Sick Boy

Ryan was…drunk.
Mhm. No shit. Duh.
The stench of alcohol filled Gerard Way’s nose as he entered his apartment and immediately, he wished he hadn’t come home. He was overcome with longing. Addicted, addicted. Stay sain, you could be close. Stay sain!

The smell got stronger and stronger as Gerard moved towards the living room. And finally, there was Ryan, head against the house, sucking on some kind of liquor, straight from the bottle, a plastic bag and credit card receipt at his feet.

Gerard sucked in air as Ryan sucked alcohol, hoping he could put Ryan in a room and open a window sometime soon. But Gerard, that would be slightly well…mean? Don’t you think? The boy loves you and you just want to put him away. Put him away like before? Oh maybe that’d be good. Maybe you can go away with him and it can be 2 Genesis. Great Gerard, now you’re rewriting the Bible.

You’re not God, you fuckface.

Gerard sighed and watched Ryan silently. Maybe…yeah, time to say something.

“Ry?” Oh. How original.

Ryan turned and promptly started to sob. Perfect situation, drunk, now publicly gay, crying. Ohgod. And Gerard didn’t do well under pressure.

“Ryan, Ry, don’t cry,” Gerard moved to Ryan, “What’re you doing?”

“Sorry,” Ryan slurred, rolling his neck to look at Gerard, “I’m sorry.”

“About what? What—I—what?” Stutter something profound please.

It was his turn. Ryan sobbed, slurred and stuttered. “I…called Spencer. He’ll be here soon…”

Ryan didn’t sound as drunk as he looked.

“Where’re you going?” Gerard shrieked, cue maniacal, cue girlish. Cue insain.

Pause. Lip bite. “Away.”

“Why?” Now Gerard started crying.

“I think…I don’t think…I’m sorry.”

Boys aren’t supposed to cry. But Gerard and Ryan were apparently exceptions. The entire apartment looked like one big blur. Ryan couldn’t leave Gerard. Gerard couldn’t be left by Ryan. Ryan needed Gerard. Gerard needed Ryan. It was symbiotic. Really.

“I’m sick, Gerard,” Ryan suddenly mumbled, “Sick. I’m a sick, Sick Boy.”

“But you can be sick here. And—Ryan, please don’t leave.” This was Gerard’s cue to attempt to not feel anything. To know that whatever he had felt before was being ripped and torn and shit on. Insain didn’t matter anymore, sain didn’t matter anymore, nothing did. Ryan was leaving and that was the apocalypse. The end of the world.

There was a knock on the door and Ryan stood up, swaying slightly from the drinking as Gerard answered it. There stood the Grim Reaper, also known as Spencer Smith. It wasn’t Ryan who death beckoned too, Gerard hoped, it was him. But for some reason, through some kind of tears and odd mutterings and a lot of things that didn’t make sense, Ryan, his Ryan, was being taken away by this…this fiend.

And as the door closed behind them, Gerard wanted to scream. As he stood in the same place he had for an hour, he wanted to die. As his phone rang, violently vibrated, on the table he wanted to sleep. As he found himself sitting down on the floor, he wanted to disappear.

It was at this point that the stench of the alcohol still lying on the living room floor came to his nose. When he got the courage to move an inch, two inches, three, four, five, ten, he clutched a bottle.

Gerard did the most insain thing yet. The stupidest, worst, fucking retarted thing he had done in his entire life. Insain. I-N-S-A-I-N. But the Sain had lost it’s Sick, so what use was there to be anything anymore.

In his clutches, the bottle began to warm up. And when he picked it up off the carpet to take a swig, the burn of the alcohol running down his throat immediately became once again familiar.

Drunkenness is your friend, Gerard.

Against his better judgment. Against everything he had ever attempted to do. That year of his life flashed in his eyes. The cocaine. The suicide. The drinking. Oh, the drinking. Bert.

Bert sounds really good about now, Gerard.

For the first time in years, Gerard drank himself to sleep.