Three Cheers

I didn't hear from Gerard for an entire day. I didn't even talk to Fran. I went and got a room at a hotel, and stayed there for a little while. 

But, when I did go home, Fran was waiting for me. She didn't look happy.

"You nearly gave me a proper heart attack!" She snapped at me.

"I'm sorry!" I pulled her into a hug, "I just needed to go somewhere, where I knew Gerard's wouldn't find me. I needed to get away and think."

She sighed after she let me go, "I get it. But, call me first! I was looking all over for you!"

"I'm sorry. I'll keep you updated, okay? I just need some help."

Fran had nodded and hugged me again. And, then I told her my plans.

My plan had been to stay at the hotel until Gerard left for the tour, then I would go home. I planned to get another room a month from then, when Gerard came back. I just didn't want to be there when he got back, I wanted him to get it through his head that I was serious when I said I wasn't always going to be there.

My mind sought through all the mess we had gone through. I understood immensely that Gerard was fighting the memories of his father's abuse, but I had suggested an alternative to help. He didn't want help, he just wanted to drink it away, as if that would work.

I know that drinking as much as he does, and popping those pills was going to kill him. I love him, but I wasn't going to love him to death. If I can prevent the inevitable, I will do it, but right now, I was fighting my own problems.

I wouldn't call them demons, because it's not as bad as Gerard's. I was fighting the conflicting depression and anxiety I had about losing Gerard. I was fighting the urge to rip my skin apart in order to feel a tiny bit normal. I needed to get away for myself. I had to help myself in order to function at a normal rate to help my husband.

So, the first week Gerard was gone, I still kept myself isolated and I went to group meetings for alcoholics, for cutting, and for depression. I listened to stories of the emotionally damaged, and the unstable persons. I listened to horror stories, some that ranged to the worst shit I had ever heard, to the simple fact of drinking was something that soothe one. 

The self-harm group meetings were where I felt at home, in a way. I sat back, listening to girls, and a few men, explain their hurt and the fact that they felt the same as myself. I knew that this is what I would need to, in a way, fix myself.

To help myself, I needed to talk.

Well, the three meeting I went to, a guy pointed me out. He looked at me, in the small group we had, and flat out said, "I know you from somewhere."

I pointed to myself, stupidly, as if I hadn't known he was pointing at me.

"Me?" I added to the dumb look I gave.

"Yeah... You're like a model? Right? Someone famous? Let me see your name tag."

I hadn't put one of those 'Hello My Name Is...' sticker on my cardigan. It felt too personal to do. Besides, the last group meeting I went to, I didn't need to introduce myself. People knew me; well, people knew me, apparently, here too.

The people looked at me, and I had a mental flashback to when I first saw Gerard. I remembered Ms. Vanity, Ms. Attitude and Mr. Sloth; it's all coming back to me now.

"I'm October." I answered softly.

"Oh, yeah." The guy nods.

That's it. That's all he says. He doesn't bring up who my parents are, or who my husband might be, or is. He leaves it at that. Do you know how good that feels?

"Hey," The head of this group, Christy, nods her head towards me, "Why don't you talk about your life? Or, the reason you cut?"

I licked my lips out of nervousness as everyone is still looking at me. I exhale heavily, "I used to cut... But, lately I've been itching to do it again."

A little woman, she has the stature of a teenager, but the face of a woman my age, speaks, "How come?" Her voice is soft.

I swallow hard, "My husband has a bad... Very bad, alcohol and drug addiction. I don't know what to do, and I need to help myself before I can help him."

Everyone gives me this approval look. They gave me encouraging nods and smiles. They can't believe I'm here to help myself and someone else.

"How long has it been?" A man with a beard, his name tag said Bryan, asked.

"Since I've cut?" He nods, "Almost 3 years."

"Wow." A woman to my far left says.

"That's a long time," Bryan murmurs, "Does your husband know?"

I give a small laugh, out of the thought, "Yeah. That's how we met. A group like this when I was 16 and he was 18... He was my everything back then, he loved me so damn much and my cutting went away for a while..." 

Slowly, I began explaining my life to these strangers. I told them all about my life with and without Gerard. I told them about his drinking and that he was trying to bury things that had happened in his past. I never felt so much weight lift off my shoulders; I felt so damn good to cry in front of these people with good reason. I finally got my head above water and I could, faintly, see the shore to recovery.


I went to the meetings every Tuesday and Friday, I listened and sometimes I talked. I found a way to help Gerard, and I could only hope that he'd take it. Everyone in the meetings said it wouldn't be so easy, and I knew, but that if I went with him, he would eventually come in on his own, without holding my hand.

Finally, I went back to the store, where Becky looked at me like I was a ghost. I smiled at her, I felt better.

"October, where have you been? Do you know how many times your husband called?" Becky asked this in a rushed voice.

"I guess a hundred so times?" I waved it off.

"Try a thousand!" She exasperated, "Where did you go? You look... Better? Is that okay to say, or is that too crass?"

I smiled at her, "I am better. I feel better."

"Well, honey, I'm happy for you, but I think your husband is coming in soon. He said he was coming home today."

I tweaked my lips, "Really?"

"Yeah, he called yesterday. He wanted to put up missing persons fliers, but then Fran talked him out if it. What happened?"

I nodded, "I've been at home, but I've been getting help."

Becky knew a bit of my former problems because she isn't blind. She saw the scars on my wrist, "Oh... That's great. You look happier."

"In a way, I am, I just need to talk to Gerard."

She nodded, "He should be here soon."

"I'll be in the back. Tell him I'm here if he comes."

"I will."

I was surprised that I didn't feel nervous. I think my mind was semi shut off; I even went to do inventory. How weird and robotic did I act? Maybe I tried to distract myself from the thought of Gerard. Yeah... That was it.

I was busying my mind, when I felt hands on my waist. I jumped slightly, and turned around. I saw Gerard, disheveled looking, with a sad look in his eyes.

"Where the fuck have you been?" He asked softly.

I expected him to explode. 

"At home."

"Why didn't you answer the phone? Do you know how fuckin' worried I was?"

"I guess you know what it's like to be in my shoes." I stated this quietly.

He rubbed his neck, "Yeah... Yeah."

We were both silent, then I finally broke it, "Look, Gerard, you need help. You need to stop binge drinking--"

He stopped me, "Wasn't it enough I tortured myself for two and a half weeks?"

"No!" I snapped, "Try dealing with it for two years!"

"You're just mad because I forgot--"

"Yeah, you bet I'm pissed about that, but it's not what this is about," I stepped back, "This has to do with your drinking, and the fact that you played me like a fool for two weeks, thinking that you've changed, when really you didn't. Did you?"

Gerard hung his head, almost ashamed. He then looked up, "I was trying to make my last two weeks at home good for you."

"Yeah, and you fucked up the last day!"

"I'm sorry! My friends called me and wanted to go out for a drink--"

"I don't need to hear it." I crossed my arms, "I don't want to hear it. I told you, Gerard, that I wasn't always going to be there."

"I know! I know!" He sighed, "Believe me, this last month has been fucking brutal. I missed you so damn much." He reached for my hands and I stepped back, hitting the desk behind me, "October, what's wrong?"

I felt myself wanting to cry. I forced the tears to stall, "I think we should separate."

The look in his eyes was devastating. My heart hurt, it sunk deep into my stomach. I never wanted those words to pass my lips.

"Why?" He whispered.

"Because I need to get better before I can help you get better." I muttered.

"What the fuck does that mean?!" He shouted now.

I flinched and hit the desk again, "It means..." I regained my composure, "Do you know how bad I've been feeling? I've been so depressed and I've wanted some relief, you just don't know. I've wanted to hurt myself so bad."

Gerard's anger seemed to dissolve, he stepped back, and ran his hand through his hair; "I didn't know."

"Gerard, maybe you should go to AA meetings--"

"No." He stated, "I'm not that much of a drunk."

I furrowed my brows, "That's not what those meetings are about."

"I told you before, October, I don't want help." Gerard muttered.

"Then I guess you don't want me either."

Gerard's jaw slacked, "Wait, I want you, October. What about our lives? What about having a baby? You just want to end things?"

I shook my head with a light shrug, "I don't want to bring a baby into our mess... Me with my need to hurt myself, and you with your drinking, we shouldn't bring a child into this."

"I don't want to end this," He stepped closer to me, "I love you, Sugar."

I just looked at him unable to form words. I didn't know what I wanted to say or do. My head was all over the place.

Gerard took my hands, intertwining our fingers, and kissing me quickly. He caught my lips, he pressed his body hard against mine and forced me on the desk. My head, my mind, was screaming at me, telling me I was an idiot.

He moved between my legs, his hands let mine go, and placed on my hips. He slowly pulled away from me, he looked me in the eyes, his clouded with sadness and worry, "Please don't leave me." He stated softly.

"Gee, don't do this to me." I murmured.

"Don't go, please? I'll get better someday. I need you beside me." He bowed his head back to mine and kissed me again.

I felt like sobbing, but I wouldn't allow myself. I exhaled heavily and coursed my hair. This wasn't going to be good.