Spike Me and Save Me

Gerard’s P.O.V.

I slammed the car door as hard as I could and headed for the bus. God dammit! Have everyone lost their heads? Does anyone have a brain? For fucks sake, just let me meet one fucking person with just an ounce of brain mass!!
I’d just had the worst interview ever – or well, actually it was like all the others. Lately everyone had asked the same goddamn questions about absolutely nothing. I usually just got annoyed, but this time I was angry. Furious!
I ripped open the door and slammed it behind me before I stumped up the steps. In attempt to not let my fury hit anyone innocent, I stared at my feet on my way back towards the bunks. I didn’t have any plan as to what I was going to do – whether I was going to complain about it to one of the guys, or just sleep it off – but my walk of fury was cut short by the breakfast/ dinner table. It was only out for those two meals, because it was in the way at other times. We usually put it aside during the day.
My eyes shot straight up into Worm’s eyes behind his thick, black glasses. In the corner of my eye, I noticed that the guys were sitting on each side of the table. I wanted to look down at them, but my eyes were caught in Worm’s stare. He seemed angry; and disappointed. But also I detected something else. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stood solid on both feet. His eyes fixated on mine. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew he was angry. The anger I could handle, but the disappointment was hard to swallow. I kept staring at his eyes – trying to tell what he was thinking. Or feeling. He blinked, and when his eyes reappeared, I knew; hurt. He was sad. Have I brought that on?
My eyes shot down at Frank, who was sitting next to Worm’s right foot. He didn’t look at me. After a short while, I realized that he was crying – silently, but my heart heard his loud screams of sadness. What’s wrong, baby?
He was staring at something. I followed his eyes over towards Bob on the other side of the table, when my eyes stopped. One empty, transparent syringe was lying on the table, next to an ampoule. Shit! No, please. Don’t let this happen. They can’t know!
I started to feel tears building up in my eyes. I looked around the room a bit, mainly at the ceiling, breathing slowly as I tried to pull myself together to be able to handle what was coming up. It’s inevitable.
I glanced at Mikey for a second, before I shot my eyes down at my feet. His look was so angry – so furious that I couldn’t handle it. This has got to be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
I knew what they were all thinking. The looks – it was obvious. And I didn’t blame them. If I had seen it from the outside, I would have thought that too. But – unfortunately – that wasn’t the case.

“It’s not what you think”, I mumbled. I stared hard at my feet. I couldn’t look at them – not at all. I couldn’t even handle seeing them in the corner of my eye.

“Then what the hell is it?!” Mikey yelled. “What the fuck are we suppose to think?”
I didn’t blame him. I understood his anger. I wish I could have left him with the anger, instead of the hurt.
I sighed and opened my mouth, but before I managed to squeeze out a single sound, Worm interrupted.

“For how long, Gerard?” He was angry, but calmer than Mikey. He talked loudly, yet controlled.

“It was after the accident, right? It’s my fault”, Frank said, barely audible. I looked up at him to see if he was serious. How can you think it’s your fault, hun?
I shot my eyes back onto my feet. Technically, it was back then it started, but it had never been his fault.

“It’s not your fault, Frankie. I’m not addicted again”, I said, my voice quivering, never taking my eyes off of my feet. I can’t face them while saying this.

“Oh really?! Than what the fuck is this shit?” Mikey yelled. I flinched at his last word, which was more vicious than all the others together. I’m sorry Mikey.

“It’s morphine”, I said, knowing they had probably already read the label. “I don’t use it that often. Only when the pain gets really ba…” My voice cracked. No one said anything. They must have known that I wasn’t kidding. There was silence for a while. I took a deep breath – perhaps the deepest I had ever taken. I need strength for this.
“I have lung cancer”, I blurted as softly as I could. I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to see their reactions. No one made a sound. No sighs. No gasps. No sobs. Just pure silence. I felt defeated.
“I found out the day after my… ‘accident’. I asked the doctor about…” I paused a bit, trying to figure out where to start. My mind was all over the place, but I was surprised at how calm I was – how composed I was able to sound.
“I had coughed a bit. For a while before I got in there. During the week before the accident, I had coughed up some… Slime, I guess. Mucous. I asked the doctor what it could be, and he suggested some tests and…” I stopped. I didn’t know how to tell them. I was usually good at speeches – at telling stories. But this. This was too hard a story to tell. Instead of trailing off into talking nonsense, I just stopped. I thought they had gotten the point.
There were a few moments of silence, before I heard the sobs. They only came from one person, but they filled the silent room with sadness. It felt like a thousand daggers to my heart. Mikey. My poor baby brother. I’m sorry.
My cheeks were slightly wet. I hadn’t noticed it before and I barely noticed it now. It wasn’t important.

“Aren’t you supposed to get chemo?” Frank asked, sadness filling his low voice. I took a deep breath again.

“I am getting it. I’m having my…. Eighth round on Tuesday.”

“Eighth?” Ray asked – his voice on the verge of screaming – shocked out of his mind. “You have had seven already?” He stopped. I guess he realized that it had been seven weeks since the accident. During the making of The Black Parade, I had done a lot of research on cancer and chemotherapy. Ray had helped me. He knew that it was normal to get it once a week.
“Wait!” he continued. “Tuesday. Every Tuesday?” I nodded slightly. He didn’t say anything further, but I knew what he was thinking. The vomiting.
I decided to answer his unasked question.

“I throw up sometimes. But only a little. I have very few side effects to the treatment. The doctors say that it might be because of my past drug abuse.” I smiled slightly, thinking of the irony. “My body has gotten used to toxins. I guess there’s an upside to having a past as a self-medicated drunk.”
I knew they didn’t think it was funny, but I had to find some upside to this. There had to be a bright side.
The silence was ringing loudly in my ears. Not even Mikey’s sobs were audible anymore.
I slowly raised my head and faced the syringe again, before I gathered the guts to look at their faces. Mikey was silently sobbing. He was staring into nothing ahead of him, mouth open – gasping for breath. His ribcage shot in and out of his, suddenly, fragile body. His tears were streaming.
Frank was crying as well, but not in sobs. He was staring at his hands, which were carefully placed in his lap. The tears were silently and carefully leaving his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and dripping onto his fingers. It was almost as if they followed a certain rhythm as they fell.
Worm was now leaning against the kitchen counter. His left hand had a tight hold on the sink. His knuckles were white, and it seemed as if his nails were to leave marks on the side of the metal sink. He stared at the syringe and ampoule on the table. His eyes were blank – they seemed empty.
Bob’s arms were crossed over his chest. He was leaning back in the sofa, which made his face hide behind Ray’s big hair.
Ray was the only one looking at me. He was in deep shock, but his eyes were also filled with empathy. He was hunched over with his arms between his legs, but as soon as I made eye contact with him, he got up and hugged me – tight. I laid my cheek on his shoulder and closed my eyes. I enjoyed the moment to its fullest. I have to enjoy these moments. I have to enjoy all the moments I am given.