I Need Something To Save Me (Gerard Way/MCR)

Cutting.

Gerard's eye flickered open, and he winced in pain. He looked to his right, to see his wrist oozing with blood that formed a puddle - his weapon of self harm resting on top. He looked to his left, to see his tub of pills spilling onto the floor; he moved his hand slightly with all the energy he could find to take a pill and slowly place it onto his tongue. He gulped it down within seconds. His vision blurred and fuzzy, he gripped onto the sink and pulled himself up, almost slipping on the flood of blood from his arm.
"Shit."
He carefully slid out of the bathroom and tip-toed back to his room, where he lay in bed asking himself why he didn't pull the trigger or tie the rope. Asking himself why he didn't cut deeper or why he didn't guzzle the entire pot of pills. One cigarette after another, one shot - one bottle after another, it still didn't remove the constant pain he was feeling.

Suddenly, a scream was heard from the bathroom. Mikey, Gerard and Mr Way gathered round the door, to see Mrs Way staring at the sea of blood shining on the floor. It was like a tsunami of Gerard's failed suicide attempts. The bathroom had seen more sad memories than anything else - it knew Gerard more he knew himself.
"Who did THIS?" she cried.
Gerard gulped.
"It wasn't me!" gasped 12-year-old Mikey.
"Me neither." said a stern Mr Way.
Gerard wanted to lie and say it wasn't him, but he wasn't able to form the words he wanted to, they weren't coming out.
"Gerard?" Mrs Way raised her voice, concerned.
"I-i-i-" he murmured.
"Show me your wrists." She said, "SHOW ME YOUR WRISTS!"

As tears ran viscously from his eyes, he slowly pulled his messy jumper sleeves revealing his fresh cuts. They stung more than ever, and throbbed along with his racing heartbeat.
"When are these from?" Mrs Way asked.
Gerard sniffed, "last night."
She burst into a flood of tears, "you're grounded!" she cried.
"And don't EVER do this again!" she added as he rushed to his room.

Gerard opened his closet, removed some bags and took a bottle of whiskey from his collection of high alcoholic volume bottles. Distraught, he swigged it and climbed out of his window. Jumping from the kitchen window ledge, he stumbled down the road and to the skate park where he smoked with his depressed friends.
"My mom saw my cuts and grounded me - i'm 16!" he moaned, taking large sips of his whiskey and breathing in and out the fumes of his cigar. It felt good to not feel anything.
"I think i might have broken ribs from all the beatings i've sadly survived at school," Gerard began, "still, that's one step closer to death - i need something to save me."
But, Gerard did have one friend, another depressed alcoholic, Derek. They were both so close. In fact, he was the only thing Gerard had to live for. They understood each other, they were the same.

Hours past, bottles drunk, cigarettes and cigars smoked. More hours past, skin cut, tears shed. Even more hours past, pills swallowed, heroin injected. Hours felt like seconds, since the only thing the boys felt was the pain and sadness being lifted. Gerard and Derek decided to take a walk. Drunk, stoned and dying, they stumbled around the town, until they fell into a stoney ditch, where they were knocked unconscious.

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