Murder The Moment [BoyXBoy]

.:22:.

"Gee?" I asked, irritated by the man's behaviour. It was incredibly rude of him to just ignore me like that. And, even when I called his name, he still was not responding.

"Gerard," I said more forcefully this time, as I paraded over to the crimson couch and stood in front of him, obstructing his view of the useless TV. But his eyes stayed in the same position, unfocused.

"Gee, what's wrong?" I questioned; this time, I was generally concerned about him and my eyebrows furrowed. He never acted this way and it was quite freaky. He was always cheerful and talkative, so this was beyond strange.

Hesitantly, I leaned down to be in line with him and softly placed my hand on his shoulder. Upon feeling how unnaturally cold his skin was, I flinched back instantly and took a step away. However, as I did so, I knocked my elbow into him, making him sway from side to side, before toppling off the couch like a ragdoll, into a large painful heap.

"Oh my god, Gerard, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

And I was sure that he would have answered, if it wasn't for the huge hole in the back of his head.

I gasped heavily upon seeing the wound and staggered backwards, as far away from the corpse as possible, and stumbled over the coffee table, collapsing to the side, with my words still caught on my tongue. My lungs begged for air, but quickly got rid of it when I gave them any. My breathing was uneven and the blank glare, that the dead body of one of my best friends was giving me, was chilling to the bone.

Gerard's blood and brains were vomited onto the white carpet behind him, staining it like it was the scene of a crime – which it was - and I had to put a lot of effort into not throwing up at the sight. I shakily gulped down the bile and dreadfully gazed at the one who I had grown to trust. He meant so much to me! I felt like passing out from the emotional trauma. He could not just be dead.

An undeniable feeling of pure guilt consumed all other emotions. This was my fault. If only I hadn't gotten Gerard involved in my problems, he would not be dead! Oh god, I was responsible for everything.

Gee still had so much to live for: Frank, Michael, Pete. There were so many people who cared about him. They would all hate me! But, at that moment in time, no one could hate me more than I hated me. Why couldn't it have been me instead of him? He deserved a life much more than I did and I would have given anything to swap with him.

Speckles of tears collected in my eyes, blurring my sight, but I had to refrain from crying: Vic and Copeland could have been hurt too and I needed to find them. Maybe I could be the only one who could save them.

"Vi-Vic." I hyperventilated, but managed to weakly call his name. Then, I did it again but more frantically and with less shakiness. "Vic!"

With everything I had left in me, I clumsily scrambled off the floor and stood in the middle of the room, having to close my eyes so that I would not be tempted to look at the corpse again because I knew that I would break down if I did. However, I had to get a hold of myself! My family could be in danger.

I sprinted into where I knew I would find the two I was searching for, and burst through the door of our bedroom, but froze upon having something made of metal be pushed up against the side of my head.

"Don't move or I'll shoot," threatened a way too familiar voice and simply hearing it made all the blood in my veins freeze to an uncomfortable solid – or so it felt. I had to squeeze my eyes shut and open them up many times, to make sure that it was not just a sick nightmare but, no matter how many times I tried, I could not wake up. This was reality.

"Hi, Katelynne," I whispered.

Taking a deep shaky breath, I finally built up the courage to get a good look around the room and it was a lot better than the bloody mess in the living room. The only distinguishable things were the two trembling figures in separate corners of the room; one just a child, and the other slightly older. I sighed in relief, upon not noticing any blood, but images of the dead Gerard were embedded into my mind, as if they had been tattooed to my eyelids.