The Black Parade

ABIGAIL'S P.O.V.

I awoke in Gerard's arms, and all seemed to perfect once again. But, as I am constantly cursed with being undoubtedly wrong, most of the time. I realized that we haven't actually caught up, for real, as in: Told each other how we had dealt with the lack of the others' presence. I truly didn't think that we were ready, yet.

He was like an angel asleep and I hadn't a single clue how I had ever hated him, but I guess that it was just reflective loathing, since he had a grudge against me at the time.
I went back to sleep, just barely contemplating that the impossible had happened:

I honestly was in love!

GERARD'S P.O.V.

As she slept, I, as slowly and as quietly as possible, crept to the kitchen, not wanting to disturb her peaceful resting. I wasn't sure what compelled me to do such a thing, but I wanted to know what had been happening in her life during my prolonged absence. I turned on her still logged in laptop; I opened various document folders, finding many different things, ranging from short stories to articles. I noticed one as I was scrolling down labeled "I hope to never use this," finding it odd, I opened it; it was a letter, a note, perhaps?

Dear, Person Who Probably Never Knew Me

I am writing a suicide note, shocking, huh? I am going to tell you of everything that has ever happened in my life. I hope to never use this, but I am torn up about almost all of my fucked up life right now, or more accurately, my fucked up death (I'll get to that later).

Firstly, My real name is Mary Jane Venin, not Abigail Clarice Walters, Abigail means, "Father in rejoicing," there is some serious irony right there. Mary Jane means both "bitter" and "God is gracious" These are two heavy statements, I heavily disagree with the latter, and the first... with all that has happened, I believe it to be true, in my case.

Now for the part that I believe we have all been waiting for: Why I am on the bathroom floor in a pool of my own blood, and what happened to make me so inherently screwed up.

I have lived as an abused girl since early childhood, with merciless parents that have forced me to do things to myself that I am certainly not proud of. I tried to kill myself for years upon years, probably since about second grade, when Billy Trenton called me "a fat hoe," I lived in an entirely Catholic town, and was constantly told that I had no life. I already knew that I had no life because I was too busy being beaten, you will most likely see the scars in your autopsy.

I let a tear slip down my cheek, remembering the scars that had grown festered into my mind, invading my every thought.

If I am still alive and you are reading this, I would stop now before I chop your balls off.

I heard a cough, "I would follow my advice if I were you." Abigail sniped from over my shoulder; I gulped, closing the computer hesitantly. I weakly smiled up at her, hoping that she wouldn't hate me for being nosy.

"Who would have thought that someone with such a pale nose could be a brownnoser?" She said sarcastically.

"Look, I just wanted to read some of your writing and stuff, and see what had happened..." I pleaded with her, she walked into her kitchen, walking out with two cups of coffee, handing one to me.

"Then you should have asked me." She said definitively.

"I'm sorry, but we really do need to know about what happened during that time, what really happened."

She nodded, sipping her coffee delicately, "I don't think that I'm ready to talk about it just yet, but that note you started reading should give you a hint to tide you over." She walked back into her kitchen, coldly ignoring me, not explaining the incessant venom pervading her voice, I followed her closely.

"Look, I'm really sorry but..."

"You went through my computer! That's like going through an idealistic high school girls' diary! It was wrong and the worst part was that you didn't think to ask if I was ready to share this!" I was shocked at her violent reaction, but deep down, I think that I understood where she was coming from perfectly.

"I just missed you so much; I didn't want to be ignorant of anything in your life."

"Then you could've not missed anything with my full permission." She was still giving me the icy shoulder.

"It felt like a part of me was missing with you gone, like an arm, or both my legs, even though I didn't have enough time to get fully attached to you, I was still caught in the net of your love." I spilled a bit of myself, to even the score, and to show her how much she really meant. When she continued to sip at her coffee pensively, I started pleading again.

"I asked Mother War if she would kill me, fuckin' Frankie kept her away from me though." She laughed into her coffee, I swear I saw some of it come out through her perfect nose, she put the mug down and embraced me, I breathed in her smell, she softly whispered into my shoulder:

"I missed you too."