Sequel: Sick Boy ›
Sick and Sain
Chapter 10
[A/N: Two things for this chapter. I’m not so sure if you’ll understand everything in this chapter if you haven’t read the sort of prequel The Dying Part of Suicide. If you care and read it, it’s only a oneshot so…(comment if you did please). Also, if you can figure out what Gerard’s joke was going to be, then I’ll bet you found Jon Walker’s number! Post your guesses along with your comments. I’ll tell you next chapter.]
Gerard wasn’t really paying attention to the TV. He was laughing on cue and smiling along with Ryan, but his mind was a thousand miles away. Or maybe two. He couldn’t even remember what state he was in. California? Alaska? Florida? Hell—he could be in Mexico for all he knew. It wasn’t leaving his mind—this conversation he had had with his brother. It wasn’t going to go away. Mikey had an odd talent for getting Gerard to say things he didn’t want or mean to say. Ryan. Happiness. Insain versus insane. For god’s sake, he was trying to be mad at his brother! It goddamn wasn’t working though. It just wouldn’t go the fuck away. Mikey was…Mikey. He was the other half of Gerard. He couldn’t imagine a time without him, or rather good time. And what had this all reduced itself to? One brother who cared to much and one who didn’t care enough. Or rather, didn’t want to. He didn’t want to. No, no, no, nononono. Stop. But he did care. He cared so much. He cared about Ryan and Mikey and Frank and Bob and Ray and his mom and his dad and—and himself. For the first time in his life, Gerard realized this. He cared about himself. He really did. He loved himself. He loved his life, his family, his friends, and Ryan. It had taken him thirty damn years to realized this much. That he could write songs about keeping on living and dying and all that and not realize this annoyed him. But his mind was an annoying thing. This time now, before cursing at himself and ridiculing himself he stopped, felt the soft skin of Ryan’s neck against his palm and sighed.
“Gee—you okay?” Ryan asked quietly. His eyes were closed and he was folded into Gerard’s body like a puppet. He possessed the world at it’s simplest form. Everything was simple tonight, it was all perfect. Gerard was there. Ryan was here. Heaven, Ryan, this is what heaven must be.
“Um, yeah. Just thinking.”
It was late. Too late. The fluorescent lights had been turned off long ago. But once again, no sleep was going to come for Gerard and Ryan, not for a while at least.
“About what?” Ryan smiled. He opened his eyes to look at the man beside him and took in what he saw. Black hair, greenish brown eyes, a small smile. This was perfection. Not insanity. Perfection. Nothing could be wrong with him. Ever. He was perfect, amazing, lovely. Hot. Sexy.
“Oh…just stuff.”
“Stuff? Like what?”
“Mmm, today. You know, just…uh, musings on the world,” Gerard muttered.
“Yeah,” Ryan shrugged and folded against Gerard even closer, “So who visited you today?”
“What?—Oh, Mikey. Yeah, he came to see me.”
“Hmm,” Ryan muttered, watching Gerard toss the remote control up in the air and catch it, “For what purpose?”
“I’m—uh,” Gerard found himself lacking the words to express things, “See he wants me to, uh…come home. He wants me to leave.”
“I thought he was the one that put you here!”
Gerard closed his eyes, wishing he could go back to—to 2005. That was a nice year. Makeup, fame, skinny ties. Drinking and Bert. Perfect. 2005 sounded really good just about now—or even 2004. Mmm. Green Day, more Bert and beer. Sounded real nice just about now.
“Gerard?”
“Yeah. He did—but now he says he was wrong. He doesn’t think I’m…”
“Fucking insane?” Ryan asked.
Insain, Gerard corrected the word inside his head. Oh, what would Ryan think of that? Dear god he was—stop. Now he was loving himself. Love thyself, Gerard, and love thy neighbor.
“Mmmhmm, so are you going?” Ryan muttered almost under his breath. Now what would happen without Gerard here? Would he descend into that awful place he had been before? But Gerard—if Gerard had been fine before coming to this god awful place, then he was most definitely worse of than he had been before. It was killing him. He was the kind of person who needed a lot of space, a lot of time. Movement, interactions. He needed to live and to breathe fresh air, not recycled air. Sunlight. People. Love. Dying. Everything. He needed life. He needed life.
“No,” Gerard stuttered quietly, tripping over his words, “No I’m staying with you. For you.”
Ryan sat bolt upright, “What?” Here he had been ready to give Gerard to the real world and yet—what happened? “What? Are you serious?”
Gerard looked stunned, “Um…yeah. I am. Why?”
“Because—I mean—Gerard! You crazy fucker! I’m just—I’m just me! Don’t waste your life here for me! I’m nothing special, I’m no reason for you to stay here.”
Gerard for some reason found himself on the verge of giggling, “I’m so trying not to make a stupid joke right now.”
“Okay, yeah whatever,” Ryan laughed. He wasn’t quite sure what the joke really was—it didn’t matter. But he loved Gerard’s smile, his cheekbones and his hair. He loved his laugh—that maniacal giggle that rolled from his voice box with such beauty. “No—seriously Gee. Don’t stay here ‘cause of me. I want you to go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mmhmm. I’ll come for you, I’ll get out of here soon. It was my idea. Don’t you worry. I promised Brendon I’d be out by July—and it’s June. I can get out whenever I want, I’m just another fucking suicidal rock star.” Ryan realized this now. He realized it after avoiding it for so long. Suicide was suicide. It didn’t matter if you were famous or dangerous or eighty or twelve. It didn’t matter whether you were a girl or a boy, gay, straight, bi or asexual. It was still suicide. You were still gone—forever. And someone would be there to take your place. It. Didn’t. Matter.
“Alright—well I’ll call him in the morning.”
“No. Call him now.”
“Ryan…it’s midnight. I know Mikey, and Mikey will be asleep.”
“No. Call him,” Ryan pushed Gerard off of the couch, feeling his hipbones on Gerard’s, “It’ll take him a few days to get you out of here. Get it over with.”
So Gerard stepped out into the hall—to a plastic phone, a white plastic phone. Ugly. Old. Gross. But it was his ticket out.
But oddly enough as he felt Ryan’s hands slide along his waist and a whisper in his ear, “Pick up the phone. Everything will be fine. I’ll be out of here soon too,” it didn’t feel like a ticket out.
“Hello?”
“Mikey, I wanna come home,” he muttered into the phone. This was a dream. He was five and calling his mother, like a child on a sleepover. No. Nonono, he had just bought himself a ticket, but not to a place he wanted to go to. To hell. This was his way to hell. His Way to hell. The other Way. Mikey.
Gerard wasn’t really paying attention to the TV. He was laughing on cue and smiling along with Ryan, but his mind was a thousand miles away. Or maybe two. He couldn’t even remember what state he was in. California? Alaska? Florida? Hell—he could be in Mexico for all he knew. It wasn’t leaving his mind—this conversation he had had with his brother. It wasn’t going to go away. Mikey had an odd talent for getting Gerard to say things he didn’t want or mean to say. Ryan. Happiness. Insain versus insane. For god’s sake, he was trying to be mad at his brother! It goddamn wasn’t working though. It just wouldn’t go the fuck away. Mikey was…Mikey. He was the other half of Gerard. He couldn’t imagine a time without him, or rather good time. And what had this all reduced itself to? One brother who cared to much and one who didn’t care enough. Or rather, didn’t want to. He didn’t want to. No, no, no, nononono. Stop. But he did care. He cared so much. He cared about Ryan and Mikey and Frank and Bob and Ray and his mom and his dad and—and himself. For the first time in his life, Gerard realized this. He cared about himself. He really did. He loved himself. He loved his life, his family, his friends, and Ryan. It had taken him thirty damn years to realized this much. That he could write songs about keeping on living and dying and all that and not realize this annoyed him. But his mind was an annoying thing. This time now, before cursing at himself and ridiculing himself he stopped, felt the soft skin of Ryan’s neck against his palm and sighed.
“Gee—you okay?” Ryan asked quietly. His eyes were closed and he was folded into Gerard’s body like a puppet. He possessed the world at it’s simplest form. Everything was simple tonight, it was all perfect. Gerard was there. Ryan was here. Heaven, Ryan, this is what heaven must be.
“Um, yeah. Just thinking.”
It was late. Too late. The fluorescent lights had been turned off long ago. But once again, no sleep was going to come for Gerard and Ryan, not for a while at least.
“About what?” Ryan smiled. He opened his eyes to look at the man beside him and took in what he saw. Black hair, greenish brown eyes, a small smile. This was perfection. Not insanity. Perfection. Nothing could be wrong with him. Ever. He was perfect, amazing, lovely. Hot. Sexy.
“Oh…just stuff.”
“Stuff? Like what?”
“Mmm, today. You know, just…uh, musings on the world,” Gerard muttered.
“Yeah,” Ryan shrugged and folded against Gerard even closer, “So who visited you today?”
“What?—Oh, Mikey. Yeah, he came to see me.”
“Hmm,” Ryan muttered, watching Gerard toss the remote control up in the air and catch it, “For what purpose?”
“I’m—uh,” Gerard found himself lacking the words to express things, “See he wants me to, uh…come home. He wants me to leave.”
“I thought he was the one that put you here!”
Gerard closed his eyes, wishing he could go back to—to 2005. That was a nice year. Makeup, fame, skinny ties. Drinking and Bert. Perfect. 2005 sounded really good just about now—or even 2004. Mmm. Green Day, more Bert and beer. Sounded real nice just about now.
“Gerard?”
“Yeah. He did—but now he says he was wrong. He doesn’t think I’m…”
“Fucking insane?” Ryan asked.
Insain, Gerard corrected the word inside his head. Oh, what would Ryan think of that? Dear god he was—stop. Now he was loving himself. Love thyself, Gerard, and love thy neighbor.
“Mmmhmm, so are you going?” Ryan muttered almost under his breath. Now what would happen without Gerard here? Would he descend into that awful place he had been before? But Gerard—if Gerard had been fine before coming to this god awful place, then he was most definitely worse of than he had been before. It was killing him. He was the kind of person who needed a lot of space, a lot of time. Movement, interactions. He needed to live and to breathe fresh air, not recycled air. Sunlight. People. Love. Dying. Everything. He needed life. He needed life.
“No,” Gerard stuttered quietly, tripping over his words, “No I’m staying with you. For you.”
Ryan sat bolt upright, “What?” Here he had been ready to give Gerard to the real world and yet—what happened? “What? Are you serious?”
Gerard looked stunned, “Um…yeah. I am. Why?”
“Because—I mean—Gerard! You crazy fucker! I’m just—I’m just me! Don’t waste your life here for me! I’m nothing special, I’m no reason for you to stay here.”
Gerard for some reason found himself on the verge of giggling, “I’m so trying not to make a stupid joke right now.”
“Okay, yeah whatever,” Ryan laughed. He wasn’t quite sure what the joke really was—it didn’t matter. But he loved Gerard’s smile, his cheekbones and his hair. He loved his laugh—that maniacal giggle that rolled from his voice box with such beauty. “No—seriously Gee. Don’t stay here ‘cause of me. I want you to go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mmhmm. I’ll come for you, I’ll get out of here soon. It was my idea. Don’t you worry. I promised Brendon I’d be out by July—and it’s June. I can get out whenever I want, I’m just another fucking suicidal rock star.” Ryan realized this now. He realized it after avoiding it for so long. Suicide was suicide. It didn’t matter if you were famous or dangerous or eighty or twelve. It didn’t matter whether you were a girl or a boy, gay, straight, bi or asexual. It was still suicide. You were still gone—forever. And someone would be there to take your place. It. Didn’t. Matter.
“Alright—well I’ll call him in the morning.”
“No. Call him now.”
“Ryan…it’s midnight. I know Mikey, and Mikey will be asleep.”
“No. Call him,” Ryan pushed Gerard off of the couch, feeling his hipbones on Gerard’s, “It’ll take him a few days to get you out of here. Get it over with.”
So Gerard stepped out into the hall—to a plastic phone, a white plastic phone. Ugly. Old. Gross. But it was his ticket out.
But oddly enough as he felt Ryan’s hands slide along his waist and a whisper in his ear, “Pick up the phone. Everything will be fine. I’ll be out of here soon too,” it didn’t feel like a ticket out.
“Hello?”
“Mikey, I wanna come home,” he muttered into the phone. This was a dream. He was five and calling his mother, like a child on a sleepover. No. Nonono, he had just bought himself a ticket, but not to a place he wanted to go to. To hell. This was his way to hell. His Way to hell. The other Way. Mikey.