My Chemical Romance Short Stories

Visions

There were things Gerard no longer wished to understand.

Nights were hardest. That was when, he was told, the visions were the worst. The hallucinations climaxed to something that was somewhere beyond unbearable. Destruction. Demons. Terror. Nothing was real, but it all hurt so much. Like knives in every inch of his skin digging deeper and deeper into every square inch, and Gerard could only listen. Nothing he could do would help.

When they had met, Gerard had no idea. Frank looked like a normal person. His eyes dimly sparkled when he laughed. He would flick his hair away from his face when it got in his eyes. His nose would twitch just before he sneezed (and his sneezes sounded just like the word "Ah-Choo!") He wasn't normal though, even with everything else aside.

To Gerard, he was everything but normal. He was Gerard's entire life. They had met in a gooey, stereotypical, "I-Ran-Into-Him-At-The-Bookstore-Like-Ran- Into- Him" way. Books had fallen to the floor, two bodies bumping into each other, followed by a chorus of "I'm sorry"s and "Oh, no. It's fine"s. Both of their faces had been the color of crimson because neither had seen anybody as beautiful as the other. Before either of the two had left the bookshop, numbers had been exchanged, as well as a silent promise that they both would be seeing each other again.

And they did.

They fell in love. Immensely deep, completely wonderful love. It was full and happy. Everything Gerard had wanted throughout his life, but he had never been able to recieve. For years prior, Gerard had began to think that he would never find somebody who would love him. He was wrong. Frank was his person. Frank was his existence.

In retrospect, Gerard was not entirely sure how he never noticed it. He was blind, maybe, with his love, even from the first second he saw Frank. He thought that maybe for a while, he only saw what he wanted to see. Perfection. Everything he had even needed. Even when he looked back now, he couldn't even think of a time he had seen anything unusual about Frank's behavior.

However, Frank was an actor. As that was his job title, it was also what he was most proud of, his talent of hiding his feelings behind a mask of smiles and grins and happy-go-lucky, and it had never failed to convince Gerard. Even as Gerard had sat there, listening to his love tell him the day Frank moved into his apartment, he somehow wanted to think it was all a joke.

Schizophrenia.

Demons. Darkness. Visions. Fire at his feet. Claws in his back. Every day. Every night. Every minute. Every second. Worse and worse.

Gerard hadn't even known how to react. He had sat entirely still on the bed as Frank started to cry. He had never wanted to tell Gerard. He had hoped to hide it, but that was becoming impossible. Gerard hadn't said a word until Frank had only disolved into soft cries, his hands over his eyes.

"Do you see anything right now?"

Frank raised his head towards Gerard, "He's sitting right behind you."

Gerard didn't bother asking who. It didn't matter.

As the evening progressed, and the topic was changed, Gerard tried to tell himself that Frank's mental illness would never change the way he felt about his love. As he stood in the bathroom, washing his hands for the fifth time to avoid going back to Frank, he just kept thinking about Frank's words. Snippets of their discussion.

"It's getting worse."

"I don't sleep at night anymore."

"It's been this way since I was six years old."

"I've been in psych wards."

"I take pills, but they don't work anymore."

"I've seen God."