Seeking Solace

The only upside of having school the next day, is that Gerard might be there. I've been calling him every so often but he's only picked up once to say that he's busy. That at least keeps me somewhat sane until the next day.

But of course, when I do get to school, Luke wastes no time in finding me as I try to sneak over to the art room as quickly as possible that morning, which I take as karma for all my blasphemy. And like, a punishment for thinking that I could just die and let go of all my problems. Life wasn't going to let me off the hook apparently.

"Faggot!" he bellows behind me from halfway down the hallway. Everyone who is even a few inches from a wall suddenly draws in and tries to pretend they aren't desperately praying that it's not their face Luke's after. When he strolls past them, carrying his arrogance like some stupid crown on his head, I can see them visibly sighing in relief.

I debate whether or not to turn around, but then realize I only have a few more minutes before I collapse from trying so hard to keep it together, and getting it over and done with would be so much better.

He gets right up in my face before he starts. "Motherfucker," he spits, and I stand there and blink at him, "You think you can lie to me?"

I feign innocence. "About what?"

"You don't think I know about you and your fucking art bullshit?" My whole body is suddenly cold. Shit. " Iero, what the fuck? First you make friends with a fag, and then you jump into a lake or some shit? And now you walk in here thinking you can get away with it all? Do you want me to get my ass kicked, is that it?"

Yes. "I'm sorry," I say, as sincerely as possible, hoping he doesn't see the impatience I'm trying to hide on my face. My voice is still a little raw from the day before.

His face is suddenly hit with shock and blankness- obviously he was expecting me to put up a fight- until he recomposes himself a second later and grunts out a "Stay in line, fucker," and leaves with his troop, who all give me dirty looks as they pass.

Luke knows far, far too much.

But at this point, I need Gerard so much, I don't care if he's going to follow me.

I at least take the time to go to my locker – which I rarely do- in an attempt to act normal, and take out books I don't even remember reading in class any more. Life's been such a haze recently, I'm amazed that I haven't failed anything.

Yet.

It all feels so mechanical now. I feel so disconnected...like my life is a game, and even though I'm supposed to be holding the controller, and I make a good job of pretending I am, I know someone else is just directing me through the motions, while my mind kills me from the inside until the one life I have left eventually slips out of my hands. I feel like attempting suicide should have changed me somehow. I feel like I should have some physical change or something that people notice. I'm waiting for someone to come up to me and say, 'something happened, didn't it?' but no one does, because no one knows except me. But I'm still waiting for someone to see me.

I'm still waiting for someone to save me.

When I open my locker though, it's not just my books, a spare jacket, and a three month old reminder for class dues, there's a note that comes floating down from the top of the door. I watch it dumbly until it lands at my feet, where I just stare at the words written on the tiny scrap of paper, that I can see even without picking it up.

Outside? the note asks, in frantic, haphazard hand, that manages to look even more like it's been written by a seismograph than usual.

I pick up the note before anyone else can see it – even though (I hope) no one is watching- and try to get outside as calmly as possible. It helps that the bell for homeroom rings just as I'm halfway there, meaning I can freely run past doors and outside without really worrying about getting caught- by Luke at least- as everyone heads to class. So I assume I don't see him because he's in homeroom.

But I'm wrong. So wrong.

I'm half-running down the hallways, breathing hard even though it usually takes me some time to get really out of breath, but I'm running and my heart is beating so fast it hurts, and I just want to be there, and I want to see him and apologies, and I want to hold him and just know that he's here-

And then I'm there and Gerard isn't.

Luke stands under our tree, waiting for me, watching the door I came through like he knew I'd appear there. And as the horror grows on my face, I see his lips curve into a proud smirk.

I walk to stand in front of him, and don't bother to conceal my fear, because either way, Luke knows me too well to believe that I'm actually not afraid.

"You're like a little dog, Iero," he says softly, almost fondly, "You came so loyally with your tail-wagging, waiting for your faggot master like your life fucking depends on it."

I stay silent.

He tilts his head to the side, observing me. "I don't think fucking you up is gonna change anything, do you?"

Silence.

He watches me like that, head tilted, and then he sighs, and turns to reach for something behind the tree. I brace myself, calculate the perfidy I could earn by running now, what could happen to Gerard if...what had happened to Gerard?

I expect a bat or something, one that he sometimes carries if he really wants to hit someone and watch them scream and bleed. The knife he carries maybe. Something pain inducing anyway.

But when he turns back to me, I remember the reason why Luke has succeeded all this time as not only a bully, but an admiral of pain. And then I also realize that my lies never worked from the start.

He holds the small black book in his hands, flipping carefully through the pages, looking at every drawing and sketch and pattern drawn there.

"Even though I hate him," he says, "The faggot can fucking draw."

I'm not thinking. I can't be thinking, if I do what I do next. "Give it to me."

He looks up, eyebrows raised, in the middle of turning a page. "Hmm?"

I grit my teeth. "Give me the fucking book."

He apparently can't hold his smiles back any longer, because he grins wide and dangles the book above my head, in between his forefinger and thumb."You want it?"

I glare at him at forcefully as possible, clenching my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

"Fuck, Iero, you're scaring the shit out of me," he laughs, and then he rips off the cover.

Seeing the shock on my face, he laughs even harder.

And while I stand there, he rips the whole thing to shreds.

I know it's what he wants. I know he expects it. I know that it would've been better to just turn around and walk away, and really think about my reaction before I make it.

So he's laughing when the first punch hits his stomach, when the second passes his raised arms and hits his jaw, his nose, his eye, his stomach again, then my foot connects with his knee, then his head as he falls, and still he laughs, he howls even as the air rushes out of his lungs, as I work as hard as I can to leave bruises, draw blood, scratch and claw, he still laughs, even as my hands curl around his throat, cutting off the air he needs to make a sound that I so badly never want to hear again.

But he starts choking and the laughter cuts off even though his satanic grin still stays on his face, and I stop because what he's trying to stay is actually useful.

"I know where he is," he rasps, squinting at me through his blood and the eye that I'm happy to see is swelling shut, "I'll tell you...if you stop..."

I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him to my face, spitting with rage, "Where??"

"Other side...the building," he says, before turning his head to spit a bloody puddle next to his head.

I refuse to leave until he adds, "Not lying. They're fucking him up now."

I run.

Of course I'm too late. Because if life worked out for me, if I stopped and listened and did what was supposed to be done, I wouldn't be too late. No...that's not it. f I had just ended my life a long time ago, I wouldn't have been too late in the first place, because there would be nothing to be too late for.

They're already leaving by the time I get there. They snicker when I scream his name, saunter away as I fall beside him, scream his name again, brush his hair away from his face, only to see how badly he's been hurt.

He's still breathing. Short, pained breaths that catch in his throat, and it's only made worse by the fact that I think he's crying too.

This is my fault. All my fault. Because I stayed. Because I asked for too much, because I wanted.

Because I selfishly lived.

There seems to be blood everywhere, but at least whatever damage Gerard suffered isn't as bad as what happened to Luke. Most of the blood seems to be coming from his head and his mouth, so I figure he's in shock.

"Gee?" I try, putting my hand gently on his bloody cheek, "Can you...can you hear...?"

My voice trails off as he starts to sit up, and I move to help him.

He slaps my hands away.

"Gerard-?"

"Get away from me."

He curls away from me, pulling himself into a tiny ball against the wall behind him, rocking back and forth slightly.

"I...I'm sorry-" I try, even though I know that it's never going to fix anything, I want to try, I have to start somewhere-

"You're not sorry!" he screams, glaring at me, glaring, like I've become a monster, like he doesn't fully understand how that even happened. "You're never going to be fucking sorry, you never cared!"

"What?"

"You fucking lied," he gasps, his voice breaking with almost every word he says, "You fucking lied."

"About what?" I ask desperately, reaching out to touch him, comfort him somehow, but he shrinks away from me, slaps my hands away again and gets unsteadily to his feet.

"At least let me help you!" I say, trying not the panic as I watch him try to walk.

But he turns and spits at me. "Stop pretending, you fuck."

So I've lost him.

I lost you. All out of my selfishness and wishing and daring to live.

I lost you.

I'm so sorry.

Please.

I'm so confused and I don't what's made him hate me so suddenly, but.

I deserve it.

So forget me. Bury me.

Pretend I never lived.