Sick and Sain

Group Therapy was the worst part of the day for Ryan Ross. He learned this in a matter of days. He didn’t like telling his problems to everyone, he liked writing them down, keeping them to himself and promptly exploding when they were too much to bear. He was fine, anyways, as long as he drugged himself up enough, ignored empathy and reverted to an odd, isolated outlook on life. Regardless of how many girls could follow him around, how many screams he could wince at, he liked being alone. It was introversion that drove so much of his writing truly, but not in an arrogant way.

“So, how is everybody today?” asked a woman at the head of the room. She was seated in a plastic chair and as she looked out at the several sad looking patients, she tried not to show her disapproval in life. Obviously, she thought, God must hate her. She was stuck in a room with eight or nine freaks, asking them to pour out their problems in exchange for a few words of empty comfort.

The patients had a habit of sitting in odd cliques. The two eating disorder girls sat in chairs near the woman, covered up in their heavy sweatshirts and layers. Next would come the ones most likely to be seen begging for change on a street corner—tittering and stuttering of their own. After that, came Gerard, in his own little chair, picking at his fingernails, acting like nothing here concerned him. Gerard would be followed by the suicide attempters and it was here that Ryan sat, at the very edge, always quiet and unsure of what to say to the group—because after all, they were different from him weren’t they?

“Well,” the unsatisfied woman clapped her hands together when nobody answered, “I think for today we should all sit in different places. Everyone—get up and move next to someone you don’t usually sit with.” She was acting like a kindergarten teacher.

Ryan didn’t move but he felt a new presence next to him. Turning to see it was Gerard, he felt a warm feeling in his gut like he used to when he was in elementary school and his fifth grade girlfriend would come and sit with him.

“Hey,” Gerard muttered, not looking very happy. But then again, Gerard was never happy. No, Gerard was never really very happy, he was sick. Sick and sain. No that wasn’t how it was spelled. How was it spelled? –in or –ne? Oh god, now he couldn’t even remember fourth grade spelling. A condition, and it’s terminal. What was wrong with him? He was obviously sick, Frank must have been right.

“Hi Gerard,” Ryan said. Had that been a bit to warm? A bit too stupid? Oh god, now what would he think

“Mmmph,” Gerard muttered back to him, feeling a near identical sense of affection for the younger musician. No, nononono, stop Gerard. He was not to feel that kind of affection for another human being ever again. It had ruined him last time—hadn’t it? It had killed his life, his mind, his brain and his band. Oh her, she had ruined everything, she had driven him insain. –in? –ne? He needed a dictionary. Well, he had never been very good at spelling anyways, so—fuck it. He’d spell the word however the fuck he wanted.

“Okay…” said the lady hated by God, “Who wants to start? Anyone? No…okay fine. Ryan, how was your day?” She only called on this boy because she knew his name. If she talked to him, she could go home and tell her eleven-year-old all about it. Yes dear, Ryan Ross is fucked up now, I think you should try and find a new husband.

“Uh…I’ve been here,” Ryan shrugged and Gerard found his ears loving the sound of Ryan’s voice—deep, melodic, smooth and velvety. Like chocolate, and the color maroon. Beautiful.

“Yes, I know that. And how has it been?”

“Well…I had a nice dream.” Fuck this, Ryan thought, it was insanely stupid. What used did he have for this? Couldn’t he just be medicated and forgotten about? God, he didn’t even remember his dream. Oh, yes he did. It had to do with the Warped Tour and Brendon getting married to a blonde girl and something about a machine—named Jose—who was writing songs about money. Hmmm, wonder where that part came from.

“Oh really. Well why was it so nice?”

“It was funny.”

“Great. And what happened in it?”

“My…urm…best friend got married and there was a machine called Jose and the Warped Tour and songs and it was really funny…” Ryan smiled, giggling at the memory of the dream.

Gerard found himself smiling, not because of the dream but because of Ryan’s beautiful face. His laugh. His eyes. His hair. Oh, how beautiful he was. Gerard didn’t ever want to see him get hurt or feel bad. How could a creature this wonderful be so sad? He wanted to take him in his arms and hold him, keeping him away from all the horrible things in the world. Like…life.

“Gerard—is there something you’d like to add?” Lady Hated By God was asking. Gerard hated her as well; him and God now had something in common.

“Er—no.”

Ryan looked at him strangely, worried. Had he done something stupid? Had he messed up his chances of a friendship—or something more? Oh god, he tried to tell himself to stop. No, he was—what was he thinking? First off—no, just stop. You’re in enough shit right now without going gay, loosing the affections of millions of young girls and causing a mass uproar. OMG! LyKe rYaN RoSs iS GAY? ZoMg! P!ATD Is tOtAlLy sTooPiD nOw!

“You sure? What did you fine so funny Gerard?”

“Nothing.”

“Gerard, this is a no judgment circle here. We’re all here to learn from one another.”

No judgment? What were they? Five-year-olds? Everyone judged. Everything was judged. Nothing, nobody, nothing was exempt. Especially fucking insane rock stars sitting in the middle of a treatment facility therapy circle. They were probably at the top of the judgment pyramid there.

“It’s nothing.”

Ryan stared. Now he was really worried. When you made fun of someone—you didn’t want to get caught, now did you? He had been wrong to sit down next to Gerard, he should have retreated to the corner—oh the one near the window looked kind of nice.

“Come on Gerard!” God Hated Lady was now kind of mad at Gerard. She just wanted to get this damn thing over with. And then, she could tell her daughter all about Ryan Ross.

“Oh…” Gerard muttered, “It was…I mean, his dream just sounded—I guess…yeah…”

How was he getting himself into this? He was insane. Ah, that was the right spelling. But whatever. He liked it better the first way. It was like ‘in.’ Insanity was in at the time, insanity is chic, trendy, something to talk about. A conversation starter, that’s it. Maybe Frank had been right—maybe after all those nights of tossing, turning, maybe he finally had cracked. Maybe it was Mikey who was right—the drugs, alcohol, fame, fortune. Too much, too fast. Or maybe too little, too late? Who knew anymore? Everything just blended into one. Gerard had no memories—no real, honest to God memories—just thoughts, feelings, blurbs and bits. But yet here was this boy, this beautiful boy, and as Gerard found himself defying every expectation he had so carelessly built for himself, he became more and more drawn to this boy. But no—he was straight, thirty and ten years older. That would be weird, wrong and awkward. Or was awkward just what he needed? Maybe. But he had to admit, he wasn’t sure anymore. He just didn’t know. Yeah. Gerard had to acknowledge that, he really didn’t know anything.