Crazy.

I woke up screaming again, the cheap thread count sheets twisted around my waist and Gerard’s; the smell of cigarette smoke clouding my head. But I could it I could smell it – coppery and haunting, invading my senses with fear and horrific images.

Gerard sat up shortly, and glanced around wildly, before his eyes fell on me. “What the fuck?” he spat out, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. My lips twisted, and the sob that had been keeping in the back of my throat finally made its way out, echoing into the room.

“I c-can smell it!” I cried hysterically. “G-get rid of it G-Gee!” He looked at me, his face contorted with something I wasn’t sure of, maybe rage, and maybe confusion, as I continued to mumble the same thing over and over again to him, shaking and sobbing, gripping onto the sheets as tight as I could, as the smell started making me dizzy.

“GET RID OF IT!” I screamed louder than before, and he jumped off the bed, running over to the suitcase and pulling clothes out of it as fast as he could. They made even blacker shadows in the black room as they flew through the air viciously, landing on the carpet with a silent thump.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, get rid of it!

I couldn’t breathe, my lungs refusing to let the carbon dioxide out, or the oxygen back in, my chest feeling like somebody had a hold of it, like I was about to implode, the scent of my blood mixing in with his. “P-please,” I whimpered, this time more quietly, still trying to breathe.

Gerard rushed back over. “Shut the fuck up, Jeph,” he murmured, opening something, while I continued to sob and mumble and shake. Finally, he got it opened, and poured something out onto his hand; he turned to me, “Open,” he ordered me monotonously. My hands trembled, loosening their grip on the sheets. “Don’t fuck around right now, Jeph!” he growled, getting more and more pissed off at my horrified and tense nature.

No response. “Jeph!” he shouted again, shaking me; his artistic hands tightening their grip around me, squeezing squeezing squeezing my biceps until I felt like my upper arm might explode with pressure, and my eyes flickered to his. Ever-so-slowly, I opened my mouth for him, and he slipped the tiny white pills underneath my tongue.

They tasted acidic, like they would burn a hole through my mouth; I wanted to vomit them back up as they made their daunting way down my throat. “I-it’s not going a-away,” I whimpered, curling up into the fetal position.

“What are you talking about?” he finally asked, his cold voice floating across the room, and swimming into my ears, making them ring, and my head spin.

Does he hate me?

“T-the b-blood,” I choked, rocking back and forth. “I c-can smell it, still.”

He shook his head, and crawled back into the bed, wrapping his arms around me carefully; he kissed my neck and buried his nose into it. “Stop thinking about it, then,” he muttered, before closing his eyes. Five minutes later, he was sound asleep, nose still planted in my neck, soft, almost unheard snores falling from his lips.

Smell it smell it smell it. Feel it; you can feel it in your hands again, can’t you? Hear it; you can hear his pleads again, can’t you?

I shuddered, wiping the thoughts from my mind, and concentrating solely on falling asleep, until five minutes later, a sheet of black took over my mind and casted over my eyes.

“Wake up!” something hit the middle of my torso roughly, and my eyes opened, blurred at first by the sleep and confusion. Gerard’s image came into focus a minute later, his caramel eyes ablaze with impatience and frustration. His arms were crossed, jeans and a t-shirt thrown on him. “Come on, Jeph, don’t keep messing around, get dressed.”

I just kept my gaze on him, my arm twitching momentarily. He let out a low growl. “Come on, Jeph, please, get dressed.”

“It s-still smells,” I cleared my throat, keeping my head buried in the pillow.

“Let it go,” he stated, going over and opening the curtains to the hotel windows. “It’s over, babe. Done with. Dead. Taken care of. Burned.”

“It s-shouldn’t have h-happened,” I cried. He rolled his eyes.

“But, it did. And now you need to let it go. And we need to get going.”

Panic arose again, racing through every blue-green vein, every pinkish-red artery, filling my blood stream with fear, want, and hysterics, threatening to make me pass out. “N-no! We can’t just l-leave, Gee! P-people – they’ll w-wonder!”

“They have nothing to wonder about,” he said darkly, “God, Jeph, what the hell is wrong with you?”

The air seemed sticky and sour, threatening to make me heave, as I choked back yet more sobs, shaking my head and twisting the sheets in my fingers again. “I d-don’t k-know,” I sobbed out. “I’m t-trying, but it’s s-so fucking hard, b-because I mean, god – he’s dead. I d-did that.”

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists, taking deep breaths; opening and closing his mouth as if about to say something – but never actually saying anything. When his eyes snapped back open, they were darker, the caramel no longer there; instead replaced with a greenish colour, brown flecks mixed in. He ignored my last statement, moving over to the suitcase that still sat where it had last night. Only then I noticed all the clothes were picked up, folded neatly inside.

“Y-you had this p-planned all along,” I mumbled, sitting up. It was a bad idea, my head starting to spin as soon as I did; causing a nauseating effect. “F-fuck!” I gasped, grabbing a hold of my stomach and moaning from pain and surprise.

“I gave you too much last night,” he muttered.

“W-what were they?”

“Just sleeping pills, Jeph, chill,” he ordered. “I shouldn’t have given you three, though. I should’ve known you couldn’t handle it.” He sniffed in what was near disapproval, before coming over and sitting on the bed next to me.

“Arms up,” he told me, and I did as told, while he swiftly pulled my shirt off, before pulling another white one down. He pushed me back on the bed and undid last night’s jeans, grabbing another pair and pulling them up my legs, buttoning them as quickly as possible, and pulling me back up.

“I c-can dress m-myself.”

He arched an eyebrow patronizingly, before turning back around and packing up everything else. “I was thinking…California?” he questioned to the air, still not looking at me. I stayed silent, standing up.

“Maybe Florida, or something,” he murmured. “We’ll figure it out when we’re on the road, yeah?” he whirled back around, his eyes now back to the normal caramel colour, sending a somewhat strangely relaxing feeling over me.

“P-please, can’t we j-just stay here?” I asked him, as he grabbed the car keys and the hotel key card, opening the door. He ignored me still, walking out into the hall, waiting for me to come out. And I did, like the perfect little kitten I was, following him, lost, like he was the master – because he was.

“P-please,” I mewed, crossing my fingers that he wouldn’t lash out. He didn’t though; just ignored me. “W-we can just pretend i-it never happened. A-and then, then nobody will e-ever know, and we’ll j-just keep our mouths s-shut.” I was rambling now, I knew it.

“Jeph.” He said slowly, as we reached the check-out desk. “Shut. Up.”

“P-please.” Just a whispered plead, now. Completely hopeless.

He signed his name for the concierge, and then started towards the door. I hurried to catch up; still trying to figure out what to say to convince him differently. To make him stay. I couldn’t just leave everything behind.

Oh, look what you’ve done.

“Gee,” I begged. “Come on, j-just a week more.” He stopped shortly as we reached the car, and pointed.

“In.”

“Please.” It tumbled from my mouth like a die again. It hit the floor hard, this time, though.

“No!” He snarled, grabbing my arm and slamming me against the car fiercely. My heart sped up, the blood flowing to and from it in veins faster and faster. “Please don’t ask again.”

I didn’t say anything this time, just nodded numbly, unsure of what else to do, as he opened the door, and waited patiently for me to get in. He was still angry, his jaw twitching, foot tapping, as I sat in the passenger side, and he slammed the door, walking around the car, before getting in his own side. He put the car in Drive.

“I’m s-sorry.”

It was never good enough. It could never change the past.

I sniffed. “I c-can still smell it,” I whispered hoarsely.

“Shut up, Jeph. Shut the fuck up.”

That was one thing we were; fucked up.