Disorder

The dreams that accompanied the dead silence and cool darkness behind closed lids kept Gerard from falling under the grace of sleep. Every time he let his eyes slide shut, he saw what his Grandmother could be - pale as the moon, cold as blanket upon blanket of snow, seemingly like she was smothered in it, leaving her stiff and frozen to the bone.

He didn’t want to see his Granny like that. He wanted to remember her just how she was before the life was so cruelly ripped from her, leaving her empty very much not alive.

With that, Gerard decided he wasn’t going to go to the funeral. It would be disastrous, anyway. Tears would be running down his face and his sniffles would be louder than the priest. What was the point of going anyway? To say his final goodbyes? If she’s really in heaven, then doesn’t he only have to say goodbye to her on his own time? No, Gerard was in no state to be sobbing hysterically in public. No one would get the pleasure of seeing him vulnerable. He’d exposed too many people to that side of himself. There would be people there, too, that probably were looking forward to seeing Gerard at a point of weakness. People that Gerard had hurt, both emotionally and physically.

They shouldn’t be going to see Gerard cry, they should go to pay their respects to Grandma Elena. There was no way that Gerard was going to go and take away the remorse by giving people the satisfaction of seeing him grieving. No one could make him go. Not even Mikey.

Gerard stubbornly rolled over onto his side, although no one was even harassing him about going. He brought his legs up to his chest and crosses he arms tightly above them, as if trying to conserve his body heat.

Faintly, he heard some kind of tussle upstairs and a sound that was similar to Frank’s screams of protest. Vaguely, he wondered what Frank was fighting against and considered going upstairs to find out. But he hadn’t been upstairs for a couple days now. Why break the record?

“No, no, no, no, no, no…PLEASE! No! NO!” Frank squealed, running around the kitchen table, trying to avoid Mikey and the clippers he had in his hands.

“FRANK! COME ON! You can’t go to a fucking funeral with those fucking dreadlocks. THEY’RE DISGUSTING!” Mikey yelled over shrieks of protest. He had been running around that damned table for the past 10 minutes, trying to tackle Frank’s hair.

“NO! I’ll wear a hat!” Frank pleaded, moving a chair in Mikey’s path.

Mikey groaned, “We’ve already covered this. You can’t wear a goddamn hat in a church. Do you want God to smite you?”

“Will my dreads by okay?”

“You are impossible.” Mikey threw the scissors at Frank and flopped down on the chair that had been meant as an obstacle. He grumbled profanities at Frank and rubbed his temples in circular motions.

“So I win?” Frank asked casually, opening and closing the scissors so it made that annoying shear sound. He threw them in the air and caught them, resuming the annoying sound.

“No. You don’t get to go.” Mikey said icily, snatching the scissors away and throwing them into the other room.

Frank pouted, outraged. “All because of my hair?”

“Your so-called hair is disgusting. It smells like shit. And pot. Do you want to stink up the fucking house of the Lord with your goddamn dreads?” Mikey snapped, glaring at Frank.

“No need to get so angry,” Frank muttered, going to retrieve the clippers.

“Sorry.” Mikey growled.

“Here,” Frank shoved the clippers at him and sat down on the floor, shutting his eyes tightly. Bye-bye dready-dreads.

Mikey started to chop them off, not caring if he was making even cuts, not even caring if he was still clipping hair. His mind was not with the process, it was with Gerard down in the basement.

When death comes, it’s to be expected that one close to the deceased to go through a mourning period; to be sad, teary, withdrawn and maybe a little angry.

Gerard followed that expectation, but along with all of the things mentioned, he was also pushing away someone that cared for him very much.

It wasn’t like Mikey resented Gee for mourning, but he couldn’t help but feel that maybe this was Gerard way of telling him that they were over. That their relationship had finally gotten boring for him and that Mikey should just back the fuck up. Some of Mikey’s subconscious mind knew that this was just his insecurity playing up. How can you not be insecure when dating Gerard? He’s unstable as a motherfucker and completely out of his mind… Remember what he did to mom’s face?

“Stop it.” Mikey growled, looking at Frank’s shredded hair.

Frank was leaning back in his chair, arms folded over his middle and a scowl on his face, “What? I’m not doing anything. I’m letting you kill my beautiful dreadlocks.”

“What?” Mikey asked, confused. He stopped randomly cutting and tilted his head, tying to get a better view of the mess he made.

“You said to ‘stop it’,” said Frank, gingerly reaching up to caress his jagged locks.

“No I didn’t. When did I say that?”

“Just now! You said ‘stop it’ and let out a huge sigh,” Frank stood on his tiptoes, trying to see his hair, reflected in the window.

“You’re crazy,” Mikey mumbled, grabbing Frank and shoving him back down in the chair. He concentrated now on evening the cut out, glad to have a distraction from his insecurity.

“Am not,” Frank whispered, putting on a disgruntled face and wincing when a particularly big chuck of hair was removed. He caught it before it hit and ground and brought it to his face, “I’ll miss you, old friend.” The hair tickled his nostrils when he brought it to his nose, nearly gagging from the scent. “I never realized how gross my hair smells.”

Mikey rolled his eyes and resumed cutting. “Told you so, motherfucker.”

***

The youngest Way took a deep breath before timidly knocking on his big brother’s bedroom door. “Gee…? We’ve got to go soon. Grandma’s f-funeral is in half-an-hour.”

Gerard opened his eyes and stared at the obnoxious green numbers on his electric alarm clock. Sure enough, there as 28 minutes left until the immediate family had to be there. Regardless, he rolled over onto the floor and hid under his blanket. For no reason, really. Just because he could.

Mikey sighed, knowing this wasn’t going to be easy. “Gerard, I know you’re in there. Come on, we’ve got to go.” No response. “You haven’t been taking your Xanax lately. Aren’t you worried about the panic attacks?” Mikey said, trying to twist the doorknob. It was securely locked, as always.

Oh, yeah. Bribe me with pills. “I don’t need them right now, Mikey.”

“Thank god, you’re talking to me. Please, just open the door then, Gee.”

“Yeah. Thank God.” Gerard growled and crawled over the door, unlocking it. He sat cross-legged, some ways away from the door, craning his neck upward to see Mikey.

“You alright?” He automatically asked, taking a seat next to Gerard on the carpeted floor, flecked with suspicious red. Mikey put his hands on Gerard’s shoulder, hoping to offer some reassurance.

“I’m fucking fantastic, Mikey. What ever gave you the impression that I’m not?” Gerard asked sarcastically. He traced a large, red stain on his carpet, hazily remembering the cause and smiling at the memory.

“You have to go.”

“No, I don’t. Why should I?”

“She was your Grandma, Gee.”

“Thanks for the fucking genetics lesson. I know she’s my Grandma, alright? She still is. That hasn’t changed because she’s dead, alright?” Gerard got up roughly, causing Mikey’s reassuring hand to be thrown to the side.

“Fine.” Mikey’s voice quavered. He stood up and tried to beat the wrinkles out of his black dress pants. “Don’t go. But just think of how disappointed Grandma would be because you didn’t think her good enough to attend her funeral.” said Mikey, a spitting tone hiding the pain that he felt, received from Gerard’s own misfortune.

“Bullshit. I just don’t want to go.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you when we get back. I suppose I’ll just tell people that you’re being a selfish bastard when they ask where you are.” Mikey stood up and started to walk away, but Gerard grabbed his hand.

“Mikey, I don’t want people to see me cry,” he confessed. Mikey was warm and reassuring against Gerard’s chest when he pulled him in.

“Why do you care so much?” asked Mikey, rather harshly.

Briefly taken aback by Mikey’s tone, Gerard blinked a few times, “I don’t…want to be… viewed… as weak,” he replied thoughtfully.

“It’s your fucking Grandma’s funeral. People should be expecting you to cry,” Mikey pointed out, leaning against Gerard’s chest. “They won’t judge you.”

“Right, because all people are saints, right?”

“Exactly,” Mikey said cheerily, he pressed his lips to Gerard’s shoulder and trailed his lips to Gerard’s neck, gently licking and sucking on the pale flesh, slightly stubbly underneath Mikey’s tongue.

Gerard groaned a little and said, “Stop… I’m not going regardless of w-what you d-do.”

“I think I can make you eat your words,” Mikey simpered, sliding his hand down from the center of Gerard’s chest, digging his nails into a particularly sensitive spot through the pajamas.

“I-I’m not going,” Gerard groaned again, but he attached his own lips to Mikey’s neck, not caring that Mikey was acting the dominant.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mikey said softly, pushing Gerard’s moving lips away from him. And he really was. There was nothing he would rather do than spend a day with Gerard, doing some unmentionables and having the time of their lives. But that day was not the day to do those unmentionables. They needed to get to the church….

Rather than get angry at being bribed as he just had, Gerard sighed and sat down on his bed, slouched over and a miserable face replacing the infatuation. “You’re going to be late. You should get going.”

“I guess so. I love you, Gee… please don’t do anything stupid.” said Mikey, patting Gerard’s cheek and kissing the top of his head before leaving the house.

For about an hour after Mikey left, Gerard didn’t even move from his seating position. He just stared blankly at the wall, nothing thinking about anything at all.

I should go. He though suddenly. His own thought startled him, as he had been in some kind of stupor measly seconds before.

What’s stopping you again? The stupid people whoyou think will get enjoyment at seeing you cry? It’s a fucking funeral, for Pete’s sake.

Gerard scrambled out of bed and wrenched the door open.

***

It’s hard to not be aware of your bat-covered pajamas when walking down a dead-silent aisle after making a grandly unexpected entrance. Gerard kept telling himself to ignore the stares he was getting for his attire (and probably smell, as people kept scrunching their noses when he whooshed by) and to walk high. He stood behind the podium in front of the mourners and cleared his throat. To stall for time, he looked at his close family, sitting on some wooden chairs behind the podium. No doubt he had interrupted the speech time were people grieve about losing someone.

The microphone gave off feedback when he awkwardly adjusted, as to give him some more stalling time. Real smart of Gerard to just take the floor without having anything planned.

So he just said the first thing that came to mind, very sentient of how stupid he sounded. “I see we got a lot of flowers. Granny hated flowers. She said they’re plant’s beauty: an annoyance and not at all true. I never really understood her when she talked like that…,” cue sad sigh, “but I sure as hell remember respecting her and quoting her words. My Grandmother was the best woman you could have possibly met. She was kind, generous, considerate, loving and she had quite the charm.” At that, Gerard huffed out some dry laughter. “I guess that’s where I get it from. But she’s not remembered today by the people here for her personality. No, half of the people here felt obligated to go. They think: ‘Oh, this is family. Their loved one is dead. Let’s wear our swank-ass church clothes and give them plants that’ll start to die and fade after a couple days, giving them all the more reminder of their loss.’”

Mikey, got up and gently tugged on Gerard’s pajama pants, “Gee,” he said quietly, “I think that’s enough.”

Gerard slapped Mikey’s hand away and kept on staring at the crowd, who were coughing uncomfortably and murmuring their displeasure in having this weird, pasty, gothic kid ruining the funeral. The nerve of some people, gosh.

“Whatever, though. You came. That’s good enough, I suppose. Just remember: I truly loved Elena. I still do. She was the only…” Inclining his head so the long, black hair fanned over the sides likes curtains, he kept his face hidden, but not bothering to disguise the emotion clearly splattered throughout his voice. “…one who understood me. Fuck you very much and a nice fucking day.” Gerard spat out ‘day,’ a few tears managing their way out of his eyes. He shoved the podium and started towards the exit of the church, aware that people were nearly yelling at him.

Mikey quickly followed his brother, waving apologetically at the outraged people. “Gerard, was that really necessary?”

“Fuck you. I’ll be the judge of what’s necessary in my own life. Not fuck the fuck off.” Gerard snarled, pushing Mikey’s hand off of him. It was his life. Gerard was tired of people trying to dictate it. First, Katmandu and now Mikey. Would it never end? He would be taking control of his life now. No one would stand in his way. And the first step towards this was dropping those insufferable pills down the toilet.

The younger man just stood on the steps of the church, his pants still wrinkled from sitting on the floor with Gerard just an hour earlier. The words unstable as a motherfucker ran through his mind for the second time that day.

((Okay, I've got some serious Writer's Block (that refuses to go away) and I almost had to force myself to write this chapter. So, sorry if it sucks and does anyone have any ideas for the next chapter?))