Sweet Home... Minnesota?

When I wake up its well past midnight. I rub my eyes and feel the stiff concrete under my back, having provided a truly uncomfortable position. My body hasn’t felt this stiff and painful in years, but I get up and look at the wreck around me. So that wasn’t a dream then. I did get myself wasted in the middle of the afternoon.

I fucking hate myself. How could I do that? Well the answer is probably because I fucking hate myself. How redundant is that? It’s such a stupid cycle. I hate myself so I drink to make me forget about it which only makes it worse in the long run. I fucking hate myself.

Mikey’s going to kill me.

Pete’s going to kill me.

My parents are going to kill me.

Mostly though, Mikey is going to kill me. He’s going to kill me a few times, and then for good measure, throw me off a bridge. I don’t even blame him. If I were him, I’d kill me to.

I mean, at least I didn’t drive or anything.

I check my watch, but it’s too dark to see it in the dark. It’s very dark outside, almost no light at all, like I’ve woken up in a cave. I haven’t though, I see the moon and the stars. The stars are very bright, but I’ve got a killer headache so looking at them hurts my eyes. I am so glad that’s not the sun, or I’d be a vampire screaming and howling on the ground. I don’t know how long I was out for, though if I recall, it was before noon that I got here. It’s been probably over twelve hours.

When I stumble back to the car in complete darkness, I almost lose my way, and actually feel a little scared. I don’t have my phone with me so I don’t have any light to guide me to my car, other than the light from the moon. I trip on a root, and scoff my elbow up a bit, but I pull myself back up and bat at the mosquitoes swarming around me. It’s unnaturally dark, but I find my way anyway.

The minute I see my car is not because of the moon though, it’s because of a blue light emitting from inside. I walk a little quicker, though my joints scream at me, to see the light of my phone blaring into the dark car to tell me I have an incoming call.

My stomach drops. I am in so much trouble.

Mikey is a million times more terrifying than my parents. Oh god, this is going to be a really rough few days. Mikey is going to kill me, then scream at me, then kill me, then tell me off for drinking, then kill me, and then he’s going to kill me. I honestly cannot even imagine a time where Mikey has been as mad as he is about to be.

I pull open the car door and pick up the phone, but I don’t answer the call. I just let it go to voice mail. I’d rather do the whole screaming thing in person.

When the call stops, I’m shown the number of the missed calls I’ve received, and my heart practically stops at the number. I hope to god it’s a glitch.

Oh god, Mikey is going to kill me.

My phone has received so many phone calls that it doesn’t even say how many. All it says is 100+ which is undeniably terrifying. I scroll down to see that I’ve also got 100+ text messages and a grand total of 33 voice messages.

It’s been well over twelve hours though. I don’t know what I expected. Given the situation, it makes sense.

The phone calls are from a range of people, mostly Mikey but Pete, and my parents as well. I’m also surprised to see Frank on the list of missed calls, but I do not want to talk to him right now. Or ever.

I check some of the texts though.

Mikey: I just got a call from the liquor store. DO NOT DRINK ANYTHING

Mikey: PICK UP YOUR DAMN PHONE

Mikey: The next tiem I see you I’m gonna kill u

Mikey: Where r u?

Mikey: Please answer me

Mikey: Gee please pick up

Mikey: I’m not mad please just pick up.

Mikey: PICK UP PICK UP PICK UP

Mikey: don’’t kill yourself

They get increasingly more desperate as I scroll down. A mixture of Pete is in there telling me that Mikey is panicking, and that he’s ready to send out a search party. Pete’s mostly angry that I scared Mikey at first, and then he gets to be nearly as desperate as Mikey. Nearly. He’s no competition for the pain in Mikey’s texts.

There’s two from Frank as well. My heart stops when I see his name, and I don’t know what to do. I have to read them, but I’m scared.

Frank: I want to talk.

Frank: Mikey says you’ve gone missin. If this is bcause of me please take it out on me and not M,ikey

A little further on are some really dark texts from Mikey and Pete.

Mikey: I’m rotting here w/o knowing whats wrong!

Mikey: ten hours Gerard, what am I supossed to think?

Mikey: what if ur dead?

Mikey: what if ur dead and ur not going to read these at all

Mikey: Do u see how scared I am?

Mikey: talk to me. stay safe. i’m not mad.

Mikey: I dont even know if ur dead. plese dont b dead

Mikey: I love u so much Gee, answer me!

Pete: Mikey is convinced ur dead. I beg u with everything in the world to please just come home!

Mikey: twelve hours.

Mikey: g, I dont wanna believe tht ur dead bu t I also cant beleive that ur alive right now until u answer me

Mikey: Schrodinger’s Gerard

Mikey: u know, normaly u’d have found that funny, but ur not texting back

Mikey: oh god text back

Mikey: i dont cre what happend just tell me ur not dead

Pete: Please Gerard!

Mikey: what am I gonna do if ur dead?

Mikey: I fuCKING HATE YOU wHERE ARE YOU?

Mikey: please

Mikey: Come home please. I need u to know I love you, and im not mad

My heart feels broken as I read through some of them. It never even occurred to me that Mikey would think I’m dead.

I receive a voice message just as I’m reading through some of the texts, but I blaze through most of them without reading the contents. I decide to listen to it because it’s the most current update on Mikey’s predicament right now.

“Gerard please, wherever you are, stop ignoring me,” he says and his voice sounds raw from crying, “Please come home. I don’t even know if you’re alive right now, Gerard. You have no idea how scared I am. Please just tell me you’re okay. Please. I love you so much. I need to know you’re alive Gerard. I’ve never been more scared. Come home.”

He’s still going to kill me even if he says he’s not mad. I frown, my whole body shaking, because I don’t know what to do.

It takes me a few minutes to actually convince myself to do anything at all. I feel like collapsing into a fetal position and never crawling back up, but that would make things worse.

I always seem to be making things worse. I can’t do anything in this world without screwing up something else. It’s like I’m cursed or something. I’m like King Midas except everything I touch collapses instead of turning into gold. Sometimes I wish I could just stop doing the worst thing possible, but I always do. I always end up taking the worst path out of all the ones in front of me. I need a map to guide me, but I’d probably ruin that too.

Eventually I drag myself to the driver’s seat of the car, and try not to slam my head against the wheel. I don’t want to do this. I don’t really want to do anything.

I kind of want to sleep, and not wake up, but I don’t really want to die. I want to still be living, but not really doing anything. A coma sounds nice, because then I can’t ruin things. Though I’d probably find a loophole and manage to make things worse.

~*~*~*~

When I walk up the front steps it seems too dark and quiet. The front door is held ajar with the screen still in place to keep bugs out, but it’s too dark for anyone to see me approach.

I walk closer to the front door, and hesitate a moment before pushing it in front of me and stepping inside. I hadn’t even realized how hot it was out there until the air conditioning hits me, and it feels wonderful.

The living room is extremely dark with the only light coming from the kitchen. Mikey looks to be unconscious on the couch having obviously cried a lot, with his head on Pete’s lap where he’s sitting next to him.

Pete’s looking at his hands blankly until he hears the door creak. He looks up, and an expression flutters on his face that is so complex and varied that I can’t describe it. Pete shakes Mikey awake, and his head lifts lazily.

Mikey stands up almost instantly muttering an, “oh thank god.”

He barely gets the words out before he runs up to me and swing his arms around me in a death grip. I barely see him before he’s wrapping his wiry body around my shoulders, and honestly it makes me feel a million times worse. I made him think I was dead. He’s been miserable for so long, and it’s my fault.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Pete inching his way out of the room and I hate that I’m displacing him in his own home. It’s his house too, and I keep undermining that. Yet another thing I’ve royally fucked up.

“Mikey, I know you’re mad-”

“Shut the fuck up, you asshole!” Mikey says squeezing me tighter, and I sort of can’t breathe.

“Mikey I-”

“I’m not mad!” he says and he pulls away from me, but he keeps a firm grip on my arm. “I thought you were dead you dumb-fuck!”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” I answer grimly.

“You should be,” he states, “you had me picking out flowers!”

“I know Mikey, but I need to talk to you.”

“Yes you do,” he agrees.

“No, Mikey, I... I really have to talk to you,” I say.

Mikey nods, and he seems to understand that I’m asking him to sit down because he does, and I sit next to him on the couch. He looks more relieved than anything, but he has a lot of concern in his eyes which makes me feel my guilt levels rise infinitely. I have a cauldron of guilt boiling up in my stomach that makes me feel like the horrible person I know I am.

“Mikey I...” I take a deep breath trying to figure out how to phrase what I’m feeling, “there’s something wrong with me.”

“I know,” He says, trying to lighten the mood, but I’m not in a joking kind of mood.

“No, I mean really. I don’t know what it is, but there’s just something wrong with me. I keep getting sick and throwing up, and I’m always tired, and I can’t eat right, and always have a headache-“

“You’re stressed, Gerard! It happens.”

I sigh, and I finally just burst with what I think is really going on, “Mikey, I think I’m going insane.”