." I
know looking attractive means a lot to him but I know this relationship means
more.
"W-Wait! I- uh..." he laughs slightly, it's kind of awkward but I don't mind,
"Fineeee.... I'm hungry and I'll just take toast."
"Okay," I smile. He nuzzles his face into my black hair as I walk around the
dining table and reach the kitchen where I let go of his legs and begin pulling
butter, jam, and bread from various places around the cupboards, drawers, and
shelves all while humming "21 Guns". He keeps a firm grip around my neck but
after a while he begins to relax and hum along with me, eventually just
singing.
"One, 21 guns,
Lay down your arms
Give up the fight
One, 21 Guns
Throw up your arms into the sky
You and I..."
He takes a breath making me smile to myself, happy that he's opening up a
little.
"When you're at the end of the road
And you lost all sense of control
And your thoughts have taken their toll
When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul..."
He stops abruptly, "S-Sorry... I um...." My smile falters. He was doing well
not to mention his voice is amazing.
"Your voice is awesome, Patrick." I reply with a smile, "I mean, I don't sing
much but you're amazing."
"R-really...?" He squeaks. I pull the toast from the toaster and place it on a
plate, "Butter or jam?"
"Butter." He replies.
"Yes, your voice is awesome," I continue, "You're really fucking talented."
"U-Uh... thanks..." He smiles softly.
"Don't you believe me?" I ask, pretending offended.
"Yeah-er..." He pauses, "No, not really..."
I pull him down from my back serving him his plate at the table, "If you could
see yourself the way I could see you, you would treat yourself so much better,
Baby." I whisper.
I press a kiss to his temple letting my lips rest for a moment and letting his
hair tickle my nose. My feet twist under me as I return to the kitchen and make
myself a cup of coffee, occasionally looking over to see him nibbling on the
bread. It makes my heart twist inside me to see him at least trying to eat. He
swallows before taking a bite. It's very comical, he looks disgusted but after
a bit of chewing he gives in to the pleasure and begins scarfing it down.
"Your stomach is gonna get upset if you eat like that," I say with a weak
smile.
He turns, blushing with wide eyes, "S-Sorry..." He murmurs.
I roll my eyes, "Don't say sorry. You've got nothing to say sorry for, Sugar."
I pour my coffee into my mug and set the pot down before I walk over to the
dining table and add some sugar, just a small bit but enough to make a
difference. Patrick's watching intently as I work, his green eyes glued to my
hands, or my coffee, or my crotch. Whichever is more appealing to him.
I take a sip of my drink and shut my eyes, enjoying the moment and trying to
wake up a bit more.
Bzzt
I pull out my phone and see I have two texts, one from Mama, one from Pete:
Pete: Mom said about 4 ish so I'll see you in a bit
Mama: I need you to talk to Patrick today when you have time. It's important.
"Who's that?" He asks curiously.
"Pete," I reply, "He's coming over at 4." I glance up at the clock: 8:12.
"When does Donna get home?"
"8 at night," I reply, "She has to work really long shifts or we can't get
enough money to keep the house... After-" I cut myself off, I don't like
talking about it but I force myself to anyways, "After... Dad passed... She had
to take care of all the money for the house... The legal age to work is 17
so... I can't work for it yet..." I lower my head, resting it on my arm, "I
want to take care of her but... without a proper place I'm stuck just having to
watch her work and stress. She barely eats and she smokes too much to be
healthy... I wish she wasn't so..." I sigh unable to find words to describe it,
"Stressed or... busy I guess..."
He lowers his head, "I'm sorry..."
My head shakes, "It's-It's nothing... It's fine."
I see him bite his lip, "Do you... uh... want to go to the bridge today? We
could stay there for a while... If you want... I don't know..."
I nod softly, "Yeah... Yeah, that sounds good."
He smiles to himself, "Cool..."
There's silence as he finishes his toast and I drink the rest of my coffee.
I begin to text Mama while we eat, my fingers moving fast on the small keyboard
as I drink down my coffee and pay close attention to how Patrick's eating.
Gerard: About what?
Mama: His dad wants to talk to him.
Gerard: in jail?
Mama: yeah. They said a phone call would also work. But only if Patrick
consents.
Gerard: okay, we're going out for a little bit. I'll talk to him if I can.
Mama: Thank you.
Once breakfast is over and we get our shoes and coats on, we leave the house
and begin walking down the street, my phone in my pocket and his hand squeezing
mine. I'm nervous about talking to him. Would he want to talk to his dad or
Kevin? Or would he not want to? Are they getting better? Why would it be safe
for his dad to talk to him? What would happen if he just made threats? I'm
afraid that something is going to happen to Patrick to make his mental state
impossibly worse. Maybe it would be good for him, though... Maybe it wouldn't
be that bad... I just need to talk to him. It's his choice.
There are leaves scattering the neighboring lawns and chestnuts found in the
cracks between fences. It's autumn and, not to mention, Halloween is well on
its way. I've never liked Halloween much, mostly because Dad was never super
enthusiastic about it so Mama would take us instead.
"Have you ever celebrated Halloween?" I ask Patrick as my thumb massages the
back of his hand.
"A few times," He replies simply, "Before-" His breath catches but he forces it
out, "B-before... The Incident... Mom, Kevin, Megan, and I would go... I used
to always dress up as a vampire." I laugh, he smiles softly. That fragile
little smile.
"I would go with Mama and Mikey," I reply, knowing he doesn't want to finish,
"Mikey and I were always mummies but Mama would dress up as Sally from The
Nightmare Before Christmas."
"You like Tim Burton?" He blurts excitedly.
"Yeah, Dad loved him," I reply with a little more of a hop in my step.
"Same here," He says, "What was your favorite movie from him?"
"Umm," I bite my lip, deep in thought, "The Corpse Bride."
"Really? I was always a fan of The Nightmare Before Christmas."
"Eh, we all like different stuff," I shrug.
"What else do you like?" He asks curiously, his head tilted and his eyebrows
narrowed. God, he's adorable.
"You, your voice, your goddamn blowjobs," I smirk. It's so fucking cheesy but
goddammit I can't help myself.
He rolls his eyes, "Whatever."
"What? I wish you could give yourself one, they're fucking amazing." I reply
defensively.
He bites his lip and shakes his head, his mood dropping as fast as an anchor
through the sky. He lets out a huff of air, frustrated with his eyebrows
furrowed, "And who do you think taught me?" He snaps, his hand leaving mine and
going to his pocket.
Real smooth, Gee.
"Patrick... I didn't mean it like that..." I sigh as I quickly realize my
mistake.
He shakes his head and keeps walking so I end up just putting my own hands in
my pockets and walking by his side, our pace in sync.
There's complete silence besides the occasional bark of a dog and the tweet of
a bird. I really shouldn't have said that, what's wrong with me? Where else was
he supposed to learn it from? Porn? No. He's too innocent for that and I know
the guy who ruined his innocence, ruined his life as well.
It's just stupid bullshit. He shouldn't have gone through that and I shouldn't
have brought it up.
Don't put yourself down like that, you didn't know.
Why do I feel like I should have, then?
It's just the guilt. Don't blame yourself for anything. It's going to be fine,
just get through the rest of this evening and it'll all be fine.
It'll be just fine.
We make it to the bridge, his hands in his pockets and his mood beginning to
rise again. He's the first to break the silence as we sit down, his eyes
lowered in shame with an apology consisting of, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't act
like that. I just... I've been so frustrated with everything lately. I'm
sorry..."
I swallow and pull him close, "It's fine, Love..." I swallow, realizing that
right now is my opportunity to ask him about Dad and Kevin.
"Hey so..." I take a deep breath, "Mama was texting me during breakfast and...
uh... she wanted me to talk to you about maybe having a phone call with..." I
trail off, afraid to say his name, afraid it'll only hurt him.
"With who?" Patrick asks.
I pull him closer, "Your dad. He uh... He wants to talk to you. You don't have
to do it if you don't want to. But if you consent to it, you'll talk to him for
a bit. It'll be monitored so we know he won't threaten you or-"
"Yes." Patrick says, interrupting me.
"I want to."
***** Chapter 36 *****
---Patrick---
Yesterday went by too fast, and today seems to go by even faster. It's 3:52 PM.
Pete still isn't here to see me, what does he want to talk about? Me? Our
friendship? Maybe he's admitting his love to me.
I get that was a joke but was it really necessary? Nobody loves you, 'Trick.
I know. Who could love me? I couldn't even take it when Gerard mentioned my
blowjob earlier. I should be able to. What's wrong with me? He didn't know, how
could he know? More importantly, why did I snap? I shouldn't have. Not at him,
at least, he didn't deserve it. He's such a sweet person and... God, I had to
go and screw it up.
You screw up everything, don't you? You screwed up your mom's life, you messed
up your family: Megan, Kevin, Dad, Mom. If it weren't for you, your own Mom
wouldn't be dead, Kevin and Dad wouldn't be in jail, and Megan wouldn't be
living with Kellin. You'd get the family you always dreamed for.
Tears are falling down my cheeks, and I try and fail to hold back a sob.
You're a fucking disappointment to the world, I can't believe you'd ever think
that someone could love you. Gerard's just there to make sure you don't go off
and kill yourself. You know he doesn't love you. He never has loved you, and he
never will love you. You should stop talking to him and break his promises. He
won't care. How could he care? You're pathetic!
I am.
Say it you little bitch.
"I'm pathetic," I whisper, "I'm broken. I'm a disappointment. I'm fat," I let
out a sob as I let the words pierce my heart, "I'm ugly. I'm a cutter. I'm
unlovable..." My voice cracks and my breath shudders as I whimper out the last
word, "I'm disgusting."
"You're beautiful." My eyes dart up to see Gerard at the door with a bowl of
rice, he looks sad, but I know it's not true. It can't be true. How could
anyone love me? I shake my head from where I'm sitting, on the floor beside his
bed. He walks forward, continuing his sentence and handing over the bowl of
rice, "Please don't say that about yourself, I love you. I love you so much,
and it hurts to see you like this. You are so beautiful and amazing and
talented. I love your voice and the way you sing 21 Guns. I love how strong you
are. I love how you look, you're absolutely perfect in my eyes and one day I'll
prove it to you, do you understand?"
I lower my eyes, "It's not true... None of it's true..."
"Patrick, don't lie to yourself. Your self-esteem is low, but one day it's
going to be so much higher. Pete's here, so I'm gonna leave you two alone for a
while, okay?" He asks.
I nod softly, "Th-Thank you..."
"Anytime, Sugar."
He gets up and leaves. It's just a favor to him. He thinks he's doing me a
favor lying to me, but I know the truth. I'm a mess, physically, mentally, and
emotionally. I take a few pieces of rice from the bowl since Gerard said it
would help settle my stomach.
The door opens again, and I see Pete at the door in a black t-shirt with his
short black hair pointed straight up... kind of like Brendon but much shorter.
"Hey, 'Trick." He says with a low volume, like I'm so broken that even a loud
voice could shatter me. It probably could, to be completely honest.
"Hey," I give a weak smile as he sits beside me. There's silence as I eat but
after about a minute or so I hear him whisper, "I missed you..."
"I missed you, too," I say plainly. I did, didn't I?
"I... I came because I wanted to say sorry for... everything that happened
three years ago." My breath hitches at even the mention of The Incident, "I'm
sorry that I was so clingy and that I was constantly worried about you... I
understand how annoying it can get... Especially after...." He trails off,
"After I... attempted suicide..."
"Suicide?" I blurt out in surprise. He attempted suicide? When? Where? Why
didn't I find out? Was it after I left? Or before?
"G-Gerard didn't tell you?" He asks quietly. I can only shake my head. My ex-
friend-I mean-best friend tried to commit suicide, and I didn't find out? How?
Did Gerard not want to tell me or something? What? He sighs, "I... After you
had left, I became really depressed... And you know my bipolar disorder
contributed to that... I... I wouldn't stop... h-hurting m-myself..." He's
trying not to cry. My Pete doesn't cry. My Pete never cried around me. He was
always so strong, did I really do this to him? It's all my fault... isn't it?
"I couldn't take it, Patrick. I knew it was my fault that you pushed me away, I
kept blaming myself, and I couldn't stop. I ended up in the hospital twice
because I hurt myself so much... I missed you horribly, but you wouldn't let me
back in. Everyone was kind of depressed. We missed you..." I find myself
wrapping my hands around him, guilt swelling inside me. This was all my fault,
"B-Brendon was always stressed and his anxiety spiked, Joe's OCD got worse,
Frank wouldn't stop blaming himself, Ryan and I became severely depressed. I
became suicidal. We all kind of relapsed...
"I was in my car in an empty parking lot when I tried to take my life..." His
voice is just barely audible now, and he's crying, so I wipe his tears as I hug
him, "I-I o-overdosed on A-Ativan... When I woke up I was in the hospital...
the doctor told me I'd called Brendon and h-he came to where I was and c-called
911... I w-was playing Hallelujah in the car...
"I missed you so much..." He sobs. I'm not crying, but I can feel my heart
breaking. I fucked up really, really bad.
I grasp onto him like if I let go, he'll be back in that car, trying to kill
himself again. I didn't realize... I didn't realize I hurt them that much...
"I-I can't stop blaming myself f-for everything, and I started writing songs...
they're horrible, Patrick, they're so fucked up. I don't know... I can't seem
to do anything right anymore..." He ends it in a whisper, a sad, almost
pleading tone of voice. Pleading for it all to end for the pain to go away.
Anything.
"Can I see?" I ask quietly. I want to see what they made. They can't be that
bad.
He swallows and shakes his head, "They're at home... I don't... They're kind of
personal..."
I squeeze his hand softly, "That's okay. It's gonna be fine... I promise you,
and I haven't broken a promise yet, I don't want to lose you, do you
understand? You're my best friend, and I'm so sorry for making you feel like
that... like shit... I'm sorry for leaving, I didn't think anyone would miss me
and once Dad started..." I pause, "Y'know... I didn't think anybody loved me
anymore or even cared for me. I'm sorry for... everything... I shouldn't have
done it..."
He hugs me closer, "I'm sorry for being so clingy... It's just... it's been
three years, and I was too scared to talk to you before now... I was scared
you'd get mad at me..."
"Pete, I'd never be mad at you. You'll always be my best friend..." I whisper,
"Always..."
***
It was my fault. It was all my fault. There's another thing I've fucked up in
these past few years. I can still hear Pete's words echoing in my ears,
"Brendon was always stressed and his anxiety spiked, Joe's OCD got worse, Frank
wouldn't stop blaming himself, Ryan and I became severely depressed. I became
suicidal. We all kind of relapsed..."
I'm so mad at myself. I can't believe I could do that. He was so happy. Sure,
he's bipolar and depressed, but now he's suicidal, because of me. Not to
mention the rest of my friends getting worse.
I'm a monster. Just like my dad, I've hurt so many people, it's only a matter
of time before I hit one and after that, it's just a downward spiral.
The blade is right there in my hand, all I have to do is dig it into my wrist.
I was lucky to find it on Gerard's desk, and I'm not too worried about any kind
of diseases, it'll mean I die quicker, right?
I press down, and I'm ready to slide it, leaving a fresh cut and a line of red.
I'm about to break a promise I made to Gerard. I've told enough lies in my
life, though, this is just one more. I feel guilty about it, but at the same
time, I really don't care. I need this.
And I try to move my hand.
But I can't.
Am I really doing this? Breaking a promise to the boy who saved my life? The
boy who showed me the light when I thought there was none?
Am I really doing this?
Do it. Now.
But I can't.
You can. Just do it.
I can't. Oh god, I can't.
Patrick, just cut it, you pussy. Fucking hurt yourself! You deserve it!
I set down the blade and walk away.
Isn't that the right choice?
You wish.
"Hey, Patrick?" I hear Gerard call from outside the bathroom.
"Just a minute!" I call, quickly flushing the toilet and turning on the sink
for a moment. He can't know. He can't get suspicious. It could get bad.
I turn off the faucet and wait another moment, as if I'm drying my hands, then
turn the knob on the door, opening it. Donna is standing in the kitchen on the
phone and Gerard has a gentle, caring expression on his face.
"Uh... your dad is on the phone." He says, "Are you sure about this? You don't
have to go through with it if you don't want to."
I take a deep breath, feeling my lungs inflate and deflate like a balloon,
filled, and then emptied, "Yeah," I step past him, through the hall, and stand
in front of Donna, my hands in my pockets nervously. This is it. We're really
going through with this.
"He's here, one moment." She says into the phone, then hands it over, mouthing
out a "Good luck." I stifle the eye-roll.
"Patrick Stumph?" The man asks, a dark tone in his voice.
"Yes, Sir," I quickly respond, intimidated by him and immediately backing off.
I don't want him to think I'm stuck up or anything. I just want to talk to my
dad.
"Okay, your father is here. Your conversation will be monitored from both sides
for security purposes. And just so it's recorded in the system, you are
consenting to this conversation, correct?"
"Yes, Sir, I am," I reply, my voice shaky in anxiety.
"Okay, transferring the line now."
The phone goes silent for a moment, and I swallow nervously as I wait, my hands
gripping the table. I'm about to talk to my dad. The man who beat me for three
years. The man who wanted to kill me for being a faggot. Who taught me, I could
never be useful. What will he say? Will he yell at me? Will he insult me? Will
he say I deserved everything like I do? I don't know. All I know is that he
wants to talk to me.
"Patrick?"
His voice is weak, depressed, but there's a glow of hope somewhere in there,
and it makes me stand up straight, no longer leaning on the table. It makes me
realize this is really happening and I have to take a deep breath before
replying.
"Dad."
There's a small pause, and then he speaks, "I uh... I know things might not be
the same between us... Ever again... I understand if you never want to talk to
me again. I wouldn't want to either. I was such an ass. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry
for drinking and having to put you through that all. I'm so sorry for
everything I ever did to you. I'm trying to get sober again. I'm going into
rehab soon. I'm going to get better. So I can't hurt anyone ever again. I'm so
fucking sorry, and I know that saying it won't fix anything. I fucked up so
bad. Nothing I can say would ever just make it better. I'm trying to get
better, though. I'm such a fucking asshole. I hurt you... Nothing could forgive
that. I just... I'm so sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me. I shouldn't
have done what I did, I-"
"Dad." I interrupt, my eyes watering and a smile across my lips, "Don't say
sorry, okay...? You were depressed. You had nowhere else to go. Drinking was
your only escape. I forgive you."
I hear an audible gasp come from both Donna and Gerard simultaneously and
Gerard even begins choking on air, I ignore it.
"I love you. I'm sorry about everything. I'm sorry I put you through all of
that. It was my fault... I should have never let... I should have never let her
die." I'm sobbing now, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything I did to you.
I'm so sorry. It's not your fault. I-I..."
Gerard hugs me from behind as I cry.
"I forgive you." I take a deep breath as I restrain the tears.
"Patrick, it was never your fault. We both know it was unavoidable. It's not
like you could've known. She's... She's passed. It's okay. It's all okay. I
want you to know that it wasn't your fault. Please don't forgive me. I'm a
horrible person. After everything I did to you, I'm surprised you even wanted
to talk."
Inhale, exhale.
"Look, Patrick, we don't have much time before I have to go. I want you to know
that I'm sorry. I'm getting better. I... I hope you're happy with your
boyfriend. I want you to know you never deserved any of what I did. Any of what
Kevin did. I know. I know what he did. I'm so sorry. I should've stopped him. I
should have stopped him. That never should've happened to you. Never. You've
never done anything to deserve something like that."
I bite my lip at that information. He knew. He knew...
"Ten seconds!" Someone calls from the background.
"I love you." He says hurriedly, "Tell Gerard to take care of you for me, okay?
Take care of yourself. I have to go. Bye."
"Bye, I love you, too."
The line goes dead, and I'm left empty.
Just... numb.
***** Chapter 37 *****
Chapter Notes
     Uhhh have some shitty smut lmao
---Patrick---
Young and reckless. Time seems to go by faster when you're happy. Or...
happier...
I'm not happy. I'm still a mess. I'm still pathetic, but I'm starting to get
better, that's what Dr. Strauss anyways. I... barely feel any better but I am a
little less anxious around people, and I've found a little bit of a purpose in
life. My self-esteem hasn't gotten any better yet... but that's okay. It will
eventually, right?
Ever since I talked with Dad, I've felt a little calmer knowing he's getting
better. Knowing he's trying. It bothers me, though... He knew about Kevin. He
knew what Kevin did, and he did nothing. It makes me question if he really is a
homophobe. Especially when he told me that he wanted me to be happy with
Gerard. It creeps me out, though. It was incest. Everything Kevin was doing was
incest. Even if he's not a homophobe, that has to cross a line. I guess it just
never mattered to him. He never cared. Who would? I deserved it.
The need to cut has gotten worse and worse. I've found myself picking at my
skin, desperate to have my adrenaline pumping again and have that sweet release
again. Every time I've picked up the blade, though, I've always been able to
put it back down and walk away. I can't break my promise to Gerard...
And... I've started thinking about Gerard in a different way. I... I think I
want him... I don't know yet, and I'm still deciding, but the more I think
about it, the more appealing it sounds. We've had plenty of blowjobs and
handjobs, and I think I want to at least try to have... actual... y'know...
A month has passed. It's November 12th now, Saturday. It's been on my mind all
fucking day, and it doesn't help that I've had a constant semi-boner all
morning. I want to ask, but I keep having doubts. What if he isn't ready? What
if... what if he asks if I'm a virgin and I have to tell him about what Kevin
did? What if he thinks I'm disgusting when I tell him...? I feel like it was my
fault that Kevin did what he did. I was the one who decided to come home that
day. I was the one who he would choose over Megan and I. I'm relieved that he
didn't pick Megan, I would never want him to do something like that to her, but
it's still my fault that he... he raped me.
I was planning on saving myself until I was sure I was ready. I wanted to save
my virginity for the one person I know I want to spend my life with. God, it
sounds dumb now after what Kevin did. Why am I so fucking stupid?
I'm sitting at the dining room table now, my head down and earbuds in my ears.
It seems to be my only escape right now since I don't have a blade at the
moment and I can't help but let these things run through my head for what feels
like the hundredth time. I want to so, so bad. What would it be like to take it
slow? And actually enjoy it? What would it be like to feel him inside me...?
I shudder at the thought, and my pants begin to tighten even more. Goddammit.
Pathetic. You can't even think about him without making a fool out of yourself.
Shut up for once, please...
Nope!
Whatever...
I don't know if Gerard's too early to give up my... second virginity to. Is
there such a thing?
No, you know it was your fault that he had sex with you. You ruined that
forever ago, and now you have to face what you've done. You know he would
immediately break up with it. God, you're such a whore. A slut. Quit putting
labels to something that doesn't exist.
"You okay, Sugar?" Gerard asks, taking me from my thoughts. I pull my earbuds
out, Jesus of Suburbia still playing but I don't care. I've missed most of the
song anyways.
"Yea-" I cut myself off, remembering the promise I made forever ago, "No..."
He tilts his head, "What's wrong," He says, rubbing my shoulders. I feel a tear
drip from my nose. Where did that come from?
"I..." I trail off, it's hard to say. I don't want to make him think I want him
just for sex because that's not true. I know that's not true. I love him, "I...
U-uh..."
"You want to save it for later?" His voice is gentle, but no I want him now.
"No, please," I sound like I'm begging, fuck, "I... uh... If you don't want to,
it's fine, and w-we can wait but uh... I wanted to... maybe..." My breathing is
shaky, why is this so hard? As I quickly search my mind for the right words, I
decide the best way to put it is plainly, "I want you."
A blush immediately crosses my cheeks, embarrassment is the dominant emotion,
and I see Gerard blush softly, too. In most of the same situation.
"Are you a... uh... virgin?" He asks.
I continue to look up at him, quickly considering my options here. I can lie
and say yes, and he won't find out about Kevin... I don't want anyone to find
out about Kevin. Nobody needs to know about it. The only people who know are
him, me, and Megan. It doesn't matter. It was my fault. Why would I tell anyone
unless I was looking for attention? But then again, it would be a lie and I'd
be breaking a promise I made to Gerard.
But on the other hand I can tell the truth and say no. In which, I'd tell him
about Kevin and more people would find out, possibly my therapist. I don't want
more people to know about it. At the same time, I'd be telling the truth and it
wouldn't break a promise.
Or I could avoid it altogether. I don't need sex. It's not like Gerard would
even want to do it with me. I'm a pig. Fat, chubby, ugly.
I lower my eyes, "N-Nevermind, it's stupid, sorry."
"No, Sugar, wait. I want to, I'm ready... I'd be okay with this, I need to know
if you're a virgin." He croons. I can't tell him because it was my fault and
he's going to think I'm a slut and a whore and... I can't do this. I'm going to
puke.
"N-no," I answer truthfully.
He squeezes my shoulders a bit harder, worried. And then he replies, and his
voice is so gentle and soft I can barely hear it. It's just over a whisper and
the words that leave have enough power to make me freeze up and panic, "Was
it... Was it Kevin?"
He guessed right. He knows it was my fault. He knows how much of a slut and a
whore I am. He knows he knows, he knows, and it kills me inside. He's going to
beat me, he's going to hurt me so badly. I don't want it. So I do what I always
do: I lock myself up. I freeze up, my breathing hitches, I stare off at the
ground and try to process words that can't seem to come to mind. I find myself
whispering out the words with no emotion, "It was my fault. I'm sorry."
"Hey, hey, Baby, you have nothing to say sorry about. Please, I want you to
understand that. You think it's your fault? That he raped you? You need to
listen to me, it's not your fault, okay?"
"Yes, it is! I'm not a virgin anymore. I wanted to save it for someone but I
was so stupid, and I knew he would do it. I fucking knew and still, I went
there and I- I- I'm so sorry. I trust you so much, and I wasted it and... I'm
so so sorry..." I can't stop shaking and stuttering, and it's making the words
inaudible.
"Patrick, shh," He runs his fingers through my hair, pulling me close and
letting me freak out into his chest, "It wasn't your fault, okay?"
I shake my head. It was. It was all my fault. Everything he did to me was my
fault. Everything Dad did to me was my fault. Her death was my fault. It was
all me. Everything.
"Do you trust me?" He asks a little more gently.
I look up at him, hesitantly, but I still nod softly, backing away from him the
slightest.
"Did you consent to what he did?"
I shake my head.
"Did you tell him to stop?"
I nod.
"Then it wasn't your fault, understand?" I nod, "Good, and because it wasn't
your fault you're a virgin, do you understand?" I nod, again, it's a half lie,
but I'm a little more enthusiastic about this one, "You've still saved your
virginity, okay?"
I bite my lip. Could I really... Could this actually work out?
"Are you sure about this? Do you want to do this?" He asks gently, "We can wait
if you're not ready and if you think it might trigger you, we don't have to. I
want you to enjoy it because that's what... that's what sex is supposed to do.
This is from me to you and you to me. It's emotional. It's... more than just
the pleasure, y'know?"
I take a breath and after a moment, I reply, "Yeah, I wanna do it..."
A smile creeps across his mouth as he blushes softly and admits, "I don't
exactly have a condom."
"I," I blush, a little worried, "Are you clean?"
He nods vigorously, "Of course, you don't see me popping seven pills a day, do
you?"
Well, I kinda do, but it's got nothing to do with STDs. I know that. I manage a
smile and nod, "Okay, it's fine."
He looks up at the clock, it's 6 which means we have two hours before Donna is
supposed to come home. I'm excited but nervous as he leads me into the bedroom
and softly pulls me under him on the bed. I know I'm not taking off my shirt...
I'm still not comfortable with it, but that's okay... I... I know this is the
right choice. He saved my life. He's helped me with my anxiety and depression
and PTSD and... everything. The only thing he can't do is the one thing nobody
can do. My self-esteem is still horrible and I know I'm an ugly fuck. Gerard
can't change that. Nobody can.
"I'm taking this slow," Gerard whispers, stroking my hips, "I want you to enjoy
this as much as I will, okay?"
"W-Whatever pace you want is fine," I blush, looking away as he begins to kiss
my neck and grind on me softly.
"Slow. We'll both like it more. Trust me," My breathing almost immediately gets
uneven, and I have to stifle a moan, trying not to sound like the slut I am
when he nibbles the sensitive skin on my neck.
He kisses my lips, his are soft, and they taste just like the coffee he drank
this morning with that hint of sugar. It tastes so good, beautiful. I love it
so much, I pull him in harder by the back of his head feeling him begin to lick
into my mouth and run his fingers up and down my sides. The sound of spit and
smooching echoes through the room each time our lips part, but it's kind of a
satisfying sound. It sends my heart fluttering in my chest and my hands
grasping his shirt. He takes it as a move to begin to unzip my jacket.
"W-Wait," I blurt out, gasping for breath, "D-don't..."
He looks up and shakes his head, a worried glance in his eyes.
"I need you to trust me with everything, 'Trick," He says, "If you don't trust
me looking at all of you, I can't do this."
My breaths become a little slower as I realize what he's saying. Am I really
ready to show him? I'm sure he's seen but that... that was different. That was
when I was unconscious in the hospital for six days straight. I couldn't stop
that. I... I want to do this but I'm terrified of what he'll think. Terrified
he'll hurt me. But... he wants me to show him...
And I will.
I give him a belated nod, placing his hands back on the zipper of my hoodie and
giving him permission to continue. He zips it the rest of the way down and
throws it to the floor before he pulls my shirt up over my head, slowly as he
takes in the mess of... me...
The shirt now lays forgotten on the floor as his eyes dart over the secrets
I've kept from him for so long. The messy U-G-L-Y on my stomach. My misshapen
stomach. The various scars scattered across my skin, fading away to dark marks
on the pale surface. I don't know what's worse, his reaction or the fact that
I'm letting him do this. He looks devastated, pain in his eyes as he takes it
all in. The only thing he can manage is a small, "I love you..."
"I love you, too."
He kisses me softly, trailing his fingers up my chest and kissing down my neck.
I let out a soft moan as he makes as many marks as he can, sucking and nibbling
on my neck. My eyes roll back in pleasure when he grinds a little harder, he's
hard, and I can feel it. It's fucking hot but at the same time, scary.
"You're beautiful, Patrick, you know that, right?" He asks.
I roll my eyes with a ghost of a smile on my lips.
"You are," He whispers, "Don't you believe me?"
I bite my lip and shake my head, "No, not really..."
He huffs out frustrated, "Then I guess I'll have to show you." He runs his
fingers through my hair as he kisses me, "I love the color of your hair, the
way it feels under my fingers. I love running my fingers through it, and I love
tugging it when I can. It's soft, and it smells really nice, too." He kisses me
again, I can't help but kiss back because his lips are addicting and my heart
is fluttering and I don't know what else to do, "I love your eyes, I love how
they crinkle when you smile, and I love the green and the blue. I want to paint
them someday. Don't let anyone take the light behind your eyes because the
world might be ugly but you're beautiful to me."
He bites my lip this time, tugging it softly and it makes me melt a little
inside, squirming because I'm beginning to hurt from the strain in my jeans. He
continues, "I love your lips. I love how soft they are and how sweet they
taste. How sweet you taste." He kisses down my jawline, forcing my chin up as
he hums into my sensitive skin, "I love your neck because I can mark you mine.
I love how much you moan when I kiss, and lick, and bite you there." He kisses
down my chest and sucks on one of my nipples. My face goes a dark red with
embarrassment because holy shit is that weird but damn do I love it. He kisses
down my chest to my stomach, it's so disgusting. I'm disgusting. I don't
understand how he could have anything nice to say about it but he does, "I love
your stomach because it's a perfect size. You shouldn't change yourself to look
beautiful for people because you're perfect just the way you are, understand?
You are beautiful."
I hum in understanding, my voice is deep as I try to hold back a groan. Gerard
continues to kiss down to just above my waistline, and he proceeds to unzip my
jeans with his teeth, keeping an intense gaze on me. That alone is enough to
make me come, and I can't help but let out a moan, "You get the sighs and the
moans just right, Sugar, I love that, too."
Gerard has to look down for a moment to finish pulling off my pants, and he
kisses my milky white legs, "I love your thighs, too, they're beautiful, and I
love how..." He sucks right where he knows I'm extremely sensitive and I have
to let out a needy moan, "I can make you moan with just my lips." His hands
trail up to my hips where he kisses for a little bit sucking and licking and
biting mixed in, "I love your hips because that's where I can hold onto while I
make you scream."
A wildfire spreads through my cheeks as he continues to kiss back up to my
lips, "Do you see now? You're beautiful to me, you're so, so beautiful and I
don't want you to ever think differently because I love you and it hurts me to
know you hate how you look..."
I kiss him again, a smile across my lips. Does he really think that? Does he
really think I look beautiful?
His hands trail down my stomach, leaving goosebumps in his path. It feels like
fire on my cold skin as I pull off his jacket and shirt, throwing it on top of
my own shirt and I don't know what comes over me but the next thing I know,
he's under me, and I'm kissing his neck, exploring and trying something new.
I've never been on top before, but I think I kind of like it.
"Fuck, Patrick," He breaths when my mouth goes down, down, down.
I yank off his pants, getting more and more and more desperate but I still
somehow take my time in it, my eyes taking in every detail because I want to
remember this. I want to remember what's about to happen until I die. I don't
care that he might leave me because I want him so goddamn bad.
As soon as his underwear is off, I can't help but blush softly because we both
know what comes next and I'm beginning to have second thoughts. Maybe I'm not
ready, maybe I want to save my "virginity" for another man. Maybe this isn't
the right choice.
At the same time, though, I know I'm in love with Gerard: I'd do anything for
him, and he'd do anything for me. I love him. I love him so much, and I haven't
been surer of anything in my life, I want this. I want him.
As if he can see the hesitation in my eyes, he flips us back over so he's on
top and then there's a blade of fear that pierces my stomach, "A-am I taking
this dry?" I ask, panicking slightly. Isn't that supposed to hurt? Like a lot?
Well shit, I'd know. Kevin did that and it sure as hell didn't feel right.
"No, no, no," He reaches over with a soft smile and opens his bedside drawer to
grab a bottle of lube.
A blush crosses my face, what the hell does he use that for?
"Uh... personal use..." he says, his voice quiet. Shit, did I say that out
loud? "Wanna take this slower, Kay? Want you to know I love you," he kisses me,
his fingers tangling in my hair and his lips soft against mine, "This is gonna
last, I love you. Love you so damn much."
He pulls away, black hair a mess above his sincere brown eyes, and a small
smile tugging at those coffee lips, "I want you to forget about him. About
everything. I just want you to think of me. Remember that it doesn't matter
anymore. It's all in the past and you're so beautiful. So beautiful, I dunno
what I'd do without you."
I smile into his lips, my hand reaching out to cup his jaw, "I love you, too.
I..." I bite my lip, "I don't want to spend my life with anyone else."
"Me neither," he whispers, pressing our lips together again.
He leans back, and I watch intently as his nervous hands begin to spread the
lube along his fingers, "I'm um... gonna stretch you, so it doesn't hurt as
much so just... try to bare with me and keep your eyes on me..."
I nod in understanding, his eyes are glued to his fingers as he bites his lip
and starts with one. I wince slightly, but it doesn't hurt too bad it just
feels really, really weird. He slides it as far in as he can and looks up at
me, searching my face for any sort of pain or pleasure or... really anything.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, it um... feels kind of weird but keep going..." I reply, a slight blush
in my cheeks. He gives me a soft nod before he leans forward to kiss me,
thrusting it in a few times, it starts to feel a little better but not much.
He adds a second, pulling his lips away. This one begins to hurt, not by much
but still enough to make my breathing uneven. He wiggles it around, careful to
slide each digit across my walls and stretching me as well as he can as to not
cause me any pain, then adds a third. This one burns, and it does not feel
pleasureful. I can't stop the whine that leaves my mouth.
"Hold on..." He twists his fingers around, and soon enough there's a burst of
pleasure as he rubs a particular spot, and this is strange but holy shit it
feels amazing.
"Shit!" I moan out, bucking my hips up and I don't understand how it feels so
good.
Gerard chuckles slightly and holds my hips down as he mercilessly rubs it. I'm
going to cum, and he's not even going to touch my leaking cock.
"S-stop..." I moan, half begging.
He pulls his fingers back and thrusts them in a few times, stretching me out.
It hurts but it feels good. Pleasure is beginning to engulf me.
"Okay, I'm gonna um... put myself inside you... if you want me to stop, just
let me know." He says. I nod in understanding and watch as he slides more lube
across his length. On the inside, though, I can't process anything except for
holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.
"Are you sure?" He asks one last confirmation.
"Yes," I whisper, "please..."
He grabs my hips (which makes me flinch), pulling me a little closer and my
eyes are glued on what's happening as he lines up and begins to slide in.
I grip the sheets almost immediately. I feel all my control leave my fingertips
as my eyes shut. It hurts. It hurts so bad, and I hate it. It feels like
Kevin... it feels like what he did to me, and I beg silently to myself that the
images won't come back.
"Patrick," he shouts, "Are you still with me?"
I nod, but I can't open my eyes. I can't. I'm scared I'll see Kevin. I'm scared
I'll be back in my room on September 23rd. Terrified he'll be over me.
Terrified...
"Open your eyes." He demands.
I squeeze them further shut and shake my head.
"Patrick, open your eyes, or I will pull out."
I can't help but comply, tears lining the green pools of confliction. I don't
want him to hurt me, but I trust he won't. It's Gerard, "It's just me. I'm the
only one here, you're going to be just fine." His voice soothes me, "Deep
breath," I breath in and out, "Relax and try not to uh... clench... I guess...
um..." we both blush at his choice of words but I quickly comply, and he begins
sliding in a little easier, applying more lube as he goes.
It hurts a lot. It feels like hell, but I've been to hell. I would take this
over hell any day.
His pants are what really gets me, the way his voice just barely laces each
breath. The way how each exhale comes out as more of a whine than a breath.
It's like hearing heaven. It's completely worth the pain. Anything to hear
those beautiful sounds.
"There..." he whispers, all the way in. It's getting to be really awkward, but
at the same time, I really don't give a fuck because holy shit this is starting
to feel good, too, "Tell me when I can move. I don't want to hurt you."
I don't do anything to signal to him that I heard because I'm returning to that
haze again. The headspace where I can just kind of zone out and forget. To
completely surround myself with pleasure. To forget about everything but this.
I feel happy. I feel so fucking happy when I'm in this haze now. It makes me
feel at peace unlike how Kevin made it feel. As I wait for the pain to subside,
I count his breaths. One, two, three, four, five...
I'm at about twelve when I give him a small nod, focusing back in on him.
He does nothing, though.
I look up at him to see his head down, eyes fluttering across my body. He
probably didn't get the signal, "Hey, I'm ready."
Gerard looks up almost immediately but I'm taken aback when I see tears in his
eyes and my eyes immediately widen, "are you okay? What's wrong?"
He smiles softly, but it's not broken. It's not sad. He's... happy. Gerard
wipes the tears from his cheeks and sniffles, coming a little closer.
"I love you so much, Trick..." he whispers, "don't wanna lose you. Don't wanna
share you."
I find my own eyes begin to tear up and I instinctively pull him close, my lips
meeting his and my eyes squeezing shut. He hugs right back, his cock pressing
deeply inside me but that's completely out of mind. It's just him and I and
nobody else.
Gerard pulls back when he begins to run out of breath, I wipe the tears from
his coffee eyes and after one last peck, I reply, "I'm yours. I promise."
"How strong are your promises?" He whispers.
"I have yet to break one," I reply instinctively.
With that, he pulls out, only to thrust back in, gentle, caring.
I've never wanted him closer.
I will admit, it feels weird, the pain is beginning to fade, and it doesn't
exactly feel good but it's not the physicality of it that necessarily brings me
comfort. It's the emotional effect that comes with it. He starts up a slow pace
above me, wanting to start it before kissing me but I can tell it's getting
hard to focus on thrusting and kissing at the same time.
After a moment, I focus my attention back on Gerard, and I pull him down and
kiss his lips, desperate for his touch. He kisses back with those coffee lips,
moving them slowly against mine in such a way that is satisfying but still
somehow not enough. I want more. I want him to do something else. Something,
anything. This feels amazing as it is, but I need some sort of stimulation
because while it's nice to have him thrusting in and out of me, our bodies this
close with no boundaries. Nothing but love. Nothing but him and me and me and
him. I'm not getting much pleasure.
He rolls his hips against mine, the pain gone and my fears have disappeared
with it. Gerard presses his forehead against mine, letting me roll my eyes back
and buck my hips up needily. There isn't a single word exchanged. Only our
silent communication and I don't mind it. I honestly really like it. I love how
I just know what he wants. What he needs. I love how he's so content. How I'm
making him whine and pant. How I can make him this weak. While I don't have
control, I still have control. I can stop him. I can get him to feel good, and
I want to make him feel good.
He pulls back and swallows nervously before he stops for a moment. I whimper at
the loss of movement, but soon enough he starts up again at a slightly
different angle and-
"HOLY SHIT!" I basically scream out. He digs his fingers into my hips as he
brushes my prostate over and over again, hitting the bundle of nerves with a
soft force that only gets stronger and stronger. I'm happier now, more content
because I finally have stimulation and fuck this is nice. I roll my hips back
up against him, desperate for more friction.
He chuckles at my words and actions and kisses me as he continues to hit right
there. My grunts begin to build up, and the only stopping me from screaming in
ecstasy is how slow my orgasm is coming. I swear he's trying to torture me with
it.
"Touch yourself, Patrick," he whispers, so quietly I can barely hear it over
the slapping of skin. It sends goosebumps up my milky white skin, but I comply
my hand going to my length and beginning to palm it. My head is thrown back as
the bed squeaks under us, his hips moving faster and faster against mine. Sweat
rolls down my neck and exhaustion is honestly becoming a problem, but I can
tell he's close considering he's basically slamming into me and the loudest
sound in the room is the squeaky bed as the headboard hits the wall and the
sound of skin against skin.
"I love you so fucking much," he moans softly, "So much, goddamn."
"I love you, too..." I whisper it's hard to find my voice in the haze of
pleasure bursting through me and not to mention he's constantly kissing my lips
and our tongues are always exploring. I love it. I love this. I love him.
My hand goes a bit faster, and I can feel my climax coming up soon. It's
finally on its way and as I whimper, my thumb rubbing over the head of my
length, Gerard slams hard into my prostate, a yelp of pleasure escaping my
throat.
"I-I'm there, fuck, I'm gonna come." I breathe, my eyes are blown with lust.
He barely has time to register it before it's shooting across our stomachs. I'm
dully aware of my muscles clenching all the way up to my shoulders, my eyes
rolling back into my head, Gerard's lips doing their own kind of wonders on my
neck as my sweat slicked back arches off the bed, and finally the scream of
pleasure that leaves my throat. I feel him come at nearly the same time inside
of me. It feels strangely fantastic but not so amazing when it begins sliding
back down.
He collapses on top of me, panting heavily just after he's pulled out. We lay
there for a long while, listening to each other's breath begin to slow back to
a normal pace, and my fingers run lazily through his hair.
He shakily goes to his hands and kisses me slowly, I kiss back, too tired to
pull him any deeper, "You want to take a shower?" He asks, brushing my bangs
from my eyes.
"Please, I feel disgusting." I laugh. He pulls me up, taking a quick glance at
the time. 6:42.
"Not half bad," Gerard says with a smirk. My face turns a dark red again as he
pulls me into the bathroom and locks the door, turning on the light.
He quickly goes and starts the water, but I'm distracted by my reflection. My
fat stomach, my lumpy, damaged arms. It's disgusting, and it makes me want to
puke.
"Patrick..." Gerard asks, pulling me close to him from behind, "I need to ask
you a serious question..."
I nod, "hmm?"
He sways us back and forth slowly, pressing his nose against my neck and
shutting his eyes. His dark black hair tickles my own nose, and I scrunch it up
softly at the feeling.
"Do you believe you're beautiful?" He asks.
It's hard to consider the question, I don't know if I do or not.
Do I? Am I really beautiful? Or am I really just an ugly faggot like everyone
says I am?
I'd say the latter.
I look at myself in the mirror and see a fat slob, ugly, disgusting, pathetic.
What does Gerard see? A handsome man? How? He told me he loves my hair and my
eyes, my lips and my stomach, my thighs and my hips. He said he loves me. He
told me not to try to change myself for other people because the world is ugly
but I'm beautiful to him. Is that true...?
"I don't know..." I whisper truthfully.
"What do you mean?" He asks.
"I want to say yes, but it's a lie." I turn to him, "I wanna say no, but that's
a lie, too..."
He hugs me close, and it takes all my will not to pay attention that our dicks
are basically rubbing at this point.
"I'll make you believe." He whispers, "I promise."
"How strong are your promises?"
"I have yet to break one."
***** Chapter 38 *****
---Patrick---
"Oh, hey? Mikey?"
I hear Gerard in the hallway outside our bedroom, the light on and his phone
gone from the bedside table, in its place is empty space and mine right beside
that empty space. I'm exhausted right now but curious as to why Mikey called.
Is he coming back? Did he just want to call? Why the hell is he calling at 10
at night? Oh yeah, he's in California. It must be 6 over there, huh?
"That's great! Oh my gosh. Do you know when you'll be back?"
Pause, I can hear the soft murmur of Mikey on the other end but just barely.
Only when I strain my ears.
"That's great, it's ten over here right now," Mikey, "No, no it's okay. I
hadn't gone to bed yet, I'll talk to Mama tomorrow morning, though and I'll let
her know, all right?"
Mikey.
"Okay, I love you... Bye."
I hear the call end, and I smile to myself as Gerard opens the door again, a
grin across his lips in such a goofy way I can't help but laugh, "You're so
adorable."
"Shut up," He replies playfully as he sets down his phone and crawls back in
bed, pulling the sheets up, "Goodnight, Love. I'll talk to you in the morning."
"Okay..."
***
"I'm home!" I call. Why do I call? I know what happens when I get home. I
always know what happens, it's happened so many times I've lost count and yet,
I still make the same silly mistake of announcing my presence to a house that
doesn't care. A house that's stood for at least 16 years, but it would still
rather watch me hurt than help.
The stairs from the basement creak as Dad comes up, I'm able to count each step
he's so loud, and as soon as he reaches the top step, I can't find the will to
run. I'm frozen as a gripping fear overcomes me. I scream at myself to move. I
scream from the top of my lungs but nobody can hear me while if I were to
scream, "I love you," at the top of my lungs, I'd be afraid someone else would
hear. It's silly how the world works. People only hear your cry for help after
the danger is gone. They only answer the call if it's worth their time. Would a
hurting boy be worth anyone's time? Or would they rather go to a boy who is
already on the road to health?
Either way, nobody is here for me. They can't hear my silent cry for help. Only
me and even I can't follow its orders.
"Where were you?" He growls a beer bottle in hand and a cigarette in the other.
Where was I? I... I don't remember...
"Answer me, Boy," he barks, slapping me.
"With Pete," I lie.
He scoffs and takes another swig of his beer, "To the wall."
I don't want to. I really, really don't want to. Blood splatters that wall,
thick, dark blood. That wall smells of leather and hurt and... I know if I
fight it will only be worse. I shut my eyes and with shaky hands, weak knees,
and sweaty palms, I press my forehead against the wall and wait for a lash of
pain, the whiplash. The tear in my shirt. The blood that oozes out of each cut.
It's disgusting. I'm disgusting. I deserve it. It's my fault this is happening.
I was the one who came home. I was the one who ruined his life. I was the one
who killed Mom. I'm the real monster here.
The first lash stings badly, and the only thing I can do is bite my tongue
until it bleeds and claw at the wall, desperate for something to hold onto or
bite down on or anything. But I don't have anything.
So I scream as my mouth fills with blood and I take what I deserve. Every last
drop of pain that belt has to offer is mine to tolerate.
The second lash rips open my shirt.
The third hits my skin straight on, and my vision flickers as the burn settles.
The fourth wakes me up.
***
"Patrick! Wake up, Baby." My eyes dart open, tears falling from them onto my
cheeks like droplets of rain. Gerard's here. Someone actually did hear my cry
for help, just not the person I want. I wish he wouldn't. I wish I could get
through this alone and not like the pathetic waste of space I am. I wish...
"You had a nightmare," he whispers. I look over to him and quickly wipe my
tears.
"I know," I snap. I don't know where it comes from but the moment it leaves my
mouth, Gerard's eyebrows furrow and I have to bite my lip out of fear that he
might hurt me.
Like you deserve, faggot.
He gives up, though, too tired to fight and falls back into bed, "Whatever, I'm
going back to sleep if you need me just wake me up."
I roll my eyes. He knows I can't sleep. He fucking knows but he doesn't care.
These nightmares have been going on for a week now, and they've made me more
and more irritable since I can't sleep. I'm too scared to. It's just stupid. I
hate Kevin. I hate Dad. I want some sleep, dammit.
I lay back down, pulling Gerard close, I don't like having these fights with
him, so I always try to let him know I still love him and I wouldn't leave him
for anything.
Right?
I'm starting to doubt myself. Why do I doubt myself? I know I love him. I don't
know where all these thoughts are coming from, but I'm starting to hate living
with him. I know. I should have thought about that before I moved in, but I
didn't. This last week has been a mess. Saturday and Sunday we were happy. We
had made love. Time passed, Monday came around, and I had a nightmare. I
snapped at him when I woke up and didn't talk to him until lunch at school. We
got into a fight on Tuesday about some stupid shit. I can't even remember what
it was about. That night we made up and had sex again. It was sex, not making
love. I couldn't stop myself from feeling guilty about being pissed, but it
quickly disappeared Wednesday morning when I yelled at him for being clingy.
Nothing happened Thursday, but now it's Friday, and I hate this. I should be
grateful that I'm not at my old house I guess but he keeps pissing me off
without any reason.
I'm also really, really craving a blade. I can't stop picking it up, but when I
do, I always back off and put it back in Gerard's desk. I hate the craving so
much. It's like it wants me to break all my promises I've ever made with Gerard
but at the same time, I really don't care about the promises.
I'm getting selfish. It isn't good.
I don't have any other form of release besides sex, and it's not like Gerard,
and I have a ton of that. There's the occasional blowjob or handjob, but I know
I can't get much more than that because A, I don't want him to start thinking
I'm just using him for pleasure and B, we get into too many fights to even get
in the mood. The only thing on my mind anymore besides the fighting is the
constant need to cut or fuck Gerard. I know why. It's the stress. The stress of
the nightmares, the stress of trying to get sleep, the stress that I'm annoying
him. Cutting releases the pressure in the form of blood down my wrist. Sex puts
me in that pleasurable headspace where all I can focus on is him and I and all
of my problems are forgotten. Kevin, Dad, Megan, my low self-esteem. It all
disappears, and I'm left with pleasure pure pleasure.
I want to tell him, but I'm scared he'll hide his blades if I really do think
I'll try to cut. I don't want him to stress about that and, besides, maybe I
will cut eventually, maybe... I just need a new addiction. A hobby because
listening to music, doing homework, and craving a release sure as hell isn't
helping me. I need something to do to get my mind off of life and the fights
and my past. I want-no-I need a distraction. I need a distraction from my life.
Anything, really. I don't give a shit.
I turn in bed, burying my head in Gerard's chest. Maybe I could get someone
like Pete or Brendon to help me. I do have friends besides Gerard, and he
doesn't have to be the only thing I focus on in life.
My eyes look up to see him looking back down, and I can't help but blush
softly. What those brown eyes do to me.
"I'm sorry..." I whisper, "About this past week I..."
"It's alright, Sugar," He whispers, "If you need anything just ask, alright?
I'll do anything to make you happy."
"O-Okay..." I whisper. I swallow, and I try to shut my eyes, desperate to get
some kind of sleep without nightmares, or anything. I lay, swayed slightly by
Gerard's gentle breaths. Comforted by the fact that he's here and he won't
leave.
But I still can't sleep.
Every time I close my eyes, Dad is there. Glaring at me, that belt in his hand,
the beer in his left with a cigarette hanging out his mouth. He's changing. I
know he's changing, but it still terrifies me. Just because he's getting
better, doesn't mean I can't stop lingering on the past. I'm afraid he'll only
get worse. I'm afraid he'll find me. Call me a slut, a whore, a fag. He knew.
He knew what Kevin was doing, and he didn't stop it. He knew I deserved it. He
knows I deserved it. Everyone does.
Even Gerard.
I don't realize I'm crying again until Gerard brushes my hair out of my eyes
and kisses me chastely. Innocent, sweet. His coffee lips. Dark, bitter,
beautiful.
He pulls away and holds me impossibly closer, his warm arms embracing me under
the covers and his voice ringing through the room not soon after.
"Now the night is coming to an end," I cling impossibly closer to Gerard, my
eyes widening because I immediately recognize that tune and I suppress the urge
to sing along.
"The sun will rise and we will try again." His voice sounds so warm like coffee
on a cold autumn morning. Then again, he reminds me of a cold autumn morning.
Of coffee. Of love.
"Stay alive, stay alive for me,
You will die, but now your life is free
Take pride in what is sure to die.
"I will fear the night again
I hope I'm not my only friend.
"Stay alive, stay alive for me
Take pride in what is sure to die." I feel myself drifting off and by the next
line, my eyes are shut and it's all fading to black.
"Take pride in what is sure to die."
***** Chapter 39 *****
---Gerard---
Up until now, life was shit.
But I think it's going well again. And I'm happy. And Patrick is happy, and I
don't think I've been so excited since Dad announced he was coming home.
Mikey's going to be here at around Christmas, and I'm honestly really, really
excited. The counselor there has to fill out some paperwork and get him
transferred over here which will take a bit but... Mama was... only half
excited. She knows why he left and she's mad at him for it. He's gone because
he couldn't bare seeing the house. Seeing where Dad used to walk the halls.
There were a couple of times he woke up screaming and crying for him, and I
know this place only made it worse, so he left. He couldn't take it anymore,
and he left for The Black Parade to try to heal. He's accepted it now. It's
just happened, and it's sad, yes, but it shouldn't take enjoyment from his
life. Dad's in a better place now. He gave up because he couldn't take any more
pain in his life and now he's in a place where he doesn't feel pain. He's in
his own black parade where the black banners are raised, and the crooked smiles
have faded.
My alarm goes off, signaling the morning but I could barely sleep until Patrick
fell asleep and I knew he was out which was at 3 in the morning at least.
I hear him yawn beside me, exhausted as I turn off my phone and pull him close.
"Gee," He groans in a light tone, "I don't wanna get up..."
I smile into his hair and nibble on his earlobe, "Maybe I could persuade you."
He groans louder, but I'm not sure if it's out of horniness or exhaustion.
I assume it's the former and pull the covers off of him, quickly yanking down
his pants onto to palm him through his boxers while simultaneously kissing his
neck. I'm still extremely exhausted, so I know this will be pretty
disappointing to him but I know this will wake him up. No to mention, I'm
trying to make up for all the fighting from the last few days.
"How late did you stay up last night?" He asks, a little more awake as I lick
him through his underwear.
"Couldn't sleep 'til you did," I reply softly, but I can't say anything after
that since his cock is now in my mouth.
"Shit, Gee," He whispers, gripping my hair as I bob on him. His anxiety has
gone down quite a bit this last month or so. He would have never grabbed my
hair the first time he had a blowjob from me, much less ask for one and he's
gotten a hell of a lot less self-conscious around me. Around other people, not
so much but I'm happy to know he trusts me so much. I just... wish the fights
wouldn't happen.
I give him one long, powerful suck, a whine leaving his throat as I slide off
and I'm able to say what I need to, "Fuck my mouth."
"W-what?" He asks, breathless.
"Fuck my mouth," I whisper. The blonde's face goes dark red, but he nods,
grabbing hold of my hair and thrusting up into my mouth. I wrap myself around
him and try to relax before he experimentally thrusts up again, hitting the
back of my throat. I look up at him making him blush.
"I um... Are you sure?"
I smile and nod as much as I can while he has me restrained down and my mouth
is on him.
"Uh... Tell me if you need air," He says nervously then takes my hair and
begins to thrust up, stifling a moan almost immediately. His hands grip my hair
even harder when he starts getting faster, letting all self-control escape him.
My eyes stay on his movements at each thrust. Watching his face blossom with
pleasure and want and need. I can't help but moan at the sight because goddamn
is he hot like this. My scalp is beginning to burn from the constant grabbing
and tugging, but I don't care. I love it, it feels nice.
It doesn't take long for him to release. I don't mind. We have to get up soon
anyway.
I swallow what he gives me without protest, the salty taste washing down my
throat quickly while he lays panting, his eyes shut in satisfaction and I crawl
back up, coughing slightly.
"Sorry... I um..." He looks down, "I've needed that..."
I smile and lean in for a kiss, but he pushes me away, "Ewww, I don't want to
taste that."
"You made me swallow it, the least you could do is kiss me." I laugh. He rolls
his eyes and kisses me with a smile.
"Thank you." He says.
"Mhmm."
We eventually get out of bed, taking a shower together. He gives me a blowjob
which I appreciate, and we eat breakfast (once we brush our teeth of course
because who the hell wants the taste of cum in their breakfast?) and we leave
for the bus. I bring my sketchbook with me like I do every day, but I don't
know what to draw. I keep looking around me. The trees, the buildings, the
cafes, the people, the bus. None of it really sparks my interest.
And then I remember the drawing I made of Patrick forever ago, probably laying
trashed in a random garbage truck and I have the sudden desire to draw him
again.
He's really the only interesting thing around me at the moment anyways, and I
don't know what else to draw, so I pursue the idea and begin drawing him. He's
completely oblivious, thankfully, because if he knew, he'd probably get mad and
start a fight. I really don't want to do that again. Not right now, at least.
Other people don't need to see that, not to mention with all the homophobes
that ride with us.
The bus continues to glide through the city, and I get started with his
jawline. His facial features: eyes, nose, mouth, hair, ears, and everything
else that you might need on a face. I start with his jawline, the way it goes
up and disappears under the back of his ears, joining with his neck and I go
back over it again once I'm satisfied with the shape. It's going to be really
shitty starting off, but I'll fix it in a bit. I'm proud of how most of my
drawing turn out.
I draw the horizontal and vertical lines across his face for future reference
to line up his lips to his eyes, nose, and mouth. I erase his forehead for a
moment to draw in his messy blonde hair. The way his bangs cover his right
eyebrow and no more. The smoothness of the surface. I skip the fedora, deciding
that I want to be able to see his beautiful hair. Each insecurity free and not
covered up with hats and hoods.
I look up into his eyes to see he's half asleep and I decide not to bother him,
using my memory as reference.
The bus stops not long after I've started shading his hair, it's disappointing,
but it means the weekend is coming up soon, and I can get more time with him,
maybe I can finish the drawing...
The rest of the day goes by fast, at lunch Patrick talks to Pete just about the
whole time, and I see him flipping through a notebook, I don't know what's in
it, but he starts crying halfway through and hugs Pete. I want to know what's
in the notebook. Is it important? Am I not supposed to know? Whatever it is, I
don't ask about it, there are too many other things going on instead. Frank and
I talk for a bit about anything that comes to our minds. I honestly think he's
my best friend, we have a lot in common and, frankly, he's really kind of hot.
I don't want to cheat on my boyfriend, though. I love him too much, and I would
never want to hurt him.
Through art, Patrick rests his weary head on the table, dozing off here and
there and it gives me a chance to draw him without him seeing or protesting. I
bring in his mouth, those soft, sweet lips just slightly chapped. I love those
lips. I love kissing them. I love biting them. I love the color. I love the
texture. I love what they do to me, and I love what I do to them. I love the
way he bites his lip when he's nervous or when he wants me. I love feeling his
warm breath on my skin in the middle of the night. I love the droplets of
moisture that form on my skin. I love how they trace my skin late at night when
everyone else is asleep. I love how they can make me feel like we're the only
people alive.
They take a little bit to draw because lips are incredibly hard for me to draw.
They have to be perfect just like his. Not too thin but not too plump. Not too
many chapped and faded lines but not too few. It takes at least fifteen minutes
to draw them right, and that's when I get started on his nose. The smooth
surface. I kiss the bridge of it sometimes just to make him blush. I love the
way he scrunches it when he's confused. I love everything about him, his flaws
included.
By the time class has ended, I've drawn his nose, lips, ears, and neck but I
can't get his eyes no matter how hard I try, I can't get the vastness of them.
I can't draw each and every detail that makes them so beautiful. Even with a
reference besides memory, I don't even think I'd be able to draw them without
making a million mistakes. So for the time being, he has no eyes.
But... the more I think about it, the more I realize his eyes are too beautiful
to draw.
Maybe he's better off with something else there.
***** Chapter 40 *****
---Gerard---
That afternoon, after school, Patrick isn't at the bus stop after school. He's
one minute late, which isn't that bad if he's caught up talking to Joe or
Brendon or Pete, but it still worries me a little. I guess I shouldn't be so
overprotective, but I can't help it. I don't want anyone to hurt him. He's been
through enough as it is with his Dad and Kevin.
Two, then three minutes pass... I can't help but wonder where he is. He'd
usually be here by now, but as I wait, I realize he isn't coming, and I start
gnawing on my lip worriedly.
My eyes dart around with my eyebrows furrowed, but he's nowhere in sight. Did
something happen? Was he held after school?
Or is it something worse?
I text him and wait a bit. One minute passes, then two.
I text again.
He still doesn't reply.
By now, I'm biting my nails stressed and nervous. The bus pulls up, but I don't
get in. Not without Patrick. Something's wrong. As soon as the bus leaves, the
driver a little confused, I walk back towards the empty school, looking around
the grounds but I have no idea where he is. Is he okay? Something definitely
happened, I just don't know what yet, "Patrick?" I call, desperation lacing my
voice as my feet numbly carry me through the school grounds. I feel like I'm
about to cry I'm so scared. Where is he? What's happening? Did someone take
him? My first thought is David or Kevin, but I know they're in jail.
Then my mind goes to Bob, Jon, and Spencer and I swear to god I've never run so
fast in my life.
"Patrick!" I scream, "Where are you?"
The wind whips my hair as I wait, but there's no reply. I search around the
school, checking every corner and crevice but he's not to be found. My search
takes me to the field outside the high school, the bleachers, the basketball
court, all the way around the block. Nothing. Patrick is nowhere to be found.
My heart is pounding in my ears, and I'm beginning to get light headed, where
is he? What happened? Was it Bob and Jon and Spencer? Just Bob? Does Pete know?
I can barely breathe as I reach the office, stuttering out the only words I
can, "D-did y-y-you see a b-boy come th-through here with-with blonde hair and
a-a fedora?"
"Are you okay?" The office attendant asks alarmed.
I'm not okay. I can't breathe, and my mind is spinning at a mile a minute the
only thing I can focus on is Patrick. Where is Patrick? I hear footsteps, but
my vision flickers. I can't get air. I'm hyperventilating. I... can't...
"Honey, I need you to breathe." She holds my hand against her stomach and takes
a deep breath in, "In and out. Just breathe for me, okay?"
I force myself to follow her instructions, tears leaking from my eyes and my
chest heaving slower and slower until I can grasp my thoughts again, keeping a
firm grip on them.
After a minute or so of calming down, she finally says something, a gentle
question, "Okay, what is your situation, Hun?"
"I need to find..." I take a deep breath, clearing my mind, "I need to find my
boyfriend, Patrick Stumph."
"He left just a little bit ago with another boy, why? What happened?" She's
concerned, but I don't have time to tell her.
"Bob Bryar?"
"Yes, why-"
"Thank you," I blurt out, slipping from her fingertips and leaving before she
can protest, running back around the school. That's when I realize I think I
might know where he is and I know exactly where to go. It's just an idea, but
it's my only chance at this point. I sprint as fast as I can towards the place
in mind, adrenaline pumping through my veins. This can't be happening. This
can't be happening. What will I see when I get there? Rape? Murder? A beating?
I keep running. I can't stop as I reach the edge of downtown, my feet beating
into the sidewalk and that's when I begin to hear his voice. I might be
imagining it, but I follow it through the streets anyways. What else am I
supposed to do? Sit and wait for him to come around? I run until I feel like
I'm about to collapse and sweat is dripping down my chest and back. I can hear
his screams now, but as soon as I know, I've got the right trail, they quiet
again.
I know I'm close, right in the bad part of downtown, just on the edge of the
busiest part of the city but this is the place where you hear about the most
rapes, murders, and drug deals. I knew Bob would bring him here where his
screams would blend in with the rest of the city. Where nobody would bother
coming to help because the cops can handle it, right?
"Please, please, please, stop," Patrick sobs. I turn the corner to an alley
where I can hear his muffled cries.
Slap.
"Shut the hell up, faggot." Bob barks and Patrick quiets again, "You're such a
fucking disappointment. You think Gerard's gonna come, don't you? Pathetic.
He's probably happy I'm doing something like this to you. You're such a stupid
cunt."
My heart is pounding in my chest and I don't stop as I spring down the alley
furiously. Doesn't he know Patrick's had enough? Doesn't he know what's already
happened to the boy and what he's doing is only making it worse? Doesn't he
know all the pain this boy has been through? The nightmares where he wakes up
screaming? All the pills he has to take to keep the flashbacks and suicidal
thoughts and anxiety attacks at bay? Does this idiot know how hard it is for
Patrick to feel pleasure without feeling guilty?
"Get the fuck away from my boyfriend, or I will fucking snap your neck right
here, right now," I growl behind the boy. Bob spins around to see me, and he
doesn't have to stay for long to realize I'm not fucking around. A small sound
leaves his mouth as he shakily rises to his feet.
"Don't hurt me, man, it was just a joke." He shakily says.
"Get the fuck away from Patrick, get the fuck away from me. I swear to God if
you even think about touching him again I will kill you, do you fucking
understand? I'm not fucking around." I bark. He nods softly and turns as soon
as he gets a chance, sprinting away with fear in his eyes and a rush in his
step. I make sure he's completely gone, disappeared around the corner before I
turn my attention to Patrick.
And I feel like I'm going to puke.
He's sprawled out on the ground: his shirt is torn, and his pants are
unbuttoned and unzipped messily. Blood stains both articles of clothing like
ink on paper, not to mention the various bruises that cover where his body is
exposed. As soon as Bob is gone, he hugs himself, shaking uncontrollably and
tears flow down his reddened cheeks like rivers. He's speechless, but the thing
that really hurts me inside is the look of pure horror in his eyes and the
pleading undertone. Pleading for mercy. Begging for the pain to go away. He can
barely breathe without choking or sobbing or whimpering.
So I reach out to pull him close, gentle and caring. Anything to comfort him
but he screams, a scream of terror, of fear, of agony and I immediately let go,
"Please, please don't hurt me, please..."
"Patrick, listen to me, it's Gerard, yeah?" I'm not sure what to do besides
call Pete since he lives near here. We could get him stitched up at Pete's, and
as for his mental health, I'm not even sure what this will do to him... "I'm
your boyfriend, remember? I'd never hurt you."
He looks up into my eyes, and I see it click in his mind about who I am. He's
out of it, though, really, really out of it. It takes forever for him to
process what's happening and even when he knows it's me, he still doesn't seem
to fully trust me because he still flinches when I even reach out to him. I sit
down in front of him, my legs crossed as I try to take him out of whatever is
happening to him.
"It hurts..." He whispers, burying his head back between his knees, "He... he
hurt me... just like Kevin did... I hate it... I want to leave..."
"Shh, I know Baby... I know it hurts... I'm gonna get Pete over here, and we
can get you fixed up, okay? And it'll stop hurting, and we can talk about this?
We can go talk to Dr. Strauss if you want to and-and we can work this out..."
I'm running out of things to say, "Can I call Pete? Is that okay?"
He nods softly but only bursts back into tears soon after, terrified, scared,
petrified, whatever word you want to use. He's scared of the world, he's afraid
of Kevin, he's frightened of David, he's terrified of Bob.
He's scared of me, and it hurts, but I know he'll gather himself after he gets
out of the initial shock.
"Shh," I take off my jacket and drape it over him, my scars showing but I don't
mind. He's seen them hundreds of times, and I think this helps with shock, but
I'm not sure. He takes it gratefully and shifts so he's sitting upright as I
dial Pete's number and wait.
"Gerard?" He asks, "What's up?"
I take a deep breath, try not to rush as I explain, "Bob took Patrick down to
the bad part of town, and Patrick needs medical attention as soon as he can get
it."
"Shit, I'll be over in a minute, can you tell me the address?" Pete asks,
starting to get worried himself.
I look up at the signs that are closest to the alley and tell him the address
before hanging up and paying attention to Patrick. He looks like he's starting
to gain control again but he's still a little out of it.
"Are you doing okay?" I ask, attempting to touch him again. I rest my hand on
his, and he flinches, but after a moment he relaxes a little bit.
"It hurts..." He whispers, "And I still want to leave... I want to get out of
here, I don't even care anymore... I hate it. I hate not being able to have
some sort of... relief. I hate the flashbacks. I hate how I look. I hate the
pain. I hate that everyone wants to use me for... for sex... I hate Kevin, and
I hate Dad, and I hate... I hate everything right now," He's starting to cry,
"I hate overthinking everything I do. I hate always being scared. I hate that
people hit me. I hate that it's always my fault..."
"Hey, Patrick, stop, okay?" I stroke his hand, thinking fast to get his mind
off of that subject, "Do you remember the night at The Black Parade? Do you
remember how we laid under the moonlight? Do you remember how we laid in the
grass next to the mausoleum door? We laid down, marked the graves. Do you
remember when I kissed your scars? Do you remember how you told me everything
in that cafe? And how you trusted me? Do you remember the way you kissed me on
the bridge? How soft your lips were with the collision of your kiss? Do you
remember?"
"Y-yeah... but..."
"Do you remember when you wanted to give up and leave? When you thought I
didn't love you? It was the Monday after The Black Parade, and you wanted to
throw your life away, and you had given up hope. You wanted to leave. Do you
remember when I texted you? Do you remember what I said to you?"
"Yeah..."
"What did I text you?
"I... I know I can't stop you. I wish I could... I-I don't want you to go...
but if you will," His voice cracks, "I just want you to know th-that the world
is ugly, b-but you're beautiful t-to me...P-Please don't l-leave... I n-need
you..." He smiles softly, but it's empty. He's shattered inside.
"Do you remember all the appointments with Dr. Strauss? Do you remember how
your anxiety went down? And do you remember when you said you weren't ugly, but
you weren't exactly beautiful just a week ago? Do you remember all the
exercises she had you do to get better...? You can't forget, please..." I
whisper that's so much work lost, "Please tell me you remember, Patrick..."
His features light up, "Yeah..."
I let out a sigh of relief, "Do you remember how you got better? And you didn't
overthink everything you did? And you started eating more?"
He nods.
"Do you still feel like you overthink everything?"
"I... I don't know... I guess not..." He whispers.
"Good..." I reach my hand forward and, though he flinches, he lets me stroke
his cheek.
And then he falls forward into my arms, his head rests on my shoulder while his
arms wrap around my neck and his legs are off to the side while he cries into
my shoulder, "Promise... you'll a-always be h-here for me..."
I hug him by his waist, holding him close, "I promise..."
"H-how strong are y-your promises?"
"I have yet to break one..."
***
"Ah!" Patrick yelps in surprise as I clean one of his cuts, "Fuck..."
"Just a second," I whisper, "I'm almost done..."
He lets out a strangled groan of pain as I bandage it and make sure it's on
tight, "Are you done?"
I smile softly and reply, "Yeah,"
His hands are still shaky just not as much, and he still flinches every time
someone besides me tries to touch him. It was a nightmare getting him to Pete's
place because he could barely walk on his own without falling to his knees. He
was so weak and shaky. It was a miracle that Pete could get there in time.
Patrick stands up and hugs me, I can feel his steady breaths on my neck they're
still shaky, but they've gotten better.
I pull him closer, swaying back and forth and I can't help but look in the
mirror to see my reflection looking back. It doesn't look like me. The last
time it looked like me was... well... I don't even know anyone. This boy's hair
is a dark back and a complete mess from the stress and tugging and pulling, my
hair is neater with a wave but still messy. His eyes are dark brown and have
dark circles under them from lack of sleep, but my eyes are a more hazel...
light brown. His scars are beginning to fade, my scars are starting to show.
Patrick pulls away, kissing me slowly and letting his hands slide to my
shoulders and wrap around my neck while mine go to his hips and pull him
closer.
"Hey... uh... Patrick?" I ask softly. He looks up at me curiously, "Uh... Back
in the alley... You said... You said a few things that I wanted to talk
about..."
I feel him get goosebumps under me and he's hesitant to reply, so he just stays
silent and waits for me to continue.
"You said you needed a relief... What... What do you mean?" I ask, running my
fingers up and down his arms softly.
He bites his lip and looks down, too scared to answer, but he forces himself to
anyways, "I... I don't know... I've just been really stressed lately and the
only time I can actually... get away is when we uh... You know..." He blushes,
"I need something to do that can distract me from... this... I guess..."
I raise an eyebrow and ask, "Like cutting?"
He quickly shakes his head, "No, no, no... I just... I don't know... I guess
what I'm trying to say is uh..." He blushes even darker and avoids my gaze as
he whispers out the last few words, "I'm just really stressed. I dunno."
I bite my lip, "You wanna talk about this later?"
He nods eagerly, his eyes conflicted.
"Are you two done having sex in there?" Pete asks through the door. Patrick
giggles slightly and slips past me to open the door, and the black haired boy
immediately hugs him.
I feel a pang of jealousy, but I let it pass as Patrick lets go and turns to
me, "We should probably head home, shouldn't we?"
I nod softly and address Pete, "Thanks for helping us out."
"Anytime," He smiles, and as soon as Patrick's out of earshot he lowers his
voice, "Tell me if anything happens to him... I get worried..."
"Of course," I reply, "See you later."
"Bye,"
***** Chapter 41 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
---Gerard---
At times like this, having a boyfriend is nice. It's late at night. The stars
are high above the ground, the moon has yet to fall down, and the sun is
already gone. Off to another continent to shine its beams on another man's
home. All I focus on is how happy I am and the warm body beside me.
But the thing that wakes me up is the soft moving of bedsheets, Patrick's shaky
breaths as he gets out of bed to head to the bathroom. It doesn't wake me up so
much as let me know he's in the bathroom because soon enough, I've drifted back
to sleep without protest.
The second thing that wakes me up is the ongoing feeling of loneliness because
as I look up at the clock, I realize Patrick's been in the bathroom for a
while. I don't think anything's happened, but after a bit of worrying, I slip
out of bed and walk to the bathroom door, listening for a moment. My ears are
straining, and my eyebrows are furrowed.
That's when I hear a sob.
I swallow and pull back for a moment, "Patrick? Are you okay?"
He gasps, and I hear the drop of metal. I don't need to see it to know what it
is.
I yank the door without a second thought to find him on the bathroom floor, the
blade on the floor-my blade on the floor-and tears in his eyes as blood drips
from the self-inflicted wounds. He looks like a disaster, to say the least. His
hair is a tangled mess, his shirt hangs loosely on his thin shape, and his
jeans are pooled at his ankles as he cuts at his thighs.
His head spins to look at me, and I can see the fear in his eyes as he stands
up a little too quickly, wincing at the pain in his leg.
"Patrick..." I whisper, covering my mouth. He shakes his head and quickly rips
off a piece of toilet paper to soak up the blood.
"Get out. I'll be out in a minute," He whispers with his voice filled with
shame.
"The blade," I demand, holding out my hand.
He glares at me but hands it over, I turn and shut the door behind myself,
waiting for him to bandage up his new cuts. He promised. He promised he'd stop,
and the more I think about it, the more I realize this is what he meant when he
said he needed relief. He lied about the sex. He lied when he said it wasn't
about cutting when now I know full well it was, he just wanted out of the
situation. There's another broken promise.
What's happening? What's going to happen to us? Are we just going to accept and
move on? Or is he done?
Is he done?
That thought scares me. Is Patrick over with me? Does he want to break up? Am I
not enough for him?
My breathing is growing unsteady as I watch him open the bathroom door.
"Talk," I immediately demand, my voice hushed in the hopes that Mama won't wake
up.
"I've been craving it," He says bluntly, his irritation not even bothering to
become hidden.
"So? You promised. You promised you would try to stop and you promised you
wouldn't lie. You just cut, and you lied about needing release earlier. What
the hell is up with you?" I growl.
"It's a few broken promises, we both know we're falling apart. We both know
this isn't gonna work itself out. Don't you fucking see? I want a fucking
break." He says, trying not to raise his voice because he has the same thought
as me.
"Goddammit, Patrick," I run my fingers through my hair, frustrated, "Why can't
you just stop? Why are you so fucking... weak. At least I can try and succeed
when I try not to cut! I don't go off breaking down every five minutes. I don't
fucking cry whenever something shitty happens. I watched my dad die from
cancer. I watched him give up on me! And you're crying about some stress!"
"You know it's more than that!" He yells I'm sure Mama's woken up by now, "I
killed my own fucking mom! I'm a murderer, Gee! And you expect me to just live
with that?"
"I expect you to realize it wasn't your fault! It was never your fault! I still
haven't gotten over the fact that he died, but at least I know it wasn't my
fault. I'm doing just what he wanted. I'm trying to be as brave as he fucking
asked. I'm doing exactly what he wished of me! You're so fucking pathetic!"
Patrick glares at me, "You aren't the one who was raped. Mikey never laid a
finger on you! You didn't have to watch as your dad beat your sister and you
could do nothing about it! You had the perfect fucking life! You were never
touched! You had it good. You had anything you wanted. YOU WEREN'T SHOVED ON A
BED BY YOUR OWN BROTHER AND FORCED TO JUST TAKE IT! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S
LIKE TO LOSE CONTROL! TO HATE YOURSELF EVERY FUCKING DAY UNTIL ALL YOU CAN
THINK OF IS TRYING TO FIND THE RIGHT DAY TO KILL YOURSELF! I WOULD HAVE BEEN
OUT OF HERE IF IT WASN'T FOR YOU!"
"AT LEAST I DON'T KEEP COMPLAINING ABOUT IT FOR NOTHING!" I belt back, then add
cooly, "If you want to kill yourself so badly then do it."
"FUCK YOU, GERARD! Fuck this! I'm going out! I'll text you later."
"Patrick!"
But he's already taken his phone and fedora from the bedroom and started
walking to the door, "I love you, and I'll talk to you when I finally get a
fucking break." He says, and without a second glance, he's outside, the door
slamming shut behind him.
I don't go out with him. I don't know why but I guess I can't find the will.
Instead, I go back to our-my-bedroom and fall into bed, pissed at the world and
Patrick and... everything.
Chapter End Notes
     Intense couple of chapters, don’t forget to leave a comment or kudos!
***** Chapter 42 *****
---Patrick---
Knives are lodged in my throat right now and it hurts and I'm afraid. But I
need to get away.
"Brendon? You up?" I ask, my head pounding. It feels like someone is holding a
knife to my brain and every time it throbs, the blade is plunged deeper and
deeper in the surface until I know it'll get unbearable and I'll have to get
some sort of relief. Not to mention, my frustration is easily showing. I really
don't care, I need to get away from all my problems. I need an escape again.
Any kind, even if it'll kill me.
"Yeah, what's up?" The brunette replies, the background is loud, and I know
exactly where he is. Thinking fast, I realize just how perfect it was for me to
call him. If the only way to get rid of the stress, the building pressure is
sex and pain, maybe what he offers could give me that same feeling. The haze of
pleasure. Maybe I could even fuck one or two of the people there. I know he
hangs out with quite a few popular, hot guys. I might be able to somehow get
one of them. Maybe.
"This is gonna sound kind of weird coming from me, but I need drugs. I don't
care what kind, I don't care. Gerard and I got into a fight, and I need...
something, please..." I murmur as I continue to walk down this long familiar
block.
I hear Brendon chuckle on the other end, "Where are you? I can come and pick
you up soon."
I look up at the sign, "On the corner of Fourth and Fremont."
"I'll be there in a few."
***
It's a small place, but my senses are overwhelmed with the smell of cigarettes,
beer, and drugs immediately. I have to stumble back out the door to stop a
trigger because it's so strong.
It reminds me of the smell of my old house, the way Dad always had a bottle of
beer open and the way the smell of alcohol always invaded my senses when he got
too close. I hated smelling it on his breath when he was drunk. I hated the way
he always got so close it felt like he was gonna kiss me.
Then there's the smell of cigarette smoke. Dad smoked a bit too, not near as
much as he drank, but I'm sure it still did a fair amount of damage to his
health. I think he smoked about a quarter of a pack a day, maybe more. Anything
to get rid of the memory of Mom. The memory of the hospital. The memory of
coming to the hospital only to find me. Me, who killed Mom. Me, who was to
blame. Me, who he took it out on. Me.
The smell of drugs wasn't as prevalent in the house, but I know sometimes he'd
get ahold of some weed. I hated that smell but somehow it always made me feel
better because he didn't usually hit me when he smoked it, he only laid
contently on the couch or stayed downstairs with Kevin. Dad was kind enough to
share with Kevin, and those were times when Megan and I would talk for hours
and hours on end, not giving a care in the world. Sometimes, they'd even let us
go out and get lunch or dinner or just go to the park if Dad and Kevin made
enough money. Those were the times when neither my sister nor I cried because
we wanted to embrace the moment while we could. We'd go downtown or hang out
around the cemetery to say hi to Mom. Little did I know, Gerard's father's
grave was just two headstones down.
I miss both of them. Megan and Mom.
"You alright there?" Brendon asks.
I shut my eyes, trying to shake the thought of my old life. I've come to forget
not remember... I need to forget, or I swear I'll go insane with the
desperation to forget. I need to let my old life stay in the past, this is my
new life: with Brendon and Joe and Ryan and Pete and Frank. My new life is with
Gerard, trying to overcome this bump in the path to-I hope-health.
"Yeah, just, reminds me of my old life I guess," I whisper. He looks confused,
but he immediately understands, "Are you sure you want to do this? I could take
you home and you could stay at my house for a while if you want instead."
I look up at him and shake my head, "No, it's fine. It'll just take a little
bit of getting used to."
He watches me hesitantly, but I force him to stop when I just head inside and
let my senses become overwhelmed again.
I can hear glasses clinking, holding gin and vodka and beer and whiskey and
scotch and whatever else they serve here. A few people are laughing to each
other at jokes I can only hope to hear someday, and a few teens are chatting in
a corner somewhere. The thing that really distracts me is the muffled moans
that come from behind closed doors, moans of pleasure and I doesn't take long
for me to realize this bar has private rooms in the back where people can fuck
along to songs about hips and hearts.
Then there's the smell of smoke from cigarettes, it makes me cough slightly,
but it doesn't bother me too much, I've grown used to it because of Dad, and I
won't let it turn into anything more than that, just a soft bump that prods at
my memories. I just have to focus on keeping my mind away from it.
Finally, there's the smell of drugs, but it's well hidden by the alcohol and
smoke, and I think I know exactly what's happening.
These drugs are illegal, aren't they?
I keep looking around as I try not to let it bother me. We won't get caught. We
can't get caught. Brendon would never let us get caught. It'll be okay.
There are a few black couches around where people are laying and drinking,
laughing to each other with loud voices and soft giggles as they flirt tipsily.
I notice Hayley there, the red hair girl from my class talking with Taylor and
it looks like she really wants to fuck him. It's quite comical, really, because
she's drunk off her ass and Taylor looks stone dry. I'm pretty sure they're a
couple, though, because Taylor keeps trailing his hand farther and farther up
her thigh. It's safe to say, they're going to need a room soon. Really soon.
I continue to look around to see a couple people smoking... pot I think. I'm
not sure, I'm still really new to this kind of stuff, but I'm determined to
learn. I want to know everything and I want to forget everything at the same
time. I came to have a good time, I just hope I don't break down or something.
That's all I'm hoping for, a good night where I can enjoy myself, and I don't
have to worry about Gerard or try to get a release through self-harm or
constant blowjobs. I just want to try to relax for a bit. I'd honestly do
anything for it at this point as long as I can get a break from life.
My green eyes search the room even more, and I find what I'm looking for when
they stop at a hall with the private rooms and my eyes light up as I realize I
could have sex with someone besides Gerard for once. Nice.
My gaze shifts to the bar, there are a few seats and a counter, and... the
bartender is what surprises me because I hadn't expected Brendon to hire
someone like him. Someone who used to bully me. Just another unpopular kid, but
I guess Brendon does give mercy to everyone. Just like the rumors said,
"Spencer?"
He looks up and smiles, "Hey, Patrick,"
He's not even 18, and he's running a bar? What's going on here? I'm so
confused.
"Patrick, I need to talk to you," Brendon says, softly into my ear, careful not
to let anyone else hear. He purses his lips and takes me aside, lowering his
voice as he speaks quickly in my ear. Words I never thought would come from
him, "This place technically isn't even a bar, we're not supposed to be here,
we were never meant to set up here but it was abandoned, and we came and fixed
it up, anyways. We have a dealer, and my parents are, pretty wealthy as you
might know. I'm able to get enough money from them to pay the dealer and, this
is all extremely illegal. This is your last chance to walk away and forget you
saw anything."
I let out a shaky breath. Brendon did... this? How? How did he find all that
time and motivation? More importantly, do I really want to do this? And
possibly get Donna to end up in jail? Me with her? But the high... I still need
a stress relief, and if Brendon's been running it this long, it couldn't get
any worse, right?
"I'm okay, I want to..." I reply.
He smiles and nods, "I'll be back, go ahead and talk to Spencer for a bit."
I nod and walk over to the bar, taking a seat, and as I look around, I realize
that everyone here couldn't be much older than 25. With that in mind, I begin
to relax a bit.
"You want anything?" Spencer asks politely. I feel my cheeks go red out of
embarrassment, but I only reply with, "I uh... didn't bring money..."
He laughs slightly and shakes his head, getting me a glass of what I assume is
beer for me anyways, "It's on the house."
I blush softly as he sets the shot glass in front of me, smiling. When he sees
me examining it like it's some kind of poison he only says, "It's the best beer
we have right now, just try it."
I bite my lip looking up at him but his face only boosts my confidence, and I
take it down in one gulp.
It tastes like fucking NyQuil. I don't choke because I'd rather not be
insulted, but I definitely grimace, "Holy shit,"
Spencer and the rest of the people at the bar burst out laughing, and Spencer
continues on, "That's the taste of alcohol. You'll have to get used to it
sooner or later if you plan on staying."
I scrunch my nose, handing back the glass, "So how the hell did you end up
here, anyway? And is there a reason you aren't being rude?"
He shrugs, "Brendon invited Jon and me to come hang out over here during the
weekends. My old job was going pretty badly, and about the whole thing with the
bullying and Bob, we were kind of forced into that so, sorry about that. I
really didn't want to hurt you."
I look down, nodding but at the mention of Bob, I begin to feel my mood drop.
The things he did yesterday and, I just hate it. I don't want to talk about it.
Or even think about it. If Gerard hadn't come in time, I could have been raped,
possibly dead.
"'Trick can you come back here?" Brendon calls, and I turn to see him poking
out of the corner that leads to the private rooms.
I turn to Spencer to say goodbye before I eagerly walk over to the brunette,
"Hey,"
"I got you a few to try. You're uh..." He bites his lip, "I don't know how far
you want to take this as in... cheating on Gerard. I guess I'm trying to ask if
you came to sleep with other guys."
My breathing hitches as I look up at him, "I'd be willing to sleep with Pete at
this point to be honest, please."
He chuckles slightly, "Then I've got something for you."
I follow him into a private room to be met with Joe, Ryan, and a handful of
drugs. I wave to my two other friends nervously as my eyes dart over the
variety of packages spread across the floor. It's a little weird to think
about: I used to always refuse drugs from Brendon. No matter how much he
offered, I would refuse, and now, three years later, I'm begging him for some.
And here they finally are.
There's a roll full of something. I'm not sure what, but it has a dark greenish
tint under the white paper, and I assume it to be pot from the way it's formed
to make it easy to light the end. Beside that is a ziplock of different colored
tablets with the various designs on each tablet, they look like oversized
smarties with symbols of hearts, clubs, spades, and diamonds across the
surfaces. I have no idea what those are. Another two zip locks contain some
sort of white powder that looks like it has the consistency of flour, one is
labeled Pepsi, the other is labeled Coca-Cola. Then, there's a few lighters, a
few needles, a dollar bill, a pack of cigarettes, and a bottle of gin. It's a
little intimidating, to say the least.
Brendon shuts the door behind us, making sure it's locked cautiously. I can see
the paranoia in his eyes as he turns to us, "Patrick, you gotta promise you're
keeping this a secret. I'm not going to jail anytime soon."
I raise my hands in surrender, "I promise, I would never," But I know I can't
keep it. I couldn't keep the last one, so why would I be able to keep this one?
His lips twitch into a smile as he falls to his knees and begins sorting
through the bags, "I probably shouldn't do this but I trust you so... you get
to be special enough to learn exactly what drugs we have."
He takes the roll wrapped in white paper, holding it up, "How much do you know
about drugs?"
I blush softly and reply, "I don't know shit, honestly."
Joe tries not to laugh, but he fails horribly, "We're gonna get you so
wasted..."
I bite my lip slightly nervous, but I let it pass. I need this.
"Okay," Brendon laughs slightly, probably thinking it's ridiculous that I don't
know anything about drugs, "This is pot, or marijuana or whatever you wanna
call it. You light the end and smoke it, right? It's basically a gateway drug
to everything else, and it makes you pretty relaxed. It's the most popular, in
our opinions at least."
He holds up the bag of pills that look like smarties, "Ecstasy, it'll make you
really, really horny. My personal favorite." I roll my eyes at that, but I kind
of want to try it now.
He holds up the bag labeled Pepsi, "Heroin, it's a painkiller, and I don't use
it much since it's really addictive and I fucking hate needles. It makes you a
bit more relaxed. It's a bit dangerous and probably not good to start on..."
He sets that down and shows me the one that says Coca-Cola, "Cocaine, this shit
will make you giggle happy as fuck or pissed, depending on how your body works.
It's snorted, and I really would not take it since it's kind of a hard drug."
He puts that down and gestures to everything else, "Gin and cigarettes but you
already know about that and... that's really it."
I lick my lips nervously then let my eyes dart up to Brendon's, "What should I
try...?"
He smirks, "Whatever you want,"
I bite my lip and shakily point to the ecstasy, "I guess."
He opens the bag and hands me a tablet, "Just take it like a pill."
I examine it for a moment, it's white and has a small heart on the front. I
take the flavorless tablet in my mouth, and he soon after gives over the bottle
of gin to wash it down, "You okay with staying here with Joe for a while?"
I quickly realize what he means, and I'm not exactly sure how to feel about
this except nervousness and excitement, "Okay."
Ryan hops off of the bed and follows Brendon out the door with the other bags
but before it shuts Brendon turns and says, "If you need anything, check the
bedside drawer."
The door closes with that, a click showing that the latch is in place, but I'm
too nervous to even look at the other boy, so I just swallow and go to lock it,
wondering when the drug will take effect. As if Joe can read my mind he says,
"It'll take like twenty minutes, and after that, it's just," He smiles, "I
don't even know how to describe it."
"Is it good?" I ask.
"It's amazing." He replies then takes my hand and pulls me onto the bed.
I frown softly, "You were planning on fucking me if I took that drug or not,
weren't you?"
He shrugs, "Maybe, maybe not."
I roll my eyes and turn us over so I'm on top and I can feel my anxiety slowly
melt away, "If we are, I'm topping because of my PTSD."
He bites his lip, "Shit, I forgot about that... Uh... Do you need to take
anything for that? Or..."
"I have to take meds, but that's only after a flashback. I'll be okay for a
while without it... I... I don't know I've just been really stressed lately and
Gerard and I got into a fight, so I came here..." I reply.
He nods and as if it doesn't matter to him, changes the subject to what's
happening now, "So are you gonna kiss me?"
"Wasn't planning on it," I tease with a smirk.
He lets out a frustrated huff of air and forces my lips on his. As his lips
move against mine, I can't help but let out a gasp. His hands trailing down my
back and squeezing my ass, his fingers digging right at my entrance through my
jeans.
"Joe," I moan then immediately trap my lip between my teeth.
He kisses down my neck, sucking and nibbling when he can and goddamn I can
already feel my erection beginning to press against my underwear.
"C'mon Babe," he whispers, pressing my hips down on his, I understand what he's
getting at and begin grinding down on his. He moans out, and holy fuck is it
hot. He's loud. More piercing than Gerard and with being a top for the first
time, it's almost like an entirely new experience.
He flips us over and begins grinding down, his ass right on my growing bulge,
but he stays upright, careful not to make me feel trapped. I only meet his lips
by sitting up. He begins unbuttoning my pants, his nimble fingers fast on the
restraints, "Give me a safeword and boundaries."
I run through all my limits in my mind quickly as he keeps kissing my neck,
"Uh... Apple... and... no taking off my shirt... o-or tugging my hair... a-and
I'll probably have to keep my eyes open most of the time, so I don't...
y'know..."
He breathlessly nods, pulling off his Green Day vest and throwing it to the
floor, "So was Gerard telling the truth when he said you're 10 inches hard?"
I blush, "Do you really have to bring that up now?"
He smirks as he finishes with my pants and pulls down my boxers just enough for
my cock to bounce out.
"Holy shit..." he whispers, "Can I..."
I blush and nod softly, giving him permission to immediately begin pumping me.
And then something weird happens because I start to feel everything that he's
doing. I actually have to stop him for a moment because it's such an intense
feeling. His hands on my skin, his breaths on my stomach, "Holy shit," I
whisper, pushing his hand away and squeezing my eyes shut before opening them
again and asking, "Is that the drug?"
He laughs slightly, "Dude, your eyes are the size of the moon right now, it's
the drug."
All of a sudden I need him. That haze is there, the pleasurable one that makes
me forget. I need his fingers on me, and I need him to scream my name, and I
need something. Anything to get myself off. Oh my god, I'm fucking horny. I
quickly pull his pants down, and beg out a very, very needy, "touch me."
He wraps his mouth around my length, his hands pumping what he can't fit and
the way I feel every single stroke as strong as I could feel a punch to my face
just overwhelms me. It feels fucking amazing not to mention he keeps looking up
at me. His eyes are blown wide in his own lust.
Joe presses his tongue against the underside of my tip, and I can feel it so
well. The way he looks into my eyes and licks it so very suggestively makes the
loudest moan I think I'll ever create leave my mouth. It's just so... hot.
He pulls down his underwear, freeing his own hard length for me to see.
"Have you ever been ridden?" Joe asks breathlessly. I blush softly, shaking my
head.
He smirks, "You're such a fucking bottom."
I swallow dryly, "S-sorry?"
"It's hot," the brunette replies as he reaches for the bedside drawer. I moan
softly, spreading my legs the tiniest bit. I don't get how he can do these
things to me, but I love it. My legs are weak, and my mind is turning fuzzy,
much more blurred than it usually does during sex.
I watch as Joe slides the condom onto me and I blush softly when he bites his
lip.
And then he positions himself, and I feel incredibly embarrassing asking it but
it just kind of comes out anyways, "Don't you need prepping?"
He shakes his head, "Don't you know a masochist when you see one?"
Oh... oh.
I blush at how naïve I am and look away. Joe smirks, and without even lube, he
begins to slide down on me. My breathing hitches and my head is thrown back as
pleasure takes control.
"Oh my God, Joe." I hiss out. He feels weird, but the tightness is what really
gets me. I don't even know where all these words are coming from, probably my
dick but the next thing I know I'm saying the dirtiest things I think I've ever
said in my life. Each word released into the intimacy of the atmosphere as
finishes bottoming out and he begins bouncing on me, "Joe, fuck, oh my god,
that's so good."
He lets out a whimper of pain as he goes but it's a pleasurable whimper, and
it's hot. Everything about this is hot and the way I can feel every little
thing: the way he feels ten times tighter than he probably is, the way I can
feel his fingers digging into my shoulders, the way our moans fill the room,
and it all just feels so wrong but so right. My mind is swimming in pleasure,
and I just forget everything in the sea, my thoughts turning into a mush of
khggskfihsjsskjdhfuuufuusk.
My hands go to his waist as I bounce him easier on me, each thrust is so
intense that I think this might have to end embarrassingly fast, especially
when he leans forward and bites my lip, hard, his hands tangling in my sweaty
hair.
My dirty words continue to pour out of my mouth, sweat rolling down my back as
it arches off of the bed and my hands grip the sheets desperately.
"Tug my hair," Joe whispers into my ear, his voice is begging for me, "Please,
Baby, you're making me feel so fucking good."
I blush at his words but comply as I run my fingers through his hair and get a
good grip before I tug it back. He groans loudly, his eyes rolling back as I
pull harder.
"Fuckfuckfuck," he breaths, his bounces getting faster. Then he spills out
something that I don't think I'd ever hear from any of my friends. Especially
not Joe, "Daddy it feels so good..."
He blushes at it, an embarrassed expression crossing his face as he lowers his
head. And for some reason, he still tries to continue. I don't let him, though.
With a sharp tug down, I force him to stop sliding on me, my frustration
getting the best of me as I growl out a, "I swear to God Trohman if you call me
Daddy again I will kill you."
"Daddy~" he smirks.
I roll us over and thrust hard into him, pinning him down and forcing him to
stay still, "I," thrust, "Fucking," thrust, "Hate," thrust, "You,"
He tries to move his arms as he yells in pleasure, but I make sure he can't
escape, and I don't know where all this is confidence coming from, but I
honestly don't care because he seems to be liking it. No, not liking it. Loving
it. He's in heaven with each thrust into him, his eyes rolling back in pleasure
and his hips moving back against mine.
"I'm so close..." he yells, bucking his hips up.
I tug his hair back and bite down on his neck, causing a strained moan to
escape his throat and his now freed hands pull me closer, desperate for me.
"Please, can I come, Daddy?" He whispers, bringing the daddy kink back. And I
don't know what happens or where this dominant side is coming from, but I can't
help but let out a, "Wait,"
He whimpers in submission, and I find it hot as fuck when he struggles against
me, my hands pinning his wrists to the bed. I'm not sure when I decided to be a
dom, but when I get home, I'm totally gonna make Gerard be a bottom for me.
"Such a slut for me, Trohman," I growl as a pained, but pleasured expression
crosses his face.
"Daddy, please!" He yells.
I pound him harder into the bed, my hips flushed against him as the bed squeaks
under us, "Wait.
He struggles against my hands even more, and it's so hot, I know I can't last
much longer.
"I can't hold it!" He whines, his hips snapping up as I go at a different angle
and I'm pretty sure I hit his prostate.
"Come. Now." I demand.
The command doesn't seem to process at first but after a moment, he lets out a
half pained-half pleasured moan, and he explodes across his stomach while I
release inside him, going limp almost immediately.
Joe lays panting while a small buzz plays through my body, my mind coming down
from the high. My eyes shut contently as I lay with my head on his chest and my
fingers tangled in his. As soon as I realize just how bad of a position I'm in,
though, I pull out with an awkward laugh and blush, quickly untangling our
fingers as I tie off the condom and throw it in the trash, swallowing dryly.
"I... uh... hope I didn't go too hard..." I whisper, feeling exceptionally hot
in my hoodie.
"No, you're fine," he smiles, "that was honestly the best sex I've ever had..."
I roll over, so I'm laying on my back beside my friend and let my mind wander a
little, staring up at the ceiling. I just had sex with Joe Trohman. One of my
best friends. I just cheated on Gerard. Is that okay? Well, no. It's not okay.
But would he forgive me? Or would he glare and tell me to leave.
I'm a dirty cheat.
I let the thought pass, deciding to think about it later and instead focus on
Joe, asking a simple question, "This didn't... this didn't fuck up anything,
right?"
"Depends," he turns to me, "Do you think of me as more than a friend?"
I shake my head, "You?"
"Eh," he says, "I've had a little bit of a crush on you for a while, but I
don't think that'll fuck anything up..."
I smile, "Okay..."
He sits up, "I'm gonna go back to see what Ray or Andy are doing."
I furrow my eyebrows, "Ray Toro? And Andy Hurley?"
He nods, "You know them?"
"I went to school with them for three days when I lived with Mark and Allie." I
laugh.
"Then let's go say hi."
The brunette leaves the bed and finds his underwear again, pulling them back on
along with his pants, shirt, and vest, I follow his lead with exhaustion in my
movements.
My mind is still on a constant buzz, and my skin is still sensitive as fuck. I
can barely concentrate it's so distracting, but I think I like it. I love the
way it changes me, not in a bad way but just enough to make me less anxious
around other people. If I hadn't been on it while topping Joe, I probably would
have had a panic attack at least twice, and I would never be that dominant. I
really like it because it makes me feel free. It makes me feel... high... I
guess that's the only way to describe it.
This is gonna be a good few days.
***** Chapter 43 *****
---Patrick---
Everything is difference when I open the door for Joe, sweat making my hoodie
stick to my skin but, high or not, I'm too self-conscious to take it off. I
don't want anyone but Gerard to see my scars at this point. He's the only
person I trust. The only person I'll probably ever trust.
I've also started to notice that it is gone. It hasn't said a thing... Is it
gone?
Goddamn, that would be a blessing.
Joe leads me to the bar where we both take a couple seats, I get a shot of gin,
Joe just gets a beer.
"So where are they?" I ask, continuing to look around the room.
"They'll be here soon, they have to be really careful about coming out here
because they nearly got caught once. It was terrifying, put a lot of stress on
Brendon..." Joe says, placing his elbows back on the counter with a relaxed
post-sex expression across his face. His whole posture screams, "I just had
sex, and I feel high right now," It's actually quite comical, "Pete should also
be here soon, I told him you were coming when Bren went to go pick you up."
"O-Oh," I reply, biting my lip. Is he going to bring the notebook? I saw some
of the lyrics earlier this week but it was just to one song, his whole notebook
is full of songs, and I want to see. I want him to show me what he's been
hiding all these years. I want him to trust me with everything he's got. I
remember how the song went, how could I forget?
She says she's no good with words, but I'm worse
Barely stuttered out a joke of a romantic stuck to my tongue
Weighed down with words too overdramatic
Tonight it's "It can't get much worse."
Vs. "No one should ever feel like..."
I'm two-quarters and a heart down
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I'll write them
So you need them just to get by
Dance, dance
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, dance
And these are the lives you love to lead
Dance, this is the way they'd love
If they knew how misery loved me
Pete said he based it off of me and how awkward I used to be, he said he liked
it about me. It was cute. That was the part where I started crying because he
based it off of me. He wrote a song for me, and it meant a lot. I told him so.
"Earth to Patrick..." Joe says waving his hand in my face.
I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, "Sorry,"
He smirks, "You wanna fix that problem?"
I frown confused but as soon as I look down, my frown softened, and my face
goes a bright pink. Holy shit does this drug work, "No, I'm fine... Uh... If I
need to, I can just do it myself..." I mumble out, lowering my head in shame.
"You're fucking adorable," Joe says with a chuckle.
"Shut your face," I growl.
He drains down the last of his beer and looks to the door, watching for one of
our friends to show up, but he looks away after a bit and scrunches his nose,
"This is gonna sound cheesy as hell but... How do you know you're in love? I
mean... I've been in plenty of relationships but they always went bad, and one
of us always left... And I mean... I dunno... It's stupid..."
I smile softly and rest my head on the counter, shutting my eyes, "It's... I'm
not sure how to explain it," I open my eyes, gazing at his shot-glass, "It's
like... You realize you would do anything for them. You love their personality,
you love the way they look, you love their flaws, you love the way they talk
and the way they dress, and you would do anything for them. And it's more than
just the sex. You would live a life without any of that for them if they asked.
Ultimately, you would die for them..."
Gerard. Gerard. Gerard. That's all I can think of. I came to forget, not
remember but I'm remembering and before I know it tears are slipping from my
eyes, "I don't know what's happening, Joe... I love him, but I can't stop
fighting... I want to be with him, but I hate him..."
"Hate is a... strong word..." Joe says as he runs his hand over my back in an
awkward attempt to comfort me, "It's... It's okay to get into fights, as long
as it... works out in the end, if you know what I mean."
I nod softly, but I'm still having doubts.
"Hey, guys!" Andy calls from the front door followed soon after by Ray and
Pete.
Pete's wearing his loose, Metallica tank top with his black hair a mess on his
head and his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his notebook in one hand. He
walks over to me while Joe hugs Andy and Ray.
"Patrick! Happy to see you here," Ray smiles. I smile back, but it's weak, and
I'm still wiping my tears.
"You okay?" Pete asks beside me, lowering his voice.
I turn to him, looking into his eyes but my voice isn't strong. Okay? Okay? Am
I okay? Fuck, I've never been okay. I'm not okay. I don't think I ever will be,
"No, can we uh... go somewhere private...?"
He looks up to Ray and Andy and Joe, "See you guys in a bit,"
"See you," Andy replies but he's being cut off by Joe's hugging and kissing,
and I can't help but chuckle. They're cute together... and that must have been
what Joe was asking about...
Pete pulls me into one of the back rooms, shutting the door and turning to me
while I take a seat on the bed, lowering my head, "Why did you come?" He asks,
his tone is dark, and he seems kind of different than usual.
"Gerard and I got into a fight..." I whisper as he takes a seat beside me,
"He... Caught me uh... C-cutting..."
Pete swallows, "And you came to forget..." It's not a question. It's my answer,
"It's okay... I did, too..."
I look up at him, confusion etched on my face, "Why...?"
He gives me a sad smile, the smile Megan flashed me so many times in my old
house...
"Bipolar disorder..." He says then lays back, "Drugs make me feel better when
I'm on my low..."
"I'm so sorry..." I reply, "I... I forgot..."
"It's okay," He whispers, his voice close to cracking, "Hang on, I'll be back,
stay here."
He sets the notebook on the bed and leaves the room, I kick off my shoes and
lay back, trying to relax a little bit, and this goddamn boner is making it
really hard to concentrate, not to mention I feel really hot in my hoodie right
now. I want to take it off, but I don't know if I really trust Pete with that
sight.
I find myself drifting off, my mind wandering to the vastness of my mind. The
sex with Joe, mostly, but the ecstasy is making it kind of hard for me to think
straight... I... I had sex with Joe. Was that really necessary? Should I have
not? I feel like I shouldn't have done that while I'm still dating Gerard but
at the same time it felt so... good.
I don't know. I'll figure it out soon.
Pete comes back in with one brownie in his mouth and another in his hand,
"Brownie?"
I gratefully take it, "Pot brownie?"
He nods, taking another bite of his own and laying on the bed so his head is at
the headboard and his legs are resting across my stomach.
"Rude," I comment with a huff as I move next to him. He grabs the notebook from
the edge of the bed, ignoring what I said with a sigh.
"I... uh..." he blushes softly as he looks through the pages, blocking them
just enough so I can't see, "I wrote three songs around my attempted
suicide..." he whispers, his voice gravely from how quiet he is but I don't
mind, "I... I trust you enough to see them but only if you can trust me..."
"What do you mean?" I ask, confusion lacing my voice.
"Gerard and I were talking. About you. Sorry if it sounds creepy but... I want
you to take your shirt off in front of me. I know you're self-conscious about
it, but I want to see what you've done to yourself..." he says, looking across
my hoodie.
My breathing hitches. Take my shirt off? In front of Pete? What if he just
pushes me away? What if he leaves and never comes back? What if he thinks I'm
disgusting...?
"P-Pete..." I whisper, blushing softly, "I..."
"Patrick, you know I'd never insult you. You're my best friend, please... trust
me with this, and I'll trust you with my mind..." he pleads.
I look away, I'm ashamed. I'm disgusting. Why would Pete think any different
than I think myself?
Because he's my best friend. Because no matter what, he'll always be here for
me.
Right?
I sit up on my knees, my hands are shaking, and my mind is full of doubt, but
this is for Pete. This is to know what really goes through his mind because I
can know how darkest thoughts.
All I have to do is show him mine.
I unzip my hoodie and pull it off of myself. I feel like I'm unzipping my skin
and showing him something that could either kill me or heal me. I'm showing him
something I've been hiding for years... all to see a few song lyrics...?
It's his suicide note, though. It'll be worth it.
I throw the hoodie off to the side, my scars now showing, each one has begun to
scab over, and I'm slowly healing. I was so close but... I just had to relapse
earlier, didn't I...?
I feel close to tears now because his eyes are glued to me like a fucking porno
but I know this isn't. This is a much darker turn of events. Scars and suicide.
Depression and anxiety. Hate and love.
This is him and me and me and him until we've got nothing left.
Tears are finally spilling out my eyes as I begin to unbutton my shirt, each
button feels like an eternity, and it goes to a point where I can't undo them.
My hands are shaking, and I'm trying to catch my breath, but more and more
tears fall down my cheeks. I bite my lip and drop to my hands, barely
supporting myself because I'm shaking and sobbing and choking so much.
"I can't... I can't please..." I beg I know this is a choice, but at the same
time, it feels forced. I'm so terrified. I hate myself so much. How could
anybody love me after how gross I look? I'm disgusting and misshapen. I'm too
skinny but not skinny enough at the same time and after what Gerard finally got
me to believe I'm so fucking confused.
I'm beautiful, but I'm not. I'm skinny, but I'm fat. I'm hurting, but I'm
healing.
"Hey, shh," Pete pulls me close so I'm sobbing into his shoulder, "Come on,
'Trick... You aren't ugly, you aren't fat, you're just the perfect size, and
there's nothing you could do to make me feel any different about you. You're my
best friend. Do you want help or do you want to call it off?"
I pull back up, wiping my tears.
"I..." I take a deep breath, my fingers beginning to calm down a little bit,
"Okay... okayokayokay..."
My fingers are more relaxed but still trembling as I start to slide the buttons
out of their holes, continuing to unbutton my shirt as my tears drip down my
chin to the sheets of the bed. I can't think straight. I can barely think at
all except for how much I'm going to regret this. How much Pete will hate me
after this. I can't lose my best friend, but I know he'd find out eventually...
My fingers finish the last button, but I don't pull off my shirt yet, I hold it
together firmly, looking down hesitantly. Am I really doing this?
He takes my hands, making me flinch, but I hold my place, "Patrick, I promise
I'd never hurt you. You know that..."
Before I can stop myself my response has slipped out, "How strong are your
promises?"
He sighs, "I'd never break one."
This isn't Gerard. This isn't Gerard. It's Pete. Pete wouldn't hurt me. Pete
would never hurt me. It's going to be okay. It's going to be fine. I'm okay, I
promise. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay... I'm not okay... I can never be okay,
but that's okay... At least I can cherish these last few moments before he
turns on me... Falling my own path of ruin.
I open my shirt, letting it slide down my arms. My mind is blank, but I want to
scream. I want to let out all my bottled up emotion. I want to cry and choke
and sob and scream, but I don't. I stay perfectly still, waiting for him to
slap me. I wait for his hand to collide with my face and I wait for his yells
of frustration and disappointment just like Dad...
He only runs his fingers down my stomach, sending goosebumps up my spine and to
the back of my neck. His fingertips are soft on my damaged skin. They're like a
blessing, and I'm just a curse. Three years of hell because of a 'mistake with
a sad outcome.' Mom was just one of the millions who die from car crashes. She
was nothing special. She was nothing to the rest of the world. She was my world
to me.
I deserve all the pain I can take because I killed her. If only I'd told her to
look back at the road. If only I'd told her to stop watching me. If only I
could have pumped her heart. If only I could have tried harder, then I wouldn't
have been raped and abused and hurt. If only she had lived, I wouldn't be here
with a shocked Pete gazing across my stomach and chest and everything ugly
about me. If only...
"Patrick, how much have you been eating?" He asks quietly.
"Enough." I reply.
He bites his lip, reaching out and running his fingers over my stomach, fat,
chubby, disgusting.
"No, you aren't. I can see your ribcage, Patrick," He looks up at me.
Eventually, he just gives me a sad smile and pulls away. He opens his notebook,
fanning through the pages. My mind goes blank. That's it? He isn't going to say
anything else? He's just accepted it...?
"Thank you, 'Trick, it means a lot..." he whispers. Is that sarcasm? Or is that
my imagination? "Here..."
He hands over the notebook and my eyes immediately scan over the three sets of
lyrics.
Summer Song, Hum Hallelujah, and Saturday.
I set the book on my lap and let my eyes trace the words, each letter as it
shapes his mind. His suicidal thoughts. His hate towards the world. His sorrow.
His final thoughts before he would try to take his life...
I read through Saturday first. His handwriting was shaky, and I understand why.
He was about to try to kill himself...
"I wrote Saturday before I was... um... about to, y'know... and then Summer
Song came when I woke up in the hospital room... and then Hum Hallelujah was
about a month afterward... when I was finally starting to heal." He says, his
voice weak. I nod softly as my eyes continue to look across the paper.
I'm good to go
And I'm going nowhere fast
It could be worse
I could be taking you there with me
I'm good to go
But it looks like I'm still on my own
I'm good to go
For something golden
Though the motions I've been going through have failed
And I'm coasting on potential towards a wall
At a hundred miles an hour
When I say
Two more weeks
My foot is in the door
I can't sleep
In the wake of Saturday
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Then there's a part that looks newer, neater and I frown in confusion. Did he
write this afterward, too?
"I... uh... that was just last night... I-I couldn't sleep, and I started
writing a few songs about you... s-sorry..." He bites his lip. I smile softly,
"It's okay. I don't mind."
'Trick and I attacked the laws of Astoria
With promise and precision and a mess of our youthful innocence
And I read about the afterlife
But I never really lived more than an hour
"Laws of Astoria? What does that mean?" I ask softly, a lot of these lyrics are
confusing but it's honestly beautiful. Everything about it is beautiful. I
never thought he could be so... amazing...
"I was watching The Goonies last night," He chuckles softly but it's weak, "and
Astoria, Oregon was where they were on their treasure hunt. Our treasure hunt
was always a point in living." He whispers. My eyes dart up to meet his.
"How the hell did you come up with that?" I ask, shocked. How long has he been
so talented? How long as he known? I want to see his mind. I want to see every
single detail I can find. I want to know every dark thought that mind holds
like it contains the answer to life.
He shrugs, "I'm sorry... I know it kind of sucks..."
"Pete!" I exclaim, playfully punching his arm, "It's wonderful. I'm honestly
jealous. You're the best lyricist I've ever heard of, this is brilliant!"
He blushes softly, flustered, "R-really?"
"Yes!" I half-yell.
I look back down at the book and continue to look through his lyrics, reading
Summer Song next.
This one is still a little messy, there are some things he wanted to change and
lots of little marks all over the page as I read
Joke me something awful just like ???
We're the kids who feel like dead ends
And I want to be known for my hits not just my misses
I took a shot and didn't even come close
At trust and love and hope
And the poets are just kids who didn't make it
And never had it at all
His suicidal thoughts. I know that already.
And the record won't stop skipping
And the lies just won't stop slipping
And besides my reputation's on the line
We can fake it for the airwaves
Force our smiles 'cause we're half dead
From comparing myself to everyone else around me
The way he played Hallelujah in the car when he tried to take his life, his
lies about him being okay, more suicidal thoughts, more faking that he's
okay... I feel tears lining my eyes again.
Please put the doctor on the phone cause I'm not making any sense
Blame everyone but me for this mess
And my back has been breaking from this heavy heart
We never seemed so far
When he called Brendon, Brendon probably tried to get a doctor as soon as he
found out. They told him it wasn't his fault... he knew it was. He was still
sad, and he still wanted to take his life... Something is missing there, and I
think I know just what to add...
And the record won't stop skipping
And the lies just won't stop slipping
And besides my reputation's on the line
We can fake it for the airwaves
Force our smiles 'cause we're half dead
From comparing myself to everyone else around me
I clutch my heart because I swear I just heard it break.
I don't say a word. I can't comprehend how much it must have hurt for him. How
depressed he must have felt. How terribly depressed and suicidal he was... All
because he missed... me...
Pete doesn't say a word, he only looks away uncomfortably. He doesn't want me
reading this, but he knows I held up my side of the deal, he has to keep his. I
continue, looking across the lyrics of Hum Hallelujah, printed much neater than
his other songs.
The road outside my house is paved with good intentions
Hired a construction crew, 'cause it's hell on the engine
This lyric is a bit harder to transcribe, but I'm guessing it means he had lost
his good intentions, he couldn't stop himself from thinking so poorly. So
depressed.
So hum hallelujah,
Just off the key of reason
???
???
A teenage vow in a parking lot
"Til tonight do us part."
I sing the blues and swallow them, too
Hallelujah was the song he listened to in the car. It wasn't reasonable. He was
in an empty parking lot when it happened, and he planned to end it that night.
The blues are probably referring to the pills.
There's a chapel in a hospital
One foot in your bedroom and one out the door
Sometimes we take chances, sometimes we take pills.
I could write it better than (I/you?) ever felt it.
He felt like he was going to the afterlife in the hospital. I think the second
line was a reference to Saturday, the third line must be about how some people
will take their chances with life while others won't. And he's writing so much
it's like he's feeling it again, maybe? I'm not sure. I can't interpret lyrics
for shit.
I don't say anything about this one. Instead, I take the utensil that's tucked
between the cover and the first page and write down a short lyric on Summer
Song. I remember thinking it when I tried to take my own life... When I tried
but failed...
I'm hopelessly hopeful,
But the pencil just keeps writing, and I can't stop the next line from leaving
it.
You're just hopeless enough,
I can't stop the last line, either. The last line of the night...
But we never had it at all
***** Chapter 44 *****
---Gerard---
My life just turned to shit again.
What have I done? It's Saturday morning, but it feels like September 23rd where
my heart aches all day. It seems like hell. I feel like hell. This was supposed
to work out. I was meant to be happy. We were meant to be happy, and I fucked
it up. I screwed it up bad but what really hurts me is that he made a promise.
He made a promise not to lie, and he lied. I understand, now, that the cutting
might not have been avoidable but now, as I look past the railing that lines my
porch, I can't help but feel pissed with him. Really, really upset and I really
just want to punch him in the face.
At the same time, though, I want to die. I want to end it all because what if
he never comes back? My heart hurts and if Patrick tried to leave on me, why
can't I leave on him?
Gerard, don't. That's bad. That's very, very bad. He tried to leave on you
because he thought you didn't love him.
Does he really love me, though? Or was he just saying that?
I...
That's what I thought, and now I don't even know where he is? Did he run out of
the city? Did he try to kill himself again...?
I stand up quickly, too quickly but I don't care. I need answers, and I need
them as soon as I can get them. I need to know what's happening and where he is
and what he's doing. I need to know because if he did what I think he did...
I grab my phone and text him as I sit back down, I'm finding myself not to be
pissed at him anymore, I just need answers I need him because I miss him, and I
want him back in my arms. I want to help him heal. I want him to do everything
I can to bring him back to health and make him feel alive again. I shouldn't
have said what I did last night. I would be devastated. I was so lost in the
moment. In my anger. I never realized how much it might actually effect him.
What I was saying could actually cause him to kill himself.
Gerard: Hey are you okay? Where are you?
I wait for a moment, and I get a message back, surprisingly.
Patrick: Gerard, I love you and all, but I want to take a break for a while. I
really don't want to think about you right now. What you said last night. I'm
just... gonna try going out with a few other guys for a while... Just to
experiment. Try not to worry, okay? I love you. I promise this isn't the end of
us. I need to get away for a while. I need to stop thinking so much.
I grip my phone, my already aching heart shattering to the point that I don't
know it can heal from. My eyes gaze foggy with shock because I can't even
process what he just read. Instead, I sit with my teeth chattering in the cold
autumn air while I regret everything I've ever done. It's like he's burned
everything I love and then burned the ashes. My thoughts are entirely blank and
then just like a snap of my fingers, it feels like I can't process anymore.
Like a hurricane that never ends and I'm barely hanging onto the realization.
Just taking a break? From me? Am I really that bad? Is it me? Or is it you,
Patrick? How long? With who? Is it going to be serious? Or is it just fucking
around? Do you love someone else?
Am I not enough for you?
My breathing hitches at that thought. Am I not enough for you...? Am I really
that bad...? Are you sure you still love me, Patrick? Or are you just trying
not to break my already damaged heart? Is it because I didn't trust you with
enough? Is it because I never gave you enough love? Are you looking for someone
who you can have a better relationship with? Someone who's perfect and... not
me...?
Or is it because I'm too much for you?
Am I too... over protective, clingy, too much of a showoff? Is it because I
called you beautiful too much? Or I trusted you with too much? Is it because I
gave you too much love? And now you want someone who doesn't love you as much
as I did? Are you leaving me because you just want a few one-night stands...?
Or is it because you don't want me at all?
He promised me this isn't the end of us, but he's broken his promises now. His
promises aren't reliable anymore. They're just there now. They're there to
remind me that it could have worked out with him, but it fucking didn't. I hate
him. I love him, but I hate him so much. I want him to disappear. I want to
disappear.
I stand up, too stressed and frustrated to sit still and begin to pace about
the porch, the wood squeaking under my shoes. Is it really worth it anymore? Is
living really worth all this heartache? I'm afraid. I'm afraid to keep on
living because I don't want to feel any more pain than I already am feeling.
Gerard: How strong are your promises?
I know he's not going to reply. I know he just won't reply because he doesn't
know how to reply. He knows he's broken his promise. He knows how mad I am...
He thinks he knows... I really just feel broken. I feel used... I wasn't used.
He really loved me... right?
Why do you doubt yourself, Gee? Of course, he loved you. But... you know he had
to leave for a reason. You were that reason.
I... I was...
Because of you, he's moved on. I bet he's found another lover by now, someone
better than you. You couldn't save him when Bob attacked him, what use are you
to him? You're useless.
I bite my lip and take a deep breath. I'm not doing this again. I'm not going
to relapse. I'm not going to relapse. I can't relapse. I can't relapse... I
told myself I wouldn't. I'm getting better. I'm nearly over Dad's death. I was
getting better. I haven't cut since Patrick was in the hospital oh so long ago.
I haven't cut in a long time, and I'm not going to relapse... I can't
relapse...
Come on, Gee. You know you deserve it. You deserve every bit of pain you can
get. You're useless. Patrick hurt you for a reason. What would a little more
pain do?
I get out of my seat on shaky legs and take a deep breath before I walk back
inside... past the living room... the dining room... into the bathroom...
***** Chapter 45 *****
---Patrick---
Echoes are moving through my ears and my head is pounding when I wake up. I'm
alone in bed, Pete is gone, and all that's left of him is a note, sitting
flatly on the mattress. It's untouched by anyone, but Pete and I can easily see
it was torn out of his notebook and set where I would wake up to see it. I can
remember most of what happened last night but... Pete? I remember he offered me
the brownie and then... then...
He showed me the suicide notes. Right.
I squint at the letter until I can read it somewhat clearly but I'm still
drained and kind of dizzy.
Hey Trick,
I don't know how long you plan on staying here but if Brendon kicks you out,
you can always come to my place. My mom is never home anymore, and I'm sure she
wouldn't mind. There are painkillers in the bedside drawer if you need them and
water in the bathroom. If you need anything, text me. I had to go to my
counselor's because of my bipolar disorder, sorry.
Text me when you wake up?
-Panda
I smile at how good of a friend he is. Hastily putting the note in my back
pocket, I open the bedside drawer, shuffling through the condoms and lube to
find the painkiller in the back. I pop a couple pills, put the bottle back into
the drawer, pressed against the back side, and slip on my shirt before I make
my way to the bathroom. I can see Spencer, Brendon, Ryan, Joe, Andy, and Hayley
cleaning up the mess from last night, a few hungover people making their ways
home with all their regrets from the night before.
I slip into the bathroom, it's small. It smells like vomit. It's gross, but I
try not to let it get to me.
I slide the handle on the faucet over and cup the now running water to my face,
quickly washing down the pills, hoping they'll take effect and make this
growing headache leave soon.
I turn away, wiping my hands on the soft towel placed just by the sink, and
just before I leave, I look into my reflection. I can't help but question
myself for the hundredth time in the last week...
Beautiful? Am I really beautiful? Gerard told me so. Pete didn't think I was
ugly. Megan never complained. They're all my best friends. They wouldn't lie...
right?
I shift my bottom jaw.
A little. I'm just a little beautiful. That's all, though.
I turn away and walk back through the door, out to see Joe and Andy basically
making love to each other's lips as they stumble into one of the private rooms.
I raise my eyebrows slightly, but as soon as the door is shut, I continue
through the hall into the main room where Spencer is leaving, and Ryan and
Brendon are saying goodbye to the brunette. I feel a little out of place, to be
honest, I just decided to come here because I got into a fight while everyone
else around here has visited countless times. I feel like I shouldn't be here
but they said it was okay so I guess I'll trust them.
Brendon turns acknowledges me with a soft nod before he kisses Ryan softly and
rubs his hand.
"See you in a bit, Baby..." He whispers.
"Love you," The taller boy replies.
"Love you, too."
Ryan leaves with a small smile and makes his way down the street, his hands in
his pockets and his hood up as fresh rain begins to wash away most of my regret
from yesterday.
"You'll probably have to leave sometime soon," Brendon says, "I'm sure Gerard's
worried..."
"Gerard can go fuck himself," I snap softly, "I'm gonna try to stay with Pete
if I can, and if I can't, and there are no other options at all, then I'll go
back to him. Otherwise, I'm just pissed with him, and I really don't want to
talk to him right now."
Brendon shifts slightly beside me before he turns and gives me a hug, "Stay
safe, Trick... I worry..."
"Okay, Mom." I groan. He chuckles and lets me go, "I'll see you tonight or
something. I don't know the plan yet."
"Alright, bye!"
"See you,"
***
October 29th, 4:03 PM
Patrick: hey, Brendon kicked me out
Pete: oml kay. Just got out of my counselors appt, I'll cum pick u up in about
ten min.
Patrick: I'll be here
I take a seat on the sidewalk, shutting my eyes. I honestly feel like shit. I
didn't have too much to drink last night, but the ecstasy is making my
depression much worse than it usually is. Not to mention the words Gerard had
shot last night...
"Goddammit, Patrick. Why can't you just stop? Why are you so fucking... weak.
At least I can try and succeed when I try not to cut! I don't go off breaking
down every five minutes. I don't fucking cry whenever something shitty happens.
I watched my dad die from cancer. I watched him give up on me! And you're
crying about some stress!"
"You know it's more than that! I killed my own fucking mom! I'm a murderer,
Gee! And you expect me to just live with that?"
"I expect you to realize it wasn't your fault! It was never your fault! I still
haven't gotten over the fact that he died, but at least I know it wasn't my
fault. I'm doing just what he wanted. I'm trying to be as brave as he fucking
asked. I'm doing exactly what he wished of me! You're so fucking pathetic!"
"You aren't the one who was raped. Mikey never laid a finger on you! You didn't
have to watch as your dad beat your sister and you could do nothing about it!
You had the perfect fucking life! You were never touched! You had it good. You
had anything you wanted. YOU WEREN'T SHOVED ON A BED BY YOUR OWN BROTHER AND
FORCED TO JUST TAKE IT! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LOSE CONTROL! TO HATE
YOURSELF EVERY FUCKING DAY UNTIL ALL YOU CAN THINK OF IS TRYING TO FIND THE
RIGHT DAY TO KILL YOURSELF! I WOULD HAVE BEEN OUT OF HERE IF IT WASN'T FOR
YOU!"
"AT LEAST I DON'T KEEP COMPLAINING ABOUT IT FOR NOTHING! If you want to kill
yourself so badly, then do it."
Deep down I hurt. It hurts so badly that he could ever say those things to me.
That he could put our relationship in the past like it never meant a damn to
him. Like he never cared about me. Like he will never care about me.
He won't, you know he'll never care about you.
I just want my ecstasy again. It makes me happy with myself and confident, but
now, it's bringing back more depressing thoughts than I bargained for.
I throw my head back, repeatedly hitting it softly against the wall as I wait
for my ride to come down the street. My anxiety is killing me right now, too,
and it doesn't help that this is the dangerous side of town. Rapists,
murderers, gangs. Whatever you can think of, they're here, and I keep wondering
which one of them will hold a knife to my throat and demand money. I shudder,
opening my eyes and pulling my hoodie closer around myself in the cold autumn
air as my mind crosses those thoughts. People who could kidnap me and torture
me for fun. People who will trap me in a dark alley and force me to shut my
mouth as they beat me and hurt me.
I shouldn't be here. I don't want it to end up like it did Kevin. I don't want
it to be my fault again. I don't want to be the one responsible for what they
do. I don't want it to happen in the first place.
I have to take a deep breath to calm my nerves like Dr. Strauss taught me. Like
I was always told to do. Relax, take a deep breath, don't panic because it's
going to be okay. I'm going to be okay. Nobody will come to try and hurt me.
Pathetic. You know it's always going to happen. It's happened once, twice. Why
not a third? A fourth? You know it's your fault they do this. If you weren't
such a fucking whore or a slut, they wouldn't.
It's going to be okay...
Distract yourself. Anything.
It's the 19th today. Two months since I met Gerard... huh? Time's gone by so
fast but so slow. The first day of school was yesterday, but at the same time,
it was a century ago.
Nice fail.
I bite my lip and pull my knees up further like that could protect me somehow.
My music can.
I pull my headphones and phone out of my pocket, plugging in the cord and
pressing each bud into my ears: First the left, then the right.
I press shuffle and hear the sounds immediately fill my head. Beautiful
arrangements of guitar and drum and bass and voice, everything that can take my
mind from my depressing thoughts. The fact that I'm just barely beautiful. The
fact that I'm a whore and I must like it that people rape me because it keeps
happening because sometimes I feel like dying and I lose a point in living. The
fact that sometimes to stay alive, I have to kill my mind with these
distractions.
"Hello there the angel from my nightmare
The shadow in the background of the morgue
The unsuspecting victim of darkness in the valley
We can live like Jack and Salley if we want
Where you can always find me
And we'll have Halloween on Christmas
And in the night we'll wish this never ends
We'll wish this never ends."
Goddammit, Gerard...
I take another deep breath. Inhale, pause, exhale, repeat. Nobody is here.
Inhale, pause, exhale, repeat. Pete will be here soon. Inhale, pause, exhale.
I look up and see Pete pulling up with perfect timing in his old, worn out
truck. Scratches are etched across the back of it from... I'm not sure where
from... somewhere. The red is faded, so it's closer to the color of clay now,
but he still drives it proudly like it's a Lamborghini. I stand up and
immediately get in like I'm safe from the rapists and arsonists and whatever
else is out here even though I'm probably not.
I pull out my earbuds, pausing my music and slide my phone back in my pocket
swiftly.
"Sorry about that," He says, his foot lowering on the gas to start our trip to
his place. The tall buildings pass by fairly quickly, and I can't help but
wonder if I might be able to find my fedora on the side of the road or
something. The fedora I lost when I tried to end it all on that building.
"It's fine, it's not your fault, Pete..." I reply, "It's good to know you're
getting help."
His chiseled jaw clenches softly, but it passes before I have much time to
think about it.
The truck barely gets seven blocks before it stops and he turns off the engine,
the soft rumbling quiets and instead I hear silence... I'm not sure if you can
even hear silence... is there really such a thing? Or is it just made up?
I follow him as we leave the truck, following the black-haired boy into him and
his Mom's apartment where he quickly unlocks the door. It's a small place, each
building is a soft white, and there are lots of trees and hedges at each block
beside the faded concrete road. Not near as faded as the block I lived on, but
it's easy to tell it hasn't been repaved in a few years.
"Sorry if it's a bit of a mess..." Pete murmurs, "I have a couple tablets of
ecstasy if you want some but that'll probably be your limit for a while."
I nod. I want some. Really, really badly and I'll gladly take it.
He chuckles when he finally gets the door open. He leads me inside, shutting
the door behind me and giving me a short tour. It's been three years, but
things are different now. It's, obviously, the same apartment but a lot of
things have changed. His sister, Hillary, moved out when we were in second or
third grade but it looks like his brother, Andrew, followed in her footsteps.
Pete was always the youngest of the three, the one who was picked on, the one
who had all the hand-me-down clothing, the one who got the most attention.
The living room is fairly neat, there's a box of cans of soda beside the
slightly torn up couch, it's open, but none of the cans have been taken out.
The TV stand is dusty, and a few cobwebs are lining the paper white ceiling.
Otherwise, it's neater than Pete said it might be. Pictures are hung up on the
walls, ones of Pete, Hillary, and Andrew, a couple of his mom, Dale, and one of
his father, Peter, who, Pete hated to talk about it, had run left he was only
two months old.
As soon as I enter, I hear a few barks coming from a kennel, and as I continue
to walk, I see his dog, Hemingway, watching me with wary, brown eyes. I smile
softly, remembering when he was just a puppy and Pete invited me over to come
meet him. It was a lot of fun the first time we met...
I swear I can hear Pete smile as I crouch down beside Hemingway's kennel and,
though I probably shouldn't, stick a finger inside. He sniffs at it for a small
while, and after a bit, it's like it clicks because he immediately starts
barking and wagging his stub of a tail. Arching his back, so his butt is
touching the top of the kennel, and his paws are stretched out in front of him,
his slobbery pink tongue sticking out.
"It's been forever..." I murmur, standing back up and looking to Pete. He looks
down and shrugs, "Y-yeah..."
I roll my eyes, "Thanks for letting me stay here, by the way, it means a lot."
He gives me a nod, walking to his room where I follow close behind in short
strides.
He opens the door, allowing me in first and he comes in right behind. His place
hasn't changed much. A bass and an amplifier are sitting in the corner on a
stand and an electric piano sitting against the wall. His bed is squishy, and
he has his black bedsheets spread across the mattress in a mess of blankets and
sheets while his white walls are decorated with posters of Green Day,
Shinedown, The Offspring, Blink-182, and a few others I don't know as well.
"No problem," He goes to one of the posters, a Blink-182 one, and pulls it off
of the wall, retrieving a zip lock stapled to the back of the sheet discreetly
and takes a white tablet from the package. He zips it back up and sticks the
poster back to the wall, right where it was before.
He gives me the pill, "Stay here, I'll be right back." My head nods in reply,
allowing him to leave and letting me fall back onto his bed, the pill in hand.
It smells just like him... I can't place the scent, but it brings back
nostalgia that I don't need anymore.
My eyes open to see the notebook out of the corner of my eye and before I can
stop myself I'm reaching for it and looking at the cover, his messy handwriting
scribbled across the front: Please return to Pete Wentz. Do not read.
I smile softly but set it down despite my desire to open it and read every last
thought he's ever had.
"Here," My eyes look up and I just slightly when he enters the room with a
bottle of water. I gratefully take it and down the pill before handing him the
notebook, "Can you show me another one?"
He gives me a sad smile, that same goddamn smile that I hate so much, but sits
down beside me nevertheless. He wraps a blanket around the both of us and flips
through the pages of the book, careful not to let me see everything he's
written. I want to see. It kills me because I want it so much but I want to
respect him at the same time, so I don't push him to show me.
"Take off your shirt, and I'll show you a few." He mumbles.
I let out a huff of air through my nose, "Why?"
"It makes me feel better..." He replies softly. He stops for a moment when I
don't make any attempt to move, his eyes sliding up to meet mine, "Please?"
I scrunch my nose but agree, unzipping my hoodie a little faster than last
time, but I'm still hesitating when I know I shouldn't. Once, my shirt is off
Pete hands over the notebook and begins fumbling with his fingers while his
eyes read through the lyrics for the millionth time.
This is one of his first sets, it's at about the third page in, and he had much
different handwriting. It's titled: Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy
Tonight?
Where is your boy tonight?
I hope he is a gentleman.
Maybe he won't find out what I know:
You were the last good thing about this part of town
When I wake up,
I'm willing to take my chances on the hope I forget
That you hate him more than you notice
I wrote this for you so...
You need him
I could be him
I could be an accident, but I'm still trying.
That's more than I can say for him
Where is your boy tonight?
I hope he is a gentleman.
Maybe he won't find out what I know:
You were the last good thing about this part of town.
Someday I'll appreciate value,
get off my ass and call you...
but for the meantime, I'll sport my brand new fashion of waking up with pants
on
at four in the afternoon
You need him
I could be him
I could be an accident but I'll still trying
That's more than I can say for him
Where is your boy tonight?
I hope he is a gentleman.
Maybe he won't find out what I know:
You were the last good thing about this part of town
My eyes finish reading it. It's different. It isn't about me or even Pete now.
"What's that one about?" I ask.
"I experimented with girls. Got into a shit load of drama. Half of these songs
are about girls and drama and breaking up and cheating..." He rolls his eyes,
"I know. I'm turning into one of those lyricists."
He takes the notebook and continues to flip through the pages, eventually
finding another one that he approves.
Calm Before The Storm
I sat outside my front window... this story's going somewhere
"He's well hung," and I am hanging up.
Well, there's a song on the radio that says,
"Let's get this party started."
So let's get this party started
What you do on your own time's just fine
My imagination's much worse, I just never want to know
And what meant the world had folded
Like legs and fingers holding onto what escapes me'
What he has: a better kiss that never lasts
You said, between your smiles and regrets, "Don't say it's over."
Dead and gone.
Dead and gone.
The calm before the storm set it off
and the sun burnt out tonight
A reception less than warm set it off
And the sun burnt out tonight
This is me standing in the arch of the door hating
That look that's on your face that says
There's another fool like me.
There's one born every minute.
There's one born every minute.
I tilt my head, furrow my brows and try to interpret it but these lyrics don't
make as much sense as I had hoped.
"It's basically about being friend zoned." He laughs. I roll my eyes with a
smile, "Again, based off of you. He's jealous of this other girl who's his
friend and has her own boyfriend. The other boyfriend isn't that great of a
guy, and the main character is much sweeter and underappreciated..."
He looks into my eyes with a ghost of a smile still etched on his face but it
fades after a moment, and I don't know what happens. I think it's the drug, but
I have the urge to fuck him into the bed right about now. I open my mouth to
speak, but nothing comes out. I don't even know why I'm speechless. I just am,
and he looks ten times hotter than he usually is.
His cheeks flush a soft red as he looks into my eyes and he just looks lost
with his dark hair styled up and his hazel eyes, that tanned skin, those
tattoos, the way he bites his lip, the color in his cheeks. I'm lost. We're
both kind of lost in whatever is happening, but I really don't mind it. I'm so
tempted to just lean forward and connect our lips and get lost in wherever it
takes us...
He bites his lip and, breaking the eye contact, sets the book back between the
mattress and the wall, "We shouldn't do this. We can't do this. It's...
fucked..."
"Please..." I whimper, then chant out a succession of, "Please, please, please,
Pete..."
I see goosebumps run up his arms quickly, "Patrick..."
"Pete, please, you know you want to, please. It doesn't have to be more than
that if you don't want it to just... please... I want it so bad..." I whimper,
and I can't stop myself. I sound so slutty, but I'm too light-headed and horny
to care at the moment. The ecstasy pushes it all aside into an unimportant
blur, and it puts my confidence up high. Higher than my doubt and low self-
esteem and depressions and anxiety and anorexia and PTSD because I need this.
Now.
Pete looks down at me, a new fire lit behind his whiskey eyes, and it's lit
just like a snap of his fingers. He pushes me down onto his bed and yanks off
his shirt, "Give me a safe word for your PTSD and whatever else you might want
me to stop for."
"U-Uh..." I stutter out trying to think fast, but this goddamn ecstasy is
making my mind and everything blurry.
"Now or I'm not going to fuck you," Pete growls.
"Apple," I say, quickly just using the same word I did with Joe because I'm not
using parades. I want to save that for Gerard...
"Good." He undoes the restraints on his jeans and bites my bottom lip as he
begins palming me through my jeans, a small smirk crossing his lips, "Such a
slut."
"Don't call me that." I snap quickly, "Slut and whore are triggers..." I lower
my eyes in shame, "S-sorry..."
"Hey, it's okay." Pete brushes my hair out of my face, "We don't have to if you
don't want to..."
I pull his lips down on mine, whispering out a soft, "Please..."
He smirks into the kiss, asking for entrance with his tongue which I
immediately accept, our tongues fighting for dominance and our moans filling
the room for the next hour or so... until we're tired, sweaty messes on the
bed.
I have to refrain from saying Gerard's name as I cum.
***** Chapter 46 *****
---Gerard---
Bullets racking through my soul. I am in pain.
My head down, my eyes low to the ground and my feet dragging on the linoleum
flooring. My thoughts corrupt with the blonde haired boy and his green eyes.
The thoughts are just flashes, just small images: A scar, U-G, a stray hair, a
part of that chocolate and cream fedora, his gray hoodie. One thing after
another, they keep taking over my mind, and I can barely focus on anything
besides him. What is he doing? Is he okay? Who is he with? Is he using
protection? Has he been with any girls? Does he think himself a slut after all
this sleeping around? Is his PTSD bothering him? Is his anxiety distracting
him? Will he be okay?
I barely see the person who knocks me down onto my ass on accident, he's short
but strong, and as I finally look up, I instantly recognize Pete by his dark
hair and whiskey eyes, his strong jaw and chiseled face, his Metallica tank
top, and his ripped skinny jeans. In his hand is a much paler palm. I clench a
fist as my eyes look to Patrick, a look of anxiety immediately sparks in his
green eye. A flash of fear because of me. Because I made him agree to too many
promises. Because I'm the reason, he's gone. Because it's my fault, I'm lonely.
Because I was the one who told him to kill himself.
I scramble to my feet, tears falling to my cheeks and my heart beginning to
ache all over again. I wish I could take painkiller for it. I want to take
painkiller for it. One tablet, two tablets, three, four, five, ten, fifteen,
down the whole capsule and wait for it to kill me. It would relieve me of this
pain. The pain of seeing him with another boy, a fuckboy. I know I shouldn't
call him that but I've seen how many people he's been with in the past few
months... Girls, boys, anyone he can get together with he'll do it. For the
sex. For the company. I like him as a friend, he's cool, but... I just hate
what he does... It hurts people...
Like me...
I don't talk to anyone as I run through the halls, my hood bouncing behind me
with each step I take. I can't focus on what's happening until I've reached my
locker and I can take a deep breath. Patrick keeps flashing in my mind, his
hand in Pete's. I hate it. Patrick's mine. He was my boyfriend... I knew it was
too good to be true: He lived with me, we made love, he was comfortable around
me, he loved me. Bob came along and fucked him up, all over again; made him
hurt himself again like he used to. Bob and the fighting and the self-harm. It
ruined him again like it had before and now he's gone. He's not mine anymore.
He's Pete's. He's gone to drugs... Thankfully, Pete told me about that because
he knew I'd be worried. I thanked him.
I'm wiping my tears as I throw a few things into my locker and shut it with a
loud slam that makes me cringe. The hall is beginning to empty as people
trickle into their classes and, though I feel like going home, the only thing I
can do is follow them into my first period.
First, second, and third periods go by fast, faster than I want them to. I
don't want to see Patrick. I don't want the jealousy to get the best of me... I
don't want to be jealous of Pete. I shouldn't be jealous of Pete. Patrick chose
him over me. It's my fault that he doesn't want me, I wasn't enough. I've never
been enough. I can't stop Mama, I couldn't save Dad, I couldn't change Mikey's
mind. Why should I be enough for Patrick? He said he's taking a break but for
how long until he has to accept that he's not mine anymore and he wants to be
with someone else? I'm a constant downer, why should anyone like me...?
You should just kill yourself and get it over you. You deserve it.
Frank talked to me in second, he told me that Brendon told him everything
that's going on and he said to me it's going to be okay. I nearly cried again.
Nearly. I hate this. I hate being so sad all the fucking time. I hate that I
want to hate Patrick at least half as much as I hate myself but I can't. I hate
that no matter how hard I try to escape the constant thought of him, those
bright green eyes, that nervous smile, those sleeved arms, that beautiful
stomach. Everything just hurts me inside because I can't have him. Because of
me, I've ruined myself.
Patrick and Pete sit as far away as they can from me, keeping mostly to
themselves but it's hard for them since Brendon keeps dragging them back into
him, Joe's, and Ryan's conversation. They're talking about Science homework. I
can't focus on something like that for long. Though, I'm too distracted. So
instead, I take out my sketchbook and pencil, and I draw during most of lunch,
Frank sitting beside me, quietly.
"Don't you want to go talk to Brendon?" I ask after about ten minutes of lunch.
I see him smile softly out of the corner of my eye and shake his head, "No, I
don't want you to be alone..."
I swallow and look over to him, then bite my lip, "Can I draw you?"
He giggles softly and splays himself out in mock seduction, "Draw me like one
of your French girls, Jack."
"I swear to God," I whisper with a small smile. I flip through the pages of my
book, passing by a picture of Mikey, a picture of Mama, one or two of Dallon, a
couple of Andy, a few trees, a dragon, a city street, The Black Parade,
Patrick-
My eyes rest on Patrick for a moment. Those gray lips, that gray hair, jawline,
ears, nose, everything I had yet to complete. It's all there, and it hurts. It
hurts so badly, and it's only a fucking picture.
I feel Frank's warm palm on my arm, his voice sounds like heaven, "It's going
to be okay, Gee... He'll come back... I promise..."
How strong are your promises?
I have yet to break one.
"Please don't say you promise me anything..." I whisper.
"Why?"
"The last time someone promised me something, they broke it and my heart along
with it," I reply. My pencil begins to trace Frank's jawline onto the paper, "I
just hope he's back soon."
***
I can't take it anymore.
I can't take the jealousy and the knowing he's not coming back. I can't take
how much happier he looks with Pete than he did with me. I hate how instead of
trying to work this out with me, he goes to drugs and sleeping with other guys
like I'm nothing to him. Like I'm just a setback. This isn't the Patrick I used
to know, this Patrick's been corrupted by drugs and smoking and whatever else
Brendon and Joe got him on, and I don't know how to get him back. I want my
real Patrick back, the Patrick who is still healing and isn't trying to cover
up how broken he really is with drugs.
I have to keep telling Mama that Patrick's been visiting Pete a lot because
they're really close friends and they like having each other as company. I'd
found out she wasn't home the night we fought. She'd been out with Elisa and
Sarah. She asked if I felt left out. I said no. I thought yes.
I fucking cry myself to sleep at night because I'm scared Patrick's in trouble.
I'm scared he'll overdose and fucking die. I'm terrified. I hate being so
worried and I hate that I can't do shit to help him. I hate feeling useless. I
hate being useless. I just want to end it. He's happier now. I can't do
anything. I love him, but he doesn't love me back. I want to help him, but he
won't let me. He has drugs, I'm just worrying too much. He said this isn't the
end of us, but he's broken his promises.
I open the cupboard and grab the capsule of sleeping tablets, setting it down
on the counter before walking to the kitchen and grabbing a glass. My thoughts
are completely blank when I return. Am I really doing this? What if he really
does come back? What if things will be okay?
Things will never be okay. You're a fuck up. You worry too much, and you didn't
love him enough. How could you even call it love? It was a hopeless
relationship between two boys with mommy and daddy issues. It's fucking
pathetic.
I fill the cup with water. There's no going back now. The note's on the
counter. I can't help but read it for the hundredth time. My handwriting shaky
and I wonder if they'll be able to read it.
I'm sorry for this, I'm so fucking sorry, but I'm out of reasons to live.
Mama, please understand it wasn't you. I know you're getting better please
don't let this be a setback. I want you to stop smoking, both Mikey and I want
you to stop. I believe in you, you're going to do great. I love you so much.
Stay strong, please. Dad would be so proud of how far you've healed. Don't
disappoint him.
Mikey, I love you. I'm sorry I did this, I wish I could have seen you. I wish I
could have seen you one last time and I'm so selfish for doing this, but I
can't take it anymore. My heart hurts. Stay alive for me, please.
Frank, I'm sorry for doing this. You were my best friend, and I would have told
you one last time, but you'd only start worrying and stop me from doing this. I
love you (as a friend), and I hope you find someone else to share everything
with. It was hopeless anyway.
Pete, take care of Patrick for me. He likes you. Don't disappoint him and don't
force him to open up to you. I hope you and him work out like him and I never
could.
Brendon, Ryan and Joe, you have to take care of Patrick, too, because I,
obviously, can't do it. Please make sure he's safe... I don't want him to join
me. He just deserves happiness.
Patrick, Patrick, Patrick, you're my life. I love you. I love you so, so much.
I'm so sorry for doing this but I don't really think you'll miss me. You have
Pete and Brendon and Ryan and Joe and Pete and Frank. Take care of them, and
they'll take care of you. Keep going to counseling, you're getting better,
trust me. You'll heal even if I'm not by your side. You broke two promises but
that's okay. I forgive you. I promised I would always be there for you the day
that Bob... you know... I'm sorry for breaking that promise. I guess this is my
three cheers for sweet revenge, I love you. I never meant what I said. I can't
let you die on me. Never. You mean so much. I'll always love you, Sugar. Live
happily with Pete, he likes you, you like him. Maybe it could turn into more.
It probably won't help but... if you ever feel lonely or if you ever want to
end it like I did, remember how I held you on the bridge. Remember how we
danced at homecoming while Tyler Joseph was singing, "Stay alive, stay alive
for me." I want you to remember there are people who care for you even if you
feel lost in the world.
Promise not to forget me?
-Gerard
I grip the edge of the counter, tears are streaming down my face now. I look at
my reflection one last time. My black hair is a tangled mess, my brown eyes
look scared, there are bags under them, and my tears are dripping down my chin.
I hate it. I hate how I look. I hate how I can't fix anything.
I grab the bottle of pills and pour some into my hand. This is it... This is
it... This is it...
I hold them to my lips and shut my eyes.
"Gerard? What are you doing?"
***** Chapter 47 *****
---Patrick---
A stench of sex and ecstasy. That's all I can focus on.
"P-Pete!"
His hands are rough as he grips my hips and slides in my stretched entrance.
The feeling pressure, the feeling of the stretch, the way he's grunting into my
ear, the intensity of it all and all I can do is try not to collapse into the
bed. This is so much different than usual. I can't see him. He's forcing me to
look forward, but at the same time, I love it. Two weeks ago when I first came
here, I couldn't bear to have him even call me a slut but now he's doing things
I'm sure would send me into at least five panic attacks in one round.
I'm getting better. That's the good thing. I barely think about Gerard anymore,
and I know I should get back to him soon, but I can't. Pete and Joe and Brendon
and the ecstasy, the gin, the lyrics, the feeling of it all. It's all so
addictive. I can't leave. Brendon does say I need to go back soon because
Gerard needs me. I don't want to. I've just begun to forgive him for what he
said, and I would be lying if I said I don't cry about it at night. When my
heart aches and my eyes are wet. When I've come down from my high and reality
has to crash down. Those are the nights I most need Gerard. When I consider
going back to see him but I can't bring myself to. I know he'll just tell me to
leave.
And never come back.
I'm afraid of what he'll say, so I just ignore it. I'm afraid he'll only push
me away. I'm scared of breaking my heart any more than it already is. I'm
terrified, and I can't help it. I don't like broken hearts. They hurt.
"You still here?" Pete asks gently, rubbing my back and taking me from my
thoughts. I blink, looking back and taking a deep breath before I nod. He
smiles, crinkling those hazel eyes before forcing me to looks forward again,
"Tell me if you need me to stop."
"O-Okay," I reply, setting my gaze on my hands and shutting them as he pulls
out and thrusts back in sharply, a cry of pleasure escaping my throat.
He chuckles as he starts a fast pace, his hips flushed pale against mine and
his hands still gripping my waist enough to leave bruises. My fingers fist in
the blankets, pleasure bursting through me with each thrust but I already know
this won't work out. Kevin is tracing my mind like a knife across my skin, and
any moment, that knife will be plunged in, forcing me back. Back to a time when
I was in a much worse situation.
Pete keeps thrusting into me, the slapping of skin against skin, the feeling of
his hands on my hips. Kevin.
I can't do this.
"Wait!" I blurt out, weak on my hands, "Can't do this. S-Sorry."
He pulls out, "It's okay, 's fine."
I roll on my back and pull him forward, still determined to finish the deed.
I'm high and horny, and I need him. Now.
"You sure?" He asks, resting his hands on my hips.
"I just need to see you. That's it." I whisper, "Please."
He chuckles and kisses me gently, sliding back in, "You're so hot like this,
you know..."
I moan at those words, my hand going to my length but he only knocks it away
and jerks me off slowly, thrusting again and creating that haze almost
immediately. As he begins a rough rhythm, I let my eyelids flutter shut, and my
breaths continue their fast pace. This is the bliss I always look for in sex.
The haze. The pleasure. The thumping of my heart. My back arched into the bed.
Everything about this. About now. I forget. I forget about so much, and I can
just get lost. I can forget about it all. About Kevin. About Gerard. About Dad.
About Megan. About school. About cutting. I'm just left with the pure pleasure.
The feeling of being high. It's an amazing feeling.
Pete grunts into my neck, a high pitched whine leaving his wide throat (I know
that for a fact. His mouth was made for sucking cock.) His lips are on my neck,
biting, licking, sucking. Anything to make a bruise. A bite mark. Anything to
mark me his. I'm not his. I'm Gerard's. But in the meantime, I'll at least play
along.
Pete bites down on my lip soon after, my eyes shut again in bliss.
Bzzt.
My phone. I don't pay much attention to it because it's probably Gerard trying
to talk to me. Gerard telling me he's sorry when he isn't... Gerard asking for
forgiveness I want to give him but forgiveness I'm afraid to give him. Gerard.
Gerard, Gerard. He's all I'm trying to forget about now. Trying to forget about
those thick black locks. Those troubled, hazel eyes I fell in love with at
first sight. That lanky build. Those coffee lips. Gerard, Gerard, Gerard. He
drives me crazy. Absolutely crazy. I need him, but I can't have him. I have to
have him, but he's only going to break my heart.
I can't focus on that right now.
"Pete, harder," I whisper, "Please."
He chuckles, a dark tone in his vocal cord but he complies, ramming into me and
making me moan impossibly louder.
"Oh my god, yes."
Pete kisses me again, our tongue fighting roughly for dominance, desperate for
a winner. Desperate for each other. His hand goes back to my length, jerking me
off fast and rough. Tugging, pulling, rubbing. The friction. The sweat. His
pace. The way he pounds right into my prostate. It's all too much. I can't take
it.
"P-Pete!" I cry and with that, I release, my hips snapping up off the bed and
his own stilling inside me. Our muscles clench and tense as our moans fill the
room. My eyes rolling back. My back arching. My hips off the bed with my legs
braced, and it's over as fast as it came.
He collapses, breathless. His arms weak and shaky, his palms sweaty and it's
silence. Everything is so quiet besides the club outside and our unsteady
breaths.
"Th-Thank you," I whisper, my hands pulling him closer and my eyes squeezed
shut as he hugs back, just slightly. He swallows and pulls the covers up over
us, closing his eyes as he tries to fall asleep.
Bzzt.
I moan grumpily but grab my phone from the bedside table, anyway. I want to
sleep and maybe get some more gin later, but someone obviously needs me right
here, right now.
I squint as I look across the text.
Frank: Patrick, cum 2 gerards house now. he almost attempted suicide.
Frank: reply goddamit. Where tf r u. he needs u now. please hes doing rly bad.
i just need u to get over here.
It takes a couple reads for it to register but as soon as it does, my eyes
widen.
And I immediately get dressed and leave, telling Pete to drive me to Donna's
house.
***** Chapter 48 *****
---Gerard---
Knives and pills. Is that really the scene he's going to walk in on?
"Gerard? What are you doing?"
The pills almost drop to the counter and the floor and the sink, but I clasp
them in my hand as I spin around to face Frank, a look of shock set on his pale
face and his jaw half open in shock and devastation. The only thing I can do is
to just step back slightly, tears still running down my cheeks. The only thing
I can do is to breakdown into tears and fall to my knees, whispering out, "I'm
sorry, I'm so, so sorry." The only thing I can do is let the guilt and the pain
and the hate and the depression wash over me.
Frank hesitates. I understand why. I did this to myself. I'm the one who didn't
break off the fighting and try to reason with him. I'm the one who he hates.
I'm the one who could have stopped this. It's my fault. It's all my fault, and
now he's gone. I'm left a heartbroken mess on my knees in front of my best
friend.
Not to mention my wrists sting...
"Oh my god..." He whispers.
He falls to his knees beside me and hugs me close like it can somehow stop me
from hurting myself any further but it's not working. I'm still breaking down
my walls one by one and letting the hateful thoughts enter my mind. The
thoughts that destroy my emotions, my sanity. The thoughts that not even
bravery can stop. The thoughts that pick me apart one by one until I'm splayed
open for anyone to manipulate. For anyone to use. To break.
He rubs my back, "Is it Patrick?"
The mention of his name sends my fingers clenching his shirt. His name is like
venom, now. I can't hear it without being reminded of all my mistakes I've made
with that boy... Green eyes, blonde hair, that fedora, his scars.
"It hurts, Frank... It hurts..." I whimper.
"Shh..." He pulls me closer as his hands reach for his phone in his pocket,
"We're going to get everything fixed up, you understand? I'll get him back for
you, and you don't have to be sad..."
"No," I say sharply, "Please... he doesn't deserve someone like me..."
"Gerard, stop. You're perfect just the way you are, do you understand? You're
the one who's helped him heal, not Pete. You're the one who's always been there
for him, not Pete. You're his boyfriend. You're the person he loves. He's the
person you love. He's the one who stepped out of line with this. You've done
nothing wrong." He sets his phone down, the text sent, "Now let's get you
cleaned up, okay?"
I nod softly, my eyes stained with tears. He wipes them away and gives me a
small smile, weak and sad but it kind of says, "Things will get better, I
promise."
He turns my wrists over, the blood has begun to dry, but they still hurt sting,
and itch like crazy. His face pales at the sight, at how deeply I cut. Don't I
deserve it? Why is he surprised?
He sighs, frustrated with me.
"Hold this to your cuts, keep the pressure on, okay?" He says, handing me a
cloth. I nod softly and obey, wincing slightly as he texts Patrick. He's
glaring at his phone, and it's pretty easy to tell he's pissed at Patrick right
now. I wouldn't be surprised if he's fucking Pete right now.
He returns to the problem at hand, "Keep applying pressure for another five
minutes or so, and we can wrap it up..."
I nod softly, lowering my gaze in shame. I press the wet cloth firmer onto the
cut, my tears beginning to run down my cheeks again, Frank only wipes them,
"Patrick will be here soon. We'll get everything worked out, okay? You two can
be together again..."
He looks around the bathroom and his eyes land on the suicide note on the
counter. My lip is bitten nervously by my teeth.
"Can I... Can I read it?" Frank asks politely.
I don't want to. I don't want him to know what I would say to him before I die
but I find myself nodding anyways despite my desires. He can use me however he
wants. I'm broken. All my defenses are down. They've been up for ages. Since
Dad passed. It's my only form of bravery left and a simple boy with green eyes
and blonde hair. A simple, innocent, broken boy somehow makes all those
barriers disappear with just the swipe of his hand. I've trusted him with my
heart, and he's thrown it against the wall. I should have never given it to him
in the first place. I shouldn't have said the things that would make him do it.
I shouldn't have. I fucked up, and there's no going back now.
Frank picks up the note and lets his eyes scan the letter. The note. The last
words of mine to my friends and family. It hurts to see his face transform from
a small smile to devastation and I can see his heart breaking in his face. The
pain that I went through just earlier this week. The pain I'm going through
now. I wonder if that's how I looked when I read over Patrick's last text to me
before he left to be with Pete. I wonder if I looked that scared, that hurt,
that shocked. I wonder if Frank realizes he looks exactly as I did. My hand
grips my wrist a little too tightly, I have to loosen it quickly before it
causes any more damage than it has.
"Do you know how devastated we would be? Brendon, Pete, Ryan, Patrick, Joe...?
Mom? Mikey?" He sets the paper back down on the counter and looks to me, "What
even started all the fighting?"
I swallow hesitantly but deem it appropriate. He's my best friend, why
shouldn't I be able to tell him?
"After school last Friday, Patrick didn't show up at the bus stop after school.
I got worried and looked around for a bit. I found him and Bob at the bad side
of the city. He had hurt him, and he relapsed," I remember how I held him close
and told him pretty lies. Lies that we both knew the truth from. Lies that we'd
told ourselves millions of times before.
"We stopped at Pete's, got him cleaned up, went back home." I take a shaky
breath, my eyes beginning to water from my stinging wrists and my broken heart
and retelling a nightmare, "I woke up that night, he wasn't in bed... I...
found him in the bathroom cutting his thighs..."
Frank squeezes my knee, trying to be comforting but it isn't working very well,
I'm still choking up, "He'd promised me he wouldn't self-harm again a while
back. I got mad at him, he got mad at me. I told him he should just kill
himself. I called him pathetic and weak, and he's not. I shouldn't have said
it, but he left. I shouldn't have. It takes time, I know it takes time, but I
was so fucking impatient anyways. I'm scared he doesn't even love me
anymore..."
"Gerard," he laughs slightly, it makes me frown in confusion and soon after in
frustration, "you don't know too much about love with a boyfriend, do you?"
"Not really, I guess."
"Gerard, listen to me," he carefully strokes my cheek, "If Patrick really does
love you, he'll come back. A couple fights won't make him stop loving you. If
it does, it wasn't real in the first place, and you don't deserve him. You
deserve all the love in the world because you're one of the sweetest guys I
know. You're my best friend, and I hate seeing you like this. No homo.
I laugh slightly at the last bit, the first smile of the day crossing my face
and it's real.
"No homo..." I reply. He smiles then pulls my wrist away from my hand and takes
off the cloth to reveal the wound. Still red and sensitive but it doesn't look
like it'll bleed anymore, not to mention the fabric soaked up a lot of the
blood that had accumulated there.
He throws the towel in the sink and continues to search the cabinets above the
faucet, passing by Patrick's medication and the small band-aids to find a small
roll of gauze bandages. My teeth clasp my lip again as he wraps my wrist
tightly-but not too tightly-with the bandage. His face looks concentrated with
his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes set on the wound and his tongue dancing with
his lip piercing. I wince at the pain of the bandage on my wrist, but I let it
pass without protest.
He asks for my other wrist once the bandage around the first is tied off. I
hand it over and watch with sharp eyes as he grazes his finger over the cut.
This one is shallower than the first since I cut it with my left hand and I'm
right-handed. He doesn't press the cloth to it, but instead dabs at the wound
and then wraps it with gauze. It doesn't hurt as much as the first, but it
still makes my breathing a little unsteady.
There's a knock at the front door.
My eyes dart up to Frank's worriedly. It's Patrick. I don't know what I'm
supposed to say, how I'm supposed to apologize, what I'm supposed to do. Do I
just let him talk or do we have to make up by ourselves?
He gives me a sad look and hugs me, whispering, "It'll be okay."
It won't. Patrick hates me. He doesn't love me anymore, does he? He can't. He
can't love me. I made him promise to something he couldn't do. I made him
leave. If it weren't for me, we wouldn't be in this mess.
Frank gets up and leaves, I'm left to stare at my bandages and watch as they
soak up blood from the wounds. I rub my arms, trying to calm myself down but I
can't, I'm tense. I'm scared of what he'll say. I don't even realize I'm still
crying until a tear drips to the floor.
I can hear Frank and Patrick talking to each other, Frank's mad, it's easy to
tell from his voice, the way it's rushed but still in a whisper. Patrick, on
the other hand, sounds close to crying. It breaks my heart, and I don't know if
he sounds like that because he doesn't want to sound selfish or if he really
cares about me. I guess the former. Who could love me?
"You need to talk to him, right now. I came here, and he was a fucking mess,
Patrick. He thinks you don't love him. He's heartbroken, and he's terrified of
losing you." Frank whispers loudly.
"I'm so sorry, I just... I needed a break, and I didn't... I didn't mean for it
to get this far..." Patrick replies, his voice cracking on the third sentence.
Just the sound of his voice makes my tears drop faster.
"Go make up. You need to end things with Pete. He's been like this all week and
it... it kills me inside because I just want to see him happy..." Frank
replies.
I've got my knees pulled to my chest now, my head looking down to my crotch and
my greasy hair tickling the back of my neck. I hear Patrick's footsteps at the
door and the gasp that follows.
Then the small sound that leaves his mouth, my name, just barely audible. It's
enough to make me look up. He has his hand to his mouth and tears in his eyes.
He grips the door frame with his free hand, he looks devastated. I don't know
why. Does he really love me...? Or not? I just want to hear him say it. I just
want to hear those words coming out of his mouth. Those three words that just
might heal my heart...
"I'm so sorry..." He whispers, "I'm such an idiot... Oh God,"
He walks forward and pulls me to my feet in a hug, sobbing into my chest just
as I remember. Just like he used to. But he doesn't love me this time. Why
would he love me this time? After everything, I did to him. After I told him to
kill himself...
So I push him away.
"Patrick, if..." I take a deep breath, "If you don't want to be here, you don't
have to. I understand if you don't forgive me or if you came just because Frank
told you to... I... It's okay if you don't love me..."
"What are you talking about? I'm the one who took it too far. I shouldn't have
cut, much less gone away to another man. I shouldn't have overreacted, and I
should have just stayed."
"Then say it!" I yell, "If you love me let me know! I told you to kill yourself
I don't understand how you could love a monster like me! I fucked up. I screwed
up so bad." He flinches, jumping back, guilt fills my heart because I should
know he gets scared at loud noises. It reminds him of David and Kevin. He told
me that at the flower shop an eternity ago.
"I love you. I fucking love you, Gerard Arthur Way. You're not a monster. You
never were. I don't think you meant what you said. You'd never say anything
like that... Not in the right mind," He whispers then smiles softly, "And...
they're not as strong anymore but..." He lowers his head a tear running from
his eye, "I promise..."
"How strong are your promises?" I ask, pulling him close to me.
"I've only broken two."
His hands wrap around my neck, mine wrap around his waist and our lips touch, a
spark running through me and that sweet, delicate honey taste on my lips. The
taste of Patrick. My Patrick.
***** Chapter 49 *****
---Gerard---
Everything is... perfect, I guess. Patrick's back, Mikey's coming home soon,
Pete was okay with breaking it off with Patrick once he heard what happened to
me, Frank and I have hung out a lot more, and it looks like Mama got promoted
which means she'll bring home more money and she won't have to work as much.
Patrick is still healing, and he's taking his pills again, much to my relief.
It's like things are the same again.
This is the second time I've tried to say same, though, and I realize there's
no such thing as same. There was never a same.
Maybe this can be our new same. Just him and I living happily, no fighting, no
secrets, no hating, just loving each other. Maybe we can make it through the
low self-esteem and the depression and the self-harm and the anxiety and the
PTSD. I'm sure he will eventually. I believe in it.
My wrists have healed, thankfully, and they're beginning to disappear one day
at a time. November is going by quickly. Quicker than usual and I have to
double take the calendar when it reads Friday, December 2nd.
Patrick comes up behind me, his hands wrapping around my stomach and his cheek
pressing into the back of my shoulder. I smile softly to myself because I love
the way he's not anxious around me and how he'll comfortably hug me if he feels
like it. He's become much more open to Pete and me. Counseling has helped him
through a lot and... it honestly makes me feel really fucking warm inside.
Really, it's like a furnace. I'm happy for him.
Mama, Patrick, and I went over to the Thurman household for Thanksgiving
because we don't have any family in Summit. Most of them are in California,
Oregon, or Washington so it's a relatively long fly and we agreed it would be
better to just get together with a few friends. It was easy to tell that
Lindsey was confused since the last time we saw her, we told her we weren't
dating, and now we can't stop holding hands or kissing each other's cheeks.
Patrick still blushes every time.
Patrick caught up with Elisa, it's easy to tell she's his favorite while, of
course, Lindsay is mine. Sometimes I feel sorry for Sarah because she doesn't
exactly get a gay teen to chat with.
Maybe I should have invited Brendon over, they probably would have gotten
along.
My hands rest on Patrick's before I turn and slant my lips against his,
pressing him closer and resting my palm right on his ass while his arms wrap
around my neck, warming the sensitive skin. His shaky breaths leave his nose
and brush my cheek, those familiar, pleasured breaths.
He pulls away, immediately resting his head in the crook of my neck, his hands
on my shoulders and his warm breath now fogging my chest.
"What are we even doing tonight?" He asks softly. There's an edge of tiredness
in his voice, but it's hard to tell if it's tiredness or just him being
content. It's a warm voice, and it's the kind of sound that makes you want to
cuddle up with a blanket and a book, drinking hot chocolate next to a fireplace
while orange and red leaves fall from trees outside.
But right now, I'm feeling exhaustion kick in as well.
"You wanna go to bed?" I ask softly, breathing in the scent of his honey hair.
It's addicting, the scent of him. I love it. I love it so much.
"Sure," He mumbles, pulling away and looking up at the time. 8:52 PM. He
squeezes my hand but doesn't lead me. He never likes being the lead in this. I
asked him a couple nights ago if he wanted to top, he said no: He only did it
with Pete and Joe because his self-confidence was up with the ecstasy and he
forgot about it in the morning. I had laughed at that, but at the same time, I
really didn't. I want him to top with me once, at least to try it. I don't want
his PTSD to bother him forever and, frankly, if I can't take it rough with him,
then I'm okay with him taking it rough with me. I don't want to force him into
anything, though, so if he doesn't want to them, I won't make him.
My hands weave in Patrick's and with a peck on his cheek, I lead him into the
bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind the both of us.
When I turn, I see him hoodie-less, baring his scars to me with shame. He
always carries shame on those small shoulders like it's the weight of the
world. He's ashamed of how his Dad beat him, he's ashamed of how his brother
touched him, he's ashamed of his escape, he's ashamed of how weak his promises
have gotten, he's ashamed of his body.
I'm going to make him feel beautiful. I swear to him, I will get him to feel
beautiful because he deserves to know. He doesn't deserve to live like this,
ashamed of everything. Afraid.
It's not even his fault...
He crawls under the covers as I pull off my own shirt, the cuts from the start
of last month are slowly, but surely, disappearing. I don't know how long until
they're just dark marks, reminders of what had happened once upon a time. It's
over, now, we're together, nobody can tear us apart. I love him, he loves me,
we haven't fought, he's healing.
I'm healing.
I mean... I'm still healing... but Patrick's helped me with... the grief of
Dad's death.
Not to mention, Mama's getting better. She's cut her smoking down a lot. From
about half a pack a day to only about 3... Patrick's helped us so much. I'm
thankful and kind of jealous. Mostly grateful. I mean... how could he do
something to Mama in two months that I couldn't do in four years? It's crazy.
He's a miracle worker.
Mikey's going to be home soon, too. It's the 2nd today, that means only three
more weeks until he'll be home. Then, it'll be like it used to be and we'll
have a new same, adding my brother to it. We'll be happy.
I don't know. I've just been in a really good mood lately. I'm excited for...
this...
Everything that'll happen soon: Christmas, Mikey, healing, whatever the fuck
else I want to do with my life.
Maybe it'll turn out for the best, and nothing bad will happen for once. It
would be a blessing.
My hands tug off my shirt, pulling it up over my shoulders and baring my own
scars to the boy in front of me. The dark marks that just barely show that
they'd been cuts once, that I'd desperately tried to cause as much pain as I
could to myself trying to forget about everything that had happened.
Once upon a time.
I flop down into bed right beside Patrick, making him bounce softly with wide
eyes. I smirk and pull him close to me, wrapping my legs loosely around his
waist and burying my cheek on his shoulder while my hands pull him close to me.
He giggles softly and turns, so he's looking right at me and with that smile,
he kisses me. I kiss back, my lips moving against his softly with the edges of
my lips twitching up.
My fingers tangle in his hair, messing it up into a bit of a little hot mess
that's honestly really sexy but I'm not really in the mood right now. I need to
ask him the question that's been on my mind for the past few days.
"So..." I whisper, untangling my legs from his waist because he's too goddamn
short.
Really, it's annoying.
"We're not going to sleep are we?" He asks. I shake my head, "Wasn't planning
on it."
I kiss the bridge of his nose then shut my eyes, pressing my forehead to his,
"I need to ask you something."
"Hmm?"
My breathing mixes with his for a moment as I turn to lie on my back, looking
up at the ceiling: White and bumpy. We were supposed to sand it down when we
moved, but we never got around to it, and now it's so rough that I make shapes
and designs and patterns out of the mess. Like stars in the sky.
"Do you... Do you feel beautiful?" I ask softly. He swallows, turning onto his
own back.
"A little bit..."
He replies with a quiet voice and a bite of his lip. I tangle my fingers in
his, our scars touching.
"Really?" I ask.
"Y-yeah, why?"
"Nothing, just... I don't know... Makes me happy." I smile up at the ceiling, a
soft smile but goddamn it's real.
He really feels beautiful? How beautiful? A little bit isn't a good
description. Is he still self-conscious about his stomach? When he looks in the
mirror, is he still overweight? Or does he look skinny? Does he see what I see
and he's too ashamed to admit it? Or is he really just beginning to see?
"I love you..." He whispers.
"Love you, too." I reply, then sit up and straddle him before he can protest,
my chest on his and my fingers tangling in his, "Can you sing to me?"
He blushes a dark red and swallows, shrinking down slightly, "I uh... A-Are you
sure?"
I nod, confidence in my movements, "Yes. You're incredible at singing. Please?"
He blushes but parts his lips anyways, "What song?"
"Any song."
He sighs but eventually nods, watching as I kiss his wrists gently.
"I never thought I'd die alone
I laughed the loudest who'd have known?
I traced the cord back to the wall
No wonder it was never plugged in at all."
I continue to kiss up and down his arms, every scar touching my lips for at
least a second each. He only blushes more and keeps singing.
"I took my time, I hurried up
The choice was mine I didn't think enough
I'm too depressed to go on
You'll be sorry when I'm gone."
I part my own lips and let my voice mix with his once I've stopped kissing his
scars. Harmonizing and blending. Following his pitches in such a way that sets
both our hearts on fire and my hands pulling him closer.
"I never conquered, rarely came
Sixteen just held such better days
Days when I still felt alive
We couldn't wait to get outside
The world was wide, too late to try
The tour was over, we'd survived
I couldn't wait till I got home
To pass the time in my room alone."
Patrick pulls me closer, brushing the hair from my eyes and singing along with
me, relaxing a little under me.
"I never thought I'd die alone
Another six months I'll be unknown
Give all my things to all my friends
You'll never step foot in my room again
You'll close it off, board it up
Remember the time that I spilled the cup
Of apple juice in the hall
Please tell mom this is not her fault
"I never conquered, rarely came
Sixteen just held such better days
Days when I still felt alive
We couldn't wait to get outside
The world was wide, too late to try
The tour was over, we'd survived
I couldn't wait till I got home
To pass the time in my room alone."
***** Chapter 50 *****
---Patrick---
Terror.
Another nightmare wakes me up that night. Long, drawn out. This one is worse
than the others. It makes my heart pound and my eyelids force open. This one
hurts much more.
Megan lets out a scream of terror. Loud, high, desperate. It makes my head snap
up with such a speed that I'm surprised it doesn't crack my neck. Before my
eyes, I see that Dad has her by her hair and he's thrown her against the wall.
Tears streaming from her eyes.
"Dad, stop," I say, getting to my feet and running between him and my sister.
He scrunches his nose like I'm just some kind of filth. Just a rock in his
road, "Let her go, take it out on me, please."
Megan's trembling behind me, hugging her knees to her chest while her cheeks
become wetter and wetter by the second with tears. Tears of fear. Tears of
terror, of hopelessness. It kills me inside... It hurts so much.
"You're a faggot, you deserve to watch her hurt." He growls as he slaps me
hard, "You deserve to see her die."
My eyes widen in fear as he yanks her up by her hair and throws her against the
wall. I try to get up to help her, I try so hard with all my will, but I'm
frozen in place. Adrenaline is pulsing through me, raw adrenaline.
Blood is seeping down Megan's nose now, and her face is beginning to look numb,
blank. Her eyes growing foggy, her hands going shaky and limp at her sides as
Dad continues to throw her against the wall, her head hitting the surface over
and over and over again until she's slumped back against the ground.
A lifeless body.
***
"Megan!" I scream. My eyes open and my body jolts up. I can't breathe. I can't
think. I can't do anything. I'm freezing up. Her lifeless face is etched into
my mind and tears are streaming down my face as I shake uncontrollably.
"Patrick, Baby, hey, shh..." Kevin says beside me. I turn, terrified of what
he'll do but as I look it's Gerard, he looks worried, his black hair a tangled
mess and it breaks my heart, but Megan is still imprinted in my mind. Megan.
Megan. Megan.
"I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry..." I whisper. Megan, Megan, Megan.
"Hey, hey," I wrap my arms around his shoulders and sob into his chest, "It's
okay, 'Trick. It's going to be fine. Everything will be fine..."
I can barely focus on anything, though. I feel like Dad's going to take me away
at any moment with his dark eyes and alcoholic breath. Those strong hands that
have made me bleed and bruise so many times. I can't... I can't breathe. I...
"Patrick, focus on me," He rests my hand on his stomach, "You need to breathe,
okay? In, hold, out, hold, okay? With me now."
I feel his stomach rise and I try to match it, I try to catch my breath, but
it's so hard to hold when all I want to do is inhale, and it's so hard to
inhale in when all I want to do is exhale. I still manage to calm down, though.
The feeling of his stomach going up and down in such a rhythmic pattern makes
mine match it and the image of her to slowly leave my mind.
He kisses my cheek and presses his forehead to the side of my head, wiping my
tears, "What happened? Do you want to talk about it?"
I shake my head, squeezing his hand tightly, I don't realize it until I see him
wince and I quickly let go, "What about Dr. Strauss? Do you want me to call her
up?"
I hesitate on saying no to that, m-maybe she could help... A little bit...
But no. That's not who I need. I can't. Not now. I just, "I want you..."
"What about your medicine?" He asks gently, knowing where the Ativan is. I bite
my lip in hesitation and after a moment, I nod.
He smiles softly, kissing my forehead before he leaves bed and returns a few
minutes later with a cup of water and a couple tablets of Ativan. He hands over
the pills, watching me quickly down them with the water, then sets the cup on
the bedside table and crawls back in bed, pulling me close so I can sit in his
lap, shaking and shuddering and trying to get that image out of my head. Trying
to get Dad's words to just leave me be. Trying, desperate for peace. Some kind
of peace. Of quiet from the voices in my head. From it.
Like I'll ever leave a pathetic slut like you. You deserve all of these
nightmares and flashbacks. You deserve every last one of them. You deserve what
Kevin did. You deserve another beating. Dad's not healing in rehab. You know
he's not. How could he when he hates you so much? You're probably all he thinks
about. How you killed Mom. How you made him hurt Megan. If you could have tried
harder, she wouldn't have been hurt. Now you've fucked up. You screwed up so
much it's so pathetic. Just like Gerard said. Pathetic, weak. If you're just
going to keep looking for attention, why don't you just kill yourself already?
Why don't you just die. You deserve it. You deserve to die. To burn in hell.
You're a stupid pig, thinking you could ever be beautiful. Thinking you could
ever be loved by anyone. You deserve the past three years all over again. You
deserve to be hurt.
More tears are leaving my eyes, and it takes all my will to try to choke back
my sobs and to just try to calm down, "I-I'm scared..."
"Shh, I'm here for you," Gerard whispers, "I'll never let go of you, do you
understand? Nobody is gonna hurt you. Not Dad, not Kevin, not Bob. You're so
amazing. I love you so much. Do you know how special you are? You're so
perfect. You deserve to be healed and loved. You are beautiful, do you
understand me? You're the most beautiful boy I know. I would never give you up.
Never. Not for anyone. I love you."
I bury my head further into his shoulder, "Did you mean it when I said I should
kill myself? Or that I'm pathetic for doing this...?"
He shakes his head, "Never, Sugar. I don't mean it. I was caught up in the
moment. I'm so sorry-"
"'s okay."
There's silence for a bit. Pure silence. Nothing to disturb me. My thoughts
have been put to sleep, and I feel myself getting close to following, but I'm
terrified. I don't want to see Kevin or Dad or Megan. I just want to see
darkness. I want nothing but the comfort of sleep. No nightmares. No
flashbacks. It's terrifying. Everything is terrifying. I just want it to all go
away. I want to forget about the scars across my back. I want to forget how
much they itched and stung when Megan would treat them. She had to look it up
on a computer at school because we don't have internet at our house and Dad
gets pissed if we use up our data.
"You wanna go back to sleep, 'Trick?" Gerard asks sleepily.
I squeeze him tighter, but after a hesitant moment, I nod. I don't want to. I'm
afraid. I'm so scared. My hands begin shaking again as I lay beside Gerard
again, leaving his lap. He throws the blankets back over us and lays down
again, hugging me close with his forehead pressed against mine and his breaths
on my lips, moisturizing the sensitive skin.
His breaths taste like coffee.
"C-Can you sing to me?" I ask quietly, barely audible but he hears. I know he
understands, just by the way he inhales a breath and exhales soon after.
"Okay,"
I shut my eyes as I wait, resting my terrified eyes and trying to focus on
something-anything-besides Mom and Dad and Megan and Kevin. My family is in the
past. It's ruined. I ruined it. I killed Mom. That hurt the other three and
because of that, Dad and Kevin began beating Megan and I. All good things must
come to an end.
"These are the eyes and the lies of the taken
These are their hearts but their hearts don't beat like ours
They burn 'cause they are all afraid
For every one of us, there's an army of them
But you'll never fight alone
'Cause I wanted you to know."
I look up at him in confusion, I've never heard this one before, did he write
it?
"That the world is ugly
But you're beautiful to me
Well are you thinking of me now?"
Yep, this was made for me.
"These are the nights and the lights that we fade in
These are the words, but the words aren't coming out
They burn 'cause they are hard to say
For every failing sun, there's a morning after
Though, I'm empty when you go
I just wanted you to know.
"That the world is ugly
But you're beautiful to me
Are you thinking of me
Like I'm thinking of you
I would say I'm sorry, though
Though I really need to go
I just wanted you to know
"I'm thinking of you every night, every day...
"The world is ugly
But you're beautiful to me
Are you thinking of me, now..."
"Goodnight, Sugar..."
***** Chapter 51 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey guys! Quick announcement/heads up that this story (along with
     Folie á Deux and All goes to hell) will be moved to another account
     soon! This is just so I can separate my smut from my actual stories
     and make people a little less judgemental of my work.
     I will upload all 51 (or however many chapters I have at that point)
     to the account so you won’t have to start all over again in reading.
     But I’m also going to be rewriting this in November as well!
     I will keep both versions up (the original and the rewritten) so
     yeah. Thanks for reading!
---Gerard---
Of everything I feel right now, it's the cold that shines through as my hands
weave through Patrick's blonde hair and I watch him sleep soundly. He was
reluctant, and I don't blame him, it seemed terrifying. I could tell just by
the way he was shaking and crying. I couldn't imagine having to relive
something like Dad's death over and over and over again.
He really does hate it. He's terrified of them. He doesn't like what he sees...
I imagine how much worse it was for Dad. All the blood, the guns, the screams,
the explosions. What was it like, Dad? Was it scary? As bad as Patrick? Or
worse? Did you want to die, too? What happened when your best friends died? Did
you scream for them like Patrick cries for Megan? Or did you just try to move
on? What was it like, Dad? Who had your back? Who stabbed your back? Was the
Fourth Of July really as bad as you always said? Did you actually see your
friends? Were you really there? Did it really feel like you were there?
Mikey and I weren't usually allowed to talk to him on the fourth, but if we
were lucky, we'd be able to bring him food and leave. He always stayed locked
in the bedroom so he couldn't hurt anyone. That was what Mama was most scared
of, but she still loved him nonetheless. It wasn't usually that bad.
Patrick's eyes are so peaceful when they're closed. I can't see the fear that
often laces them. The only time he isn't anxious is when he's really relaxed.
When it's just him and I. He needed that feeling of relaxation, that's why he
left for drugs. He needed some kind of escape. I needed some sort of escape at
one point, but I healed. I cut, then I snapped, then I just... was. From blades
and razors to rubber bands and ice to absolutely no need to hurt myself.
I'm surprised I've gotten this far, to be honest. There were times when I
couldn't find a point in living with both Mikey and Dad gone, not to mention
Mama's smoking was becoming more and more of a problem. It still is a problem,
not as much, though. Patrick's helped with that. It makes me happy.
"Gerard..." A quiet voice whispers from beside me, it's tired and grumbly. I'm
surprised he's up so early.
"Morning, Sugar," I smile, looking down at him. His green eyes look back up at
mine, and after a moment of blinking, he smiles, "How long have you been
awake?"
"Like..." I glance over at the clock, the time reading 8:26 AM, "An hour or
so..."
"And you were just watching me sleep," He says in a monotone voice.
"Shut up, I like watching you sleep."
"Creeper."
I smirk and lay back, "Brendon invited us over to hang out for a while. Are you
feeling well enough to go?"
He squeezes his eyes shut trying to blink the sleep away, but we both know he's
close to falling asleep again, "Yeah... sure..."
"Mkay..." He whispers. My eyes dart down to his stomach and soon after under
the covers, "Just... a few more minutes..."
He rolls over, shutting his eyes again.
"Can I help you wake up?" I ask, licking my dry lips.
"What do you mean?"
I wiggle my eyebrows at him making him giggle softly, rubbing his eyes, "Yeah?
Maybe?"
"No, I'm okay." He whispers with a smile, "Take a shower with me, though?"
I nod, "Okay."
I pull him up, quickly grabbing a change of clothes I had picked out the day
before and taking it into the bathroom along with a change for him. I lead him
into the room, he's still exhausted, it's adorable.
"You're soo tiiiired...." I laugh as he stumbles into the bathroom.
"Shut up, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night..." He replies. I turn on the
shower, letting it pour onto the floor with quick drops and a smooth shh.
"I can tell." I pull off his shirt, revealing his stomach which, to my
disappointment, he still isn't entirely comfortable with, but that's okay.
He'll get there. One day he'll believe he's beautiful and he'll realize just
how he looks in my eyes. Beautiful.
The shower takes a while since Patrick is really reluctant to wake up. He keeps
putting his head on my shoulder, and it got to a point where I just gave him a
goddamn blowjob. He actually woke up then. His hands tangling in my hair and
his head getting thrown back in pleasure. He offered me one, but I declined the
offer saying, "I'm awake enough as it is."
We ate breakfast, and by the time we were actually ready to go, it's about 11
AM. Mama's at work, so it's just him and I as we grab our bus passes.
Then, there's a knock at the door.
Patrick looks up at me, an expression of confusion on his face it asked, is
that for you?
I shook my head and shrugged, slowly placing my bus pass in my pocket,
"Probably just the mail?"
He sets his bus pass safely in his pocket, his green eyes still confused as we
walk to the living room.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Hello?" Someone calls on the other side. It sounds familiar but... no... it
couldn't be...
"Who's there?" I call back. There's a short pause, I could cut the tension with
a knife it was so thick. Finally, his voice replies, soft and gentle but still
with a sharp undertone. The voice makes me grip the couch in shock and my lip
to clasp hard between my teeth as I wonder if this is a dream or reality.
"It's Mikey, please open up."
I let out a shaky breath and place my hand on the knob of the door, gripping it
tightly. Is that really him? Is that really my brother? Why is he home so
early? What's happened? Did Mr. Gray kick him out? Or did he just leave the
school? Will I find him in that black parade uniform? The uniform I've grown
accustomed to these past few years? The gray beanie, the hideous haircut that
looks somewhat okay on him, and that white denim jacket that he wore before he
left? Along with those white glasses that sit just on the bridge of his nose?
I turn it. Am I really doing this?
Yes.
I pull on the door, watching it open and sure enough there he is.
There's Mikey Fucking Way on the other side.
***** Chapter 52 *****
---Gerard---
The Black Parade.
Mikey smells like The Black Parade. He smells like death, but I don't mind it.
I don't mind the smell of him, no matter how alien the scent is. I love the
smell. It reminds me of Dad. I reminds me of how life used to be before he
passed. It reminds me of all those times we'd cuddle up on the couch or watch
the snow fall outside. It reminds me of cold, groggy mornings and first days of
school when he'd send us off to go learn. It reminds me of his face, filled
with joy and his bright eyes, always happy, never sad or angry. He smells like
The Black Parade. He smells like Dad. Dad's parade. The sweet giggles and all
the times we visited Elisa, Lindsey, and Sarah. It reminds me of everything I
miss. It brings back so much nostalgia I actually see Dad in my vision despite
the fact that he's under the ground next to a mausoleum right now. Right beside
Patricia's grave.
"Gerard quit squeezing me," Mikey whimpers. I don't let go, though. I can't let
go. I'm scared that if I let go, he'll leave again.
"You're here... How? Why are you here so early? What happened?" I ask, my head
buried in his shoulder.
"I wanted to surprise you guys and... Mr. Gray said I could get out a lot
earlier than originally planned... So... here I am..." He says with a smile. I
hug him tighter but I let go, not wanting it to go any further, "How's your
life? What's been going on?"
He walks inside and sets his bags down in a neat pile on the living room floor.
I glance at Patrick who has his phone out, and I'm guessing he's texting
Brendon to tell him what happened.
"We were just about to go to Brendon's with Pete and Joe and Frank and Ryan," I
say.
"And Andy. Joe's gotta have his boyfriend, too." Patrick mumbles, "He told me
that we should just bring Mikey along. You wanna go?"
Mikey looks over at us, "I have no idea who and of those people are but...
sure? Are you two dating by the way? And why are you here? And... What the hell
even happened?" He laughs slightly.
"I'll explain everything on the way there," I promise.
"O-okay..."
"Ready to go?" Patrick asks softly, I can tell he's kind of anxious, but I
quickly lace his hand in mine trying to tell him it's going to be okay.
I nod, looking to Mikey who nods back. We leave, heading towards the bus stop.
I stand between the two of them, my hand in Patrick's while I talk to Mikey.
"A ton has happened since The Black Parade, honestly..." I smile, "After a
while of struggling, Patrick and I got together... He was..." I look to the
blonde, asking for permission to tell him. He only mumbles out a, "Not
everything..."
"He was having some problems at home... He was sent to a foster care home, but
Mama ended up adopting him and... yeah... Now he lives with us..." I say,
leaving out as much detail as I can because I really don't want to tell him
every single thing that happened. It's way too depressing of a story.
Patrick squeezes my hand gratefully which I squeeze back as a, "No problem,"
The bus stop is here now. The bus isn't. I pull out my phone and check the
time: 11:18. It arrives at 11:20.
"What about you? How's your life?" I ask, directing my attention back up to my
brother. I can't help but wonder if he had any dates when he was at the school.
Or who his friends were. Or if he ever missed us more than usual. I guess that
was his way of getting over Dad's death, though, and Patrick is mine. Smoking
is Mama's.
"It was... alright... I had, what, one friend? His name was Matt, but he was
usually off with another group. Nobody really talked to me much. I got a few
dates here and there but they never really lasted and... I think I'm gay..." He
says, lowering his voice at the last part.
"Well, we're going to a house full of gay guys... A couple of them are
single..." I remember Pete. No. He is not dating Pete. Pete dates for sex. I'm
not letting him get his heart broken by a fuckboy, "There's one of them you
probably shouldn't date. Otherwise, I'm okay with you dating anyone you
want..."
"Overprotective much?" Mikey teases.
"Shush. It was four years you've been gone, and I don't want to see you get
hurt." I nearly added "again" at the end but think better of it.
We hear the squeaking of the bus in the distance and Patrick leans into me, his
breathing is shaky.
"You okay?" I ask quietly.
"Y-Yeah..." He whispers, "Just... thought I saw him... nevermind..."
I kiss his cheek, a smile is immediately traced on his bright face. It makes
his eyes crinkle at the edges and his head to lower in a blush, "Let's go, you
can hang out with Pete, okay?"
He nods, "Thanks..."
"Mhmm..."
***
Knock, knock, knock.
We wait for a bit, Mikey nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot and
Patrick off to the side with his hands in his pockets and his back right up
next to the door.
"Who is it?" Someone on the other side, I'm guessing Joe, says.
"Gerard and Patrick and Mikey," I answer.
The door swings open to show Joe with Andy close behind. He turns and shouts up
the stairs, "Geetrick is here!"
"My OTP!" Someone, I think Brendon, yells back. I hear a burst of laughing,
Patrick shyly shuffles in the door but as soon as he's inside he darts up to
Brendon's room to probably talk to Pete and look in that notebook. I still
haven't figured out what he writes in that goddamn book but I swear, one day I
will find out.
"Your OTP?" I ask, giving Joe a questioning glance.
"One true pairing." Andy replies, "You're the cutest couple out of everyone
here."
"What about Trohley?" I ask, "You two are a hell of a lot cuter than we are."
"Too much sex." Joe shrugs.
"I did not need to know that," Mikey says, pursing his lips.
"Come on, Mikes, it'll be okay. Don't be a bum." I reply, smiling, "This is the
house of your sexuality!"
"I'm teetering on bi," He mumbles.
"Then go talk to Pete and Ryan!" I laugh, "Come on, lemme introduce you to
everyone."
Mikey smiles and rolls his eyes, "Fine..."
"This is Joe," I point to Joe, "He's chill, drinks beer, has the best fucking
music taste and is dating Andy. He's kinda new, but he managed to make it
here."
"We all have good music taste," Joe argues.
"We have a strict, you listen to Green Day, Shinedown, Blink-182, Nirvana, and
The Offspring, or you'll be kicked out." I sigh.
"They're not that bad," Mikey shrugs.
"I know, right?"
I bring him upstairs and drag him into the bedroom where Brendon, Pete, Ryan,
Frank, and Patrick are sitting around. Brendon has a bottle of beer in his hand
and Ryan in his lap while Frank is sitting to himself leaned up against the
wall with his earbuds in. Pete and Patrick, I see, are seated in the corner
with the notebook in hand.
"Hello, people."
They all look up, Brendon looks up and tries to hold back a laugh but fails and
instead manages to get Ryan on the floor.
"Jerk," Ryan spits.
"Alright, so it's the Summer of 2001." Brendon smirks and then giggles some
more, "Joe meets Patrick... and he's like, 'Yo, I know about music.' and
Patrick's like, 'Yo, I know more about music.'"
Everyone's staring at him at this point, Pete and Patrick are trying to hold
back a laugh, and I see Mikey just has a worried face.
"How much did you have to drink?" I ask.
"Like... Two shots of whiskey, five shots of Jameson, three shots of scotch,
and like...five bottles of beer." Ryan lists, holding out his fingers to count.
"And this," Joe says, slipping past Ryan and me to hand him a red solo cup of
something else.
"Oh, well, I'm out." Mikey turns, but I seize his arm and force him to stay.
"That," I point to Brendon, "Is Brendon, he... doesn't usually get that
drunk... He's cool..."
"Gerard is lying. He gets drunk pretty damn often." Ryan replies from where he
now sits beside Frank.
"Ryan, fucking hair goals, Frank, he's my best friend. And finally, over there
is Pete, Patrick's best friend." I say, pointing to Pete. He gives a little
wave, "Everyone, this is my brother, Mikey."
We're accompanied by a chorus of, "Hey Mikey's."
"Hi," He replies then goes and sits beside Frank and Ryan, I join them soon
after and we talk while Brendon keeps giggling and talking about the "Summer of
2001."
After a while, though, we start to get bored, and we run out of things to talk
about but that's when Joe and Andy come in (probably from the spare bedroom)
and take a seat, Joe's the one to suggest it. Nobody disagrees with it. Now,
we're playing Truth or Dare. Patrick and Pete came out from the corner. Someone
cracked a gay joke. I don't know who. I don't want to know who, though.
"I'll go first... Patrick, truth or dare?" Joe says, directing his attention to
Patrick.
"Truth."
"What's sex with Gerard like?" A few people crack up, Patrick goes cherry red
in the face, I just wiggle my eyebrows at him making him blush more. Mikey's
uncomfortable. I can already tell. I don't really care, though. He'll get used
to it like I did.
"I dunno... I mean... Nice..." He tries to shrink, obviously extremely
embarrassed.
"Kinky?"
"N-No..."
"Just... sex?"
"Yeah, I guess..."
"Okay, your turn, then," Joe concludes with a shrug.
"Pete, truth or dare?" Patrick says, turning to the boy next to him.
"Dare," Pete replies.
Patrick scrunches his nose, "Why the hell do you have to choose one I don't
have?"
"When in doubt, just make them kiss someone." Brendon slurs.
"Go kiss the drunk guy, then," Patrick says, patting Pete on the back.
Pete huffs but gets up and walks over to Brendon, then turns to Ryan and asks,
"You're okay with this, right?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
Pete turns back, I can tell he really didn't want Ryan to answer with that
but... whatever.
"Uh..." He trails off, biting his lip nervously.
Brendon just giggles and pulls Pete's lips onto his sloppily and I think
somewhere in there, he forces his tongue in. I cringe slightly at the sight of
a drunk guy basically trying to eat a sober man's face.
Pete pulls away before much more can happen and scrunches his face, shoving
Brendon back into the bed before he sits down next to Patrick in disgust. He
grabs his friends sleeve and wipes off his lips with that look before he turns
to Ryan, "Truth or dare?"
"Truth."
"Does Brendon kiss you like that when he's drunk?"
"Nope. I think he likes you over me." Ryan replies, "Mikey, truth or dare."
Mikey runs his fingers under his beanie, screwing up his hair, "Dare."
"Kiss Pete."
My heart nearly stops at that.
Mikey raises his eyebrows but doesn't seem too objected to the idea.
No, no, no. This is Pete. There's no way I'm letting my brother do anything
like that. He's gonna get his goddamn heart broken, and I don't want him to
relapse or anything and...
It'll be okay, Gerard. Just because he's about to kiss Pete doesn't mean
they'll fall in love or anything.
Mikey crawls over to Pete and nervously looks back at Ryan who nods. He looks
back, a slight blush on his cheeks, "I-I've never kissed a guy before..."
"Well, you're about to find out," Pete whispers. He presses his lips to
Mikey's. It's hesitant at first, but after a moment, they have their fingers
tangled in each other's hair, and Mikey's fallen on top of Pete, and I bang my
head hard against the wall.
I knew it.
"Get a room!" Joe says.
"I ship it," Frank whispers with a smirk. I look over to him with a serious
face, but my attention is soon diverted back to Mikey who's straddling Pete's
lap, panting and looking down with a bitten lip and sharp eyes.
"Joe, where's the spare?" Mikey asks with a smirk.
I don't know what happens but I just... can't stop them. I should. Pete's going
to hurt him, but I can't find my words and I know my friends will only tell me
it'll be okay. They're not going to get hurt or anything.
"This way," Joe says, leading them into the spare bedroom.
"What's wrong?" Frank asks beside me.
"I don't want my brother to be with him. He's a player. He just wants sex." I
whisper.
"It'll be fine. He might get his heart broken but, it'll heal in the end."
Frank shrugs.
"That's the problem." I reply, growing frustrated, "I don't want him to
relapse. He's been through enough with Dad and Mom smoking. I'm just... scared.
Scared of losing him again."
"It'll be okay, Gee," Frank replies, rubbing my shoulder. I run my fingers
through my hair, shutting my eyes, "Thanks... It means a lot..."
***** Chapter 53 *****
---Gerard---
How many times will it happen? Again, more time passed. So much time has
passed. Mama and Mikey were reunited and, after the truth or dare at Brendon's
house, Mikey and Pete got together. I'm a little pissed, but I guess it'll be
alright, I mean, it can't be that bad, right?
Patrick's anxiety is going away much faster than Dr. Strauss had predicted.
He's actually healing there were a few relapses here and there, but for the
most part, it's almost entirely gone. His mother's death, on the other hand,
hasn't gotten much better. He still blames himself. He tries not to, but in the
end, he always says it's his fault. It's his fault that they got in that crash.
It's his fault that she couldn't avoid it. He blames it all on himself. He
blames a lot on himself, and it hurts me because I really wish he wouldn't.
None of it was his fault. He didn't wake up that morning and decide to kill his
mom. He didn't know there would be a drunk driver on the road. He didn't know
that her looking away for a split second would cause a fucking crash. He didn't
know that any of that would happen.
Each time he retells the story, he changes it just slightly to make it sound
like it was his fault. Dr. Strauss asks him why he does it, but he only replies
with, "I don't know because it's true." I try to tell him, but he only says I'm
lying. I said I'd never lie. He only brushed it off. As for feeling
beautiful... he's getting better and better as each day passes, he's eating
regularly, now and I ask him if he feels beautiful a lot. He always says just a
little. A couple times, he called himself ugly, and I made love to him to try
to prove him wrong. He started to believe it a little more after each time we
did it.
His PTSD is getting a bit better. He still has nightmares about two or three
times a week. He wakes up screaming and hurling in a ball and rocking back and
forth. I always get him a sleeping pill and a pill for the PTSD. He thanks me,
taking the pills and washing them down. Then, I'll cuddle up with him and wait
for him to fall asleep again, singing a different song almost every night. I'm
Lost Without You by Blink-182 one night, 21 Guns by Green Day another night, If
You Only Knew by Shinedown, All By Myself by Green Day sometimes just to make
him giggle but sometimes I'll still sing him The World is Ugly again because I
made it for him.
I bury my head between his shoulder blades where his blonde hair tickles my
forehead and my own black locks mix with his. We always cuddle up after a
nightmare but a flashback. After a flashback, he usually tells me to go away.
If I press it any further, he'll yell, and I'll be sent out of the room while
he tries to gather himself. Once he does, he comes out and apologizes, usually
sharing a few tears, and that's when I'll be right there for him to keep him
company. It helps him, I think, Dr. Strauss said it helps, so I keep doing it.
Self-harm isn't an issue anymore. Sometimes he'll have a rubber band or a pack
of ice to press to it, or he'll take overly hot showers, but otherwise, he
doesn't do too much self-harm.
And then there are his 3 AM nights. He isn't woken up from a nightmare or
anything, he just lays awake for a while and usually sometime in there, he'll
grab a paper and begin writing. Song lyrics I think. In the mornings after,
he'll accidentally leave them spread out on my desk. One was called Alone
Together and just reading over it made me cry a little because it was about me.
I know it was about me. Just like The World is Ugly was about him.
I don't know where you're going,
But do you got room for one more troubled soul
I don't know where I'm going,
But I don't think I'm coming home
And I said I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead
This is the road to ruin, and we're starting at the end
Let's be alone together
We could stay young forever
Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs
You cut me off, I lost my track
It's not my fault, I'm a maniac
It's not funny anymore, not it's not
My heart is like a stallion
They love it more when it's broken
Do you wanna feel beautiful?
Let's be alone together
We could stay young forever
Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs
I don't know where you're going
But do you got room for one more troubled soul?
I don't know where I'm going
But I don't think I'm coming home, and I said
I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead
This is the road to ruin
And we're starting at the end.
Then there's Mikey and Pete. They're loud. A lot of nights when Pete comes
over, Patrick and I have to share earbuds and try to block out the noises while
we wait for Mama to come home and yell at them to shut up. We're much quieter,
and we're kind of thankful. We'd rather not be like... that. It's not that
there's anything wrong with it, we just don't want anyone to hear or know what
we're doing.
Mikey and Patrick get along, and they sometimes talk. Otherwise, they keep to
themselves and neither of them get too jealous over me (I didn't really think
they would, but they do kind of have to share me so I wouldn't blame them if
one of them did).
Patrick and Pete talk a lot. Pete shows Patrick that goddamn notebook but I
never know what's inside and I get really curious sometimes. I asked Patrick
once, but he said it's private, and he's sorry. I told him it's fine. I
understand. And I go right back to wondering.
I probably shouldn't but, it doesn't matter. It'll pass. I'm sure I'll learn
someday. Maybe.
November is long over, and Mama was called out on a work trip.
Mikey and I were disappointed, especially because she'd be gone. On Christmas.
Most of our winter break (which is from the 12th of December to the end of the
year), is going to happen when she's not around, so it'll just be Mikey,
Patrick, and I.
We don't have much planned besides the possibility of a huge Christmas party at
Brendon's house (everything happens at Brendon's house, doesn't it?). Patrick
and I are really excited especially because I have a few gifts for him. I think
he might like them.
I can't tell anyone yet, though. It's a surprise.
It's the 24th today. December 24th. Time has passed by way too fast for it to
be normal. One day it was the 2nd and the next, it's already the 24th, and
Mikey and Pete are in Mikey's bedroom.
Mama made a few rules for us which aren't so hard to follow, thankfully.
Don't have sex on the couch.
Don't eat all the food.
No parties
No drinking/drugs
Call if there's an emergency
She trusts us, though. I know she does or we would most likely have a pedo
babysitter for a few weeks. Nope. Right now Patrick and I are sitting in our
bedroom with an earbud in each ear. My lips on his, his lips on mine. The taste
of honey in my mouth. I don't know what taste is in his mouth. Probably coffee
if I'm honest. I drink too much coffee.
His hands travel down my chest and stop just at the waistband of my jeans. I
buck my hips up lightly but stop him as soon as he tries to unbutton them.
"I'm not going to have sex to the sound of my brother's moans. That's fucked
up." I whisper, buttoning my pants back up again. He laughs slightly and
instead just continues to kiss me over and over again.
"OH MY GOD, MIKEY! YOUR UNICORN FETISH IS SO HOT!" Pete near screams. My boner
is gone, and I can't help but chuckle slightly. The night they first had sex,
we could actually hear Mikey asking to ride Pete's 'Unicorn' and we all kind of
giggled at that. Ryan gave him the nickname, Mikey "Unicorn Fetish" Way.
"SHUT UP IN THERE!" Patrick yells back.
"MAKE ME!"
"EW."
I try to hold back a laugh, but it's way too hard at this point.
"UH-UH-UH UH-UH!" Pete moans.
"Pete! Shut up!" I hear Mikey laugh breathlessly.
I kiss Patrick one more time before I fall back on the bed, "Wanna go out? To
the bridge or something?"
Patrick looks down and nods softly, his blonde hair brushing his small forehead
and his green eyes looking straight into mine, "It would probably be a good
idea."
He crawls off of me, quickly slipping on his shoes and fedora and grabbing his
bus pass, "It's Christmas Eve..."
"Mhmm." I hum, slipping on my own shoes and a hoodie, "Are we going to
Brendon's party tomorrow?"
"Hell yeah," Patrick replies like it's not even a question, "Of course we are."
"Pete, fuck..." Mikey moans.
"We're going out! See you in a bit!" I yell, "Try not to be too loud. We have
neighbors, y'know."
"Uh huh," It comes out as more of a grunt, and I'm not sure who it comes from.
I lead Patrick out the door, shutting it behind us with a loud noise, the cold
air rushing against my face immediately.
"It's snowing." He whispers, "It's snowing, Gee."
I turn and all around us is a white sheet of snow across the laws. It's a
sparkling white with shades of green mixed in from the blades of grass that
stick up in some places. The air is cold when it hits my pale face. Freezing.
It makes me realize just how warm I am and how thankful I should be for that.
The coldness seems to poke at my skin like needles, desperate to be warmed but
I don't let it, instead shoving my hands into my pockets.
New Jersey gets a fair amount of snow, about ten to fifteen inches a month but
the most of it happens in February. It's really rare to get this much in
December so I understand why Patrick's eyes light up so much and I understand
why there's such a big grin on his lips. He cuddles up next to me, holding my
arm and smiling uncontrollably, even going as far as to let out a giggle.
"It's snowing," He says.
"It is," I whisper. My breath is honestly gone. The view is so beautiful. The
world covered in the pureness of the weather and I'm lost in my thoughts. The
thoughts of Dad, Mikey, and I. Sleeping under piles of blankets, building
snowmen, snowball fights.
It's beautiful.
Just like Patrick.
I turn and lean down slightly, "Get on my back!"
He bites his lip nervously, but I know he loves it, so he hops on, wrapping his
hands around my neck and his legs around my waist. I feel his warm breaths on
the back of my ear, they're rushed but excited, his giggles breathless but
happy.
I walk down the steps on the porch, it's slick, but Mikey and I put salt on it
earlier this morning, so it's gradually melting down. I run through the lawn
and ask Patrick with a small voice, "Wanna build a snowman?"
He kisses the back of my neck, but I feel him nod, "We're probably way too old
for this shit but yeah."
He hops off of my back and immediately kneels down, beginning to pack a ball of
the powder to build off of. I start my own ball, rolling it through the snow
and gradually shaping it to be bigger. It grows and grows as I continue to push
it, tiring quickly. By the time I'm done, I'm freezing, out of breath, and it
goes up to my crotch.
Patrick's is a little smaller, not by much, though. It still takes us about ten
minutes to roll the smaller one onto the base and about fifteen more to make
the head. It's beautiful, sketched with a few uneven edges but for the most
part, it looks amazing and as I stand there beside my boyfriend. The boy who
lost his virginity to me. The boy who tells himself lies and believes he isn't
beautiful. The boy with the troubled soul. The boy who's grown to heal. The boy
who's working on getting over his past. The boy who kissed me on the bridge.
The boy who laid with me next to the mausoleum. The boy who showed me where his
mother was buried. The boy who told me everything at a silly little café. The
boy who nearly jumped off of a building in fear that I didn't love him. The boy
with the fedora and the blonde hair and the green eyes and the sweet smile and
the rosy cheeks and beautiful scars. The boy who's beautiful on the inside and
out.
The boy who means the world to me.
And the boy who I will always love despite what everyone else may say.
I'll be his, and he'll be mine, and we can be happy.
He searches through the garden and finds a few stones. He presses three pebbles
into the snowman's body to make buttons like an overcoat and two for the eyes
and five for a mouth and one for a nose. Then, two sticks for the arms pointed
out in awkward positions that I don't even think are possible by human
standards. He smiles, burying his face in my chest.
"You wanna go to the bridge, now?" I ask quietly, "If we do, though, I need to
bring my sketchbook."
He nods, a soft but eager nod, so I run inside, wipe my feet, grab my
sketchbook, tease Mikey and Pete, and run back outside to find Patrick looking
up at the snowman. He's smiling softly and tilting his head.
He places his fedora on the creation's head, his blonde hair a mess under the
hat but in my opinion, it's adorable.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, his cheeks still flushed red from all the
work and the coldness of the weather and the flustering I did, trying my best
to embarrass the heck out of him (which succeeded better than I thought it
would). He's adorable, though, and it's completely worth it because he can't
stop blushing and denying all the times I call him cute and pretty and sexy and
adorable. He doesn't deny the time I called him beautiful, though. He only
shrugs and smiles.
It makes me fuzzy inside.
"You ready to go?" Patrick asks when I walk down and take his hand.
"Mhmm," I reply. I pull him along, going away from the bus stop towards
downtown and the mausoleum and the cafe and the flower shop. Everywhere that we
went the first time I met him. The first time we actually got to know each
other in real life without the phone and without the screen dividing us.
The walk is long but beautiful. The houses and streets and sidewalks are all
covered in snow and people are walking down the streets in overcoats and
fedoras and scarves and beanies and gloves and boots. It's all black and white
and beautiful. The walk is refreshing, too. It clears my mind and helps me
think about life and how lucky I am to have Patrick and how much I would hate
to see him leave. It helps me remember only the good times with Dad and Mikey.
It helps me worry less about Mikey and Pete and worry more about the future.
What does it hold? Love? Hate? Life? Death? Tragedies? Miracles? Curses?
Blessings?
Marriage?
Kids?
I want to ask Patrick. What does he think about in the future? Does he want
kids? Does he want to be married? Does he want to live in a mansion? Or does a
cottage fit him better? What would his dream be like? Is it the same as mine?
Or different?
I'll ask him once we get to the bridge.
He's silent almost the whole way, we can hear the occasional vroom of a car and
tweet of a bird, but for the most part, it's silent.
His hands are cold in mine. He seemed warmer earlier, but I guess he's cooled
down a bit by now, his playful spirit unneeded, to be summoned another day.
The walk doesn't take long. We're there before I can fully appreciate
everything in the world right now but at the same time, it's okay. I can have
an existential crisis later when Patrick isn't around, and nobody can hear me
scream in terror at my own imagination.
He keeps his head on my shoulder as we sit down and I open up my sketchbook,
stopping at the page where I last drew him. I finished it this past weekend,
the eyes were skipped, and in their place, much to Frank's disappointment
wasn't a blindfold but a black rectangle. Inside said rectangle is a word in
white. The word in white. The only word that can describe him.
Beautiful
Patrick squints his eyes, "Is that me?"
I nod and tear it out of the page, careful not to rip the paper, "Um...
Christmas Eve present?"
He giggles softly but takes it, folding it in half, then in half again and
stuffing it in his pocket. I bite my lip, flipping to a page where I was
drawing The Black Parade, and I continue to sketch, "I... need to ask you
something."
He rests his hand on my knee, "Hmm?"
I bite my lip, "What do... What do you want in life? If you could have
anything... I mean... I guess I'm asking what you want to do with your life?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you want kids?" I pause to let him think about that, "Marriage? A house? A
mansion? An apartment? When you think about your future, am I in it? Pete? Joe?
Andy? Brendon?"
He tilts his head, furrowing his eyebrows, "I haven't... I haven't really
thought about that... I mean... I want a marriage with you... If I could have
anything right now, be anywhere with anyone at anytime... I'd be twenty-one,
living in a nice house with three bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen or two... I
don't know... Just a nice little place, y'know?
"You'd be there, we'd live in Chicago near Pete and Mikey and Brendon and Ryan,
Joe and Andy, Ray and Dallon and Frank and Donna... We'd live together, and
we'd be married... Our honeymoon would be wherever you want, and we'd have a
kid or two... Maybe a boy and a girl..."
I hum softly, "Names?"
He laughs softly, "I-I don't know... I... I know I'd want to name the boy
Declan, you could choose the girl if you want. Or you can choose the boy,
whatever you want..."
"We could have a girl named Bandit," I reply. Bandit. Bandit. Bandit. I love
the name. I don't know why I love it, I just did. It sounds weird, I know
but... I like it a lot and... If I had a girl to name, I'd call her Bandit.
"Bandit and Declan and me and you..." Patrick whispers, he shuts his eyes, our
cloudy breaths joining in the sky above us, "I love it."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
***** Chapter 54 *****
---Patrick---
"Everybody shut up."
Knock, knock, knock.
The door feels smooth under my knuckles as I alert Brendon of where we are.
Gerard and Pete behind me, Mikey had to leave to buy some presents because he
completely forgot that he can't be a selfish bastard until Christmas Eve. Not
to mention, all the stores will be sold out, and at best he could get a
sketching book for Gerard, so I feel terrible for him. But on the bright side,
I'll have some time with Pete to show him some of the songs I've been making.
I've only made three so far, but I've found it as an outlet. It may not give me
the high drugs do or the haze of sex or the rush of self-harm, but it's just
about the only substitute I have. It's nice. It gives me something to do when
Gerard isn't around. A place for my thoughts at three in the morning when I
frankly don't want to sleep.
"Come in!" Ryan calls from inside, "It's unlocked!"
I open the door, holding it there as Pete and Gerard go ahead of me, and I
trail in soon after, my presents in hand. My eyes dart over Gerard's ass for a
split second, and then I'm following my friend and my lover inside, shutting
the door.
We continue upstairs, and into Brendon's room where Frank, Ryan, Brendon, Andy,
Joe, Dallon, and Ray are laying around, each has one or two people to talk to,
and I blink as I hoist the bag further up my back, "Christmas presents?"
"The tree is in the living room," Brendon replies, "You can wrap some stuff up
if you want in my parent's room."
I give him the best thumb's up I can with a bag in both hands as Pete, and I
head to the tree, and Gerard stays behind to talk to Brendon.
As we walk, I can't help but act a little nervous.
What if Pete doesn't like my lyrics? What if they kind of suck? I know some of
the stuff I write is a lot more obvious, but I'm hoping it'll be okay.
"You all right?" Pete asks as I kneel down and unzip my bag, pulling out the
Christmas presents that Gerard and I wrapped.
"Yeah, uh, I wanna show you something I've been working on in a bit. If that's
okay." I murmur, my pocket feeling ten times heavier from the paper.
Pete chuckles and nods, "Alright."
I swallow as I finish with the presents, admiring the tree (covered in
ornaments and topped with a star) and the presents (At least fifty of them, ten
or twenty of them are massive).
I pull away from the tree for a moment as Pete finishes placing his presents
under the tree, then turns to me, "Wanna go to Bren's room or...?"
"Brendon's room is fine," I reply, then begin walking up the stairs, "Did you
bring your notebook?"
"Of course I did," Pete replies, "I wrote one last night at like midnight."
"Yessss," I smile, excited to see the songs he's written. It's not very often
that he lets me see one he wrote relatively recently, but it seems like I'm
getting an exception.
We continue to Brendon's room and sit in the only free corner, Pete pulling out
his notebook immediately and me pulling out my papers. Alone Together, From Now
On We Are Enemies, Coast.
"You first," I say, blushing softly as he flips through his notebook and finds
the last page he wrote in, a mess of scribbled words and such.
He hands it over, the title reading: What A Catch, Donnie.
"You gonna elaborate?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.
"I promise not to attempt again. The song is about you, but it's my promise not
to attempt."
My eyes flash up to meet his, a surprised expression on my features, "Really?"
He shrugs and nods sheepishly as if it doesn't matter much, but in reality,
it's great. He's getting better. He's promising not to try to take his life
again. No more rooftops, no more empty parking lots, no more pills. Just...
life.
My gaze continues back down to the lyrics, and I begin reading.
I've got troubled thoughts
And the self-esteem to match
What a catch, what a catch
You'll never catch us
So just let me be
Said I'll be fine
Till the hospital or American Embassy
Miss Flack said I still want you back
They say the captain
Goes down with the ship
So when the world ends
Will God go down with it?
I will never end up like him
Behind my back I already am
Keep a calendar, this way you will always know
I've got troubled thoughts
And the self-esteem to match
What a catch, what a catch
I frown and blink, absolutely confused and I hear a soft laugh come from Pete
beside me.
"Confused?"
"Uh... Yeah?"
Pete pulls me closer and points to the title, "What A Catch, Donnie. There was
a man named Donny Hathaway. He had depression, and it's a lot like my bipolar,"
His finger lowers to the first stanza, "This is you," His finger continues to
the second stanza, "Donny committed suicide just last year. This woman, Flack,
made music with him. He misses her," Down to the third verse, "3 AM thoughts,
wondering when this world will end. If it would really be worth it to kill
myself."
The fourth stanza, "I will never end up like Donnie, behind my back, I already
am, keep a calendar, this way you will always know I'll be here," Fifth stanza,
"Closure. Despite all the depression and the suicide attempts, you make me
realize just how worth it is to stay. Your self-esteem gets to you, I know, but
you've done so many amazing things. You've saved me."
I frown for a moment longer, and then it disappears. The words sink into my
skin, and that's when I find myself buried in Pete's chest, hugging him
tightly. I squeeze impossibly tight because I never want to let go. I never
want to leave. I may have saved him, but him and Gerard have done the same for
me. They've made me feel at least a little beautiful. My thighs are still
chubby, my face still distorted in the mirror, my stomach an absolute disaster,
but I think that's kind of okay. Kind of.
"Okay, how about you, Trick?" Asks Pete, curiosity in his voice, "What did you
want to show me?"
I pull away for a moment and blush, my fingers fumbling with the paper in my
hands. I wanted to show Pete these since I wrote them but I'm starting to get a
little worried. What if he doesn't like it? What if the lyrics aren't good
enough? I'm afraid he won't like it but... Maybe he won't mind.
I unfold the papers and hand them over, a blush across my cheeks, "I wrote a
few songs. I wanted to know if they're any good. I don't mean to copy or
anything..."
Pete smiles and takes them, "You're not copying. It's not like I made the art
of lyrics."
He reads over Alone Together first, his eyes flashing over each word. I wrote
it for Gerard, about us. I'm just a troubled soul with nowhere to go. He saved
me. He's shown me so much and... I've begun to believe I really am beautiful.
Do you wanna feel beautiful?
He presses that paper to the bottom of the stack. Next is From Now On We Are
Enemies.
I just want to be better than your
Your head's only medicine
A downward spiral just a pirouette
Getting worse until there's nothing left
What good comes of something when I'm
Just the ghost of nothing?
I'm just the man on the balcony singing:
"Nobody will ever remember me."
Rejoice, rejoice and fall to your knees
Lunatic of a god or a god of a lunatic?
Oh, their faces are dancing
They're dancing till
Till they can't stand it
A composer but never composed
Singing the symphonies of the overdosed
Singing, "I only want what I can't have"
I'm just the man on the balcony singing:
"Nobody will ever remember me."
Rejoice, rejoice, and fall to your knees.
It's mostly about me and how I wish I was enough for some people. How I wish I
could be better than I really am. I want to make Gerard's worries go away. I've
seen a few times when even the mention of his Dad makes him wince. I want to be
remembered, too. I want someone to know I was alive. Something. So I won't just
fade away into the past. But I only want what I can't have.
And last, he pulls out Coast. This is one I wrote when I was a little less
depressed, and I really valued what I have. Gerard and I had made love earlier,
and it might have been because I was just really giddy, too. But, it was more
of the former.
Maybe I'm too young to be so hopeless
Maybe I'm too young to be so bitter
But I swallowed adolescence by the choke-full
And came away looking like a quitter
I'm singing,
I keep making mistakes
But it takes time to get everything right
'Cause it's gonna get better, it's gonna work out
Give it a minute, it's gonna turn around
'Cause it's gonna get better
It's gonna get better
It's funny how trivia nearly broke me
But tragedy seemed to put me back together
'Cause it's gonna get better, it's gonna work out
Give it a minute, it's gonna turn around
'Cause it's gonna get better
It's gonna get better
So just coast with me
Life's already been hard enough
Without you giving up on yourself
When you're down at the bottom
You know it only gets better
'Cause it's gonna get better, it's gonna work out
Give it a minute, it's gonna turn around
'Cause it's gonna get better
It's gonna get better
Pete smiles at the last one, the lyrics much more obvious than From Now On We
Are Enemies. He pulls me close and hums, smiling into my neck.
"I'm so proud of you, y'know." He whispers.
"Thank you..."
***** Chapter 55 *****
---Patrick---
Night is over when Brendon's voice rings through the house.
"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!" He calls, "It's Christmas! It's Christmas!"
Gerard hugs me tighter, groaning into my neck, "It's too early."
I only have a smile on my face as I turn and kiss him eagerly, grasping his
face and pulling him close in an attempt to wake him up, "It's Christmas,
though!"
He throws his pillow at me, his eyebrows in a deep frown, "Go the fuck back to
sleep..."
I only huff, a glare on my own face in frustration. When he doesn't attempt to
get up, I straddle him, pinning his hands above his head and watching his eyes
open immediately, his pupils beginning to blow at the position.
"Patrick?" He whispers, blushing slightly. I only give him a devious smirk,
gather up some saliva, and attempt to spit in his mouth.
He gives me a look of pure horror and struggles against my hands, yelling at me
to stop, and please have mercy. But I don't. I only watch as the ball of spit
lands on his cheek and quickly take the opportunity to roll off of the bed and
sprint to the door.
"Come downstairs for Christmas, and you might be able to pay me back for that,"
I smirk. He only glares at me and rolls out of bed himself, rubbing off the
saliva on his cheek with the bedsheets. I wink deviously, then make my way
downstairs before he can get me and pay me back early.
I can hear someone screaming, "IT'S CHRISTMAS! IT'S CHRISTMAS!" At the top of
their lungs. Gerard is barely trailing behind me as he follows me downstairs to
the tree but he tolerates it, eager to get it over with. Brendon, Ryan, and
Frank are already at the tree, Joe and Andy coming upstairs and Mikey and Pete,
Mikey leaning sleepily into Pete's shoulder, following soon after.
Call me childish, but I've always loved Christmas it's my favorite holiday
besides the Fourth of July and Halloween and September 23rd and my birthday and
Thanksgiving and...
I like all the holidays.
Gerard is laughing slightly as I look through the giant pile of gifts, half of
them labeled, 'From Santa' but I know it's Brendon because it's his handwriting
and he always overdoes Christmas.
I fucking love it.
Brendon throws me a present wrapped in black and white with a gold ribbon on
top, "Open up. There are plenty."
Before I know it, the room is a mess of scrapped gold and black and blue and
white and mega gay wrapping paper and cheesy nametags and gifts. Some of the
biggest presents included but were not limited to: a new bass for Mikey and
Pete to share (It was adorable because it had an M + P on the front. Brendon
secretly told me he could easily get a refund for it and I laughed even though
it was a horrible joke), a bottle of hairspray for Joe, a pair of drumsticks (I
found out Andy plays drums, and we immediately started talking more) for Andy,
a pair of fingerless gloves with a bone design on the back for Frank who sat
shyly in the corner, a new sketchpad for Gerard, a pink boa for Gerard, a new
pair of earbuds for Dallon, another bottle of hairspray for Ray, a vibrator, a
dildo, a pair of handcuffs, a blindfold, and a bottle of milk (Ryan was
extremely embarrassed all through Christmas).
Of course, that was all from Brendon.
Gerard got me a few things which I loved, and I told him I might let him do
more than just spit on my face later. They included: The 21st Century Breakdown
CD by Green Day (I nearly cried), a fuckton of fedoras, a notebook, and a
couple of Green Day jackets. I love him, dammit.
Pete got me a notebook with the words, "I had Mikey pick it up at last minute.
It's for your lyrics."
I got a few things from money Donna had given me before she'd left. I bought
Gerard a beanie (it was gray, and he looks adorable in it) and a pair of gloves
because I noticed he didn't have any, and I got Pete a Metallica CD, he nearly
choked me with how much he was squeezing in the hug that followed. It was a
small few gifts since I didn't have that much but they said it was alright,
they loved them and then Gerard even pulled me onto his lap and held me against
him despite the chorus of "aww's" that came from everyone else.
After a while of sitting and watch the other open presents, I could tell he was
beginning to get bored. Especially when he began whispering dirty, dirty things
into my ear (because he did that. Have I mentioned he's a very sexual person?)
slipping a "Gonna fuck you so hard tonight," or a, "I wonder what it would look
if you had that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock."
I told him to fuck off and that he was starting to sound like Kevin because he
was, it was seriously making me uncomfortable. The difference is he immediately
stopped. In all reality, though, I was achingly hard by the time we had the
wrapping paper cleaned up. Gerard kept teasing, a little less dirty but he'd
still, "accidentally," brush my crotch or, "accidentally," slip his hand in the
waistband of my pants.
Finally, as everyone begins to leave, I take Gerard up to the room and start
yanking down his pants and palming him. He stops me, though, with a short laugh
as he holds my hands in place, "No, you said tonight. So I'm gonna make you
wait til tonight," He says with a playful smirk.
I groan in frustration, "Please?"
He shakes his head, trailing his fingers down my chest, "No. But I'll make you
happy tonight. Promise. How about we go to the bridge or the mausoleum or
something? Just you and me for Christmas Day. Cuddle up with some coffee-" I
give him a stubborn glare and he quickly adds on a, "and tea."
I cuddle into his chest, nodding softly in agreement, "Okay, I'd like that..."
I see him smile out of the corner of my eyes, a wide, toothy grin.
Gerard grabs my Green Day hoodie that he gave me, pulling it on me through the
right arm first, then the left, and finally zipping it up and adjusting it on
my shoulders. It has the grenade heart imprinted on the front with the white
hand gripping it, and the words: American Idiot stamped beside it in red. Ruby-
blood red with a pleasant tone. I love it. The other hoodie is being thrown in
the backpack we brought to stay the night. Inside is Gerard's pink boa,
Gerard's new sketchbook, my two notebooks, a pair of drumsticks that Brendon
gave me, a condom and bottle of lube (Just in case), the Green Day CD Gerard
gave me, and a few fedoras.
Gerard throws it on his back, making a shuffling sound that does not sound
right. I don't do anything about it, though. Too lazy to.
I grab his beanie and slide it on his head, covering his short black hair and
making him look about ten times more emo than he did. I giggle at that and say,
"You look so fucking emo, like... Pete before The Incident. You should ask him
for his old eyeliner."
"Shut up," He replies, rolling his eyes and slipping on his black gloves.
He leads me out of the room, each step is fast and excited, with soft laughs of
excitement. Gerard has the biggest grin on his face as we yell goodbye to
Brendon and leave, shutting the door, "Wanna go back to the bridge?"
I nod, "Sounds good."
***
There's more snow outside, the weather coating the land in even more snow than
we left it in the night before when we arrived at Brendon's for the Christmas
party. It's cold out still, and I'm shivering just slightly, but Gerard deems
it enough to give me his jacket. I protest, but he only shakes his head,
laughing, "It's fine, 'Trick. You need it more than I do."
"Gerard Arthur Way, I swear to god you're going to freeze your ass off soon,
and it won't be my fault. You need to find something to keep you warm because
you can't just keep giving me your jackets and expect me to be okay with it." I
growl. He pulls me onto his lap, holding his hand right over my crotch and
making me swallow. It may not have been a while since the last time we had
sexual activity, but that was just a blowjob. It's been at least three weeks
since we last had actual sex. I want it and the fact that he told me he's going
to tease me for the rest of the day isn't helping at all.
Eventually, my mind travels off and I'm left listening around to my
surroundings. There's silence. Nobody is here, and there are no sounds besides
the rushing under the wood bridge. There are no sounds besides the soft sound
of the wind and the cars in the distance. The noise of a pair of boots on snow,
the crunching but I doubt they're near us. They're just passing by. It's
nothing.
Gerard's eyes are shut with snowflakes lining his eyelashes. It's adorable.
He's so sweet. I love the way he's so calm and the way he's just okay with
whatever I want to do. I love him. I hope I stay with him forever...
Maybe longer.
"Gerard?" I whisper.
"Hmm?" He asks.
I smile into his chest, "Can you promise me something?"
He pulls me closer, "Of course." His breaths warm my cold cheeks, his eyes shut
gently.
"I know you promised it before but... promise we'll be together forever? If not
lovers, then friends? You'll always be by my side? I don't want to lose you.
Sometimes I get scared I'll lose you and... I don't want that to happen
again... I love you so much..."
This is getting cheesy, but he doesn't seem to mind. I think he secretly likes
it. It doesn't look as cheesy when it's happening to me versus when I see Pete
and Mikey doing it. Gerard only nods and replies, "Of course, Baby. I'll always
be here. You know that. I promise."
"How strong are your promises?" I ask. The boots are getting closer. Just
passerby's.
"I've only broken one," He whispers.
I give him a confused look, but I can't ask him because the boots have stopped
in front of us. My eyes dart up to meet theirs, and I see four of them,
standing tall and dark: there's a girl with black hair and a beanie wearing a
pair of loose jeans and a baggy gray hoodie. Her dark eyes meet mine, and a
disgusting smirk crosses her lips. There's a boy with a pair of light brown
eyes and a bored expression, he looks like he doesn't want to be here but not
out of guilt, out of boredom. Another boy has a cap on backward, hiding his
dark hair and I can see a knife in his hand. A knife.
My heart drops, Gerard grips me closer.
The last boy has orange-red hair: greasy and it looks like fire in the dim
sunlight. His green eyes are dark, and I know his intentions aren't good. Have
his intentions ever been good? He has a lip piercing glistening silver in the
dark light, and he's wearing a leather jacket, unzipped and showing a black
shirt while his ripped jeans cover his legs.
"Looks like we've got a couple of faggots, eh?" The girl says, chewing a piece
of gum.
"They're the ones," Bob says, "Grab 'em. Let's get outta here."
My stomach drops at that, fear engulfing me. Gerard immediately stands up, his
eyebrows furrowed, "Get out of here. Never talk to us again, you've done enough
harm to him."
I'm thrown out of his lap, but I'm not worried about that. I'm concerned about
the gang that's threatening us right now.
The boy with the knife holds it to Gerard's neck making me grip the railing
impossibly tighter with the silver digging into the pale skin.
"Say one more thing out of that pretty mouth of yours, and I'll kill your
little boyfriend," He gestures to me with the last words, "Let's go."
They grab Gerard and me and we're taken away.
***** Chapter 56 *****
---Patrick---
I've never felt so trapped before.
The alley is small, cold. A long narrow path that leads to light that might
mean freedom but right now, I'm just a mouse. I can't get too far too fast
because I'm stuck in the dark. The cat's dragging me back to its lair. I don't
dare squeak for the cat can kill me at any moment. I don't run, the cat could
pounce. I don't try to fight back, I don't have a chance. What do I have? I
have nothing besides Gerard, but I know even he's going down swinging. It's
useless, the cat's already got us in its grasp, and it's only a matter of time
before we're dead.
"Search them," Bob growls. I feel hands on my body, violating me. I'm scared. I
want to scream. I want to run. I want to escape from this hell. I want anything
besides... this. I've been in this situation too many times to be normal. It's
not normal. Once is more than enough for one person but... four times, now?
Five counting this one? This is terrifying. I really do deserve it, don't I?
Why does Gerard even deny it?
First, was with Dad. A week after The Incident, he hit me. It was just a slap.
A mere slap because he was a little tipsy and he immediately apologized like a
typical Dad would. I got mad, yelled at him for drinking. I went to my room
and, pissed, fell asleep. A month later, he hit me again, but this time, he was
drunk. Really, really drunk. He beat me. He hit me over and over again, shoved
me against the wall, banging my head. He restrained my hands to stop me from
fighting. I went to bed that night sobbing because I was so scared. He insulted
me, called me worthless, told me I didn't deserve to be called his son. I
believed him, and that was the start of... this...
Next, there was Bob and Jon and Spencer. They'd take me behind the school after
hours and beat me up just like Dad but they weren't as strong and I didn't
believe them as much because both Jon and Spencer looked like they didn't want
to be there. The bullying from them wasn't that bad in perspective. It still
hurt, though. The last time Jon and Spencer joined in on it was when Gerard
stopped them. When I first met him forever ago in a gym locker in a school that
seems a million miles away right now.
Kevin came after the first time Jon and Spencer and Bob hit me when we were
alone, he'd beat me. He'd hurt me like Dad asked, but then there was the first
time he... touched me. I had never been more scared in my life. I thought he
was going to rape me. All the flashbacks of my past always have that memory in
it. It hurts me. It hurts me so badly that I can feel is with the flashbacks
and I hate it. I hate how it feels. I hate how he forced me to my knees and
talked to me like a fucking lover. I want to puke just thinking about it.
Worse, I knew he was going to do it. It was always my fault that he did it.
It's always been my fault, when has it not been my fault? It was just...
horrible... not to mention the time he actually raped me...
There was Bob again, in the alley. The time that forced me to leave Gerard for
a week or so because I couldn't take the stress. I couldn't take the anxiety
and the depression and the PTSD and the constant feeling of guilt. I just
needed my escape, and it involved a fuckton of weed, ecstasy, gin, and sex.
That was the time where he just beat me over and over again and all I could see
was the flashbacks. I don't know how many there were. There must have been
hundreds. Each one was just a split second long but I was so convinced Bob was
Dad or Kevin and it didn't even make sense. It's like a dream, where it makes
sense while you're dreaming but when you wake up, you finally just think over
the vision and say, what the fuck was I thinking? I finally woke up when Gerard
came, but I was still terrified. I didn't want them to hurt me. I didn't want
anyone to hurt me. I was so fucking scared because I thought he was only going
to hurt me more. At the same time, though, I know I deserved it. I know it was
my fault they hurt me. I know it's always been my fault if I had just struggled
a little harder against Bob when he got me into that van... If only...
Finally, there's here. Now. Whatever they're going to do to us. Probably kill
us. I know I deserve it... I don't want this, but I know I don't have the luck
to die peacefully in my sleep. I've got a guilty conscience. I heard the boots,
why didn't I tell Gerard we should go? I should have looked to see who it was.
I wish... If only... I could've...
The hands grab my phone, another takes the backpack from Gerard's back and his
phone from his pocket. Neither of us have a chance of calling 9-1-1 now.
Neither of us have a chance of living. The objects are all thrown into a pile
just a little bit away.
"Get the blonde one first." Bob says, "I heard he screams for his Mom in the
middle of the night. Maybe he'll cry for her now." He chuckles a dark laugh, it
makes my insides twist like I'm sick. Like I'm going to vomit. I'm used to
purging, though. Why is this any different?
"Please," I beg, I shouldn't beg. I deserve this but I'm so fucking weak I have
no choice but to beg. Beg for mercy, beg for them to leave me alone, beg for
them to realize I don't want this. It's useless. I'm useless. I'm just a broken
boy, can I ever be healed?
Bob throws me against the wall. The girl and the boy with the backward cap
(I'll just call them Beanie and Cap) pin me up against the cold building
causing a shock of pain to jolt up my back. I clench my teeth and shut my eyes,
waiting for the first impact while tears begin to prick at my eyes. Tears of
fear and hate and guilt and shame. Every negative emotion I can muster up right
now is coming out, and I'm crying. I'm crying and sobbing and begging just like
Kevin made me do. Just like Dad forced me to do. Just like Bob is making me do.
The first punch hits my stomach, I nearly puke at the feeling of it. It settles
in quickly and turns into a dull, throbbing ache, but it doesn't take long for
the next one to interrupt it. The next is to the stomach, too. And again and
again and again. Over and over, each wave worse than the last and each hit
causing a grunt of pain or a soft plead for him to stop.
"Stop it! Let him the fuck go! He's had enough of this in his goddamn life!" I
hear Gerard screaming. The man holding him has the knife against his throat,
and it's digging in little by little, blood dripping from the wound but it
doesn't look like he's intimidated, he's just desperate to get Bob, Beanie, and
Cap to stop. Another blow hits my cheek, leaving a cut and a bruise that I know
will be there for a while. All I can do is clench my teeth and try not to fade
out to the flashbacks. Desperate to keep control of myself because I know if I
can't I'll be weak, and I know I'll deserve this more than I already do.
Beanie and Cap let go, causing me to fall to my knees but it's not long before
Dad-no Kevin... It's not long before Bob's kneed me in the face and my head is
thrown back hitting the wall. I have my arms on my face, and I'm crying. Why am
I crying? It's pathetic.
Another kick in the stomach, I puke this time, it splatters on the ground in a
puddle of browns and orange. It's disgusting, but my bully still lets out a
sick laugh, "Fucking pathetic, aren't you?"
My hands just barely holding me up, "Please, B-Bob..." I sob.
He rolls me over, so my back is against the alley wall, but I'm still huddled
in a ball. He holds my arm, "Fucking faggot. It's disgusting. What's wrong with
you?" It's a growl and with each word is a kick to my stomach. Over and over
again, harder and harder until I can't breathe and I'm gasping for air. I think
Gerard's still screaming, but I can't be sure. Will I ever be sure of what
happens? Or will I die? Here and now? I'm not afraid to keep on living, but I'm
not afraid to die, either. I'll welcome it if I have to. Maybe I'll join my own
Black Parade with my old family, happily...
"Get the other one. This one's done for." Bob growls. My vision is kind of
clearing up, but I see these little black spots here and there. It's weird. I
can barely breathe, it's terrifying me, and as I'm thrown back with Knife and
switched out for Gerard, I feel myself losing control over myself.
"Stop," I mumble out. I'm so... dizzy...
I puke again, doubling over in Knife's arms and coughing. I take a deep breath.
I'm struggling to stay conscious, but it's so hard when all these flashbacks
keep coming, and my head is pounding, and my stomach is littered with bruises,
and my face has cuts across it, and Knife feels so warm...
"Patrick?" A girl? She sounds familiar... I look over and with half closed eyes
and a knife to my throat, see Megan. Megan? No, she's just... just another
flashback... has to be...
Right...
Fuck...
I'm fading... I need to... stay... conscious... Gerard's gonna... Megan...
Kevin and Dad and... and... a...nd...
Gerard's screams.
***** Chapter 57 *****
---Patrick---
God hates me.
I don't know what's happened. I feel... numb... I feel so numb. My legs and
hands are numb, and my head is spinning. What's happening? Where am I? I can't
remember a thing... I remember... The Christmas party and going with... Gerard
to the bridge. I remember talking, and I remember him trying to tease me... I
remember boots, but that's all. Boots crunching through the thick snow. Dark
shoes on white water. What happened...? I can't... think straight...
I try to open my eyes, but it's like they're sewn shut... I can't... seem to...
I'm so weak...
"Patrick?" Dr. Capaldi? "Are you awake?"
I muster out a whine. I'm so numb... Is it normal to feel this weak?
"Hey, I'm gonna give you some more sedative, sorry I thought I got you more.
I'll wake you up in a bit..." I hear a squeaky knob turn, but it's so fuzzy,
and I can barely focus on it...
And... I'm... drifting again...
***
"Patrick, we need you to wake up, can you wake up for me?" Dr. Capaldi says,
his voice calm and I'm still numb, but I can tell it's starting to wear off
little by little.
It hurts. Everything kind of hurts. My stomach hurts, my head is pounding, my
fingers are barely moving, but I can flick them just softly. Just as soft as
the peep of a mouse. I am a mouse, though, aren't I? I remember that thought. I
remember thinking myself a mouse. I can't remember where, though. Or when. I
can't remember why. I can't remember nearly anything. I just feel so out of
place. Different. Weird.
"I need you to open your eyes, can you open your eyes for me?"
N-no... I muster out another whimper, it's so weak... I'm so weak. Dr. Capaldi
is asking me to be strong, though. Asking me, "just try, come on I know you can
do it..."
So I try. I try so hard to open my eyes. I feel so... disoriented, though. Like
I'm not really in my own body. I feel so much weaker than I should. I've felt
low and pathetic before, but this is different. This is like how I feel after
purging and starving for a week straight, and I'm so dizzy and weak that I can
barely pick up a pen. Those are the only days I allow myself to eat because I
don't deserve to die, do I?
"Come on, Patrick, I know you can do it. You've done it before, and I know you
don't feel so good right now. We just can't risk you falling asleep again... We
need to talk to you..."
I can't... please...
***
I wake up again. Why do I keep falling asleep? Am I supposed to?
My eyes open this time, I'm feeling stronger. So much stronger. If it weren't
for the goddamn restraints on the bed, I would have probably sat up, too. But I
can't. I'm restrained. I'm trapped. This time, though, it isn't as bad. Has
Gerard helped with that? Gerard. Gerard... where is he?
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to blink away the blurriness. The ceiling is
white. Too white. I remember again that I'm in a hospital and I woke up a while
ago. I don't know how long ago. Probably a year ago. Maybe just a few seconds
ago.
"Patrick? Are you okay?" Dr. Capaldi asks. No, I'm not okay, I promise. Where
the fuck is Gerard? I need to talk to him. I need to know what happened. I need
to know if he's okay. I need to know so much... I can't... quite remember...
"I need Gerard. Where is he?" I ask, looking over at him. I'm feeling stronger,
but at the same time, a little off, "And can you please take off these
restraints? I need to talk to him, please."
He swallows, and a flash of nervousness immediately crosses his aged features,
"Ah, yes... you see, he can't talk right now. He's... ehm... I suppose I'll
have you find out on your own... it would be better. I need answers first and
then, yes, you can see him..."
I shake my head, refusing every answer that doesn't include, "Yes, you can see
Gerard," because that's all that matters to me. Gerard is all that matters.
He's all that's ever mattered to me. All that's worth living for besides maybe
Pete, "What happened to him?" I'm looking right into his eyes. There's silence.
There's tension where there isn't noise. I see him purse his chapped lips and
look away, "Dr. Capaldi?"
"He's... not very well, Patrick... There's been brain damage... Wasn't enough
oxygen coming in and out of his brain... He's..."
"Dead." I finish, my eyes piercing his.
"No, no, no," He quickly protests. I don't know why I'm not sad. I guess I
just... I don't know... I need to know what happened. That's all I can focus
on. Taking care of Gerard and then getting to Dr. Capaldi's questions, "He's...
in a coma, you see."
"A coma?" I repeat. I look back up to the ceiling and furrow my eyebrows,
confused, "What's a coma?"
He sighs, "You should probably sleep a little longer, I don't think you can
really think straight right now..." Dr. Capaldi says, "I'll be right here, and
once you remember what a coma is, we can talk about this, alright?"
I nod and shut my eyes again, waiting for the sedative to take effect.
***
My eyes open once more.
A coma
Gerard's in a coma.
Just like a snap of my fingers, it clicks, and it begins to settle. Gerard's in
a coma. Gerard Arthur Way is in a coma. A state where he's forced in a deep
sleep. Where he can't wake up. Where he can't wake up until... Until he just
wakes up... Or he doesn't...
"Is it medically induced?" I ask quietly. I know Dr. Capaldi is there. He has
to be there. I can feel him there. Like ghost. A ghost that is always there. A
constant reminder of where I am. Of who I am. Of all my problems.
"No, sadly... If it were, he'd be awake by now..." Dr. Capaldi replies, his
voice is soft and gentle.
"Please take off these restraints," I whisper. I'm not crying. I guess the
realization hasn't settled in yet.
He complies, taking them off, "Pete wants to see you, and if you want to, we
can wait to ask questions." I nod, "Okay..."
He gets up and leaves, I just roll on my side and stare at the wall. It's a
blank wall, there are shadows on the wall. I don't know what's causing the
shadows, though. Probably me and my stupid problems.
Maybe it's Dad. Maybe it's Donald. Maybe he's come to take me to my Black
Parade. Maybe this is a dream, and I'm not really in this hospital bed. The
memories are beginning to return, the memories of what happened before I got
here. Maybe I'm in the alley, maybe Megan is really there at the end of the
lane. Maybe I'm still being held by Knife and Gerard is still screaming. Maybe
I don't want to be here, and I'd rather be back in that alley. Maybe I don't
want him to be in a coma, and I'd rather be in pain and fear than in this
nightmare. This is worse than any coma that could separate Gerard and I. I feel
so... numb. Not physically but emotionally, too. My head is still pounding. My
stomach still feels horrible. I think they broke a rib or two. I believe they
split my mind. I think I'm going insane but... crazy people don't feel that
they're insane. They believe they're perfectly healthy, so no. I'm not really
mad. It's just my imagination.
I shut my eyes again, I want the darkness to accompany me. I don't want Pete. I
want Gerard. I want him to be here. I want him to tell me it'll be okay. I want
him to tell me this will all work out. I want him to tell me not to worry about
a thing. I want him to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, and I want him to hold
me like he used to. I want his black hair to brush my ear, I want his soft
teases and the way he'd gently caress my jaw when we kiss. I want his lips on
mine again. I want them warm and thin like they always have been. I want his
dark brown eyes to look straight back at mine, I want his voice in my ear,
traced with a drop of his Jersey accent. I want him to rub circles into my
stomach and call me beautiful. I want to believe I'm beautiful. I want him to
make me believe I'm beautiful like he always does. I want to build another
snowman with him and this time have his beanie and his gloves on it. I want to
make love to him again like we always do. His gentle thrusts, his soft kisses,
his warm touches that send sparks to my skin. The way he says he loves me. I
want him to suck bruises into my neck and ask if this is okay every now and
then. I want him to tell me how beautiful I am again. I want him to kiss my
scars like the touch from an angel and press his lips to my forehead.
I want to see his drawings again, too. I wonder where the backpack went. I
wonder if my phone is with it. His phone, too.
I wonder if he's thinking about me in his dark, endless sleep. I wonder if he
knows I'm thinking about him. I wonder how long it'll be before he wakes up. I
wonder if things will be the same when he wakes up. I wonder if he knows I want
him awake.
But who am I kidding? He can't be asleep in the first place. He's probably
faking it just so he can see me... right? It's gonna be okay. He might have a
few scratches here and there, but nothing's happened to him. At the same time,
though... my conscience knows he's asleep...
"Patrick?" Pete asks. His voice is soft. I don't want to move. I don't want to
face him. It feels warm here, staring at the wall with all these blankets
wrapped around me. I want him to leave. I don't want to talk. I don't want to
speak again. I just want him to go away and never come back. I feel the bed
sink behind me, "Patrick, are you okay?"
"No," I whisper, "Please just... go away... I... I don't feel like talking
right now. I want to... I just want to sleep for a while..."
He swallows, I can hear it. It makes me want to kill him.
"I brought your phone... If... If you want to talk or see him... just give me a
text, alright?"
I nod. He sets my phone on my table, "Also, if you want to talk to Brendon or
Ryan or anyone else, just... text... they're outside waiting for you... Frank
is in Gerard's room."
I nod again. I don't want to talk... I just want to sleep this away... I feel
so... weak...
The bed rises, there are footsteps and then the shutting of a door.
"He doesn't want to talk to anyone right now... sorry..." I hear him say. His
voice muffled through the hospital door. There's no reply. I just bury myself
further into the bedsheets, surrounding myself with darkness. The shade makes
me feel warmer inside. It makes me feel... better... I don't know. It sounds
crazy, but I don't mind it... I just want to be kept in the darkness, and I
want to forget about everything that's going on. I don't even think about
Gerard, I just sleep. Sleep away the pain... Hoping I can wake up dead or wake
up with Gerard.
Wake up dreaming.
***** Chapter 58 *****
---Patrick---
"Hello, Patrick, we need you to answer some questions if you can," A man says.
His voice is dark, scary. It makes me bury myself further into the sheets,
"Please I just... I don't want to..."
He rests his hand on my shoulder.
I don't know what happens or why it happens, or it's normal, but I scream and
jolt away, hitting my back against the wall and huddling up in a ball. I know
his intentions, I know he wants to do it. I know he wants to hit me, I know he
wants to force himself into me and make it burn. I know he wants to hurt me and
I can't take it, "Please don't hurt me! Please, I promise I won't do it again.
I'm so sorry I..."
"Patrick, hey." Dr. Capaldi croons. I only jerk away more, tears lacing my
eyes. I'm shaking violently, I can't think straight. My mind is full of:
Pleasedon'thurtmepleasepleasepleaseIjustwanttoenditallI'mnotokayI'mnotokay
"I'm so sorry, so sorry, please," I whimper.
"Do you want Pete? We can get him in here, and he can talk to you for a bit,"
Capaldi says.
"B-Brendon," I whisper. Brendon was always there to comfort me before The
Incident but I... I don't know if he can... they're going to hurt me. I'm so
scared they're going to hurt me...
"Step back, I'll be right back," The doctor says. I hear him as he rushes out
of the room, his feet echoing off of the walls as his shoes tap across the
linoleum floor. The door shuts behind himself leaving me alone with... them...
my heart is pounding in my chest, loud enough that I'm sure they can hear it,
too and there's complete silence. Each second that passes feels like a minute,
each minute, an hour. After about thirty minutes, I pull the sheets up over
myself again and huddle into a ball.
The door opens, the covers are thrown off, and I jump out of bed to run into
Brendon's arms, "Hey, 'Trick... are you feeling okay?"
"I don't want to do this, please just a little longer," I sob, shaking my head
against his chest "Please I don't want to do this, they're gonna hurt me..."
He rubs my back, "Hey, they're not gonna hurt you, understand? They're here to
help. They're gonna catch the gang that got you in that alley in the first
place. I'll be right here for you, just calm down."
He takes me over to the bed and sits down beside me, my hands shakily returning
to my gowned lap.
"Go ahead," the brunette says.
"Agent McCoy and Agent Beckett. We need to ask you some questions about what
happened in the alley," the man says, his badge showing off his name on his
overcoat. Agent William Beckett.
I nod softly.
"Do you know who hurt you? Did you recognize anyone who was there?" The taller
one asks (I think that's Agent McCoy.)
I open my mouth to answer. Just one name, that's all. As venomous as my
brother's, "Bob... Bob Bryar..."
Beckett writes it down on his notepad.
"Do you know him from school?"
"Yes."
Brendon's stroking my knee softly, it's relaxing me, making me less tense.
"Has he hurt you before?"
"Yes."
"When?"
The room is so silent, it actually hurts me inside. I don't reply right away.
Brendon keeps rubbing circles into my knee, and a tear drops from my nose.
"Bullied me." That's all that comes out.
"At school?"
"Yes."
More scribbling.
"Did you recognize anyone else there?"
"My sister."
It slips. Brendon tenses. I hear one of them swallow.
"I think it was just my PTSD." I quickly add, "The... the flashbacks happen
sometimes."
Brendon is still tense, but he starts rubbing again.
"What did they look like? Do you remember?"
"There were three boys and a girl including Bob. They all had kind of baggy
clothing, and they all had brown eyes... I think... The girl had black hair,
and she had a beanie... one of the boys was Asian a-and I-I'm not sure about
the others. One boy had a cap, the other one had a knife." I mumble. My throat
is closing up, tears are falling from my eyes harder now.
"Did they stab you?"
"N-no..." I whisper, my voice cracking, "I think... I believe they stabbed
Gerard... I can't remember I'm so sorry... I-I..." I'm crying now, pressing my
sleeves to my eyes in shame, "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry I want him back... I
want him to be alive... please I... I can't... he can't be dead..."
"That's all for today," Dr. Capaldi rushes, "Please leave."
"Thank you, Patrick," McCoy murmurs and they're gone. I hug Brendon closer,
sobbing into his chest.
"Do you want me to stay a bit longer?" Brendon asks gently.
"I want to see him." I say, "I want to talk to him. I want to see Megan, too.
Just to know she's okay and it was just my imagination..."
Brendon freezes up again and with a tense sigh turns to the doctor, "Dr.
Capaldi? Can I tell him? Or should we wait...?"
I look up, "Tell me what?"
"Go ahead, I... I need to go check in on Gerard. He's free to leave when he
wants to. The damages weren't too bad, but we can give him some painkiller if
needed." Dr. Capaldi replies, "Your clothes are on the chair when you're
ready."
He leaves Brendon and me alone, heading to his left through the hall. I signal
Brendon to close his eyes as I slip off the gown and instead, pull on my shirt,
hoodie, boxers, and jeans. The shirt is a plain gray shirt I wore on Christmas,
the hoodie is the Green Day one Gerard gave me while the jeans are just regular
skinny jeans.
"Okay, you can look," I say, "Tell me what happened, though... before we
leave..."
He looks away, swallowing softly, "Do you know who called 9-1-1? Who brought
all the cops to that alley?"
I sit beside him, "No."
He pulls me closer, "Megan didn't come because of the PTSD. She was really
there... She called 9-1-1 and saved you two..."
"Megan did?" My heart lightens slightly, "Where is she? Can I see her?"
"Patrick, she's... she... died... one of the gang members stabbed her... she...
I'm so sorry, Patrick. I didn't want to tell you. Nobody did... we were all
scared that it would only make you more depressed and broken-hearted." He
whispers. He's crying. Why is he crying? She's not dead. Gerard can't be in a
coma. Bob didn't really do that.
"She's not dead." I whisper, then smile, "There's no way she could be dead,
what the fuck are you talking about? Gerard's awake, too. He's gotta be awake.
There's no way he isn't awake. No, they're all awake. They're all alive and
well. This is a joke."
"Patrick, it isn't a joke. Megan is gone. Gerard is in a coma. Pete and Mikey,
Joe and Andy, Frank, Ryan and I, we've all been worried sick about you..." He
sobs. My smile disappears. He has to be joking.
Right?
I stand up, "What room?"
"What?"
"What's his fucking room number?" I ask.
"F-five-One-One," Brendon replies standing up. I don't say another word as I
walk out of the room, the door swings open fast and hits the stop, but I don't
stay long enough for that to happen. My mind is running at a mile a minute. My
hands are swaying fast at my sides as I walk down the hall, 493, 495, 497, 499,
501... Left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right... One,
two, one, two, one, two, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.
"Do you have the time to listen to me whine,
About nothing and everything all at once,
I am one of those
Melodramatic fools
Neurotic to the bone
No doubt about it
"Sometimes I give myself the creeps
Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me
It all keeps adding up
I think I'm cracking up
Am I just paranoid?
Am I just stoned?"
Yeah, about that tempo.
509.
I stop in my tracks, everyone is sitting out here, Mikey and Pete beside each
other, Frank is sitting next to Ryan while Joe and Andy are together just by
the door. On the other side is Donna, Spencer, Jon, Dallon, and Ray. All people
from Gerard's old school. Nobody speaks to me: Pete opens his mouth, and
Brendon comes stumbling down the hall after me, but I don't have the time to
talk to anyone. I need to prove to Brendon that Gerard is really awake. He's
gotta be awake, right?
I continue to walk forward.
511: Mom's old room number. The room she died in.
I stop just at the doorframe, my eyes shut, "This is the room?"
"Y-Yeah..." Brendon whispers.
I take a deep breath. He has to be awake. He promised.
"Promise... you'll a-always be h-here for me..."
"I promise..."
"H-how strong are y-your promises?"
"I have yet to break one..."
And
"I... I know I promised it before but I promise again, I'll be here for you no
matter what happens. I love you, and you mean so much more than you'll ever
know to me..."
And
"Can you promise me something?"
"Of course."
"Promise we'll be together forever? If not lovers, then friends? You'll always
be by my side? I don't want to lose you. Sometimes I get scared I'll lose you
and... I don't want that to happen again... I love you so much..."
"Of course, Baby. I'll always be here... You know that. I promise."
"How strong are your promises?"
"I have only broken one."
He's promised it over and over and over again. So no, he can't be asleep. He
can't be under. He has to be awake. They're lying. They're all lying. They
don't know the truth. They couldn't. They're stupid.
I enter the room, and I look at him. He's a mess. He's shirtless, I can see
everything they did to him. A stab wound in his side, it's stitched up, but it
still looks extremely sensitive. He has a black eyes and cuts and bruises along
his chest. I can see his arms: where scars once were, there are now new cuts. I
can tell they were done with a knife. Bob's knife. They carved words into the
skin. Words that only break my heart. F-A-G-G-O-T in his left arm, B-I-T-C-H in
his right. There's a small nick where Knife had cut his throat while Bob was
beating me up.
There are multiple IVs stuck in his arms, it makes me sick to my stomach and I
back away, into Brendon's chest, "no. He's not asleep, he can't be... Please...
tell me this is a sick fucking joke..."
"Patrick, I'm so sorry," He whispers. I push him away, so he falls backward
into the hall on his ass.
"He fucking promised me. He promised me three times over, he'd never leave me!"
I yell, then turn to Gerard and like he can somehow hear me I scream, "You
fucking promised! Wake up!"
She's motionless. Her blonde hair stained with dark red blood, an
expressionless, glassy look branded in her green eyes and her mouth open just
slightly. My heart stops. Time stops. I'm completely frozen, and I can't move.
This can't be happening. This just can't be happening. No. No. No.
I unbuckle the seatbelt and drag her out, setting her on the gravel and falling
to my knees by her side. The gravel digs into my skin, but adrenaline is
blocking it all out. Blocking out the pain. The common sense. Adrenaline is
only embracing the fear coursing through my veins.
No. No. No.
I lean over her, hovering my ear just over her mouth, there's nothing. Not a
breath. Not a word. Not a whisper. No warmth at all. Nothing.
No. No. No.
My hands immediately take place on her chest, one on top of the other, right on
top of left, hoping I'm doing it right. Praying for it to be right with nothing
but my rushed breaths and the movement my hands on her chest.
No. No. No.
I press down hard, over and over again, pumping her heart, hoping it'll start.
Praying for it to start. I can't let this happen.
No. No. No.
I lean down to her lips but my heart only sinks more, and my stomach continues
to rumble, sending acid up my throat. There's nothing. I try over and over
again, growing my desperate with each pump. It's no use. Nothing is happening.
No. No. No.
"Please, please, please." I beg as I continue pumping her chest, "Wake up."
No. No. No.
"Wake up, wake up, wake up." I plead with each pump getting louder and louder
with pent up energy. I'm yelling her name now, and I can't stop. The
streetlamps are the only things giving me light as I try to heal her heart.
No. No. No.
Then, I scream. I scream with all my emotion because I'm scared. Because I'm
sad. Because I'm fucking pissed. Because I'm disappointed in myself. Because I
can't save her. Because she's going to die and I can't do anything to stop it.
I scream as loud as I can. I scream so loud I hope the world hears my anger, I
hope universe hears my sorrow, and I hope God himself hears my pain. And I want
everyone to know this new tear in my heart. And I want each and every person to
know how much this hurts. That one wish to the universe. That one demand to my
mother. I need everyone to know how scared and devastated I am. This isn't
happening. This is just a dream. This never happened. This can't be my reality.
None of this can be my reality. My reality is so much better than this. In my
reality she's alive. I scream because I want my reality back. I whisper. I
speak. I yell. I scream. I scream so loud I'm afraid my voice will shatter. One
demand.
That one demand to Megan.
That one demand to Gerard.
Two words. Six letters:
"Wake up!"
I scream it. I scream it so loud that I'm sure the city can hear it as I clench
the edge of the mattress and sob into his chest.
I feel someone seizing my arm.
No. No. No.
"Let me go! He's awake! He has to be awake! Please, no!" I scream. I'm dragged
back into the hall, and Pete has his hand over my mouth.
No. No. No.
This can't be happening. This can't be it... Please oh God.
Please.
***** Chapter 59 *****
---Patrick---
Ten seconds feels like hours. Donna follows us outside, I'm still screaming
despite the fact that I'm basically being dragged out of the hospital and Pete
is begging me to be quiet. All I can focus on is the fact that I need to see
Gerard, his brown eyes open, alive and awake. He... he can't really be under.
He can't do this to me. I told him. I fucking told him to stay with me. He
promised me he would stay with me. He promised me three times over he'd be
there for me.
I fucking love him, and he loves me. How could he do this to me? How could I do
this to him? How could we do this to each other? How could they do this to us?
How could this happen? I just... I need... I can't... If only...
"Patrick! Snap out of it," Pete yells. He's not making sense, though. I'm
screaming still and begging to go back, I need to find Gerard, and I need to
know he'll be okay.
I feel a sharp sensation on my cheek, and it takes me a moment to realize he
just slapped me. I blink, my screaming over and now I'm just staring at him,
dumbfound.
"Calm down, it's okay, okay? He's not gone. He's not going to leave. You gotta
listen to me. He has a good chance of waking up. He's going to be okay... I
promise. It's going to turn out fine..." He pulls me into a hug, I can't help
but hug back, my hands shaky against his back. His hair tickles my nose, but
it's not Gerard's hair. This is just Pete Wentz. Just my best friend, not my
lover. He's useless to me right now. I want Gerard...
Donna holds her hands to her mouth, I can see the pain across her face. The
pain of her heart shattering into a million pieces and falling like blades but
it disappears as soon as it comes. I know that feeling. It hurts. It kills you
inside to a point where you feel like someone filled you up with Novocaine and
you're just... numb to everything.
"Do you want to go home for a bit?" He asks softly, "We can go and talk for a
bit. If you want you can stay with me, or I could stay with you. Whatever you
want. I'll show you more lyrics and... and... whatever you want to..."
He's close to tears, I can see it. How could he help me when he's struggling
with his own pain. Gerard's near dead, and he's trying to be selfless in
helping me. Why...? It's useless. It really is hopeless... Nobody could cheer
me up, and he needs to worry about himself first. His health should mean a lot
more than mine...
Despite my internal wishes, I nod softly with tears still lacing my green eyes,
"Okay..."
"We're gonna go ahead, do you need us to do anything?" Pete asks turning to
Donna. She shakes her head before walking forward and hugging me tightly, "Good
luck, Darling. Get sleep, eat I'll be home tonight."
I nod, hugging back, "Love you, talk to you tonight... tell me if... anything
happens to Gerard... I want to know-"
"Wait!" Someone yells to us. Donna and I break apart to see Mikey running
towards us with my phone, "Here, you left it on your bedside table."
He presses it in the palm of my hand and hugs me. His embrace is warm and full
of... not sympathy but... empathy... he goes to Pete.
"You just did that to say goodbye to me, didn't you?" Pete asks softly with a
hint of a joke in his voice, but he isn't smiling.
"Maybe," Mikey replies. They slide their lips together. It makes me feel a
weird emptiness in the pit of my stomach, so I walk away. I don't want to see
it. It just makes me feel more empty than I already do without Gerard.
Jealousy? I guess...
I continue down to the bus stop, phone in hand and my eyes down, joined soon
after by Pete who has to run to catch up to me. As soon as he does, we walk in
silence for a while. Our feet in sync and the sound of sirens leaving the
hospital sounding in the distance. How many more tragedies could the world
have? Gerard is enough to ruin eleven lives, but with a number of people, a
hospital can get in a day... if could ruin hundreds more. Gerard is just one in
a million.
But he's my one in a million.
Pete's the first one to break the silence. I wish he wouldn't. I wish he would
just stay quiet. But I only want what I can't have, "Do you know what happened?
I mean... if you don't want to you don't have to tell me but... I... I want to
know what happened... If you can tell me... It would mean a lot..."
I sigh and take his hand, nodding softly, "When we get home..."
"Okay."
We stop just before the bus sign, checking the time quickly and plugging in my
earbuds, I scroll through my songs. As soon as Good Riddance starts playing, I
immediately remember the day after I'd met Gerard... It feels like forever ago,
but it makes me smile softly. I remember wanting to have my old friends back:
Ryan, Frank, Pete, Brendon, and Joe... I remember how hard it was for me to
even think about Pete because it broke my heart having to leave him but... I'm
back with him now, and it makes me happier.
Gerard is gone, though.
My smile disappears. I swallow and hug Pete, "What are his chances? Do you
know?"
He rubs circles into my back, "Sixty percent..."
Sixty percent? Sixty percent chance that he'll wake up? Sixty percent chance
that he's going to be okay? Everything will turn out just fine? My boyfriend's
life depends on a fucking percentage now?
"When will they take him off of life support?" I whisper, my breathing hitched.
"Five percent." He replies, "It's okay. Everything will turn out fine. It'll be
alright. I know it's... hard to comprehend but he'll wake up... I promise."
How strong are your promises?
"Don't make promises you can't keep," I whisper, "He's not coming back... You
know he isn't... We both do. Sixty percent? Sixty? I-is there really all that
m-much of a f-fucking chance?"
I'm crying again. I'm sick of crying. I'm tired of being weak. I just want to
end it all. I just want to scream about how unfair the world is. I want to yell
and scream and cry. But I stay in my shell. I hug, and I weep, and I sniffle,
and I regret, and I keep feeling so goddamn sorry for myself.
I'm sick of it.
"I just want it to all end. I want to stop going through tragedy after tragedy.
Mom then Kevin then Bob and now Gerard. I hate this all. I just want a
different life, one where I could actually be happy," I pause, "Sorry. I...
probably sound fucking insane."
"I understand." Pete replies, "I've felt the same way... After... after you
left and after I'd attempted suicide, I'd just... hated the world, so I
screamed for about five hours in my room with a pillow over my face... I
mean... I'd also kind of had my wrists slit but... y'know. We could go a bit
safer."
I laugh slightly, though, it's empty. Pete doesn't seem to notice, just smiles
and kisses my forehead softly as the bus stops in front of us, "Let's get outta
here."
We get on the bus, and we're driven away, home to my house...
***
I wrote a goodbye note in lipstick on your arm
When you passed out
I couldn't bring myself to call
Except to call it quits
Best friends
Ex-friends till the end
Better off as lovers
And not the other way around
Racing through the city
Windows down
In the back of yellow checkered cars
You're wrong
Are we all wrong?
This city says
Come hell or high water
Well I'm feeling hot and wet
I can't commit to a thing
Be it heart or hospital
The tombstones were waiting
They were half-engraved
They knew it was over
Just didn't know the date
And I cast a spell over the west to make you think of me
The same way I think of you
This is a love song in my own way
Happily ever after below the waist
Best friends
Ex-friends to the end
Better off as lovers
And not the other way around
Racing through the city
Windows down
In the backs of yellow checkered cars
You're wrong
Are we all wrong?
You're wrong
Are we all wrong?
I can tell this one is a little more personal. He wrote it neater, and it has a
lot of marks and edits across the words.
"It's about you. I wrote it around the time you always came to the bar..." He
says, "Mikey said it was cute... I dunno..."
I hug him tightly, my hands gripping his shirt, "God, why did I ever leave
you?"
"Because you have Gerard." He laughs.
My smile disappears at the mention of the name. I don't know why he's upsetting
me so much he just... is... I wish he'd wake up and I wouldn't be in this
goddamn nightmare. I would be living my life with him, and we could be happy
but...
No...
He's going to stay under that stubborn asshole...
"Show me another one..." I whisper.
"Tell me what happened in that alley," Pete replies, flipping through the
pages, I'm surprised they're so full. It makes me happy that he's writing so
much, but at the same time, I wish I could see them all...
"Here, GINASFS." He says handing over the book, "But after this one, you have
to tell me."
"Ginasfsfs?" I splutter out confused, "And okay."
He chuckles, "G.I.N.A.S.F.S, Gay Is Not A Synonym For Shitty."
I smile and look down at the page.
I've loved everything about you that hurts,
So let me see your moves
Let me see your moves,
Lips pressed close to mine
True Blue, but the prince of any failing empire knows that
Everybody wants
Everybody wants to drive on through the night,
If it's the drive back home
Things aren't the same anymore,
Some nights it gets so bad that I almost pick up the phone
Trade Baby Blues, for Wide-Eyed Browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes
I know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
I've already given up on myself twice
But the third time is the charm,
Third time is the charm
Threw caution to the wind,
But I've got a lousy arm,
And I've traced your shadows on the wall
Now I kiss them whenever I'm down,
Whenever I'm down
Just kind of figured on
Not figuring myself out
Things aren't the same anymore
Some nights it gets so bad that I almost pick up the phone
Trade Baby Blues, for Wide-Eyed Browns
I sleep with your old shirts
And walk through this house in your shoes
I know it's strange
It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you
I'm supposed to love you
I grip his hand, "What's this one about?"
"You." He replies, "Mostly about... us being friends and shit... after... that
week that you stayed at my house and about how I'm moving on to Mikey. I'm
sorry I write so many songs about you."
I smile and pull him close, "I don't mind it..."
"Can you tell me about the alley now?" Pete asks as he slips from the hug, "I
mean if you're comfortable with it..."
I bite my lip, look away, and nod, "Okay,
"It was just after the Christmas party, Gerard and I were sitting on the
bridge. I was in his lap, we were talking, four people came up to us... two
guys and-and girl I didn't know and... and B-Bob..."
There are tears in my eyes now. I can barely hold them back because just
thinking about how he hit me softens me up inside and turns me to beaten mush.
It hurts, "They c-called us faggots and G-Gerard tried to fight b-back, but one
of them had a knife..." each drop that falls from my cheek just brings five
more with it and then more with those. Pete pulls me close, so I'm in his lap
crying into his shoulder, "Th-they beat me f-first... B-Bob kept calling me a
f-faggot a-and I k-kept s-seeing D-Dad and Kevin-n because of the P-PTSD.
"Gerard was screaming for me, Pete. I was trying to get away, but it hurt s-so
much..." I cry, "T-they d-did G-Gerard next and th-that was when I p-passed
out... I saw M-Megan and I-I w-was out... A-and I just hate this s-so much..."
Pete shushes me gently, rocking me back and forth and I can hear the tears as
he replies gently, "You're the strongest boy I know, Patrick... You've taken
more of this shit than any other person I know... You're the kind of guy Billie
Joe Armstrong would invite onstage, y'know."
"Y'know."
"Y'know."
I laugh slightly, trying my tears and pulling out of Pete's lap, "I... I think
I want some time alone... if that's okay..." I say, my smile dying off. He
swallows and nods, "O-of course... I'm gonna go home... So... uh... see you in
a bit?"
"Sure. Bye."
***** Chapter 60 *****
---Patrick---
Why is grief such a funny thing?
It makes you do things you'd never usually do. It fucks with your mind. Makes
you think things you shouldn't be thinking. It's like an illness and I'm
questioning everything I do. But, it's not like I do much anyway.
Grief is a stupid thing.
No matter how hard I try, I can't get him out of my mind. I'm always asking
myself, "Could I have stopped it?" and, "Where did I go wrong?" and even
something like, "Did I even love him?" It hurts me and I don't know where I'm
supposed to go.
Grief, in the end, is always hell.
I canceled all my plans with all of my friends. All I do is lay in bed, staring
at the wall and regretting everything. Regretting ever meeting Gerard.
Regretting the bridge and The Black Parade and the mausoleum and the cafe and
the building. I regret ever kissing him that night while the rain poured down
on us. I regret ever falling in love. I regret 21 Guns. I regret agreeing to go
to that stupid parade with him. I regret telling him about my past. I regret
making love to him. I regret ever leaving Dad and Kevin's house for... this...
Now, I'm a heartbroken mess. I don't eat. I don't sleep. I don't speak unless
I'm spoken to. I don't do anything but lay and stare at the ceiling, sleep, or
write lyrics.
I've written a few songs. They've all been about Gerard. How could they not be
about Gerard? I wrote them in the book Pete got me for Christmas. I also wrote
down the lyrics to The World is Ugly. Gerard and I's lullaby.
When I read through the notebook now, I see all the songs I've written (I
copied Coast and Alone Together and From Now On We Are Enemies from my spare
papers into the notebook). The first song is Alone Together, then Coast, then
From Now On We Are Enemies. After that, I wrote in I Miss You by Blink-182 when
I had no inspiration. When I was feeling especially depressed, I wrote one
called Golden. I really like Golden. I think it's my favorite. After Golden is
Truce. I wrote what I recalled of Homecoming night. I then wrote one called The
Kids Aren't Alright. Then I'm Lost Without You by Blink-182 and one day at six
in the morning when I hadn't slept all night I wrote Jet Pack Blues. I ran out
of ideas again and wrote the lyrics to If You Only Knew by Shinedown. And soon
after Lullabye, and finally, 21 Guns.
I can't do anything else. Everything I do just reminds me of Gerard. His name
upsets my stomach. It's like venom on my tongue so...
Thanks for the venom.
I want to die. I want him to wake up. The percentage went from sixty percent to
fifty to forty. Pete told me not to give up hope. I'm trying not to give up
hope. But it's hard when his life depends on a percentage. What's the point?
Wishing for a hopeless boy to wake up from an eternal nap? I hate it. I've
visited the hospital once. Otherwise, I can't bare to see his face. I kissed
him. I kissed him in his goddamn sleep, and he didn't kiss back. He couldn't
kiss back.
It's hopeless. Everything is hopeless. This is the business of misery. I'm the
CEO. Pete keeps trying to cheer me up, he'll come over about once a week, but I
almost always turn him away. I hate this. I hate how much it hurts. It's like a
constant ache, and the thing is, it's not like he doesn't love me anymore: He
just can't love me. It's not a typical heartbreak. This is one where he's never
going to wake up, and it's not his fault. I hate that he's so close but so far
away. I want him to wake up so I can see those beautiful brown eyes so I can
kiss those thin lips, and he can kiss back. Coffee with a hint of sugar...
I mean... the good news is that my self-image hasn't gone down... If anything,
it's getting better. I don't understand it... I guess... I suppose it's the
hope that if I think I'm beautiful, Gerard might magically wake up and just
like Sleeping fucking Beauty we'll live happily ever after.
I wish. I wish that could happen so bad...
I opened the notebook he gave me for Christmas, but I didn't go any further. I
was so tempted to see what's inside but on the very first page in Gerard's
handwriting it says:
Hey Sugar,
I know you're reading this. Christmas present. I just want to say I love you
but you can't read this until you're at least 21. I know, it's weird, but you
have to trust me. It's a surprise... I love you, and I know it's tempting
but... for me? Have a good rest of your day whenever you're reading this and
never forget that I'll always be with you...
-Gerard
So I keep it shut, I put it under his bed... His bed still smells like him...
I'll sniff it whenever I'm feeling lonely... It makes me feel a little better
but at the same time, a little worse... I want him... I want him to actually be
here so I can smell that amazing smell... The scent of coffee. I want to know
what his broken promise was. I want to know just how much he loves me. I want
to know if he actually believes I'm beautiful and when I deny I want him to
make love to me like he used to.
At the same time, I wish I'd never gotten into this situation. It's useless.
Could he ever wake up? Should he? Every time I think about him it just makes my
heart ache more and a new wave of tears to leave my eyes until I'm all cried
out and half asleep with his tear stained pillow on his bed.
I feel like I shouldn't be here anymore. I just want to run away...
Today, I decide to drag my ass out of bed. I take my phone and slip on both of
my Green Day hoodies along with one of his hoodies.
It smells like him. I can't help it...
I walk out of his room, trying to hide myself as best as I can but Mikey and
Donna still gasp when I walk into the kitchen and get myself a bar of
chocolate.
"Patrick? You're out of bed?" Donna says. I look up at her with a raised
eyebrow and a mouthful of Snickers, "It's just... surprising... Are you... Are
you feeling alright?"
I swallow the mouthful but don't reply, only shake my head.
"I'm gonna go out for a bit... Just... wanna clear my mind, you know?" I say.
"Oh, of course." She smiles, "Take your phone, and we set your fedora on the
living room table if you want it."
"Thanks, Mama," I say, I've never called her Mama before, maybe I should.
No. It reminds me of Gerard.
I pick up my fedora. The cream and chocolate fedora Gerard gave me when I was
first going to start living at Donna's. They remind me of his lips... those
soft, precious lips... I hate it.
I slip on my shoes that, though I would generally leave them in Gerard and I's
room, I left at the door on before I walk outside and begin to roam the city of
Summit aimlessly. I don't know where I'm going but I'm a broken soul, and I
don't have room to bring anyone else. I just want to be alone with my thoughts.
But not really, that just makes me regret Gerard even more with more depression
and anxiety than I should have at this point in counseling. So, I put my
earbuds in my ears, shuffling through the songs and my heart near stops when it
plays 21 Guns.
I stop and take a deep breath, quickly changing it to a different song. That
song makes me think of The Black Parade. It reminds me of the way we sat at the
corner of that block, watching the parade pass. The white girl and the black
boy, the banner, the soldiers, the people who lost their lives to cancer (those
were the picture frames that the soldiers were holding. Gerard told me his
Dad's picture was in it), the instruments, the percussion, Mikey.
I continue to walk, trying not to think too hard about it but still thinking
very hard about it.
The song playing reminds me of the first day I saw Gerard. I puked up my food
just before art listening to this song... wonderful memory...
"I want to be the minority
I don't need your authority
Down with the moral majority
'Cause I want to be the minority
"I pledge allegiance to the underworld
One nation underdog
There of which I stand alone
A face in the crows
Unsung, against the mold
Without a doubt
Singled out
The only way I know,"
I continue to walk, I don't know where I'm going, my head is down, my breaths
are leaving white clouds in the cold, foggy air. The snowman is melted as I
pass it, Gerard probably wouldn't care. He's too asleep to care. By the time he
dies, he'll probably have forgotten about me.
I'm crying now. I shouldn't be crying, but I'm crying so goddamn hard.
I keep walking.
"Cause I want to be the minority
I don't need your authority
Down with the moral majority
'Cause I want to be the minority
"Stepped out of line
Like a sheep runs from the herd
Marching out of time
To my own beat now
The only way I know,"
My feet stop. Why do they stop? Why don't they just make me collapse with a
goddamn bullet through my head? My blood splattering the white. I'd be in a
hell of a lot less pain!
I look up.
It's my old house.
I let out another shaky breath, a salty taste in my mouth from the tears, and
swallow softly.
Then, I step up the path and tilt my head. It looks like the police knocked
down the door and they messily hinged it back up. I try the knob.
Unlocked.
I don't know why it's unlocked. I guess they were too damn lazy to lock it and
now I'm about to go inside to do God knows what. I was just another broken boy.
It was just another case. They don't give a shit about Kevin or me or Megan or
Dad. Why should they?
I look around, making sure the coast is clear before I walk inside and shut the
door behind myself. I'm sure this is trespassing and considered illegal, but I
don't care. They can take me. I won't fight. What's the point in fighting when
you've only got a forty percent chance?
They cleaned up the broken glass but old, dried blood still stains the white
carpet. The smell of cigarette smoke and weed litters my senses. I feel scared
at first, but I know they're not here. There's no way they're here. The shadows
dancing on the walls are only causes of my disturbance... it's not Kevin or Dad
or even Mom...
Megan, on the other hand, I know she's not dead. I don't care what they say. I
haven't seen it, they can't prove it. They can't prove me a goddamn thing.
"'Cause I want to be the minority
I don't need your authority
Down with the moral majority
'Cause I want to be the minority
"The minority
I want to be the minority
The minority
I want to be the minority."
The song ends, and the next one begins. I recognize the soft strumming of one
string on an acoustic guitar right away and goddamn if I weren't feeling so
nostalgic right now, I would have probably skipped this one.
"Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends,"
I walk through the house, it's so... empty. The furniture is gone, leaving bare
carpet where it would normally be. My blood stains the wall. It's old... I
wonder how old... I wonder if new blood could stain that wall...
"Like my father's come to pass
Seven years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends."
I go into the hallway between Megan and I's room with the bathroom in between.
I expect to cross a corner and see Kevin, but I don't. I only see an empty
darkness... it makes me feel like I'm exploring my chest, not my house...
"Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again
Becoming who we are,"
My feet guide my into my old room, the door is broken down, they didn't even
try to nail this one back up. It just lays on the floor, alone. How long? How
long ago was it? I can't remember...
"As my memory rests
But never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends,"
My bedroom floor. I called Gerard here.
If you love me, let me go.
"Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends,"
I remember saying those words to him. I remember hearing him panic on the other
end. I remember hanging up without even saying I love you. Now, he's the one in
the hospital, and I'm the one who's scared.
"Ring out the bells again
Like we did when spring began
Wake me up when September ends,"
I see something glistening out of the corner of my eye: silver color, oval in
shape and I know exactly what it is. The cops must not have found it.
"Here comes the rain again
Falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again
Becoming who we are,"
I walk over to the mouse hole and pull out the blade. It's cold. Ice cold. I
drop it on accident because of how cold it is but also because it's covered in
spider webs. I wipe my hand on the floor, not wanting to ruin Gerard's hoodie.
I feel like I can't control my fingers as they flip open the blade and I can
control my mouth as it twitches upward softly. I want to do this so badly...
Just... a few cuts couldn't hurt...
"As my memory rests
But never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends."
I pull up the sleeve of Gerard's hoodie and my two other hoodies and position
it just across my wrist.
"Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when September ends,"
I know I promised, but he promised me something, too, and he's broken a promise
before, too. I slide it, blade down at such an angle that thins the skin and
makes it easier to open with the next slice.
"Like my father's come to pass
Twenty years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends,"
The second thins it more.
"Wake me up when September ends,"
The third opens it.
"Wake me up when September ends."
***** Chapter 61 *****
---Patrick---
Everything is down to a percentage.
Forty, thirty, twenty-five.
"Can I see Gerard Way, please?" I ask the office attendant at the front desk.
The sign on the wall behind her reads Linda Vista Community Hospital. It kills
me a little inside.
"Go ahead, Darling," She says, leaning over the counter, "Room five-eleven."
I know the goddamn room number, lady. Shut up.
I keep my hands in my pockets and my head down as I walk down the hall. This is
the second time this month that I've seen him. I feel so... empty...
It's already January, and it feels scary. I feel alone. I feel like a piece of
me is missing without him. I don't even realize I'm crying until a tear drips
down on his hoodie. It doesn't smell like him anymore. It smells like me. It
smells... normal... I... shouldn't get used to the scent. It's pathetic... I'm
pathetic....
But I guess I'm kind of beautiful... Kind of...
453, 455, 457, 459, 461, 463... Left, right, left, right, one, two, one, two,
one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four...
"Do you know what's worth fighting for?
When it's not worth dying for
Does it take your breath away
And you feel yourself suffocating
"Does the pain weight out the pride
And you look for a place to hide
Did someone break you hard inside
You're in ruins...
"One, 21 guns
Lay down your arms
Give up the fight
One, 21 guns
Throw up your arms into the sky
You and I,"
I'm not eager to get there. I don't want to be here but... I can't stop myself
from seeing his beautiful face... I can't stop myself from hoping he'll be
okay. I can't stop my feet from dragging as they continue down this never
ending hall. Each step, a new lash with a belt of misery and I hate how much it
stings.
485, 487, 489, 491, 493, 495, 497, 499...
The hall is empty unlike how it was when I came here the first time, Mikey and
Pete were sitting together, Mikey had tears in his eyes while Pete was trying
to comfort him. Joe and Andy were both just staring at the floor, Ryan was
trying to console a sobbing Frank, and Dallon and Ray were both crying their
eyes out. I never once said hi to either of them. The last I saw of them was
when I was screaming and struggling against Pete. Begging him to let me go.
I don't even know how any of them are holding up. I never leave my room. I
haven't talked to Frank or Joe or Brendon or Ryan since Christmas. I haven't
eaten for... I can't... I can't remember when the last time I ate was...
probably a couple days ago...
505, 507, 509...
I wipe my tears and in front of the door that leads to Gerard's room. It's
slightly ajar but I know nobody is inside, it's too quiet for someone to be
inside... the only sound is the steady rhythm of the heart rate monitor.
I open the door, my hand shaking as I shut my eyes and press forward. I can't
look. I can't see what he looks like. His peaceful sleep... It just... hurts
and my heart is cracked so much as it is. The door shuts with a soft click
behind me. It feels cold pressed against my back. Against Gerard's gray hoodie.
"Hey, Gee..." I whisper. I can't stop myself from finally opening my watering
eyes. He looks so... peaceful... just like I thought he would: sleeping and
connected up to a few IVs with little nubbins of life support in his nose. They
make me sick, but I don't mind... I'll stay here for him no matter how much I
might want to puke.
His black hair has been cleaned up, but it's still pretty greasy and messy. I
want to run my fingers through the dark locks, but I'm afraid even my touch
could murder him. His eyes are shut, his long eyelashes standing straight up.
Any moment now, they could flutter open. Any moment now, he could wake up...
Twenty-five percent chance is enough... right...? I'm dying to see his brown
eyes, the warm color looking straight into mine and actually processing what
they see...
His thin, chapped lips are open just partially. Enough for me to suck on his
bottom lip for just a split second and run... Enough to sap the taste of coffee
with a hint of sugar from them and take them in my own lips... tasting the
bittersweet taste and licking my way across his bottom lip, begging for
entrance...
"You look beautiful..." I say. My voice cracks halfway through. I can't do
this...
You have to. You can do this. I believe in you.
"A-and you're healing..." I look down at the stab wound, it's almost completely
healed up, the stitches look ready to be taken out, but I know they're keeping
them in just to be safe...
"I came to say hi... I want you to know I've still got some hope... I know I-
I said I'd lost hope last time but..." I lean over the bed, my throat swelling
and my chest aching, "I'd do anything to get you back, you understand? I'll do
anything just to hear you say my name again... I swear I truly am in love with
you..."
I choke and crawl onto the other side of the bed, so I'm hugging him, one leg
draped over him and my hands pulling him close, "I'm starting to feel a little
more beautiful... I... I think I'm beautiful, Gee... Y-you said it so many
times... w-why would you l-lie to me...? Y-you don't have a reason to..."
I'm crying now, hard, "I guess I'm just trying to say I'd do anything for
you... I want to see you happy again... I don't want you to die on me... You
can't..." Deep breath, "I'm trying to stay clean for you... I promise..."
How strong are your promises?
"I-I've only broken one..." I whimper.
And then I lose it and begin crying into this shoulder, "Please G-Gerard, wake
up, please... I want to see you again, I want to see your beautiful face, and I
want to kiss your soft lips, and I want to sleep with you just one more time...
I'll make a million-no a billion promises to just see you awake... I want to go
down to see The Black Parade with you, I want to kiss you on the bridge. I-
I want you to call me Sugar again. I want to make love to you, I'll even call
myself beautiful l-like you always w-wanted... Please, Gerard... S-stay alive
for me... Just like Tyler Joseph and Josh Dun said. Just like the song you
cried to at Homecoming. Please... I-I'll never i-insult m-m-myself again, and
w-we could be happy again...
"W-We could have a boy and a girl... We could name the boy Declan, and the girl
Bandit j-just like you wanted to. We could get married and live happily ever a-
after in Ch-Chicago... We could b-be happy, and w-we could see M-M-Mikey and
Pete and your mom for dinner, and we c-could go on a honeymoon... I could tell
you what Pete always p-puts into his notebook. A-anything... w-whatever you
want to G-Gee... just wake up for me, Baby... Please..."
Silence.
I kiss his lips. They don't taste like coffee and sugar anymore, they taste
like... nothing... the flavor has drained out... they taste like lips... his
life is draining out with the flavor...
"I can sing to you, would you like that?" I ask quietly. There is no reply, but
I take it as a yes, "You uh... always liked the way I sung. H-How about 21 G-
Guns? That was... always my favorite. O-Or Alone Together? Th-That was o-one I
made. I saw y-you reading it once. I think you liked it... S-since last we
talked, I've added chords and a melody and stuff. Pete helped me with a lot of
that..."
I squeeze my eyes shut and after a moment, I part my lips and sing to the empty
room, just kind of desperate for some sort of response. I always am, but I
really want him to hear this. Maybe he'll wake up this time.
"I don't know where you're going
But do you got room for one more troubled soul?
I don't know where I'm going
But I don't think I'm coming home
And I said, I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead
This is the road to ruin, and we're starting at the end."
I look up at his resting face, the nubbins supporting his nose, his dark,
greasy hair covering parts of his eyes and his hands left spread on the bed.
Sometimes, I'll trace the skin and wait for him to wake up. It's a pleasant
feeling. Mapping him out before I have to leave, breathing in the fresh,
nostalgic air through the window.
"Say, yeah,
Let's be alone together
We could stay young forever
Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs
"Say, yeah,
Let's be alone together,
We could stay young forever
We'll stay young, young, young, young, young..."
Verse. Take a breath, shut your eyes, don't cry. It'll be okay.
"Cut me off, I lost my track,
It's not my fault, I'm a maniac
It's not funny anymore, not it's not.
"My heart is like a stallion,
They love it more when it's broken
Do you wanna feel beautiful?
Do you wanna?"
Chorus, it's okay. It's okay. Don't you cry.
"'Cause I don't know where you're going
But do you got room for one more troubled soul?
I don't know where I'm going
But I don't think I'm coming home and I said
I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead
This is the road to ruin
And we're starting at the end.
"Let's be alone together
We could stay young forever,
Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs
Say yeah,
Let's be alone together,
We could stay young forever
We'll stay young... young, young, young..."
I sob into his chest, my body shuddering as I break again. Shattered with
nobody to fix me up except myself.
"I love you... I promise..." I whisper, "I promise I won't give up on you. I
promise I won't lose hope. The only hope for me is you, Gee. I can't live
without you. I feel so empty without you at home... I promise I'll do whatever
you want me to. I promise that I'll love you until I die. I promise I won't try
to kill myself again. I promise I'm not okay now, but I promise I'll be fine in
the future. I promise we'll get kids and we'll name them Bandit and Declan...
"I promise I'll always be here for you... Please, just don't give up...
"A-and I... I've only broken two promises... just in case you were
wondering..."
I look up, tears in my eyes, but I'm able to see a boy at the door with a black
tulips in his hand and his brown hair shadowing his face as a beanie rests on
his head and Pete's jacket hangs on his fragile frame.
He comes in and not a word is exchanged between us. We're both just as broken.
***** Chapter 62 *****
---Gerard---
"Many years have passed for this, but I'm afraid your time is almost up." Dad
croons, his hand resting on my shoulder.
I look up at him, tears lining my eyes. Dad told me I've only been here for 22
days, it feels like it's been three years. Three years without Patrick. Three
years without Mikey and Mama.
All I want is Patrick back. I want to hold him and tell him it will be okay. I
want him to know I'm here. I'm just trapped. I want him to know that no matter
how hard I try, I can't escape my own body.
"Are they..." I choke, "Are they gonna kill me?"
Dad pulls me into a hug, I can feel his tears drop down on my shoulder while
his scent fills my nostrils. Maybe that's just the life support, but it smells
like gunpowder and smoke.
"I wish I could have saved you." He whispers, "I love you and... I'll see you
when you come back to me..."
I sob harder, "I don't want to die. Please, is there anything I can do?
Anything you can do? Will I ever remember this?"
"I'm just a dream. It'll be okay. I promise... things will turn out fine..."
"It won't be fine, not if I can't see Patrick. Please. Can't you change
something? I love him, I really do, Dad."
He pulls me close to his chest, my face buried in his shoulder as I cry, "I'm
afraid I can't do anything, Gerard. I'm sorry. But you have to trust me, okay?
You have to be brave. You have to be brave no matter what. Your broken promise
doesn't matter. It's okay that you didn't go to The Black Parade. It's okay
that you didn't do what I asked, but I need you to do what I ask now. I need
you to keep calm because you are going to heal. You're going to get through
this. You may not be with Patrick, but you're going to be with me. I'll help
you every step of the way."
I shudder, goosebumps rising on my skin, "Promise?"
"Promise."
Deep breath.
It's going to be okay, Gerard...
It'll all be just fine...
***** Chapter 63 *****
---Patrick---
Every-fucking-thing is down to a percentage.
That percentage is down.
We are all down.
Twenty, fifteen, ten.
We can't lose him. We can't lose him. Please, please, please.
Donna has been talking with the doctor about "pulling the plug," and I can't
stand it. I can't stand the thought of losing him. We can't give up. We have to
have hope. We can't do this... Please. I've been visiting him at least once a
day, but I still refuse to go to school. I don't care about my grades dropping,
I need to know that he'll live. I need some sign that he'll be okay. I need
something. Some form of hope. I die a little more inside every time I hear her
say it.
I've tried to stay clean.
I've gone to a point where I've started praying for his fucking life, and it's
pathetic. I don't even believe in it, but I'll still do it. I'm desperate for
any comfort I can get. I've written more and more lyrics in my notebook. I look
at myself in the mirror, and I look more and more beautiful each day. I'll
listen to 21 Guns on repeat, I'll try to get the smell of Gerard back in my
nose but I can't. When I go to the hospital, he only smells like Mom before she
was dying and trust me, it does not bring back good memories. I just... I want
him to wake up. I've prayed, and cried, and sobbed, and wept, and begged for
him to wake up but no matter how much I try, no matter how badly I just want
him to open his eyes.
He won't.
***
Nine, eight, seven, six. Five.
"It's going to be okay..." Pete says as Donna, Mikey, Brendon, Frank, Joe,
Ryan, and I watch the doctors surround the boy, pulling out the needles from
his arms.
My hands are shaking as they look up at each other in agreement, their eyes
meeting. They make sure they're all ready like they're agreeing to end this
boy's life. One more life on their hands. Just another life for them to finish
off. Just like Mom. Just like Donald. Gerard is just another case. One of them
places their hands on the cord connected to the nubbins his nose.
And they pull.
His chest deflates.
I can't watch, but I have to... I have to see him take his last breaths and I
have to see him wake up, and I have to tell him... I have to tell him the
truth... He has to know what's happened. He has to hear and know and...
understand how my thoughts have changed.
But the doctors have already left the room with the ventilator and their
equipment. There's complete silence. Gerard's eyes don't magically open. He
doesn't magically start breathing. He doesn't have any last words. The heart
rate monitor beside his bed continues to beat, weaker and weaker...
And weaker...
We all take in what's happening. As we witness Gerard take his last few breaths
and he we all have our eyes on the monitor.
I can't take it.
I walk forward, my knees weak, as weak as they were when I walked over to Ms.
Kristen's desk on September 2nd: the day I met Gerard.
"Patrick, wait-" Pete starts, but Mikey cuts him off, pulling him back and
shaking his head.
I stop at the edge of the bed, tears falling from my eyes as I look upon his
resting body, "I love you, Gerard... I've always loved you, and I'll never stop
loving you... You saved my life. You saved me and I could never repay you
enough for that.
"I...
"I really am beautiful, Gee..."
The monitor lets out a long screech. His heart stopped. It's all over now.
"I promise."
***** Epilogue *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"Thank you, but Daddy. I don't want to go to bed. Can I stay up with you? For
just a little bit?" Declan asks as if all his begging could actually work. I
only chuckle and hug him close as I set him down in his bed, Bandit already
fast asleep in the bunk beside him.
"You have to go to sleep now so you can get up early tomorrow and get ready for
school. You wouldn't want to miss out on seeing Cherry would you?" I ask with
an ounce of a playful tone in my voice. Declan groans, his cheeks a bright red
as he shakes his head.
"Okay, Love, goodnight and I'll wake you both up tomorrow. Maybe I'll make
pancakes. Remember, we're also going to The Black Parade tomorrow. We don't
want to keep Uncle Mikey and Pete waiting, now do we?" I ask, a smile across my
lips.
Declan sighs and nods. With his eyebrows furrowed and a nod of his head, he
replies, "Okay, Daddy. I think that's good."
"Good," I smile, "Now goodnight, get some sleep."
"Wait, Daddy," Bandit calls from her bed, and I internally let out another
sigh, "Can you sing us the lullaby?"
"Yeah!" Declan agrees from where he lays in bed.
I only roll my eyes, a fond smile on my lips, "Okay, just one more time and
then you have to go to sleep, all right?"
"Okay." Declan agrees.
"Which one do you want?" I ask.
"I want the Beautiful one."
"What's wrong with the Silly Bear one?" I ask in mock offense.
"The Beautiful one is better." Bandit pouts.
"Okay, okay," I say with a smile and a roll of my eyes.
I clear my throat, then begin singing. Remembering each note as if they were
sung to me yesterday. Sung with the beautiful voice, the hint of a Jersey
accent.
"These are the eyes and the lies of the taken
These are their hearts, but their hearts don't beat like ours
They burn 'cause they are all afraid
For every one of us, there's an army of them
But you'll never fight alone
'Cause I wanted you to know."
I take a seat at the foot of Declan's bed and shut my eyes as I continue.
"That the world is ugly
But you're beautiful to me
Well, are you thinking of me now?
"These are the nights and the lights that we fade in
These are the words, but the words aren't coming out
They burn 'cause they are hard to say
For every failing sun, there's a morning after
Though, I'm empty when you go
I just wanted you to know.
"That the world is ugly
But you're beautiful to me
Are you thinking of me
Like I'm thinking of you
I would say I'm sorry, though
Though I really need to go
I just wanted you to know
"I'm thinking of you every night, every day...
"The world is ugly
But you're beautiful to me
Are you thinking of me, now..."
"Goodnight, Loves..."
***
I shuffle through my bedroom, my teeth brushed and my eyes droopy but with all
the clothes littering the floor, it's near impossible. As I walk, I end up
tripping over a box, falling onto my elbows on the floor and letting out a
soft, "oomph,"
Dammit.
I look back at the box, attempting to get up with a glare on my face but it
softens as soon as I see the name imprinted on top. A name I haven't heard in a
long, long time. It makes my heart melt. My stomach twist. I wince at the
sight. The sight of his name.
Gerard
I swallow, I'm not letting the tears come again. I've moved on... I swear. I'm
okay now. I don't need these memories...
Are you sure? You couldn't live without them when I was still here to doubt
your every move, what makes this any different?
I stand up, cringing at the new forming bruise in my knee. I'd lost this box
forever ago, but that was okay. I was hoping I wouldn't find it. So my heart
couldn't hurt any more than it already does. It took two years to accept his
death when I finally gave in and said it was okay. The dreams of him still come
at night. The dreams of him. Of his warm cuddling. I wake up thinking he's by
my side, but he never is. It's all empty space. Empty bedding. Empty...
My hands shakily pull the box up onto the bed, and I can't help but run my
fingers over the side, dust wiping off. It's been forever. I can't remember
when I lost it, but it was much longer than a year ago.
As I look over it and try to will myself to do it, I find that I can't open it.
I'm so scared of what I'll find. His face staring up into mine, a condom from a
Homecoming dance from an eternity ago? A Christmas present I was supposed to
open two years ago?
My hands finally pull the lid off of the box, and my teenhood is poured down on
me in a hurricane of nostalgia.
Oh nostalgia, we don't need you anymore...
Are you sure...?
The first thing I see is a dry, red rose.
I hear the back door shut and my eyes dart back up to see Elisa with a bouquet
of black and red flowers. There are dark tulips and lilies and four roses
placed among the bouquet. One for each year. Each pedal pristine and neat.
They're untouched by human hands, and they're beautiful. Just like Gerard...
Just like me...
I set the rose on the bed. I remember buying roses every year after Gerard's
death and visiting Mom's, Megan's, and Donald's graves while placing the roses
next to the mausoleum. It was a favor from Brendon to get him buried in there.
I'd asked because I knew Gerard had always been in love with the mausoleum.
I'd say hello. Wishing they were still with me... leaving...
I had kept one of the roses to remember The Black Parade by...
Beside the rose is a badge. Donald's badge. The one from The Black Parade. I
don't really have a memory of this besides the drawing of Mikey and the symbol
on Donald's grave, but Mikey had said that it had sentimental value to both him
and Gerard and I agreed to add it to the box.
Next, is a condom. The condom. The condom Brendon threw to Gerard and me at
Homecoming when we were making up for three years...
Gerard kisses me hungrily, his lips moving fast against mine. Sucking, biting,
licking. Everything he can do in the attempt to get some sort of reaction from
me. To drive me crazy. My fingers tug harder at his hair as he slides his
fingers down my chest.
Down, down, down. I'm tensing up. Where is he going with this? He needs to
stop. I want it, but I'm afraid. His fingers keep tracing down my figure, down
my stomach...
"Nice show," I hear a voice say. My heart sinks. I swear to fucking god I am
going to kill him. I pull away, blushing furiously as Gerard glances at
Brendon.
"Brendon fucking Urie!" Gerard hisses, frustrated, "How long were you two
standing there?"
Ryan laughs at us, his brown eyes crinkling in joy. His wavy chocolate hair
reaches to about his jawline while a gray and white scarf hangs around his neck
messily. He's wearing a dark brown sweater, each thread looks soft and honestly
I'm a little jealous of it. To top it all off are dark blue skinny jeans, black
Vans, and a black fedora atop his head.
Brendon, on the other hand, has his black hair spiked slightly and his bangs
spread out just above his right eye. His brown eyes look energetic, excited
like he just drank a pot of coffee straight out of the mug, a monster, and a
bottle of beer. He's wearing a light brown jacket over a plain white shirt. One
arm is slung over Ryan's shoulder and then, of course, in his hand is a packet,
and I know exactly what that is.
"Since you started," Brendon replies with a smirk.
"You are such a little shit." My boyfriend growls, "What's the condom for?"
"Well, Ryan and I were going to use it once we got to Joe's but it looks like
you need it more than we do," Brendon replies throwing it over. Gee catches it.
I remember later that night, the blowjob. The way his mouth wrapped around
me...
I shiver at just the thought of it and place the condom beside the rose. Next
is a sheet of paper. Pete gave me that paper, but I don't know what it's doing
here. This is Gerard's box, not Pete's box...
I unfold the paper to find, in fact, two pieces.
Hey Trick,
I don't know how long you plan on staying here but if Brendon kicks you out,
you can always come to my place. My mom is never home anymore, and I'm sure she
wouldn't mind. There are painkillers in the bedside drawer if you need them and
water in the bathroom. If you need anything, text me. I had to go to my
counselor's because of my bipolar disorder, sorry.
Text me when you wake up?
-Panda
A tear drips down my nose, I sniffle. I don't want to go through this, just
like I didn't want to keep visiting Gerard seven years ago but... I feel like I
don't have a choice at this point...
I've got troubled thoughts
And the self-esteem to match
What a catch, what a catch
You'll never catch us
So just let me be
Said I'll be fine
Till the hospital or American Embassy
Miss Flack said I still want you back
They say the captain
Goes down with the ship
So when the world ends
Will God go down with it?
I will never end up like him
Behind my back I already am
Keep a calendar, this way you will always know
I've got troubled thoughts
And the self-esteem to match
What a catch, what a catch
My breathing hitches...
"Confused?"
"Uh... Yeah?"
Pete pulls me closer and points to the title, "What a Catch, Donnie. There was
a man named Donny Hathaway. He had depression, and it's a lot like my bipolar,"
His finger lowers to the first stanza, "This is you," His finger continues to
the second stanza, "Donny committed suicide just last year. This woman, Flack,
made music with him. He misses her," Down to the third verse, "3 AM thoughts,
wondering when this world will end. If it would really be worth it to kill
myself."
The fourth stanza, "I will never end up like Donnie, behind my back, people
think I already am, keep a calendar, this way you will always know I'll be
here," Fifth stanza, "Closure. Despite all the depression and the suicide
attempts, you make me realize just how worth it is to stay. Your self-esteem
gets to you, I know, but you've done so many amazing things. You've saved me."
I set the notes down beside the rose and the condom... And there is the CD
right there.
An orange background, the world going up and flames. A girl, a boy, lost in
their own world.
Oh, Gerard...
21st Century Breakdown...
I set the CD down beside the rose, the badge, the notes, and the condom and
pull out my old notebook. Full to the brim with lyrics I'd written to cope with
Gerard's passing. I'd been so depressed that all I had the will to do was write
songs until Donna physically forced me to go to school because she said it was
very unhealthy.
I'd written so many songs in this. Songs not only about Gerard but lots of
different things in general. My favorite out of them all will always be Miss
Missing You. I'd worked hard on that one. It was the one I'd poured all my
emotion into.
Don't panic
No, not yet
I know I'm the one you want to forget
Cue all the love to leave my heart
It's time for me to fall apart
Gerard to me, then me to Gerard.
Now you're gone
But I'll be okay
Your hot whiskey eyes
Have fanned the flames
Maybe I'll burn a little brighter tonight
Let the fire breathe me back to life
This line was from me to Gerard. I can't believe you left me. Hot whiskey eyes.
Just another troubled soul. They've helped me through so much. Recognizing that
emotion only you and I understand.
Baby, you were my picket fence
I miss missing you now and then
I'll still remember despite the fact you're gone.
Chlorine kissed, summer skin
I miss missing you now and then
You were always so beautiful.
Sometimes before it gets better
The darkness gets bigger
The person that you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger
It hurts so much, but I've healed. I've gotten better. I've improved. I would
save you, but you only ended up dying in a way I couldn't help. You shot me.
You shot me down, and I didn't know if I could ever get up. I still don't know
if I've fully recovered from your passing...
I set the notebook down, and next comes a drawing.
My heart nearly breaks with this one, I can feel it drop.
Beautiful.
It's my Christmas Eve present...
My gray hair, my nose, my mouth, the top of my chest. It all looks like
perfection... He was such an amazing artist...
I squint my eyes at the drawing, "Is that me?"
Gerard nods and tears the paper from the sketchbook, careful not to rip the
page, "Um... Christmas Eve present?"
I giggle softly but take it, folding it in half, then in half again and
stuffing it in my pocket.
I set that down on the bed, too, and finally... finally... pull out the
notebook...
I take a deep breath.
And open the first page.
Hey Sugar,
I know you're reading this. Christmas present. I just want to say I love you
but you can't read this until you're at least 21. I know, it's weird, but you
have to trust me. It's a surprise... I love you, and I know it's tempting
but... for me? Have a good rest of your day whenever you're reading this and
never forget that I'll always be with you...
-Gerard
You broke that promise, now, didn't you...?
I flip the page.
Fear is killing us
That's it. The rest of the page is blank.
I flip the page again.
But true love can survive
Next page.
If we cooperate
Next.
We can beat doubt
But first rebuild trust
Take responsibility
Happiness is still free
Though not always apparent
When it's right in front of us
So keep calm. It's gonna get better
I throw the notebook across the room.
Gerard, Gerard, Gerard. Why, Gerard. What's wrong with you, Gerard? Why did you
have to fucking die, Gerard? Why couldn't you wake up, Gerard? Did you ever
love me, Gerard? What's wrong, Gerard? Why did you have to do this to me,
Gee...? I love you, Gerard. You loved me, Gerard. I want you back, Gerard. I
miss you, Gerard. Gerard. Gerard. Gerard.
Gerard!
The name is venom, but I love the venom. I love the poison because it brings
back nostalgia. Nostalgia, I don't need you anymore, but I still love you. I
love you because you make me feel happy. You make me feel happy because you
make me feel like I'm back at the bridge. You make me feel like I'm in love
again. You make me feel alive. You bring back everything I've been missing for
seven years.
In only four months, Gerard, you healed me. In only four months, I was alive.
It takes some people years to recover from abuse. From anxiety. From
depression. From PTSD. From grief.
But you...
You healed me...
And then you broke me again. You broke my fucking heart.
But I swear to God, Gerard. That guy that's been giving me a hard time for
these past ten years? Him. I swear to fucking God, I would do it all again...
Just to see you...
I walk around the bed and pick up the notebook...
So keep calm. It's gonna get better.
It's gonna get better...
Really?
I flip to the next page...
Pete and I made a song for you. We worked on this together for a few months
before Christmas...
So... enjoy?
Pete... Petepetepete.
Am I more than you bargained for yet?
Yes... you really are.
I've been dying to tell you anything you want to hear
Cause that's just who I am this week.
You told me everything that happened to your Dad and your mom and Mikey. Is
that what this is about?
Lie in the grass next to the mausoleum
I'm just a notch in your bedpost
But you're just a line in a song
I'm gonna guess that's about Pete.
Drop a heart
You've broken my heart
Break a name
Pete's ego.
We're always sleeping in and sleeping for the wrong team
I was supposed to be sleeping with Gee, not Pete
We're going down, down in an earlier round.
Drama.
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
So much was happening that we all kind of just fell apart.
Sugar...
I'll be your number one with a bullet
He always loved me, he'd do anything to be my number one.
A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it.
I was a hell of a lot more confident on drugs
We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded God complex cock it and pull it
Is this more than you bargained for yet?
Yes.
Oh, don't mind me, I'm watching you two from the closet
Wishing to be the friction in your jeans
Is this whole thing about Gerard being jealous of Pete and me?
Isn't it mess up how I'm just dying to be him?
A little bit.
I'm just a notch in your bedpost
But you're just a line in a song
Drop a heart, break a name
We're always sleeping in and sleeping for the wrong team
We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded God complex cock it and pull it
We're going down, down in an earlier round
And Sugar, we're going down swinging
I'll be your number one with a bullet
A loaded God complex cock it and pull it
Next page.
Here's your lullaby by the way, just thought you might want it.
It's The World Is Ugly, but I don't read it. I've seen it far too much. Next
page...
Okay, Sugar, I know this whole thing is kind of confusing... I'm sorry about
that...
I want to ask you something, and this is why you have to wait until you're 21
to read this.
Disregard this page if we've broken up.
Ignore this page if I'm not available at the moment.
That doesn't help.
Disregard this page if you're under 21.
Ignore this page if we've started fighting recently.
By the time you're reading this, and you're over 21, I've already bought the
ring. The only way I haven't is because one of the above happened or I've
stolen this from you.
Yes, I know there are a million things that could go wrong with this but think
about it: I'm only 16 right now. Extremely young and I'm just hopelessly
hopeful because we both know most high school relationships don't last all that
long. I've thought this out.
You're the one I want.
So... marry me?
I swallow.
And I take out my phone.
And I call Pete.
It rings once, twice, three times...
"Hello? 'Trick?" He answers.
I'm crying, I'm crying so very hard right now, and I try my best not to let it
show but it doesn't work very well.
"Gerard." I say, "He was gonna marry me."
Silence.
"You read the notebook?"
"Yeah."
More silence.
"I'm so sorry..." He whispers.
"It's..." I feel more tears leave my eyes and fall back on the bed, "I would've
said yes... I... I don't know why I'm calling you. I... I shouldn't have looked
in the notebook. I knew this would happen. I fucking knew."
"Hey, calm down. I'll be right over, alright? We can talk about this. You can
play a few songs if you want. We can read the lyrics again..." He says, "We're
going to The Black Parade tomorrow night, too. I can ask Mikey to pick up the
kids..."
"Thanks, Pete..."
"Anytime."
***
"Are you ready to go?" I ask Mikey as Bandit and Declan chase Bronx and Saint
around the city block. The Black Parade is long gone, but both Mikey and I
wanted to stay a little longer. We always do.
"Yeah," The boy says, his now blonde and brown hair looks ridiculous but, just
like seven years ago, it somehow still looks good on him.
"Daddy, where are you going?" Bandit asks, tugging at the bottom of my shirt. I
smile softly and crouch down, "Uncle Mikey, and I are going on a walk for a
bit. Do you think you can help Pete take care of Declan for a bit?"
Bandit scrunches her nose, "But I wanna go with you!"
"Sorry, Cupcake," I say, hugging her, "We'll be back in a bit, alright?"
"Okay..." She says in the saddest voice she can muster, "Where do you always
go?"
I chuckle and hug her close, "I go to see a boy who's very special to me."
She frowns, "Can I see the special boy?"
I smile and pull back, a nostalgic expression across my features, "Someday,
Love. I promise."
"How strong are your promises?" She asks, desperation in her tiny voice.
I smile back, "I've only broken two."
I stand back up and look Mikey in the eye. He looks away, tears are forming in
his eyes.
"It'll be okay," I whisper, "I promise..."
He smiles softly and wipes his tears, "Okay..."
I smile softly, he's going to be fine. I believe in it... I'm almost healed...
I believe he can, too.
We walk down the block, watching the high schoolers from the marching band get
packed up and Mikey squeezes my hand softly. I take it, knowing how much it
hurts for him. As we continue to walk, though, I swear I see something out of
the corner of my eye.
It can't be...
I turn my head and sure enough...
It's a fedora.
It looks ragged, torn up by the wind and I can't help but look up at the
skyscraper above us.
I've been up there before.
"Promise not to do it again...? Please?" He asks, basically begging. There's so
much sorrow and fear in his voice. Does he mean it? All that troubled emotion?
Does he really love me? It can't be true...
"I promise..." I whisper. And I mean it.
Yes...
He really did love me...
***
I told you he'd get better, now didn't I?"
I gaze down at the blonde haired boy, my hazel eyes flickering across his
beautiful features, "Yeah..."
Dad pats my back gently, "Someday he'll join us, I promise you that. In the
meantime, he has to decide his own path. Declan and Bandit need him right now.
As a father. Mikey needs him to heal just like he needed you to heal."
I nod, my hands weaving in Dad's.
"Now, let's see what they want to say to you this year, hmm?"
"Okay."
And with that, we walk together through the void. Past the paraders, past the
white girl and the black boy, past the soldiers, the women on horses, the
instruments, the drums, the clarinets, the flutes, the bass.
And we stop at the mausoleum door, beside Dad's grave with the Arrowpoint
badge.
"Someday." I whisper to Patrick, "Someday."
With those words he looks up, confusion etched across his face, but it doesn't
matter.
As long as he heard.
And he did.
***
Now go back and look up the first letter of every chapter.
I love you, Bandit. Pass this onto Declan if you can.
Xoxo, Dad.
Chapter End Notes
     Wowow. i Cant wait to rewrite this. I loved the etory and all but I i
     feel like there’s there were a lot of unnecessary details. If you
     have any input/criticism/positivity please leave a comment!
     ALso if you’re too lazy to figure out what the little puzzle thing
     is, it’s from the song “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron.
     “I don’t know what i’m supposed to do haunted by you
     Take me back to the night we met”
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