Kill The Gerard
Apologize
Ink poured from the pen that lay limp in my hand like thick, dark blood; it pumped through the stained silver nib and onto the otherwise snowy white sheet of paper lying before me. My fingers were tainted a deep red, the thin lines that adorned their tips oozing broad droplets of red ink, much like its blacker counterpart that bled and spider-webbed from the small dots I made on the paper.
The movement of my left hand was swift, my skin almost blending in with the smooth ivory of the piano keys as my right marked down every movement that my fingers made. It wasn’t often I’d found a muse so inspiring—something that made me actually want to get my thoughts down on paper, much less lyrically.
It wasn’t very often either, that I would begin to write down my composition in pen. Of course, even as I was halfway through what I’d been trying to write down, I regretted it. I hadn’t, however, thought to get a pencil. If I as much as set down the pen, I feared that the words would disappear as quickly as they came.
“Do you remember when I told you that I always wanted to be with you?” you mumble as I suck gently on your neck, kissing the skin tenderly. A small moan escapes your lips and I can’t help but smile into your skin. You wrap your arms around my waist and pull me closer.
“Of course I do,” I sigh, my warm breath knowingly raising the hair on your arms. I don’t notice the look in your eyes as my tongue flickers just barely over your collarbone.
“…Gerard,” you say solemnly. My fingers trace up and down your sides, snaking around your back and playing with the waist of your jeans from beneath your shirt. “God damn it, Gerard, listen to me!”
The sharp tone in your voice startles me and I look up; you’ve finally got my full attention like you wanted. But your hazel eyes, where is the passion that I usually see in them?
Pain. You don’t know pain until you feel each and every heartbeat thumping against your insides and feeling like each one is stabbing a knife deeper and deeper into your stomach. Imagine the most pain you’ve ever felt in your life, love. Do you remember when I took your virginity away? That stupid little ‘v’ word, yeah?
You never told me you were a virgin, so naturally I didn’t think you needed prepping. Do you remember when I pushed deep into you for that first time and you screamed so loud our neighbors probably thought I was killing you?
This hurts about a million times worse, babe, and I hate every single part of you for doing that to me. What happened to telling me that you would never try to hurt me? Was that invalid once you found yourself a fuck buddy that was so much better than me?
“What’s wrong, love?” I ask you, my arms wrapped loosely around your neck. “You seem angry.”
“Just listen to me, Gerard. I need to tell you something,” you say, and one of my hands leaves your neck to hold your hand. The reassuring squeeze I was expecting never comes and you let my hand fall from yours. Stumbling slightly, I move back and sit on the couch.
You never use my whole name, and I have to admit that it scares me. It’s always ‘Gee’ or ‘babe.’ Never Gerard. You always told me that you hated using full names, that it sounded to formal. Why are you using mine now, then?
“I…fuck, I need to just…” You sound nervous. It worries me when you’re nervous because you’re always this calm, relaxed person and it’s so different for me. Almost mechanically, you bow your head and mumble something you know I won’t hear, raising your beautiful eyes just slightly so I could see them.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I question, looking at you with hurt evident in my voice. Whatever you said, I know it was something you didn’t want to tell me, regardless of whether you needed to or not, and that confused me. Aren’t we always so open?
My grasp on the pen loosens and the ever-so-important marks that I made on the black lines like birds in a cage, singing a sad and lonely song, bleed out even more as I lean over the paper.
I try my hardest to read what I’ve written but the words are blurred; obscured by the stinging tears held back by my eyelashes. I blink once and they drip down my face; the warm path they draw down my face is comforting. It’s the most comfort I’ve had all day. The very tips of my fingers trace the notes carefully, and I don’t touch too much because I know that I’ll smear the ink even more.
I can feel one stray tear follow the line of my jaw and it drips off my chin and onto the title scrawled in messy handwriting at the top of the page. Quite honestly, I wish I could say you aren’t worth my tears, but I know I’d be lying.
“I fucked your god damn brother, Gerard! What the fuck else do you want me to say?” you scream at me like I’m stupid. Oh, how I wish I was stupid and that this was all just some misunderstanding. I know it isn’t, though, and that’s what terrifies me the most.
You know how in movies, when something bad happens it seems like time stands still and background music starts to play that makes something well up from deep in the pit of your stomach and you’re caught in something that doesn’t even seem like time anymore? And you think that isn’t true- all it is, is fucking Hollywood magic? It is true; it’s reality. Warped reality, but reality all the same.
A knot rises in my throat as you stare at me, those eyes like daggers and those hands of yours in the air, your mouth moving at a million miles a minute, screaming out profanities. I can’t hear you though. It’s as if I’ve temporarily gone deaf. I can’t hear anything, not even my own thoughts.
My stomach is churning and my throat feels raw from screaming, or rather, trying to. I can’t form words. In my chest, my heart is thumping so hard I feel like it’s gonna burst through my ribcage. Why are you doing this to me, love? Making me feel like you are?
And with my own fucking brother?
I think I’m going to pass out now. Maybe when I wake up, it’ll all be a dream.
My eyes skimmed over the page as my fingers pounded out the notes with force I didn’t even realize I had. I’d sang the words with more passion than my voice could handle and the tears began to, yet again, threaten to spill from my eyes.
“I need you like a heart needs a beat, but it’s nothing new. I loved you with a fire red, and now it’s turning blue…”
Gracefully, my hands slip off the keys and I stand up. The papers on the glossy finish of the black piano were picked up and strewn across the floor. I knew you loved me, but what ever happened to that, babe? What happened to us?
Glass shatters against the hard wood of the floor as I knock a cup off the top of the piano and walk past it. You never liked a mess, did you? Before I realize where I’m going, my hands are rummaging blindly through one of the many closets scattered around my house and I know exactly what I need. Where would it be, though?
“I love you, Gee. I’m so fucking sorry, I’m sorry,” you coo in my ear, arms wrapped tightly around my waist. My head is safely buried in your shoulder and your shirt is doing an excellent job absorbing my tears.
You’re sorry? Why would you even do something like that if you knew you’d feel guilt afterward, love? I don’t understand, and it’s tearing me apart.
“He doesn’t mean anything to me, you do. You’re my world, I promise. That’s why I told you; I hate keeping secrets from you and you know that,” you say. My nails dig into your back and I can feel you tense up under the pain, but you don’t move. How does pain feel, babe? You like the way that feels?
I grip your shoulders and push back. “That’s bullshit and you know it!” I scream. “Get out!” My body is wracked with sobs but I’m still standing on my own and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?
“But Gerard, please, you have to understand-”
“Get the fuck out!”
Bare toes trace across the upholstery finish of one of my many dining room chairs. Ink-stained fingers tightly wrap around the aged silver of my chandelier. I can feel the piece of paper digging deeper into my skin but I ignore it.
Lifting up slightly, I kick the chair out from under me. My arms are still wrapped around the chandelier and they’re holding me up when you burst through the door.
“I’m sorry, I mean it, Gee! Please, don’t do this!” Your eyes flicker from me to the phone that lay, cast aside with the receiver facing me, across the room. I can see clearly that you’ve been crying.
“Hey babe, it’s too fucking late to apologize,” I whisper to you, letting go of the chandelier and dropping the folded-up piece of paper onto the floor, your scream the last thing I hear before the rope snaps my neck.
I’m holdin’ onto your rope, got me ten feet off the ground.
The movement of my left hand was swift, my skin almost blending in with the smooth ivory of the piano keys as my right marked down every movement that my fingers made. It wasn’t often I’d found a muse so inspiring—something that made me actually want to get my thoughts down on paper, much less lyrically.
It wasn’t very often either, that I would begin to write down my composition in pen. Of course, even as I was halfway through what I’d been trying to write down, I regretted it. I hadn’t, however, thought to get a pencil. If I as much as set down the pen, I feared that the words would disappear as quickly as they came.
“Do you remember when I told you that I always wanted to be with you?” you mumble as I suck gently on your neck, kissing the skin tenderly. A small moan escapes your lips and I can’t help but smile into your skin. You wrap your arms around my waist and pull me closer.
“Of course I do,” I sigh, my warm breath knowingly raising the hair on your arms. I don’t notice the look in your eyes as my tongue flickers just barely over your collarbone.
“…Gerard,” you say solemnly. My fingers trace up and down your sides, snaking around your back and playing with the waist of your jeans from beneath your shirt. “God damn it, Gerard, listen to me!”
The sharp tone in your voice startles me and I look up; you’ve finally got my full attention like you wanted. But your hazel eyes, where is the passion that I usually see in them?
Pain. You don’t know pain until you feel each and every heartbeat thumping against your insides and feeling like each one is stabbing a knife deeper and deeper into your stomach. Imagine the most pain you’ve ever felt in your life, love. Do you remember when I took your virginity away? That stupid little ‘v’ word, yeah?
You never told me you were a virgin, so naturally I didn’t think you needed prepping. Do you remember when I pushed deep into you for that first time and you screamed so loud our neighbors probably thought I was killing you?
This hurts about a million times worse, babe, and I hate every single part of you for doing that to me. What happened to telling me that you would never try to hurt me? Was that invalid once you found yourself a fuck buddy that was so much better than me?
“What’s wrong, love?” I ask you, my arms wrapped loosely around your neck. “You seem angry.”
“Just listen to me, Gerard. I need to tell you something,” you say, and one of my hands leaves your neck to hold your hand. The reassuring squeeze I was expecting never comes and you let my hand fall from yours. Stumbling slightly, I move back and sit on the couch.
You never use my whole name, and I have to admit that it scares me. It’s always ‘Gee’ or ‘babe.’ Never Gerard. You always told me that you hated using full names, that it sounded to formal. Why are you using mine now, then?
“I…fuck, I need to just…” You sound nervous. It worries me when you’re nervous because you’re always this calm, relaxed person and it’s so different for me. Almost mechanically, you bow your head and mumble something you know I won’t hear, raising your beautiful eyes just slightly so I could see them.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I question, looking at you with hurt evident in my voice. Whatever you said, I know it was something you didn’t want to tell me, regardless of whether you needed to or not, and that confused me. Aren’t we always so open?
My grasp on the pen loosens and the ever-so-important marks that I made on the black lines like birds in a cage, singing a sad and lonely song, bleed out even more as I lean over the paper.
I try my hardest to read what I’ve written but the words are blurred; obscured by the stinging tears held back by my eyelashes. I blink once and they drip down my face; the warm path they draw down my face is comforting. It’s the most comfort I’ve had all day. The very tips of my fingers trace the notes carefully, and I don’t touch too much because I know that I’ll smear the ink even more.
I can feel one stray tear follow the line of my jaw and it drips off my chin and onto the title scrawled in messy handwriting at the top of the page. Quite honestly, I wish I could say you aren’t worth my tears, but I know I’d be lying.
“I fucked your god damn brother, Gerard! What the fuck else do you want me to say?” you scream at me like I’m stupid. Oh, how I wish I was stupid and that this was all just some misunderstanding. I know it isn’t, though, and that’s what terrifies me the most.
You know how in movies, when something bad happens it seems like time stands still and background music starts to play that makes something well up from deep in the pit of your stomach and you’re caught in something that doesn’t even seem like time anymore? And you think that isn’t true- all it is, is fucking Hollywood magic? It is true; it’s reality. Warped reality, but reality all the same.
A knot rises in my throat as you stare at me, those eyes like daggers and those hands of yours in the air, your mouth moving at a million miles a minute, screaming out profanities. I can’t hear you though. It’s as if I’ve temporarily gone deaf. I can’t hear anything, not even my own thoughts.
My stomach is churning and my throat feels raw from screaming, or rather, trying to. I can’t form words. In my chest, my heart is thumping so hard I feel like it’s gonna burst through my ribcage. Why are you doing this to me, love? Making me feel like you are?
And with my own fucking brother?
I think I’m going to pass out now. Maybe when I wake up, it’ll all be a dream.
My eyes skimmed over the page as my fingers pounded out the notes with force I didn’t even realize I had. I’d sang the words with more passion than my voice could handle and the tears began to, yet again, threaten to spill from my eyes.
“I need you like a heart needs a beat, but it’s nothing new. I loved you with a fire red, and now it’s turning blue…”
Gracefully, my hands slip off the keys and I stand up. The papers on the glossy finish of the black piano were picked up and strewn across the floor. I knew you loved me, but what ever happened to that, babe? What happened to us?
Glass shatters against the hard wood of the floor as I knock a cup off the top of the piano and walk past it. You never liked a mess, did you? Before I realize where I’m going, my hands are rummaging blindly through one of the many closets scattered around my house and I know exactly what I need. Where would it be, though?
“I love you, Gee. I’m so fucking sorry, I’m sorry,” you coo in my ear, arms wrapped tightly around my waist. My head is safely buried in your shoulder and your shirt is doing an excellent job absorbing my tears.
You’re sorry? Why would you even do something like that if you knew you’d feel guilt afterward, love? I don’t understand, and it’s tearing me apart.
“He doesn’t mean anything to me, you do. You’re my world, I promise. That’s why I told you; I hate keeping secrets from you and you know that,” you say. My nails dig into your back and I can feel you tense up under the pain, but you don’t move. How does pain feel, babe? You like the way that feels?
I grip your shoulders and push back. “That’s bullshit and you know it!” I scream. “Get out!” My body is wracked with sobs but I’m still standing on my own and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?
“But Gerard, please, you have to understand-”
“Get the fuck out!”
Bare toes trace across the upholstery finish of one of my many dining room chairs. Ink-stained fingers tightly wrap around the aged silver of my chandelier. I can feel the piece of paper digging deeper into my skin but I ignore it.
Lifting up slightly, I kick the chair out from under me. My arms are still wrapped around the chandelier and they’re holding me up when you burst through the door.
“I’m sorry, I mean it, Gee! Please, don’t do this!” Your eyes flicker from me to the phone that lay, cast aside with the receiver facing me, across the room. I can see clearly that you’ve been crying.
“Hey babe, it’s too fucking late to apologize,” I whisper to you, letting go of the chandelier and dropping the folded-up piece of paper onto the floor, your scream the last thing I hear before the rope snaps my neck.
I’m holdin’ onto your rope, got me ten feet off the ground.
♠ ♠ ♠
By caedere.