Cleanse Me

Sophie and I sat at that table for at least two hours, talking about ourselves, and delving deeper inside the other. I can't say that I was quite as interesting as she is, but she seemed to like when I talked about myself, and I honestly would just do anything to make her smile...

At 11:30, she glanced at her watch and her eyes got wide

"Oh shit. I was supposed to meet my Mom 45 minutes ago.. I'm so sorry Gerard, I've got to run. She's already probably going to skin me alive!" she rambles, jumping up and winding her scarf back around her neck, grabbing her various bags and her sunglasses.

I watch her wistfully, knowing that I don't have the confidence enough to ask her for her phone number. If only, if only...

Frantically, she searches through her bag, seemingly looking for something important.

"Did you lose something? What're you missing, I could help you look..." I start, standing slightly, legs bent, eyes scanning the table and the floor.

She crows in triumph and I look up, sitting back down with a thud.

She smiles, grabbing my hand, and all I can do is stare at her face as I feel something cool and smooth run across my palm. Winking, she shoves the pen back in her back and waves shortly, turning and speeding out of the store and down the street.

Still dumbstruck, I open and close my mouth for a few seconds before looking down and blushing deeply.

On my hand, she'd written: "Call me. 555-4135 Sophie" in neat, beautiful cursive.

Be still, my drug-riddled heart.



Pace.
Pace.
Pace.
Glance.

Pace.
Pace.
Pace.
Glance.

Trying to get the nerve to call Sophie is like trying to get the nerve to stop a semi truck with your bare hands... It's terrifying, impossible, daunting, and so dangerous.

I want so badly to shoot up before I call her, to give me a confidence boost, but if I do, I know that I won't be "Me" and she'll think I'm fucking weird, and I'll never talk to her again and then my life will be over...

Yeah, okay, that's melodramatic, but Jesus. I'm not good with women.
I'm not good with people.. Ever. Even when I was the 'frontman' of My Chem I was never good at meeting the people who liked our music or who wanted to meet me and thank me for supposedly 'saving their lives.'

I always thought that was a crock of shit. If I couldn't save my fucking life and stop doing heroin, how in the fuck could I begin to save theirs?

I just don't think it's possible.

With a deep breath, I pick up the phone and dial her number, my eyes squeezed tight, my pulse racing a mile a minute.

Four rings in, I'm ready to hid "End" but then the line catches and I hear background noise before a faint "This is Sophie Meyers."

I few seconds go by and I can't will my mouth to move, or my throat to form any words. I just sit there like a fish out of the fucking water.

"Hello?" she says again, waiting.

I take a deep breath before I speak.

"H-Hey, Sophie, this is Gerard. G-Gerard Way. We met at the coffee shop. I don't know if you remember-"

"Heyyyy there stranger! Of course I remember you! *giggle* How're you doing tonight" she cuts me off, making my heart race.

She. Fucking. Giggled.

Smiling despite myself, I bite my lip like a fucking teenage girl.

"I'm... I'm doing pretty okay. Kind of bored, though. Not much to do in an apartment when you've ran out of things to draw." I choke out with a nervous laugh.

She laughs and coughs before continuing. "Well. I was just gonna go out and grab some ice cream. You know Georgia's Italian Gelato on Fifth and Burke? You're totally welcome to come with me if you wanted?"

It was all I could do not to collapse in a pile of mushy good, right on my carpet.

"Seriously? I-I mean yeah, Yeah! I'd love to. I'll see you there in an hour?"

"Yeah, of course. Sounds great. See you then!" she chimes, ending the call.

Holy mother of God....

What will I wear?