When the Savior Is Damned
I Hate You, But I Hate Myself More
After ‘Helena,’ which was always the last song they performed at concerts, they throttled backstage, grabbing the chilled beers Rob held out for them and they gave out celebratory cheers for another show in the bag. They only had a few more minutes to themselves because the reporters and kids who scored backstage passes would be coming in soon, so they went around doing bandmate stuff only people in bands could understand.
Frank, for instance, had a habit of kissing people, and Ray would shake his sweaty, hairy head so everyone got infected with his sweatdrops, and Bob liked to tap or bonk their heads with his drumsticks.
After all the ‘rituals,’ Mikey and Gerard would sit squished together on the worn out couch in the cramped, stuffy room, and they’d simply talk or sometimes not, whatever they’re in the mood for.
Today, they chose talk.
“Gee…” Mikey began, before Gerard splashed him after taking a swig of his beer.
“Fuck!” Mikey tried to stand up and dry himself, but was stuck in the seat. “Aw, come on, now I’m all wet!”
“As if you weren’t before,” Gerard rolled his eyes playfully, and Mikey had to let it go.
“Come on, Gee, I’m trying to tell you something here.”
“Okay, tell me, Mikes.”
“Okay.” He breathed deeply. “I just thought about something, you know, onstage a while ago. Um…” He was unsure of how to bring the topic up, because the band never talked about his attempt. Never. And Mikey had to assume maybe that was the problem.
“Remember… when you overdosed on those pills?” Mikey watched carefully as the lazy smile on Gerard’s face began to fade. “Well, I’m worried, because now that we’re… we’re like so good now, and I… I’m thinking you might do it again, because you always need those things, the bad things, to inspire you… to make you work, and now, I’m just… I can’t…” He didn’t know what to say exactly which resorted to rambling, and he didn’t know why his eyes were getting blurry and stinging with an onslaught of tears, and he didn’t know what the expression on Gerard’s face meant, and maybe that’s just it; he didn’t know, he didn’t know anything.
Gerard’s face was a palette of emotions as he muttered his disorganized thoughts, but now it shattered, for a moment, before softening completely. He put his hands on either side of Mikey’s face and he touched their foreheads together, so that all Mikey could really see was the brilliance of Gerard’s green eyes, with his breath blowing on his face and their lips touching as he spoke, almost like a kiss but not really, because that’s not what the gesture meant, and it was just so, so overwhelming (that word was popping up too often for his taste) that when Gerard whispered, “Ssh, Mikey, don’t cry,” he did.
“I told you why I did that, remember? I had to, to bring us to where we are now. I did it for us, for the band, for you and for me and everyone who’s been counting on us. I know you don’t get me, that you think I was so inconsiderate and that I didn’t think of what’ll happen, but maybe that’s just it. I did think, I thought too much and decided it was the only way. You’ll see someday, you’ll understand,” Gerard spoke as soft as he could that his voice nearly sounded raspy. Maybe he thought a higher decibel could break his fragile little brother, and Mikey hated it, how Gerard could and always would see his weakness because all he wanted to be was just like Gerard, who seemed so broken but at the same time so whole.
“Gee, I don’t know…” At least he spoke the truth. Gerard distanced himself a bit, but still held his hands in place.
“Okay, how ‘bout this. I promise I’ll never, ever try to commit…” Gerard winced at the next word.
“Suicide,” Mikey supplied.
Gerard inhaled sharply, “I’ll never try to commit suicide… no, I won’t even think about it, ever again. All right?”
Mikey put his hands over Gerard’s, which were still on the sides of his face. His palms were clammy and cold, while Gerard’s were strangely warm. But he still had something to say.
“But Gee, you promised Grandma too.”
The twisted, hurt grimace on Gerard’s face made Mikey hate himself more than he already did. Gerard opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder.
Frank, for instance, had a habit of kissing people, and Ray would shake his sweaty, hairy head so everyone got infected with his sweatdrops, and Bob liked to tap or bonk their heads with his drumsticks.
After all the ‘rituals,’ Mikey and Gerard would sit squished together on the worn out couch in the cramped, stuffy room, and they’d simply talk or sometimes not, whatever they’re in the mood for.
Today, they chose talk.
“Gee…” Mikey began, before Gerard splashed him after taking a swig of his beer.
“Fuck!” Mikey tried to stand up and dry himself, but was stuck in the seat. “Aw, come on, now I’m all wet!”
“As if you weren’t before,” Gerard rolled his eyes playfully, and Mikey had to let it go.
“Come on, Gee, I’m trying to tell you something here.”
“Okay, tell me, Mikes.”
“Okay.” He breathed deeply. “I just thought about something, you know, onstage a while ago. Um…” He was unsure of how to bring the topic up, because the band never talked about his attempt. Never. And Mikey had to assume maybe that was the problem.
“Remember… when you overdosed on those pills?” Mikey watched carefully as the lazy smile on Gerard’s face began to fade. “Well, I’m worried, because now that we’re… we’re like so good now, and I… I’m thinking you might do it again, because you always need those things, the bad things, to inspire you… to make you work, and now, I’m just… I can’t…” He didn’t know what to say exactly which resorted to rambling, and he didn’t know why his eyes were getting blurry and stinging with an onslaught of tears, and he didn’t know what the expression on Gerard’s face meant, and maybe that’s just it; he didn’t know, he didn’t know anything.
Gerard’s face was a palette of emotions as he muttered his disorganized thoughts, but now it shattered, for a moment, before softening completely. He put his hands on either side of Mikey’s face and he touched their foreheads together, so that all Mikey could really see was the brilliance of Gerard’s green eyes, with his breath blowing on his face and their lips touching as he spoke, almost like a kiss but not really, because that’s not what the gesture meant, and it was just so, so overwhelming (that word was popping up too often for his taste) that when Gerard whispered, “Ssh, Mikey, don’t cry,” he did.
“I told you why I did that, remember? I had to, to bring us to where we are now. I did it for us, for the band, for you and for me and everyone who’s been counting on us. I know you don’t get me, that you think I was so inconsiderate and that I didn’t think of what’ll happen, but maybe that’s just it. I did think, I thought too much and decided it was the only way. You’ll see someday, you’ll understand,” Gerard spoke as soft as he could that his voice nearly sounded raspy. Maybe he thought a higher decibel could break his fragile little brother, and Mikey hated it, how Gerard could and always would see his weakness because all he wanted to be was just like Gerard, who seemed so broken but at the same time so whole.
“Gee, I don’t know…” At least he spoke the truth. Gerard distanced himself a bit, but still held his hands in place.
“Okay, how ‘bout this. I promise I’ll never, ever try to commit…” Gerard winced at the next word.
“Suicide,” Mikey supplied.
Gerard inhaled sharply, “I’ll never try to commit suicide… no, I won’t even think about it, ever again. All right?”
Mikey put his hands over Gerard’s, which were still on the sides of his face. His palms were clammy and cold, while Gerard’s were strangely warm. But he still had something to say.
“But Gee, you promised Grandma too.”
The twisted, hurt grimace on Gerard’s face made Mikey hate himself more than he already did. Gerard opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder.