Light up the Sky

I walked back out of the school, it was five past three and I was ready to go home. Well, I didn’t want to go home – it wasn’t right there and it didn’t feel like a home. But I was off there, nevertheless.

The day had been a slow one, lessons were boring and the rest of the students left me on my own. It was a usual day, no one bothered me and I was left to get on with my own thing – I liked it that way. I liked being on my own, it was what I needed and it was what I deserved. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

—

I walked out of the school gates, my head hung and staring at the floor. Well, not staring as I was moving, but looking closely at the floor – almost picking out every tiny detail in every crack in the pavement. Picking out all of the raised slabs and all of the broken ones, counting them as I went.

By the time I got home I think I must have counted to at least 107, maybe more. It just proves what New Jersey’s actually like, beaten and broken – maybe that’s why I fit in here so much. I, too, am beaten and broken. But I don’t deserve it any other way, and I don’t want it any other way. I like it how it is, and it’s going to stay like that.

After all, that’s how I deserve it.

I turned my key in the front door and instantly scurried up stairs and into my room. I could hear Gerard calling at me, asking me why I left so early this morning and I ignored him. The reason I left early was to not have questions asked, I didn’t need any when I got home. That wasn’t part of the plan.

I locked my door and sat down on my bed, groaning when I heard Gerard knocking on my door. I got under my covers, after kicking my shoes off, and placed my pillow over my head, holding it down over my ears to try and block out the noise.

I hated him worrying, I hated the fact that he cared. Why did he care? He didn’t need to care, and I didn’t want him to. Could he not see that? I didn’t want him to care. I wanted him to leave me be and I wanted to be able to get on with my life without him barging in and interrupting it. He was ruining everything.

I wanted to be able to get on with numbing myself without him being there, I wanted to be able to become numb. I didn’t want to feel anything around me and Gerard was getting in the way of that. As horrible as it sounded, I wish I had been the first born, I wish Gerard had never been born.

I was the ‘mistake’ as my dad calls me. Sometimes he even confused my name with Mistake. I wasn’t a planned child, that’s what Gerard was, and my mom and dad say that I was one too many bottles of champagne, or in my fathers part, one too many cans of beer.

So, my name’s Mistake. I was a mistake and that’s all I ever make. I make mistakes, I was one – in the end it only seems fit that that be my new name. I am no longer Michael James Way, but Mistake James Way. It works.

Gerard continued to bang at the door and no amount of pressure that I put on the pillow to block out my ears would work. The knocking still kept ringing and I could vaguely hear him begging to be let in.

“Just go the fuck away, Gerard!” I screamed at him, bursting into tears as soon as I had yelled ‘Gerard’.

His knocking stopped but I could now hear him talking lightly to me, asking to be let in – even saying please at the end. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t want him to come in here but in a way it was nice to know that someone wanted to help. No one had ever wanted to help, except for Gerard. Gerard had always wanted to help and all I had ever done was push him away.

I don’t know what made me do it; I didn’t want to do it. My brain was telling me not to, but all the time my heart was telling me to get up and unlock the door. I guess in the end I followed my heart.

I unclicked the lock, not opening the door and sat down in the middle of my bedroom – almost daring Gerard to come in. Which he did, he must have heard the lock click as my door opened slowly and Gerard crept into my room.

“M-Mikey…?” Gerard said carefully, walking over to me and sitting down next to me.

He didn’t hug me, he knew better than that. I never let any one touch me and last time he tried to touch me he ended up with a nose bleed – of course, my punches aren’t that hard but he managed to get a nose bleed. It didn’t make sense, I’m not strong. I’m not strong at all, but I guess it was the fact that all of my fat must have had some sort of impact on it…

I shook my head at him, my name wasn’t Mikey, and my name wasn’t even Michael. It was Mistake, and that was all I would ever answer to any more. It was what I was, and it was what I would always be. I was Mistake.

“No what?” He asked, curious I guess, as to why I was shaking my head at him.

How do I tell him that my name isn’t Michael, that he can no longer call me Mikey? He’s the only one that does, and he’s the only one that cares. What would he say when I tell him my name is Mistake? He’d obviously try and sort out why I felt like that and I didn’t want him to.

“My name’s not Mikey,” I said through my tears, only it came out more like ‘m-my na-me’s s-not M-Mike-key.’

He cocked an eyebrow at me, looking at me in great confusion and he was most likely wondering why on Earth I was trying to tell him that my name wasn’t Mikey.

“Okay… Michael then-“

“My name’s not Michael,” ‘m-my n-ame-‘s s-snot Mi-chae-l-l.’

He looked at me, even more confused now. Both his eyebrows had lowered and he was staring at me as if I was crazy. I was crazy! For God’s sake, I had just changed my name to Mistake.