Three Cheers

Even if I had that moment of intimacy with Gerard, I was still upset with him. When he had fallen back asleep, I left him in bed and went to the living room, finally seeing Kruger; he was lying on his doggy bed with a bone.

"Hey boy." I cooed to him.

He looked at me, ears perked up, then came over to me. I picked him up and sat on the couch, sitting in silence for a moment.

I didn't cry. I couldn't cry anymore. My tears had run dry.

The realization that hope for Gerard was lost. He didn't want help; he wanted to be young and stupid. My heart ached from the fact that maybe he resented marrying me so quickly.

Our official 2nd anniversary was coming up in a couple weeks. It's suppose to be a big deal, a happy celebration, but I can picture that it would be like our first.

On our first, Gerard got drunk with Ray and Frank, and left me at the small gathering we had, had. I was upset, but I didn't let it show. I let Gerard do these things because I didn't want to be "that girlfriend". I didn't want to tie him down and set rules for him. I wanted him to live, to be happy and to come home, happily, to me.

I never wanted him to resent me for acting like his mother than his wife. Gerard is who I'm suppose to make happy, and he's suppose to make me happy. Though, his happiness didn't come as highly as mine did. I can't judge it, because at least he put in an effort. After all these things that had happened, he still came home to me and still wanted me around.

Even as he and his band recorded for the new album, he asked if I wanted to tag along. He shared his writings and ideas with me. He told me these fantasy stories that went along with the songs. It was the things that made me happy, they made me feel important. Most of all, I felt privileged that Gerard shared these private things with me.

But, a lot of the time, the darkness of some of his tales came out.

Gerard is in love with the idea of destruction. He finds something romantic with the idea of living this destruction and masquerading type of lifestyle. Being this famous, mysterious man to the world, and to end in a ball of fire. He told me once that he wanted to be the next Jim Morrison. I damn near freaked the fuck out.

Jim Morrison was this weird musician, and Gerard had reminded me a lot of him. They're both quiet, but wild and charismatic on stage, artistic men with the weight of the world in their shoulders. Booze is the only key to their happiness and downfall of destruction.

I don't want Gerard to be the next Jim Morrison.

With the pills and drinking, I'm afraid he will be.

Terrified, actually.

As much as I tried to keep positive, my stomach and pains ate at me. I had that sick feeling to destroy myself, as well. I thought about cutting again. Not to piss Gerard off or to show him off, but to relieve the stress I had myself.

My skin itched to have some relief. I was sick to my stomach about it.

Whenever I had felt this way, I usually ran to food. I'm not going to lie and say I'm this stick thin, gorgeous super model. No, I'm chubby, almost the same as I was in high school, when I met Gerard. I'm back to this kid; the girl reduced to sitting alone with her body fat to keep her company. The only difference is I'm with Gerard, away from my parents, I'm older and I never had wanted to cut myself so badly in my entire life.

I petted Kruger, my mind weighing, reducing me to go eat. To make myself feel better. I fight it off, lying back against the couch, I tried to think straight.

My phone rang a moment later. I exhaled, stood and went to get it. I picked it up, "Hello?"

"Hey, are you alright? I called earlier and Gerard said you were staying..." Fran spoke quickly, but trailed worriedly at the end.

"Fran... I don't know what I'm going to do. I think I'm going crazy." I muttered to her.

"I'm coming to get you. I don't care what Gerard says." With that, Fran hung up.

I put the phone down, coursing my hair back, and went to the dining room.

Our house is small, but it's wonderful; I had set it up like my brownstone in New York. In Jersey, there were few homes like ours. We had three bedrooms; we had said we wanted two little babies to have their own rooms. So far, the rooms had become storage and our joined art room. I'm starting to think there won't be little babies for a long time.

I went to the nearest drawer, grabbed a pen and piece of scrap paper. I began to write: At Fran's, I'll be back soon I love you to bits, Gee. XXX October

I set the paper on the counter in the kitchen, and then went to the living room. I picked Kruger up, and went out through the front door, closing it behind me. It didn't take long before Fran showed up, she looked really ticked off.

Once I was in her car, with Kruger, she looked at me. Her glare softened, "You feel like harming yourself?" She asked with a sadden tone of voice.

I nodded, my hand stroked Kruger's head.

"I'm sorry, love." She murmured, turning her car around.

"Don't apologize." I mumbled, leaving the conversation just like that.


I got rest at Fran's, making myself at home. I sat alone, letting my mind drift away from my current situation. My heart hurt, I could escape that, but I tried my damnedest.

I took some time to sleep while Fran took care of Kruger for me. I slept for a long time; it was noon the following day when Fran woke me.

"He keeps calling and he's outside." Were the first words I woke to.

"Tell him to leave." I mumbled tiredly.

"He's wasted." She said.

"Did he drive here?" I questioned angrily.

She nodded, "Yeah."

My lips tightened, "Tell his stupid ass to sit on the grass. I'll be out there in a minute."

Fran nodded; "Your extra toothbrush is in cabinet."

"Thanks."

Fran left, I got up, scratching my head, then went to her bathroom. I quickly washed my face, brushed my teeth, then slipped my shoes on.

I could hear him yelling at Fran when I went towards the door. Fran didn't yell, she just looked at him with an unimpressed demeanor across her dolled up face.

"I got it." I told her.

Fran turned to me, "He's mental, he needs to sober up."

"I know. Can you keep Kruger for a bit?"

"Yes. Be careful." She pecked my cheek.

"I will."

I went out the door, Gerard was at the end of the porch, yelling about seeing me. The neighbors that were out, were looking at us like we were sideshow freaks. I threaded my fingers through my hair; "Gerard, shut the fuck up." I hissed at him.

"You said you weren't going to leave!" He shouted at me.

He wasn't drunk, he was high. Xanax made him this way.

"Get in the car and stop making a fucking scene!" I snapped at him.

Gerard staggered back, looking at me, "Don't yell at me!"

"Get in the car, Gerard, or I'll leave and never come back!" I threatened him now.

Gerard recoiled, nodding his head and stumbled over his feet to get in the car. I followed after him, getting into the driver side of the idling car. Gerard slid in, looking down, his head hung; I put the car in reverse, and began to drive down the street.

"What made you drive the car while you're high?" I questioned him angrily.

"I wasn't high. I popped a few then I got in the car. I felt nothing until I got to her block."

I got to a empty, quiet cul de sac, then I parked, turning the car off. I looked at Gerard, and without thinking I smacked him. I had to, I needed to release my anger.

His head shot up, you could see the blood rush to the palm print. His pale skin turn a blotchy red color.

"I deserve that." He muttered.

I sat silent. I couldn't conjure up any words to express how angry and disappointed I was. I bit at my lip, started the car, and began to drive back home, not speaking a word to Gerard.