I Picked out Your Star

Gerard’s point of view

“You don’t mean it. You’re fucking drunk.”

With that, my little brother pulled Frank out of the room, leaving me sobbing pathetically into my hands on the kitchen floor. I really wasn’t that drunk, just nervous, and it made me act stupidly. Sure, I wasn’t sober either. Well fuck, I’ve been probably drinking the whole night. Drinking and crying so fuck no, I wasn’t sober.

But as Mikey now left me there rejecting my apology, I felt like my heart was breaking. I know it was partly because of the alcohol that was still pouring through my veins, seeing that drinking always made me moody, but it wasn’t just that. I really wanted to fix this. I wanted to fix what I did to Frank. I wanted to fix Frank. But most of all, by now, I wanted to fix my baby brother.

Go ahead and think I’m just some drunken fuck, which I am, who doesn’t even know what he’s talking about at the moment. But I do know. I’m so used to drinking that it doesn’t affect me that much anymore, at least if I hadn’t drunk much. Like now. I just drunk enough. Alcohol always kinda helped me to sort things out.

I heard a front door slam, so I assumed they were gone now. I got up and started walking to the bathroom, hearing other slam of the door. This time Mikey’s room. So they didn’t go? Or maybe just Frank did. Whatever.

I hovered over the sink, my head down, scared to face my own reflection. I hated myself so much for what I’ve done. Not just what I did yesterday, but every other times I’ve done something like that, too. I knew it was not fair. I had no right to make someone else’s life shit, not even when someone had made mine.

I slowly lifted my eyes to look up in the mirror. There he was. The monster with red eyes. Eyes with no emotion staring into other pair of emotionless eyes, though the other one’s weren’t even real. They were just a picture. Or more like a part of picture. Picture of a broken man, with no emotions. I never understood how someone could look so sad and broken, and still look emotionless. I think I knew now.

I think “emotionless” itself is kinda sad.

I slowly reached my hand and opened up the cupboard next to the mirror, carefully pulling out a razorblade. Turning it around few times I watched as the light danced on the blade. I always found it so fake, light created by lamps. Something so fake can’t be beautiful.

But then again, I hate light.

I sat on the floor indian style, pulling up the left sleeve of my hoodie. I placed the razor on my skin, slowly pressing it down, drawing a perfect red line on the white surface. I’ve always hated the word ‘perfect’.

I know what you probably think now. Does this help me somehow? Well no, it doesn’t.

Then why I keep doing this?

‘Cause I need to punish myself.

You’ve been a bad motherfucker, Gerard Way,

stop ruining everyone’s lives...