Identity [Gerard Way] *Completed*

Chapter Twenty Three

I'm still sitting in the cold silence of the clothing store, behind the cashier's counter. At this moment I'm contemplating whether I should go out and check what's going on out there. But at the same time, I know that's a very bad idea. And I hate to admit it, but there's my absolute fear of what I'll see if I even dare poke my head out for three seconds.

I stare at a shirt that's fallen off its hanger and is slumped on the floor. It's weird, because the shirt's grey and is the only one being abandoned. I don't know if this is strange, but it reminds me of myself. I mean, wow, it's a shirt. But if you think about it, that shirt and I have a lot in common.

I sigh and lean my head against the wall. This waiting is becoming insufferable. If I have to wait here in this torture any longer I'll probably start to cry. And that's something I don't need. Crying and hiding is not something I would ever catch myself doing before, but now my life is different... and it's happening all the time.

I swallow the lump in my throat and scratch at my arm. Without thinking I roll up my leather sleeve and stare at it. The letters, all formed out... it seems so long ago that he did this to me, even though it's been a short amount of time. I trace the letters with my finger, and inhale, keeping my shuddering breath steady. Looking at his name on my arm makes me shiver, and I fight back the urge to cry. I can't take this waiting anymore. If he doesn't appear in the next five seconds, I'm going to check.

He could be arrested for all I know. Or dead.

I cringe. No. How can I even allow myself to think like that? What's wrong with me?

I close my eyes for a brief moment and bite down so hard on my lip, I think it starts to bleed. I bite my lip like this only when I'm having extreme anxiety- this is the first in a long while that it's happened.

Alright. I'm not waiting anymore. I gather my faltering strength and put a trembling hand on the counter to help myself onto my feet. When I'm standing, my legs are shaking slightly. I try so hard to keep them straight, to stop them from doing that. It's an awful thing, shaking. It makes you feel like the weakest person in the world. And I used to think weak wasn't a word you'd use to describe me. But it actually is. It's the first on a long, long list.

I brush my clammy hands through my hair, and squint at the door. Gerard's still out there. He could be dead... even though he promised nothing would happen. And I trusted him with his plan, like he did onto mine. And now look at this. All because-

I'm crying a little now. That train of thought really did it for me. Do you ever make yourself cry? You have all these sad thoughts and, man... you make yourself cry. I guess that's what's happening. I hate it.

I rub my eyes and get rid of the stupid tears. I hate emotions. Emotions are dumb.

I take three deep breaths and stare hatefully at the door again. If I go out there, I'll see cars and littered papers on the ground and footprints and abandoned bullets and...

I fall to my knees and stare at the floor. I can't do it. I'm not brave enough. I thought I was brave because I was so good at hiding. But I can't hide. Because this is real. This feeling of being alone is real and I can't make it go away. It's either find out what happened, or don't.