Gerard walks into mikey's room, despite the countless hand-drawn signs pleading for him to do the opposite. Mikey lies on his bed, staring at the wall. The silver bass now rests in his holder, his old bass on the floor. Mikey's glasses are on his desk, along with weeks of overdue homework and notes of comfort from teachers and relatives. After seeing the look on his face when he came home from the funeral, Gerard knew something was wrong. Mikey's depression medication is open and spilled across the bed, as Mikey was tired of the countless unnecessarily side effects it caused him. Gerard sighs and offers the boy a pill.
"Mikey. You have to take it," He says, dropping the medicine back in the bottle one by one.
"No I don't. I'm fine without it." Mikey says, rolling over to face the other side of the room.
"Fine. But if you don't snap out of it by tomorrow, I'm calling the therapist."
"No. No, Gee, I'm sorry. Please," Mikey begs. Gerard walks out, turning off the light as he does so.
"You have one day."
