There's no doubt about it. I know exactly what day it is. It's August 3rd, Grace-Jeanette's 12th birthday. I don't even know if she's alive right now and if she is, she might now even realize it's her birthday. I can't bear with myself that much more. I lost Grace-Jeanette and I lost Frank. Mikey hasn't talked to me since I told him to leave. I'm the one alone. I can't bear to live anymore. I sleep in my little closet and I eat in the diner late when no one else is around but I haven't had the strength to go to the diner in two days. I've just been drinking and ingesting pills, taking more than I should and probably border lining overdosing. But I don't care. It's her fucking birthday and she can't celebrate it because of me.
I have never hated myself more than I do right now. Maybe it's because my tolerance is now taking a toll on me. I can't drown out my sorrows anymore. I feel the guilt still gnawing at me and on her birthday, it's ever worse. God, how much has changed in one year. We went on a mission and came back driving all night. We took her to the mailbox and she got to drop off her letters for her parents. One year ago, she was safe with me and now, she's been gone for 5 months. One year ago, I didn't even know Korse was alive or that the Unit was operating again. One year ago Frank and I were still a secret. The others didn't know we were together. One year ago, we were still together and in love. I was with him happy. If only I knew how much was going to change.
I try to stop crying but I can't. The tears come down my face. I miss him so much. I want to go out and find him to tell him I'm sorry and that I still love him but he made it very clear. He's not coming back unless I get better. I don't want to get better but I also want him back. He doesn't know how bad it is and doesn't understand that him not being here is making much wider. But who am I to blame for leading. I neglected him and staying killing him inside. I curl my legs up to my chest and cradle myself. I'm empty without him. He's supposed to be here and hug me. He's supposed to be here with me. I miss him so damn much, his eyes, his smile, the sound of his voice and laugh. It's been so many months since I've seen or heard from him since I've talked to anyone really. I isolate myself and no one really knows I come here. I do this to myself and I hate it. I miss him so much, god damn it.
I try getting up but I'm in so much pain. I've been dreading my life so much that last night I climbed to the roof hoping to stop the pain. I climbed to the top of the roof and threw myself off but I had broken my foot from jumping off the second story. I flailed around on the ground last night trying to cope with the pain. I had to drag myself back to the closet and swallow a hand full of painkillers. It stops the worst of the aching but there was still a sharp sting when I tried standing. Obviously, jumping wouldn't do it because I'm still alive. I need something else. If I were I overdose, I may not take enough and still be alive or I'd take too much and throw it up. My gun's been missing for a while, they still don't trust me to have it back. But.... they forgot about my father's knife. I just need to make it to my locker. I think about then coming back to the closet or going out in the zones but my leg hurts too much that getting to my locker would be a challenge. I wouldn't be able to make it anywhere else. I'll just die there and then it'll be someone else's problem, not mine. I take a few more painkillers and more booze to calm my nerves. It'll be okay, it's almost over. I won't have to deal with this anymore. I won't be suffering.
I hobble out of the room and grit my teeth. My hands ball into fists and I strain to keep myself walking. My foot is most definitely broken but that won't be a problem much longer. With tears in eyes, I make it to the top of stairs but that's as far as I can get. One step down and I topple over. Tumbling down the steps, I hit the bottom hard and sore. Well, I made it down the stairs. I drag myself to my locker and scan my thumb over the pad. It lights up and the door opens. My stuff is all inside. I put on my Dead Pegasus jacket for old time sake. I always loved this jacket, the blue color, and bold stripes. The way the leather fit and molded to my skin. I love this jacket. I grip the locker door and force myself to stand to balance on my good leg. I pick up my mask and run my finger over the old paint. Frank made this for me. I haven't seen him since he left me that night. I doubt it's because he's avoiding me. When I only come out to the rest of the base at the late hours when he's asleep to eat and spend the rest of my days locked away, there is a reason I haven't seen him.
I put the mask on my face. I probably look closer to myself than I have in the last few months. I haven't died my hair since Grace-Jeanette was taken and it's grown out and I've got it cut. Clumps of red hair lie in the closet along with the large, sharp broken glass fragment I used to hack away my hair. It's atrociously uneven and only the tips remain a faded red. I reach for my father's knife and I hold it in my hand. Where?
I could slit my throat but the thought doesn't settle well with me. I could stab myself but I may not hit an organ. I could survive that. And I don't want to survive it. I survive the jump off the roof and that just make everything hurt more. I just want to die, why is it so hard to ask for? I want to end my pain, not create more.
I roll up my sleeve and flick open the blade. Just do it... I find myself become scared. Don't you fucking back out now! I had to drag myself down here and that hurt. Before I can stop myself and get scared I just get it over with. I slash the blade across my wrist. Its sharp edge cuts right now my flesh. Blood instantly pools out and drips over my arm. It's not a deep gash that will kill me in seconds. It's only deep enough to slowly trickle it out. This alone will take a few minutes so I need to cut myself again. I hear someone walk behind me. Fuck.
I toss the blade hastily back in my locker and roll down my sleeve. Ray stands behind me. It's been a while since I've seen him. "Hi, Gerard," he says, taking in my new look. I have my jacket and mask on so he can't see how much I've really changed. How much weight I've lost and how dead I look. He can't see the blood either.
"H-hey," I stutter. I'm slurring from the pills and booze but the anxiety of blood loss it hitting me too. I'm going to pass out soon and that's going raise fucking hell. Granted, it won't my problem. Is it selfish of me to have done this?
Ray comes closer to me and I angle myself to hide my left arm. "I, um, heard about what happened," he says awkwardly. "I know that was four months ago but I haven't seen you since."
"Yeah.." I stutter. I didn't like talking about it still. I'm not over losing Frank. I never will be.
"I'm sorry," he says. "Everything's been really hard since the attack and everything after." I nod listening to him and lean against the lockers. My head's spinning. I can barely keep my balance much longer. "Things will get better and it'll be okay," he says.
"Excuse me?" I spit at him. "Why would you ever dare say that?"
Ray looks confused. "What do you me?"
"Nothing," I scowl. It's not going to be okay. Grace is gone. Frank left me. Mikey hates me. Korse is alive. The base lost almost all the children. It's not going to be okay.
"No, Gerard. Tell me. Tell me honestly what do you mean?" he asks.
"Well if you honestly that's all you had to say," I mumble. Ray looks at me confused. "What will it take to show you that it's not the life it seems? I've told you time and time again you say the words but don't know what it means. You say that you know it's been hard since the attack but you still think things will be better? It's not going to be okay! You don't understand!"
"Hey," he cuts in, "I know it's hard. Don't pretend like you are suffering more than anyone else. I know you hate everything and feel like you lost it all. I can read you like a book."
"You said you read me like a book? Well, the pages on this story are all torn and frayed. You know why you haven't seen me around? It's because I lock myself away so I don't have to deal with anyone, whether it's sympathy or dirty looks."
"Well forget about the dirty looks then! I hate seeing you like this. We miss you, dammit. You wear us out. We're stressing over you." I shake my head. He's wrong. They don't want to see me. I made Mikey cry and Frank hates me by now. He's got to. I've made him miserable. "Please, Gerard. Just come back," he says.
It's too late to come back now, I feel my arms gushing by now. I can barely hold myself up and I need to lean on the lockers to keep myself standing. I can't come back now, it's too late but the thing is I don't care. I got what I deserve, the ending of my life. "Have you heard the news I'm dead?" I whisper.
"What?" Ray asks. I don't know if he's saying what because he didn't hear me or because he did but doesn't understand why I said it. My vision pulses around. I don't want him to save me, or anyone to but at this point, he can't. My back slides against the rows of lockers and I fall over on the ground. "Gerard!" he calls out, trying to catch me. He grabs my arms but all the blood makes it slick and I slip out of his grasp. He screams out between terrified and in shock. He notices the puddle that accumulated on the floor from my arms dripping when I was standing."WHAT DID YOU DO?"
"Well, I'm not okay! I never want to let you down or have you go, it's better off this way. I held you close as we both shook for the last time take a good hard look! I'm really not okay. I'm not o-fucking-kay!" My speech becomes messier and I have a harder time keeping my eyes open.
I feel him desperately trying to stop the bleeding but I'm sure it's already too late. "Why would you do this, you're going to die now!" he says.
"Then I'm okay now. I'm okay," I stutter.
"Why would you do this to yourself? Why would you leave us?" he cries. I close my eyes but he shakes me around. "Stay with me, Gerard. Don't you fucking leave us!"
Ray is one of the smartest people I know. He's a brilliant strategist and he is capable of saying things like it is. I know the answer but I want him to say it so he stops helping me. "I'm going to die?" I ask.
He slowly stops applying pressure to my arm and he just sits still holding me. I hear others coming down the stairs, probably because Ray screamed. He lets out a whimpering sob. "Face it, you're never gonna make it."
I close my eyes and feel something similar to sleep take over, not exactly sleep but close to it. I can't tell if it's a good or bad different. "I don't wanna make it, I just wanna..." I fall still.
Saints protect her now.
Come angels of the lord,
Come angels of unknown.
My name is Gerard Arthur Way. I am a Team Mission Killjoy Fighter. When I was 10 years old, BL/ind found my parents and executed them. My 3 year younger brother Micheal James Way and I escaped and were rescued by the Killjoys. We trained and grew up to fight BL/ind. There I met my friends, Ray, Woody, Luke, Melanie, Addison. I also met Frank Anthony Iero Jr., someone I can't describe simply because he defies description. He means more to me than words can ever say. Years later when we were 18, we found BL/ind setting up the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W/ Unit, a Unit specifically for terminating the Killjoys. In that facility, I lost my friend and Frank's brother Woody. He stayed behind holding them back to save us. I was injured on that mission and got sick. The only good thing that came out of that was Frank then told me he loved me and I got to tell him it back. They got me medicine and I recovered. Our missions continued. On one mission, we saved a girl named Helena from BL/ind and befriended her. Another mission, we had gone back to my old house and there we lost many Killjoys, including our DJ, Dr. Crash Pilot. We rescued his daughter Grace-Jeanette and I made a promise to keep her safe with my life. We went on more missions and eventually, the love between Frank and I was discovered. Nevertheless, our friends were still our friends. When I was 21, the base was attacked and my team was stunned and suffered a great cost. I broke my promise and lost Grace-Jeanette. In the attack, many of the children died and most of their parents still working and fighting in the zones return to their base months later to discover their sons and daughters were killed in a mass slaughter seasons ago. There came a point where I couldn't bear with it anymore. Slowly I was falling apart and in the process, I lost Frank Iero, the love of my life. He left me and my brother never spoke to me again after I snapped on him. I isolated myself from everyone, including the remaining friends I had left. I isolated myself for months with nothing but booze and painkillers to keep me company. I had a lot of time to think and I remember how things were so much simpler when I was 10, even when I was 14. Those days at the base compared to now were just blissful ignorance. I missed those times, times before I knew what depression and anxiety were. Times before when the happiest I could be was at the shooting range with my friends. Things aren't close to the as how they were when this all started out. So much has changed since the beginning, too much. It got to the point where even it all was too much and I couldn't anymore. I cut myself and bleed out until I died. My name is Gerard Arthur Way. I am 22 years old and I killed myself.
I lie resting on a bed and feel a calming warmth in my hand. I've been asleep for some while but I'm still tired. The blanket covers me but it's tucked down underneath the mattress I lay on. I peek my eyes open and take in my surroundings. I'm back in the hospital. Wait a second. I slowly come to my thoughts and remember I'm dead. Do dead people feel? No, they don't, at least, I doubt they do. I realize what this means. I can't do anything right. I can't protect my friends nor can I even kill myself.
I let out a sigh. I'm still fucking alive. Why can't they leave me to die? Why do they keep wasting their time saving me? I don't even know how they saved me, I lost my blood. Unless some bastard did a blood transfusion. I think about it and that's got to be what it was. I turn my head slowly and close my eyes. The mattress jerks and my hand snags. Confused and startled, I open my eyes and make out the silhouette of someone dashing out of the room. I try to make a note of what happened. Was someone lying next to me?
The mattress is sunken in on my left and slowly rising to its original shape. My palm has a warmth to it as if said person was holding onto my hand. They left in some hurry. I sit up and plan to follow after them but something catches me, forcing me to lie back down. There are tubes in my arms and I can't get out of the bed. I lie back down unsure of what to do.
Someone comes back in the room but it's not the person that left, that person was wearing all black. This person is wearing white. "I can't believe that worked," they say.
"What worked?" I croak. My voice is hoarse and I can barely talk.
"Blood transfusion," he says. "It rarely works and it's an all-else-failed procedure. It worked on you."
"Why would you do it?" I ask, clearing my throat to get my voice back.
"Because that was the only thing we could do. You lost so much blood your heart stopped. It was either that or let you die."
I scoff. "Well, you should have let me die then instead of keeping me alive."
The man comes over. "We don't want you to die," he says softly.
"Why should that matter? I do!"
"Because your friends care about you and they don't want to lose you," he says. I don't say anything back, instead, I narrow my eyes. Who is he talking about? Nobody cares about me. They're just them, indirect people that want me alive. I don't know any names or have faced. The guy sees the conversation is over and he leaves the room.
I lie back on the bed sighing. I don't know what to do now. I see the figure come back in the corner of the room, the figure wearing all black. I look over in their direction. They're quite distraught on whether or not they should come in. I don't know if I should tell them to leave or invite them. Instead, I just stare. They step in the room. It's a boy, average height, maybe on the shorter side. I take in his appearance in complete awe. He's a heart attack in black hair dye. His long, fluffy hair covers his face and hides his eyes and ears. He shifts awkwardly in his position. "I'm so sorry," he finally speaks.
"No, you're not," I spit at him. He peaks his head up and I see his eyes. They pierce the light and lock on me. Such a fantastic hazel and gold fleck of green. I stop and I stare into his eyes and the unreal color. Something stirred inside me seeing his eyes, eyes so brilliant and so... so enchanting. I'm lost in his fantastic eyes.
"I-I really am sorry though," he whispers. Something in his voice gnaws at me. What is it about him? There's nothing special. Except that's a lie. Everything about him is special and I don't have a reason to think that.
"If you really are sorry, you wouldn't have done it in the first place. The thought would have never crossed your mind." He doesn't care about the fact they did a blood transfusion on me. He wanted me alive and now he's pretending he's sorry he brought me back. It's no secret that I want to die. He knew it but yet here I am. I still want to find the bastard that gave their blood to infuse.
His eyes soften and they trail down, staring at his shoes. I want him to look at me again. The color fascinates me and I never want him to stop looking at me. It's got to be my favorite color. "I'm sorry," he speaks. There's a shake in his voice and a shudder in his body. His hands reach up and cup his face, concealing his flawless features and enchanting eyes from me. Ink covers his hands and fingers in ornate designs. Letters over his knuckles. I want to examine every inch of the pretty pink but I also wonder how it got on his skin.
Something inside me isn't right. I feel uncomfortable, no that's not the right word. Distressed seeing the guy like this. It wasn't right. "Please, stop it," I order.
He simply shakes his head. "I did this to you. I put you here."
"Yeah you did," I say irritated. No shit he put me in the hospital. They could have let me die but no. They brought me back and they kept me alive and they put me here. "You don't need to get all soft about it. You knew what it would do."
"I didn't think you would kill yourself though!" he sobs.
"It's a common fact that I wanted to die. They just brought me back, like how they always do." I get more distraught at him crying. I don't like it and I need him to stop.
"I didn't know you would kill yourself. If I knew, I would have stayed. But no! I fucking abandoned you when you needed help. Where was I?"
"What the hell are you talking about? All you did was stick me in here. Stop getting over zealous."
"I left you! That was the biggest mistake of my life," he sniffles. "I don't even know what to call you." I freeze up. What to call me? I don't know what to tell him so I say nothing. "Can I still call you Gee?"
"Why would you?" I ask
"Because...everyone else calls you Gerard and I-I liked it when I called you something different. Something special."
"So?" I say blandly. He starts crying again and I feel my stomach knot up. "Please. Don't do that, stop doing that."
"I can't," he says. "It's not fair of me to come back to you after 6 months and after putting you through hell and back but I still love you." I lose all tension. He what? "I still love you and I hope there's a chance you still feel the same way."
He looks up at me. I feel my cheeks burning. Why is he saying such things? "I, um," I trip over my words. How the hell am I even supposed to reply to that?
"Gee-uh, can I call you that still?" he asks.
"Call me whatever the hell you want," I say. I don't know how to reply to him.
"I take it I got what I deserve?" he asks, slowly starting to cry again and I feel my chest tighten. He needs to stop crying, it's killing me inside for whatever reason. "You don't love me?"
"Why would I?" I break.
"I'm not blaming you," he whimpers. He closes his eyes and more tears fall down his soft face. I grit my teeth. He needs to stop crying. "You have every reason to hate me. I left you and was selfish. It would be wrong if you still harbored feelings."
"Still? I never loved you?" I ask.
He snaps his head up. "What?" he speaks, his voice quivering. There's an unsettling fear in his pretty eyes that ruin the enchantment. That fear doesn't belong there. His eyes are too pretty to be scared.
"What are you doing here?" I ask. He looks at me hurt and in shock. "Why are you so sad? I don't even know who the hell you are yet you're pouring out your heart to me."
He chokes and starts coughing out, holding his throat. He tries to catch his breath but he shuddering still coughing. "Wh-what?" he strains to speak.
"Jeez, get a grip!" I shout.
He stops choking and stumbles over to my side. His hands lower from his neck and skim over mine. I flinch at the touch of his skin. Nevertheless, he grips my hand and his fingers interlock with mine in a deja vu manner. Something about this, holding his hand and fingers intertwined with my own in a hospital room is so familiar. "Oh god, Gee. Please don't do this, please," he says frantically. He gives a shake to my hands and it disrupts the tubes in my arm. "Please, it's me. Oh god, it's me, Frank. Frank Iero. Right?"
I give a small shake in my head and my eyes wander down to my arms. I see the sleek shine and I panic. "Fucking shit!" The tubes are connected to me by needles. I rip my hands away from his and I feel his knuckles crack, followed by him wincing in slight pain. I yank the needles out of my arms and beeping comes from the machine. I turn around and slam my fist into it, shutting down the beeping.
The guy grabs my hands back in his. "No, it's okay, Gee," he coos. There is something oddly familiar about this. I hate needles. I know I hate them.
My eyes wander back up to him. "Who the fuck is Gee?" His eyes widen with a fear. "Who the fuck are you?"
"NO!" he cries, gripping my hands tighter and turning my knuckles white. "This-this is a joke, right? This is a just some joke." I slowly shake my head. "Oh god. GEE, NO!" he screams closing his eyes and tears stream down his face. "Oh please, please don't tell me you that you..."
"That I what?" I ask.
"You don't remember me? You lost your memory?" he whimpers gazing into my eyes.
"I can't lose something I never had. I don't know who you are, and you think I'm someone else," I tell him.
He frantically shakes his head. "No, that's not. I-I..." He can't speak. He's crying too hard. My cheeks burn and my eyes give a sting as everything starts losing focus. I look at the boy and he smothers his face in the mattress crying, still holding my hand with both of his and our fingers interlocked. As my vision blurs, he smudges together and I blink twice. Hot tears spill through my lashes and run down my cheek. Why is he crying? And why is he breaking my heart doing so? "After you passed out," he says, his voice shaking, "Ray screamed for help. The others that came down carried down to the hospital but... it was too late. You had already... Ray, he found me in the lab, I was with Jay and he came up to me shaking. I went over to him asking what was wrong. He-he said you died." I feel Frank shaking and with my free hand, I stroked his hair for comfort. It's so soft and silky. I tangle my fingers in his hair and brush loose strands of his bangs out of his beautiful face but he conceals the rest by burying it in the mattress. Did I cause this pain? "I thought it was some sick escapade but... but it wasn't. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think or feel. I-I just wanted you back. You killed yourself and where was I to help you? I fucking left you when you needed help all because I was selfish and refused to stand by you watching. I didn't help you, I did nothing. I remember asking Connors if you were really gone. He said all they could do now was blood transfusion but we knew that meant you weren't going to make it. Of course, that didn't stop me from trying. The amount needed to hypothetically save you would risk killing me but I didn't care. I was the only one healthy enough to save you."
"You gave me your blood?" I ask? He nods his head against the mattress. If I realized he was the one that is responsible when I woke up, I would have been pissed but for some reason, I can't be angry at him. Not anymore.
"I was hospitalized for a week and after I was healthy again, I remember hearing you miraculously came back. Connors said that the odds were near to impossible, especially since your heart stopped but you came back," he says. He lifts his face off the mattress and looks up at me. "You really did come back but we didn't know it would affect you psychologically."
He's not making sense to me. I want to believe him. The desperation in his eyes and his voice raw kills me. I know nothing but I want to believe him. I want to believe that he loves me and maybe he's so special because I really do love him. The only problem is I truly don't know him. Though I wish I did because I want to love him and I want him to really love me the way he says.
"I need to get Connors back in here," he says and gets up. I don't let go of his hands though; I keep holding onto him. He stops and looks at me. "Gee?" he asks looking at me clinging to him.
I don't want to let him go. I don't want him to leave me. What's overcome me? I reluctantly let go of him and he reluctantly leaves me. I don't think he wants to leave my side either. I remember his words. He said he needs to get Connors back in here. As if he already was. Connors was the man in white. Frank leaves the room and since I'm no longer hooked up to the machines I can get up. I walk over to the corner of the room to a little nightstand and open the bottom up as if it's second nature and take out my clothes. I don't know how I knew it would be in there but I did. I quickly rip off the hospital attire and slip on my black jeans and sleeveless shirt. I'm much more comfortable in my clothes now.
The door opens and it's the same man in white, I'm assuming Connors. "Gerard?" he asks. "Frank said that you can't recall anything before you woke up." I stand looking at him. "What do you remember?"
"I don't 'remember' anything. I'm not the right person you're thinking of," I say.
"What's your name?" he tests.
"Given the fact that I've been called Gerard, I think it's safe to say that," I reply putting my hands on my hips as if they naturally belong there.
"Well, I can certify that you are in fact the person we know," he says putting his hands in his pocket.
"How are you so sure? You barely asked me anything and I don't think I gave you a real answer."
"Because anyone else would have made a simple answer and you give me back a unique attitude." I raise my eyebrows at him. "You're doing it right now," he laughs.
"Wha-doing what?" I ask sincerely gesturing my hands out to him.
"You're being Gerard Way," he retorts. "Your attitude is very distinct and something you do without realizing. You're sassy and that's how I know you're the correct person." I can't really argue against him. "Look, I'm going to level with you. We've had Killjoys suffer from memory loss but the truth is there is nothing we can do to guarantee it'll return. The only thing we can do is put you in your typical life. Hopefully, you'll recollect after going through the motions and stimulating something."
"I see," I say. There's nothing I can say to that. I don't know anything and I can't want to remember things if I don't know what I'm missing. I can't miss something I never knew. I think of the boy and I want him to come back. There's something about him that makes me want to recall the things he says about me. He seems to care an awful lot about me. I wish I knew what he was talking about.
"Gerard, I don't really know you that well. You go out in the zones and I work in the hospital. I only see you're injured. I don't know you as well as your team would," he says. I try piecing it together. Well, he's a doctor so makes sense he's in the hospital and treats me. Why would I be out in the zones? What are zones and what's this deal about a team? "All I can tell you is you are a sassy and danger prone."
I do not recall any of it but I take his word for it. If they're convinced I'm Gerard Way then so be it. There's a formal yet urgent knock. Connors steps over and opens it. It's not Frank, a new face.
"I'll check on you later," Connors says walking out and leaving me with the boy.
He's definitely younger than me nevertheless taller. He wears a bold red later jacket with black stripes lining the edges. He stares at me hard. He's not crying, unlike Frank. It looks like he already did his crying long ago. Eyes swollen and puffy and bloodshot red, damp cheeks that burn the color of his jacket and a shallow breathing as if he's still trying to drop the hiccups. "So do you still want me to stay away from you?" he asks, his voice weak. I don't say anything. I don't know how to respond to anyone. This Gerard sure left one hell of an impression on them all and I don't know what to feel let alone say. I haven't any what to say since I woke up. I've just been speaking small phrases to avoid the conversation on my part. Of course, the conversations continue. "They said you were back from being dead 2 months ago and Frank told us that you finally woke up right now. There was just one stipulation. You lost your memory."
"I would say I did but I have no way of proving that it's missing, nor can I say that I forgot if I never knew. There is still some certainty that you have me mistaken for someone else."
He shakes his head confidently. "No way in hell. I know who my own brother is. There's no mistake; it's you." Is he my brother? I can't compare him to myself because I don't remember what I even look like. His hair's identical to my natural shade. He could be my brother but then again maybe not.
He swaggers over towards me and sighs. "I don't have anything to say to you," I say.
"I didn't expect you," he mutters. "I just needed to see you."
"For what reason?"
"So in case something happens, our last conversation wasn't the bitter one in April." His eyes wander the room as he tries to forget something. His head gives a little shudder and his eyes water. He forces himself to not cry.
"Well this one can't be that much better," I say. What happened the last time he and Gerard spoke?
He stares at me hard. "You can't say that. You don't remember. You don't even know who you are."
I sigh and walk over to the bed sitting on the edge. "Then maybe you can help me figure it out. Who is Gerard Way?" I ask.
He smiled as he tries to recall a memory. "He's my brother. He watches out for me and always keeps me safe," he speaks. Glancing back up at me, a smile spreads on his face. Not a real smile, barely detectable but just enough to see that he's happy. "You're notorious for your brilliant red hair and canary yellow blaster. You cherish your Dead Pegasus and Kemia Enamiĝo. You love your friends more than anything and you fight against BL/ind with all your worth to protect them. That's who you are. Gerard Way, the fabulous Party Poison."
I don't understand a lot of what he said but I can tell I meant something him. At least, who they think I do. "Look, I'm sorry for anything I did either then or now but I don't know anything."
"It's okay." But I can tell by his expression that it's not okay. "Frank, he uh, we spoke just now and before I tell you about it, I need to talk to you."
"Yeah?" I ask, waiting for him to tell me.
There's a hesitation and unsettling notion in his movement. "Frank, he said that you don't remember anything but he senses you feel like you do know things. You have feelings but don't know where they're coming from but still have them?" He looks at me unsure of what to say next. Damn, Frank could tell from our little encounter. "So we kept talking and I just, I need to ask you something."
"What is it?" I ask nervously. I'm a little concerned.
"Just if you don't understand or remember or know, it's okay but if you do... please tell me what you know and what you're thinking. I need to know and I need you to know it's going to be okay." He's scaring me and I don't know why. I don't know him but the anticipation of what it is. That there may be something he says that will affect me. He opens his mouth and a rush of anxiety hits me as I wait. "Do you remember anything at all about..." he trails off biting his lips.
I don't even feel myself saying it. It just rolls off my tongue. "What?" I ask leaning forward. "Remember what?"
He looks at me sympathetically. "Grace-Jeanette?"
Grace-Jeanette. The name rings out and my face falls expressionless. Grace-Jeanette. Something inside me burns. Too many emotions mix together: anger, fear, self-loathing, sympathy. Grace-Jeanette. My hands clench into fists and I grit my jaw but at the same time my eyes water.
"Gerard?" The guy asks, his voice shaking. He comes over and puts his hands on my shoulders. "You remember?" That's the thing. I recall something but I don't remember what. "Say something," he begs.
But what can I say? "Who is she?" I whisper, my voice coarse.
"What do you remember?" he asks.
"Nothing," I retort. "I don't remember anything yet I feel something. Who is she? Did I hate her?"
"N-no, not at all," he tells me.
"Then why am I angry. Why am I scared and melancholy and hurt at the mention of her name?" I ask, my voice raising. I'm not angry at the guy, I'm angry I don't understand what's going on.
"She was a little girl you looked after," he says. "You took care of her like a little sister, maybe even like a daughter."
I look at him. "So I cared about her?"
He nods his head. "You cared about her a lot."
"Then why am I afraid? Who is she?" I ask.
"She was Alec's daughter. You looked up to him like a father and promised to take care of Grace for him," he explains.
"Why would I do that?"
"Because Alec died," he says. I'm crying. Why the hell am I crying? If I'm going to have feelings, shouldn't I at know why they're here? "You said you would keep her safe but we were attacked and she was taken."
My head snaps up. "Is she dead?" He doesn't say anything. "Is she dead?" I ask louder.
"We-we don't know... She could be."
"When was she taken?" I ask.
"In March," he whispers as if he's ashamed to say. March, I recall something about it being October. That was 7 months ago, what are the chances she's still alive. I lie back on the mattress crying. Why am I sad, I know nothing about this girl. Gerard Way cared about her. I don't know Gerard Way so why do I care? Why am I sad? "What's going on?" he asks.
"I don't fucking know," I cry. "I can't remember a god damn thing. I don't know what's going on or who any of you are. You guys care about someone I don't know and you think of me. I don't know who that boy was. I don't know who Frank is yet he loves me? I don't know who you are yet you're my brother? I don't know who Grace-Jeanette is yet I care about her well-being. I don't know who I am and I just...I-I..." I lose my train of thought and abruptly stop. What am I trying to say?
He sits on the edge of the bed. It's going to be okay, Gerard. Listen to me. It will be okay," he says.
I nod my head agreeing with him. He places his hand on my shoulder and gives me a side hug. "Will she be okay?" I ask.
He doesn't say anything for a while. "Here's the thing, she may be still alive so there is something we can do about it."
"What's that?" I ask
"While you were... out the others and I was not in a good place," he starts, then he glances at me. "Do you remember anyone else?"
"I just know Frank, you, the Connors guy, and now the little girl." I couldn't bring myself to say her name. I don't know why.
"Well, there's Ray. We've known him since we were little. And your other good friend is Helena. Then Helena's team has Luke, Melanie, and Addison."
"We close with Helen's team?" I ask.
"Helena," he corrects. "Yeah. Frank has been your best friend since you guys met each other. Ray was... he was best friends with Woody when we were kids." Woody. Why does that name sound important? It's significant and it's...it's sad. It's a sad name but not as complicatedly sad as Grace-Jeanette's name.
"He was one of our friends when we were kids. He was abandoned so Frank's dad took him in and raised him as his own son. He and Frank were practically brothers. But there was a mission that went bad and he died."
"Was he killed? Or did he get injured?" I ask.
"We don't really know what happened to him exactly. He stayed behind in a facility to save everyone else. He either died from his wounds, he was crushed when the ceiling collapsed or he has just shot again and died then."
Something burns on the side of my neck. It's a very weird feeling because there is actually nothing happening. I reach my hand up and touch the side of my neck. There's an imaginary pain there and it's bothering me and I get flashes. There's a lot of blood and screaming. The flashes of thoughts morph together and it becomes something else. It's a memory. Mikey looks at me concerned. "I remember something," I say distressed.
"What is it?" he asks.
"I'm in a lot of pain," I tell him. I try concentrating. "I think I remember Frank running with me. No, he was dragging me. The building was falling apart and white figures were shooting at us and," I trail off as I try to recall more, "and later there was rain." The guys face goes dark. "What?"
"That was the day Woody died," he says. "Is there anything else you remember?"
I think about it but I can't focus on anything more. "No, that's it." Mikey nods. "Is there anyone else you can tell me about, to help me?"
"Woody died when we were 18. On that mission, we met Luke and Melanie. Luke and Ray are really close. You and Frank get along well with him and his girlfriend." I tilt my head in confusion and he has to clarify that he was talking about Melanie. I nod along as I process it. "What colors to you think of when you hear their names?" he asks.
"Colors?" I ask confused at the relevance.
He nods his head. "Mmhmm, what colors?"
"Uh." Colors? I close my eyes and think about it. Luke. Luke... Luke. I think of the sky. So.." heWith Luke a light blue? Like the sky."
"What about Melanie?"
Melanie.. Mel. Melanie and red go hand in hand but not exactly red. "Like red but not really. A light red?" I say unsure. Light red? "I mean pink? I don't know. Why are you asking?"
"Luke has neon blue hair and Melanie's code name is Wanda Red, her hair half pink half black."
The bits and pieces seem to be coming together. I want to believe I am Gerard Way. I'm able to answer things that Gerard would know.
"There's another Killjoy who you are close to. Her name is Helena."
"She's my best friend?" I ask.
"You saved her life. She was going to be executed but you pardoned and saved her. Her mind was under control and you got it back for her. She trusts you with her life. Granted, there was a confusion when your doppelganger was screwing with her."
"Want to elaborate on that for me?" I ask.
"She used to be a white suit," he starts. He notices the confusion on my face. "It's too complicated to explain all right now. I'll tell you about it after; remind me. White suits are bad people trying to kill us, got it?" I nod. "We were going to kill her but you stopped us and saved her. brought her back to the base hospital and got her memories back. Now, there's this bastard named Mitch. I grit my teeth at that name. I know I hate Mitch. The same reason I know I hate needles. I don't need an explanation. It's just the way it is. "He pretended to be you and kind of sexually assaulted her."
"Bastard," I mutter.
"Yeah. Frank helped her and it all cleared up. She still trusts you with her life. She has also saved you multiple times." He looks down and continues and thinks for a moment. "You were going to die so she went with me and we found you. She brought you back with us and stopped you from k-... dying."
I notice his careful word choice as if he's trying to avoid telling me something. Why would he all of a sudden become so secretive when he's been telling me everything this far? Then it must be something he really doesn't want me to know. Why wouldn't he tell me; what would it be? I was going to die and she prevented me from dying. No, that's not what he said. He said she saved be and stopped me from dying. But it seemed that he didn't want to say dying. He was trying to say something else, something that started with a 'k'. I fidget with my hands, picking at my nails when I see it. The claw marks on my arms. I didn't notice it before because I had the tubes and my focus when there, not to my skin. I didn't realize there were scars of claw marks and cuts. My thoughts come together. Were these self-inflicted? It hits me. It started with a 'k' and it's the same thing as dying. "Was I going to kill myself?" I ask in horror. His eyes fall vacant and stained with pain. I'm not as stupid as I am forgetful. Just because I don't remember anything doesn't me I can't figure things out. "Was I?" I ask again.
He doesn't say anything. He just starts crying. I don't want to see him cry but it's not in the same way with Frank. Seeing Frank cry made me cry. Seeing him cry makes me comfort him. I hug him and he holds onto my arms. He quickly collects himself but after he stops crying, he still holds on to me. "Please don't kill yourself again. I can't lose you, not again. Promise me you won't," he cries. I don't say anything. I open my mouth but I can't find the words. I can't promise him that because I can't guarantee that I won't. I am supposed to die. I would have done it again by now if I wasn't persuaded by Frank and now him. "Gerard?" I can't say anything. I try to form the words on my tongue but I can't promise him it. I really cannot. "Gerard?" he asks more concerned.
"I can't," I finally say but it comes out as a whisper.
He sits up and looks at me. "Promise me you won't kill yourself."
"I told you I can't. There's a reason I did it and-and if that reason is still a problem, how am I supposed to promise that I won't do it again?" He bites his lip. "Why did I kill myself?" I ask
"Because you couldn't handle your demons anymore. You loathed yourself and felt abandoned. You locked yourself away constantly drunk and high."
"How did I get there?" I ask. I feel myself becoming anxious.
"What?"
"Why did I hate myself? When did it first become an actual problem?"
"When," he stops but I look at him hard, "when we lost Grace-Jeanette." I don't say anything. "Gerard, it's going to be okay." He said early that she was taken and is still gone, meaning the problem isn't fixed. If she's dead, which is a possibility, I never will be. At least Gerard Way never will be. I want to believe I am him but until I can fully remember, how can I be so sure? "Gerard, please. I need you to make that promise."
"I can't," I cry out. "I can't make it or I'll end up breaking it and I hate breaking promises." Grace-Jeanette comes to my mind. I broke a promise with her, I failed to keep her safe, so I've been told. I bury my face in the pillow crying for a few minutes. There's so much stress and anxiety over all the feelings I have. I don't know where they're coming from or why they're here but I can feel them wearing me out. All I can do I curl up in a ball crying, which is exactly what I'm doing. When I finally catch my breath, I turn over realizing I am in here alone. How long ago did he leave?
I scrunch up on the mattress and hug they pillow tightly. This is a nightmare. I hate this, whatever this is. I lie still without any energy left inside me. I have no motivation to get up. I have no reason to either. There are only two ways out of this nightmare. I could kill myself again or I could remember. There's a reason I didn't make that promise. I want to remember. I want to believe what they said. I want Frank to come back and I want the other boy, damn I don't know his name, I want him to be okay. And all the others that I am friends with, I want to know them and everything they and this Gerard Way shared together. But the thing is, I can only remember them or anything that is if I really truly am Gerard Way. If I'm not him, I can try to pretend to be or resort back to the first option: die.