Heavy

It was my knight in a worn, warm leather jacket. Gerard, with a cigarette hanging out the left side of his mouth. He had come over to me, kneeling in the small tunnel I was in.

"What're you doing here?" I asked in a groggy voice.

"I come here to think." He says to me, tossing his cigarette, "What're you doing here?"

I let out a small laugh, "I came here to kill myself."

Gerard didn't get my joke. He didn't laugh. He didn't even smile.

"I don't want you to kill yourself." He said softly.

"Why? You don't know me."

"Because you're too beautiful to die." His palm stroked my cheek.

For a minute I thought he would kiss my lips. No, he kissed my forehead. I nearly melted in a puddle in those rubber wood chips on the ground. He smelt so good, so comforting; Irish Spring soap and Marlboro cigarettes. I wanted to hold him.

"I'm not beautiful. I'm a fat, ugly, dumb blonde." I sighed, "I'm really tired."

"Come with me." He ordered.

He helped me stand up, he put his arm around my waist. We're getting married, I think to myself. I really, really liked him. I found out that I had a crush. A big, disgusting crush on Gerard...I didn't even know his last name back then.

"What's your last name?" I asked him.

"Way. I'm Gerard Way."

I smiled, "That's nice. I'm October Fredrick."

He nods, "Yeah, I know. I love your name. It suits you, you remind me of fall."

I didn't respond, Gerard led me away; my prince charming, my Romeo. I wish he was taking me away, my head was dizzy, I thought all kinds of weird things. The rush of the cutting made me weird. I felt like I was living and dying. In a way I was.

I didn't talk, though, as Gerard held me close, beside him. We walked, our feet matching a silent march: Right, Left, Right, Left. I didn't know where he was taking me, and I didn't mind, nor care. 

We walked for a few minutes, until we got to a duplex. A woman, on one side of the porch, was patting out a rug. Gerard didn't say anything to her as he led me to the other side of the porch, and into the house. He closed the door, then sat me on a soft sofa. He sighed softly, he knelt again, taking my arm, rolling up the sleeve of my sweatshirt; you could see an x shaped, maroon stain.

The blood caked up, it sealed the x cut and wasn't seeping; "It isn't deep." I tell him.

"It's still cut." He noted softly, "I'll get some bandages...and cookies."

I smiled, lazily and laid back on the sofa. Gerard disappeared, and I looked around; the decor was plain, it looked as if he just moved in. The only thing hanging on the walls were scribbled drawings and writings. The TV was big, with lots of tapes crowded around a VCR. It was wonderful, cozy, very homey; I wanted to live there.

"Here, eat this." Gerard knelt in front of me, handing me a chocolate chip cookie, "I'm gonna clean you up."

"Thank you." I said to him; I took a bite of the cookie and watched him wipe the excess clotted blood from my arm.

I watched his eyes as he scanned my old scars. The roughest one was the one that nearly killed me, stitches gone and all; he ran his index finger down the dotted scars and the long line of pain. He looked up at me, "Were you scared?"

I shook my head, "I'm never scared or afraid."

He didn't respond, he put anti-septic on my new wound. I hissed, he blew on it, "Sorry." He said, I just took another bite of the cookie. He had gauze wrap, and wrapped a length around my wrist once. He taped it up, then patted it, "You're fixed."

"Again, thank you." I smiled tightly at him.

He nodded, sitting beside me. I munched on my cookie, surprised that this wasn't as awkward as it should be. I was glad that it wasn't. I liked him.

"Why do you do it?" I asked him, turning to face him.

He looked at me, a puddle, shimmery, beautiful green met my dull browns, "The same reason you do it, I hurt inside."

"But why?" I didn't push, but I wanted to know.

He sighed, "It's hard to talk about." He said, looking down.

"My parents don't want me," I confessed to him willingly, "nobody likes me, but my nanny. Everyone talks about me like I'm not there. I'm a ghost, an uninvited guest, roaming around."

He looked back at me, tears were starting to swell in my eyes. "I feel like that, too."

I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, "I don't want to die, I just don't care if I do. I have nothing. I'm not pretty, I'm not smart, I'm nothing. I'm good at being nothing... I'm just...here."

Gerard felt my pain, he started to cry, too. The both us, big dumb idiots, crying. We didn't whimper or moan or groan. We just let tears fall. We both hurt, and I think we were both looking for someone to heal us.

He sniffled, "My dad..." he started slowly, "I love him, y'know?" His voice cracked, he wiped his eyes, "I love my dad so much..."

"Did he hurt you?" I took a small guess, my voice was quiet.

He nodded, "He drinks...he just...he goes crazy, I had to get out. I have to get my brother out." I look at him as he continues to explain, "He used to beat the crap out of me. After my mom left us...he just wailed on me. He used to be happy, we were all happy, then she got sick of him and left."

"I'm sorry." I say in the most sincere voice I could muster, "I am so sorry."

He nodded, "Thanks."

"I'm sorry that your dad hurt you."

"He has pain, too, but why did he have to do that? Why did he have to beat me against the walls, October? I used to beg him to stop, to give me a chance to apologize for nothing I've done. He says it's my fault she left. I don't know why." He started to cry heavily, I wrap my arms around him. 

He cries into my lap and I pat his back. His leather jacket had gone, his back was warm and the faint smell was still there. I rubbed his back gently, cooing quietly. I daringly kissed the back of his head.

He sat up slowly, "I never told anyone this. Carol thinks I cut because of the bullying I went through...it's part of it, but my dad is the major reason why. I wonder if I do die if he'll blame Mikey...my little brother.

"How old is your brother?" I asked.

"He just turned 15, but as far as I know, my dad doesn't hit him. He visits me everyday, after school, and on weekends we go to the comic book store and hang out. He's with a friend today." He says this sadly, "I went to the park to clear my head and get out, and I saw you."

"I heard my parents," I start my own story, the story mending us together, "they came home yesterday, to check up on me, and they made plans for dinner and a hike today, and Elsa asked them if I were invited..."

Gerard licked his lips, "They don't want you, you think." He states to me in a groggy voice.

"How could..." I felt my throat growing tight, "I just want to feel like they love me. Not a soul loves me...Elsa likes me, but I want love."

"You and me both." He says softly.

"I want my parents to love me. I want someone to love me...anybody." I confess, "I want to fall in love, get married and have babies! I want a life." I swallow hard, "I'm afraid I'll never get a real kiss, have sex, feel a baby grow inside of me and then raise them...love them the way my parents never loved me. I would be so good to whomever dared to love me. I would be such a good friend and lover..."

Gerard, he listens to me cry. He puts an arm around me and cooes to me. It was the first time some had done this; even when I was little and scrapped my knee, my mom wasn't there, my brothers...they didn't care. I finally got that hug, that "it'll be okay" hum, and the kiss on my boo-boo. Gerard was it. He was the one to help.

This is when another little inkling was hatched. When I felt he was more. He was someone special; he is someone special.