Sick Boy

Ryan slept until four, briefly awoke, texted Spencer and went back to sleep. The sun was too hard on his eyes. At six he woke up again and threw his shorts on the floor, changing them for jeans. He considered keeping that dirty damn wife beater on but he figured it would piss off both Gerard and his mother, so he exchanged it for an old, dying T-shirt. The words ‘My Chemical Romance’ stretched across the front in cracked, painted lettering. It might just piss of Gerard even more, but he’d take the chance. Nothing was clean. Nothing fit. Nothing worked. Nothing.

“Hey,” Ryan muttered, sitting down once more that day at the kitchen table.

“Hey Sick Boy,” Gerard greeted him, just like before, “I thought you’d died.”

“I wish. Are you the Black Parade?”

Gerard chuckled. Ryan wasn’t really that funny, but he was cute in any case. He had heard that stupid Black Parade joke too many times. But it sounded cute coming from Ryan’s lips. “Only one fifth of it, sorry. You’re not dead yet…oh, nice shirt.”

It was Ryan’s turn to chuckle, “I know. I just love this band so much…”

“That’s ancient…damn, I forgot about that one.”

“Mhm,” Ryan nodded and looked at a few plates of food spread out on the counters, “Did you seriously cook that all?”

“Oh! Fuck no, I went to the grocery store and got a bunch of pre-made shit then called for takeout. God no, I make toast and tour food.”

Things were different between Ryan and Gerard. It wasn’t as guarded. Ryan told Gerard things he’d never told anyone else before—not even his best friends. Gerard had all his trust in Ryan, like never before. They were both head over heels and sick and sain. Lovesick and sain. It was a new experience for Ryan, not so new for Gerard. He had been in love before like this, but not as much. And it was always with girls, his little escapades with boys were pure lust, all centering on the point of a fuck. Ryan, on the other hand, had never dated someone he loved so damn much. He dated pretty girls and models. And Scene Queens and slight-fangirls. He had attempted to get several famous actresses and pop stars but failed miserably. Brendon had once kissed him on stage. But nothing had been as perfect, as real as Gerard.

But now, the doorbell rang and at Gerard’s prompting, maternal nod, Ryan got up from the table to answer it. Indeed, he became witness to the mess that was his mother. She was of average height and thin, like her son. But her hair was bleached blond, her top barely covered her chest and she stood like a castaway diva, intent on getting back the spotlight as soon as possible.

“You have a hangover,” she muttered, letting herself in, guiding a wealthy looking dark haired man behind her.

“Gee—how did you guess?” Ryan snapped sarcastically.

“You look just like your father. The man was drunk all the time, Ryan. Or have you forgotten?”

“I’m not stupid. I remember.” Liar, liar. He never drank ‘til you left—bitch. But oh fuck, you know you hate it when she’s right Ryan, you really know you do. And she’s right so damn much. Do you really look like your father? The name’s enough—George. Okay, shut up, cool down and ask how she is. Take the conversation to her. Then she won’t shut up. That’s probably the best. “So how are you?”

“I’m great. Steve and I just went to Fiji about a month ago…really pretty, really pretty,” she began and Ryan began to tune out. Fuck you Steve. Fuck you Fiji. Step dads and tropical islands can go fuck a dog. Respond, look entertained. Drink. Wine, oh, here comes Gerard.

“Hi,” Gerard muttered. This was Ryan’s mother. He had never met her face to face. Always phone lines. Well…she was skinny at least. And they had the same nose. But well…dear god, he’d better not turn out like her when he’s old. But Gee—she’s not that much older than you. Fifteen years, maybe? Well you’re nine years older than Ryan. Goddamn Gerard, you’re old. God—in a month you’re gonna be thirty-one. Ten years older than him. Wow. Fucking insain, you know? You’re going to have your sainity privileges revoked if you’re not careful. Be careful.

“Oh, Mom, this is Gerard, my…friend.” Clearly Ryan had no intentions of telling his mother the truth now. Yeah Mom, this is Gerard, my boyfriend. Last year you met him after trying to commit suicide and ending up in an asylum. He’s weird. Sometimes he goes on these binges of introversion where you think he’s dropped off the face of the earth ‘cause all he’s doing is drawing. And sitting in the basement, smoking. Oh no, but he’s a rock star. You love him. Isn’t he hot? You got the boy all the girls wanna dance with. Taking too many chances? Maybe.

“Nice to meet you, Gerard,” Ryan’s mother half spit. The fucker was familiar, he was on MTV a couple months ago. Too much eyeliner. “I’m Cindy, this is my husband Steve.”

“Mhm, likewise.” Gerard was not stupid. He felt a coolness radiating off her.

Ryan bit his lip. Dinner. Get it over with. Finished. Come on. “Okay…so, have you seen the apartment?”

“Oh God Ryan, it’s so small I can see it from here,” Cindy muttered dismissively. This wasn’t true. It was spacious, to say in the least. There was a kitchen, and a dining room. Two bedrooms, a living room and a spare room filled to the brim with notebooks, sketchbooks, guitar cases and pencils. The room nobody went into together. A self imposed isolation room.

“Well okay then, let’s have food!”

**

Gerard watched Ryan in disapproval throughout the meal. One glass of wine. Fine. Two. Maybe stretching it. Three. What the fuck Ryan? Three and a half. Gerard picked the glass out of his hand and put it in the sink. Ryan looked kind of pissed, but Gerard refused to make eye contact. The boy was drinking too much. It wasn’t good for you. Ryan, please stop.

But Gerard could hardly blame the boy. His mother was a creature. Truly a concept suburbia bred by the bundle, but not something Gerard was used to. At least in New Jersey, the women admitted they were fakes. This woman was…oh dear. He wanted to slap her, kick her and put her away for the rest of her life and then some. Poor Ryan. It was no surprise the boy was intently giggling and laughing at her jokes, obviously a bit intoxicated.

But they survived. And by the time she left, Gerard trusted Ryan just enough to help him clean up the plates. Don’t let them fall Ry! Please don’t. Then we’ll have to clean up and I’ll feel like a housewife even more. A dirty, gray old housewife. I’m too young for a midlife crisis, Ry. You are Gerard—unless, well this can’t be midlife quite yet. Hope to god it’s not. Hope to god he was worth it.

At ten, Ryan’s Sidekick beeped while they were watching a cheap B-movie on TV. He got up and answered it silently, leaving Gerard on the couch.

“Where’re you going?” Gerard called when Ryan did not immediately return to the couch. His spot was getting cold. Ryan had fit perfectly against Gerard so that he wasn’t freezing. And now he was getting colder. And colder and colder.

“Out,” Ryan called, emerging from the bedroom with Gerard’s black sweatshirt in one hand and that Sidekick still lingering in the other.

“Out with who?”

“Brendon and Spencer.”

“God—don’t you see the boys enough as it is?”

“Yeah. But we’re going out.”

“Where? Strippers?” It was a well known fact Gerard hated strippers. So he left it to Ryan and Brendon and Spencer. It was weird at first, knowing that your boyfriend, your wonderful boyfriend was going to look at random girls take of their clothes but it made sense. Sometimes…well, sometimes it was nice to see a woman naked. The curves of her body versus the angles and lines of his. Both beautiful but it didn’t hurt to know both. Just in case.

“No. Just drinking and stuff.”

“Spencer and Brendon can’t even drink.”

Ryan nodded, “Exactly. But Brendon can drink anyways—he’s kind of…”

“Yeah I get it.”

“He gets anything he wants. Pretty much.”

“What about Spencer.”

“He doesn’t like it.”

Gerard turned around on the couch and looked full on at Ryan, “You’re telling me that you and Brendon go out drinking and bring Spencer along just so he…um, chaperones you?”

Ryan nodded, “Don’t destroy the system. Jon used to make me do it for him all the time. It works.”

“Ry—I mean, look,” Gerard shrugged, “You got drunk last night. And the night before. We’re only here for a week and then you go to Europe and I go back to Jersey. Can’t…do you have to be drunk all the time?”

“No. I’m not drunk now.”

“Well you were earlier.”

“Just…buzzed.”

Gerard was not amused.

Ryan sighed. Stupid you. “Do you wanna come?”

“What? Fuck no! I hate bars—they make me feel so damn shitty.”

Stupid boy. Sick boy. Ryan you suck. Seriously. But you’re gonna go anyways, aren’t you? Dumbass. “Okay. I won’t get drunk tomorrow. But please let me go tonight? I hate canceling!” Please, Gerard, please? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?

Gerard shrugged, “Your life. Have fun.”

“ThankyouIloveyouforever,” Ryan rushed, kissed and slammed the door.

“Bye Sick Boy,” Gerard muttered but Ryan was already gone and once again that day, he was alone.