When the Savior Is Damned
Without You
The five days Gerard stayed in the hospital were unbearable; the most harrowing time in Mikey’s life. The sleeping pills (so cliché) had been purged from his system but it was still unknown if they hadn’t already taken effect, and the only way they’d know was if Gerard woke up or not. Even their Grandma Helena’s death couldn’t compare to this, because at least, that caught him off-guard. No time to wait or worry or think about what would or wouldn’t happen; just coming home one day and finding out she was gone, and the grief that followed soon after.
But this was worse; as awful it was to even think reflect on, Gerard’s death could affect him in ways Grandma’s didn’t. He missed her support and her care and calling her up and telling her the good and bad things that were happening with the band, but he learned how to live life without her, to move on.
Gerard, on the other hand, was someone he spent time with on a daily basis. Gerard, who he traveled the world with and performed on stage so phenomenally it left him and everyone else awestruck. Gerard, who could be the most depressing or uplifting person, depending on his mood. Gerard, who glared at you with such intensity it made you want to cower and consider if you were related to the Devil himself, or who could smile or pull a face that would make you do the same, make you feel like your mother gave birth to an angel. Gerard, who drinks himself to a stupor and could curse like nobody else; Gerard, who wrote songs that impacted lives and sang so emotionally it made girls and boys alike cry at concerts like the kids they are, behind the eyeliner and piercings and the hard faces.
Gerard, who once hit Mikey in the face and shattered his glasses after a particularly bad day and countless bottles of booze; and Gerard, who broke down in front of his little brother the morning after, and even with the terrible hangover, managed to hug Mikey to his chest and whimper, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” and promised to never lose control like that again.
Mikey liked to think the only reason he forgave his brother was because he knew this was a promise he would keep; but it still wouldn’t be true, because Gerard would be Gerard whether he was that eight-year-old who held Mikey’s favorite comic above him, taunting him into reaching for it and cheered him on when he succeeded, or that twelve-year-old who swore at the kids who bullied Mikey every day and spent a month in detention for it, or that sixteen-year-old that still tried to smile for Mikey and convinced him never to even try drugs even if he’d just gotten his first taste of getting high the day before, or that twenty-year-old that asked for Mikey’s help when they were required to make a portrait of sadness, and actually took him seriously when Mikey suggested to draw an emoticon sad face because he was making a comic at the time and couldn’t be bothered with schoolwork, or that twenty-four-year-old who started a band after 9/11 because he needed to find a way to make other people realize what he did after that tragedy, and he would forgive Gerard for anything, no matter what.
Because Gerard would always be Gerard, always the big brother that he just couldn’t live without.
But this was worse; as awful it was to even think reflect on, Gerard’s death could affect him in ways Grandma’s didn’t. He missed her support and her care and calling her up and telling her the good and bad things that were happening with the band, but he learned how to live life without her, to move on.
Gerard, on the other hand, was someone he spent time with on a daily basis. Gerard, who he traveled the world with and performed on stage so phenomenally it left him and everyone else awestruck. Gerard, who could be the most depressing or uplifting person, depending on his mood. Gerard, who glared at you with such intensity it made you want to cower and consider if you were related to the Devil himself, or who could smile or pull a face that would make you do the same, make you feel like your mother gave birth to an angel. Gerard, who drinks himself to a stupor and could curse like nobody else; Gerard, who wrote songs that impacted lives and sang so emotionally it made girls and boys alike cry at concerts like the kids they are, behind the eyeliner and piercings and the hard faces.
Gerard, who once hit Mikey in the face and shattered his glasses after a particularly bad day and countless bottles of booze; and Gerard, who broke down in front of his little brother the morning after, and even with the terrible hangover, managed to hug Mikey to his chest and whimper, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” and promised to never lose control like that again.
Mikey liked to think the only reason he forgave his brother was because he knew this was a promise he would keep; but it still wouldn’t be true, because Gerard would be Gerard whether he was that eight-year-old who held Mikey’s favorite comic above him, taunting him into reaching for it and cheered him on when he succeeded, or that twelve-year-old who swore at the kids who bullied Mikey every day and spent a month in detention for it, or that sixteen-year-old that still tried to smile for Mikey and convinced him never to even try drugs even if he’d just gotten his first taste of getting high the day before, or that twenty-year-old that asked for Mikey’s help when they were required to make a portrait of sadness, and actually took him seriously when Mikey suggested to draw an emoticon sad face because he was making a comic at the time and couldn’t be bothered with schoolwork, or that twenty-four-year-old who started a band after 9/11 because he needed to find a way to make other people realize what he did after that tragedy, and he would forgive Gerard for anything, no matter what.
Because Gerard would always be Gerard, always the big brother that he just couldn’t live without.