Cardinals

The room reeks of sweat, vomit, and alcohol, nicotine and sex. He pushes me onto the bed and kisses my neck while I stare up at the ceiling, mouth dropped open so oxygen can seep through. He’s unbuttoning my shirt, jeans, kissing down my chest, slurring about how much he loves me, how much he needs me.

Lies lies lies lies lies.

And he’s faking all these moans and slurring all these compliments and all I can do is stifle back a high, drunk, fucked-up giggle that’s bubbling up the back of my throat and threatening to spill onto the floor. And he’s planting sloppy kisses on my neck again, sweat falling from the both of us and seeping into the sheets as he moves back and forth against me, in me. And all I do is just stifle that fucking giggle. Hold down that fucking vomit. Imagine arsenic being spread throughout my system, killing me slowly.

Dirty dirty filthy boy.

And when he’s done, he falls down next to me and kisses my cheek and closes his eyes, breathing softly, pulling a blanket up over his waist. He’s staring at me, blue eyes burning so hot into my skin, making my heart thud against my ribs dangerously.

Skeletal.

“Are you fucking mute, Ger?” he asks bluntly, blinking. I turn to look at him, my mouth dropping open a bit, a gasp slipping out. Saysomething.

Nothing.

“Or just too wasted to notice anything? Or just really really messed up? Because, shit, Gerard, I’m trying real fucking hard to figure you out, and it just isn’t working. You’re complicated.” Made of limbs and blood and joints and tissue that’s filled with poison and hatred and everything else that sends you to hell.

“I-I.” Holy shit, you screw everything up, don’t you? Why can’t you just saysomething? Saysomething. “It’s not… I’m not…” words trip and tumble around in my head, but nothing comes out, and my brain’s thud-thud-thudding against my skull painfully. He props himself up on his elbows, eyes twinkling in the half-moonlight.

“I shouldn’t have given you those fucking drugs,” he shakes his head, leaning over the bed and grabbing his shirt and jeans, pulling them on. “Lesson learned. For Christ’s sake, Gerard, you’d think after all this time you’d fucking be able to take them on.”

“N-no, it’s not the drugs, it’s just… you just took me by fucking surprise, Bert. God.” He’s stops mid-button, and all you can hear is our short, high, post-sex breath echoing in the disgusting bedroom. He laughs a little, and shakes his head.

“You’re so fucked up.”

“You aren’t?” I bite, pulling on my own clothes, my head spinning fast, the room becoming little blurs and smears. Tripping over clothes and shoes and bottles, I finally stumble into his arms and plant a sloppy kiss on his lips, smirking for just a moment. “You and me both.”

He laughs again, “There’s no one in this world that could possibly be as fucked up as you, Gerard,” he mutters, and then tugs on my hand, pulling me through the living room and out the apartment door. He lights a cigarette as we reach the car and gets in, motioning for me to follow.

Control control control.

Silence covers us like a too-thick, suffocating blanket and I breathe through my mouth, trying to receive more air. He glances at me for a moment before taking a left. “Bert.” He looks over at me at the stoplight curiously. “P-please don’t t-take me home. I can’t d-deal with being there, please, Bert.”

The light turns green, but he’s still staring at me, cigarette burning dangerously fast towards the filter, lips curling upwards in a taunting smirk, eyes twinkling. I fight the shudder that’s making its way out. Saysomething saysomething saysomething. We are two people so alike that it’s tearing us apart, secret after secret after secret after lie. And finally, he’s shaking his head a little, “You can’t keep running away from the mess you made, Gerard,” he mutters, and makes a sharp u-turn.

“Th-thank you.”

The club is blinking with neon colour after colour, headbanging music screaming from the speakers, bursting people’s eardrums, basically your number one destination to MIGRAINEMIGRAINE. Bert keeps a hold of my hand, occasionally squeezing it as he pushes through drunken crowds, until he reaches who he’s looking for, and lets go to shake hands with them. Once he’s gotten what he wanted, he leads us to the bathroom and locks the door behind him. He pulls out a credit card and dumps out a bit onto the counter. “Want some?” he’s asking. He does two lines before he lets me go, and then he cleans it all up.

We’re both so loaded. He’s giggling as he kisses my neck and then leads us out the door, and the people are one big blur of blues and greens and pinks and purples as he pushes through again. We stumble out into the parking lot and I collapse onto the asphalt. “W-why do you like them?” I’m asking, eyes closed, letting the breeze sweep across my face delicately.

“Like what?” he slurs.

“The drugs.”

He’s staring at me; I can feel it burning through my skin like a red-hot laser, fifth degree burn-mark scars left behind. And all at once, he’s laughing, the sound bitter and sharp, like a knife stabbed into his stomach, twisted over and over and over again until he’s choking up blood, he’s laughing laughing laughing. “Th-that’s a stupid question, Gerard; you ask fucking stupid questions.”

You’re so stupid Gerard; so childish and so fucking stupid.

Shutup.

“I just want to know, is all,” I whisper, shrugging and turning my head back up towards the cloudless bruise-coloured sky. “T-there has to be something that’s made you turn to them.”

“You mean everyone needs to be as insane as you?” he shoots, and then goes quiet for a moment. “I didn’t mean that.”

I shrug. “Sure.”

“I just… I’ve been hurt a lot, Gerard,” he slurs and whispers. “There’s been so much fucking pain and I just… I can’t fucking stand it. Then one day these just… came along. They take the pain away.”

“I know.” And for once, he falls into my arms and lets me hold him while he sniffles away the bitter conversation we’ve just had, tears filling his blue blue blue eyes. And then he looks up at me. Do you love me? Gerard, can you possibly be fucking capable of loving anyone, siblings or boyfriends alike? All I want, all I fucking need is a role model. Someone who cares.

No.

“Do you love me, Gerard? P-please,” he’s whispering brokenly. “P-please love me.”

Please, it’s all I need.

I can’t do it.

“I do. I love you.”

Promise.

“I do. I promise.”

I lie.

I fuck up.

I go insane.

Thank you.

I know.

And then I run. So fast I’m beginning the to think I can fly. So fast I’m beginning the think I can reach the end of the world, flying so high high high as a kite, and happy, too, until I collapse. Until I realize the end is nothing more than a big black sea and we’re never really loved.

We just lie.

We just want some fucking control over our lives.