Saturday. The day Gerard was dreading most because that meant tomorrow was Sunday. But, unlike any other Saturday night, instead of being curled up in his basement, he was curled up on the floor in Bert's place, biting his lip until it started to bleed. The whole room smelled like smoke, beer and other things Gerard didn't want to mention in case he began thinking about it for real. It was only the evening.
At first, Frank had been suspicious about where he was going, he probably still was, but Gerard had left before Frank had had a chance to interrogate him. The black haired boy knew he would have cracked under pressure. He couldn't keep lying to his the guitarist, yet there he was, shoving lies right in to his innocent face. Frank didn't deserve it, he hadn't done anything wrong, he wasn't screwed up in so many ways as Gerard knew he himself was.
Frank had just chosen the wrong friend to care about.
The singer pushed himself up to sit, resting back on the wall as he pulled his legs to his chest, putting his head on his knees. Muffled talking was coming from all different directions, there were a fair amount of people there and he didn't trust, or like, or know, or want to be around any of them - except bert. Even then, he didn't want to be with him very much either.
So far, he was proud of himself. At his hand there was beer, cigarettes and other curious things, yet he hadn't let any of them touch his lips. With all the insecurities he felt at that moment weren't helping with the strength to stay away, but he was resisting it - for himself and Frank.
~
The night went by quickly, Gerard found himself feeling sick, out of it. While everyone else was enjoying themselves, he had chosen to remain in the corner, keeping to himself and only peering at people through his greasy hair, not daring to show his face, let alone make some sort of eye contact.
"Gee?" A voice called. Gerard found it strange when he realised it wasn't Frank who had said it, usually he was used to the guitarist calling him that and he preferred to keep it that way, but he didn't care tell Bert what he could and couldn't say.
Slowly, Gerard got to his feet, brushing his hair back out of his face as he made his way through the crowd over to where he had heard Bert's voice come from. When he slipped past people, he swore he could feel hands on him in inappropriate places, though there were too many people around to dodge anything. And that made his anxiety levels rise higher. Finally, he reached Bert. He only knew because a hand tugged him, rather roughly, away from everyone else. That, he was grateful for.
"Wh-what is it?" He stuttered, messing with the hem of his sleeves, darting his eyes anywhere but the man in front of him, the one with the beer in his hand that Gerard just wanted to snatch off of him.
Bert shifted his weight to his other foot, placing the bottle on the floor by his feet before speaking, "you gotta loosen up. Your shoulders are so tense, you look like anything could make you jump five feet in the fucking air." He chuckled. "Relax." The singer from The Used said with a smirk, walking around Gerard, who froze on the spot, only looking out of the corner of his eyes. When Bert was behind him, he clapped his hands on Gerard's shoulders, leaning in to whisper in his ear. Though, Gerard didn't quite hear what he said, but he could feel his warm breath on his neck. "Here." Bert mumbled, beginning to take Gerard's jacket off.
"No, no, I want to keep it on." He refused to take it off, starting to grow self conscious.
"Come on." Bert sighed, ignoring Gerard's pleads and whines as he slid his jacket off, dumping it to the side on the floor. "Now, do something. Drink, snort, relax, I don't fucking care. Just stop looking like a dead deer caught in headlights." He mumbled, waving dismissively as he walked over to a couch, falling back on it with his hands clasped behind his head.
Suddenly becoming extremely self conscious and slightly embarrassed, Gerard wrapped his arms around his torso, hiding the bruises that littered his skin, the ones which were visible through the rips in his well worn shirt. He just wanted the night to end, then tomorrow to speed past so he didn't have to struggle through two days of staring at other people drinking. Especially when he couldn't have any.
~
The black haired boy found himself being jerked awake by a harsh kick to the stomach. He winced, eyes immediately opening as he curled in to a ball on the floor, hugging his knees close in case anything else were to come. "Get up." Bert ordered simply, picking his hoodie up from the sofa before trudging out the door and in to the kitchen of his apartment. Pushing himself up off of the floor, Gerard coughed, sending shock waves through his entire body, mainly the pain pounding at his chest. Shivering in the cold atmosphere of the room, he could still see some other people he failed to recognise on the floor, on chairs, or lying across the couch.
"Get a move on." Bert demanded impatiently, poking his head around the door briefly before banging on the wood to let Gerard know he was growing bored with waiting - even though, it had been less than a minute.
The singer staggered over to his jacket on the ground, crouching down to pick it up. When he stood again, black dots clouded his vision and his head burned like fire. Already a headache and he hadn't even left the room yet. Not bothering to check his appearance, Gerard followed Bert out. Apparently, he should have checked the time because when he stepped outside, he could see it was dark. The moon was high in the sky, stars dotted the black canvas and street lamps lit the roads dimly as cars drove past.
Hurriedly shrugging his jacket on, he also noticed it was raining. Not heavily. The kind of rain that felt like nothing until he stepped under shelter and realised how soaked his clothes were.
"What-what time is it?" Gerard shuddered, tugging his jacket around him tighter in the howling wind.
"Ten o'clock."
"I-I don't understand." He whispered, watching Bert, who dug his keys out on his pocket, unlocking his car. Still no answer or explanation was given as they both got in, Gerard in the back so he could lie across the back seats, that was, of course, if the owner of the car allowed him to, which he reluctantly agreed to with a scowl.
"How could you not understand?" Bert scoffed, shaking his head. "Do I need to spell it out to you? It's ten o'clock. At night." He added, smirking at the horrified, wide eyed expression on the black haired boy's pale face. Gerard hadn't realised he had slept in all day, it had only felt like minutes, not to mention, he was starving. There was only a good side to sleeping in all day and that was that it had gone by so quickly - something he was highly grateful for because time would have dragged on otherwise.
"And... You didn't think t-to wake me up?"
Shaking his head like he couldn't care less, which he really couldn't, Bert pulled out in to the road, more or less paying attention to the traffic ahead. Gerard didn't like it when he was behind a steering wheel, the singer from The Used wasn't the most careful person when it came to driving, most of the time he'd be multitasking - and that scared Gerard, to the point where he wanted to grab Bert by the shoulders and shake him until some sense was in his head.
Of course, he would never actually dare to do anything like that to Bert, sometimes he was afraid to even stand too close to him. Although, that disappeared when there was alcohol in his system, so most of the time, Gerard was almost fine being around him.
"Why would I wake you?" Bert asked, switching his gaze between his phone and the other cars. "It's not like it's my job or anything. Anyway, you look nice when you're sleeping." He admitted, the tone in his voice not faltering from monotone.
Smiling the smallest bit, Gerard hung his head, peering out through his tangled hair. "H-how come..?"
Bert shrugged, tossing his phone on the passenger's seat, taking a right turn. "You don't look so messed up. Your face just kinda... Relaxes. You don't look so tense or shaky."
There was one particular phrase that stuck in Gerard's mind. Furrowing his brows, he questioned hesitantly, "m-messed up..?" His voice shook, yet he let out a bitter laugh. "You think I-I am messed up?"
The other shook his head in protest, glancing at Gerard in the mirror before taking a sharp turn, causing the singer to hit the window as he had forgotten to put his seat belt on. "No, course not. I don't think you're messed up." Bert paused, checking his phone while going a little over the speed limit down the road, making Gerard worry, but sigh quietly in relief. So, he didn't think he was messed up? "I know you're messed up."
The black haired boy's eyes widened slightly, his face forming a scowl and a glare, sending secret daggers at Bert. "I am not messed up." He defended firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"No... I mean, why would you be?" Bert commented sarcastically. "It's not like you smoke a thousand cigarettes per day. It's not like you drink until you don't know what you're doing. It's not like you're desperate for something to snort whenever you show up at my door with the most shakiest fucking hands I've ever seen. It's not like-"
Tears brimming his eyes, Gerard shook his head, shrinking back in to the seats. "Stop, fucking stop. Shut u-up." He demanded weakly, wrapping his arms around his torso, bringing his knees up to his chest. Everything he did was being told to him a once, making him realize what he was actually doing to himself. Gathering some courage, he retorted, "and you don't? You're just as messed up as I-I am. You do everything I do. You-"
Pulling up in to a space outside of the desired location, Bert slammed the breaks on, then whipped around to glare at Gerard. "Don't talk to me like that. Gerard, you better quit it before I shut you up myself." He threatened, earning a slow nod from the black haired boy, who kept his eyes trained on the night sky outside. With out another word, he pushed open the car door and stepped out, waiting for Gerard to do the same.
Very easily, they could tell which house it was, even if they were stood a mile away. Music was blaring from the speakers, lights were flashing constantly from every hole in the building it could find, there were people running around outside with drinks in their hands, drunk out of their minds as the boys chased the girls. It reminded Gerard of some sort of university party - not that he ever went to any. He was always the one who heard about them, then got wasted on his own and drowned in self hatred and pity.
A wide smile was spread across Bert's face, receiving an odd look from Gerard. What was he so happy about?
~
He had tried calling, but that was concluded hopeless after the sixth voicemail. So, Frank had become worried with each electronic beep after the recorded voice telling him each time his friend couldn't answer the phone at that minute - or any minute for that matter. Even Mikey had tried calling and texting, though it was proved absolutely no use. Maybe the black haired boy was asleep, or busy. But, it was Gerard, so it obviously wasn't going to be that simple.
The last time Frank had seen Gerard was last night when he had disappeared with out giving anyone a hint as to where he was going. Now, it had been at least nearing, or over, twenty four hours. Twenty four hours with out any contact of any kind.
Naturally, after the things Frank had seen over the past few months, he assumed the worst. The only thing that he could think of was that party, the one that he had heard of from Quinn. The fact that Quinn was one of Bert's band members made Frank more anxious about the whole situation. It was only twenty four hours though, what was the big deal?
Frank's imagination played a big part in the big deal.
"I'm going!" Frank shouted up the stairs to Mikey, digging his car keys from his pocket.
Footsteps sounded above his head before a Mikey appeared at the top of the stair case. "Where?" He asked, gradually making his way down.
"To find Gerard. My mind is too stupid to think it's nothing, so I'm going. Yeah, I know, it's probably nothing at all and he's sleeping and whatever, but I'm incredibly pessimistic. Well, half the time." He rambled on, getting stopped by Mikey before he could talk any more.
"Yeah, alright. I was going to wait until tomorrow though, 'cause, you know... It's midnight." He exclaimed, shooting an annoyed look at Frank, who put his hands up in a fake surrender.
"Well, sleeping beauty, go back to bed. I'm not tired so I'm going to that party Quinn was talkin' 'bout." Happy with the slow nod he received from the younger Way brother as an answer, he yanked the front door open, a gust of wind smacking him hard in the face. Because, fuck, it was freezing. "Oh joy." He mumbled, stepping outside, slamming the door a little too harshly behind him.
~
Clearly, it was the crowded place with the beaming lights, beating music and drunken people. Frank didn't like it already, so he parked a few streets away, not wanting his car to be thrown up on, or trashed, or have someone stupid ruin it for 'fun'. Stuffing his numb hands in his pockets, he paced along the pavement, hesitating as he reached the correct place. Was he sure he wanted to go in? After all, he didn't even know if Gerard was there for sure.
To his disappointment, he spotted Bert's car not so far away, giving Frank another persuasive possiblity that his friend was there. "Great..." He breathed, speed walking in to the building. Immediately, he was smacked with the smell of cheap beer, sweat, unhealthy food and other things he'd rather not mention. It looked like the perfect place to be screwed. Reluctantly, he carried on, pushing his way through the crowd until he came to a bigger opening, the kitchen. It was better than the cramped hall way. He knew it was no use to try to call out Gerard's name. He was surprised he could hear his own thoughts over the music, the loud sounds making his head pound. He'd only been in there less than five minutes and he already wished to leave.
Sighing, Frank turned back around, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. Everywhere he looked, there was some sort of couple making out, or someone being plain idiotic.
Deciding to go to the bathroom because the whole atmosphere was making him feel nauseous, he squeezed past people, hurrying up the damn stairs, still dodging various couples. It was unfamiliar, so really, he had no idea where he was going. Either way, he was going to empty the contents of his stomach one way or another. Whether it was all over the stairs or the floor, he didn't particularly care too much. There were bound to be more people doing the exact same thing. Only difference was, Frank had the decency to attempt to get to the bathroom.
As he walked past the bedrooms, luckily something caught his eye. A familiar red tie, black dishevelled hair and pale skin. Though, when he got a better look, he wished it wasn't his friend. It had been unexpected when he stormed in through the open door, scowling angrily at a drunken Bert that was leaning over a very wasted Gerard, who was unconscious, head rolled to the side, a beer bottle held loosely in his fingers while he had Bert's hand on his inner thigh, creeping higher and higher.
It was disgusting.
Bert was taking clear advantage of someone.
Someone unaware and passed out in a chair.
"Get away from him." Frank growled, fists clenched by his side. In his mind, he was asking rather politely, given the current predicament. To his small fortune, the music was that bit quieter upstairs, so Bert was able to hear him well enough, seeing as Frank was close to screaming.
The black haired boy appeared to have heard him, somehow, too because his eyes fluttered open lazily, struggling to focus on anyone properly. "Oh, hey, Frankie." He giggled, hand clutching the bottle tightly, bringing the drink to his chapped lips. He had failed to keep the promise to himself and the guitarist, but at that point he didn't care. The amber liquid was fogging his mind and burning his throat. That was enough for him. He seemed unaware of the man beside him as he tossed his head back, downing the rest. When finished, he coughed, dropping he bottle on the floor next to him, his body going limp again as he gradually passed out.
Bert chuckled weirdly, standing up straight, ignoring the words Frank had spoke previously. "What do you want?" He slurred in a bark, raising his eyebrows as he trudged unsteadily over to Frank, nearly tripping over.
Feeling suddenly intimidated, Frank stepped back one, though stayed in the room, glaring at Bert with a hatred so pure it would have killed him if Frank had it his way. With out thinking too much about it because he would have had half the brain to stop himself, Frank brought his hand back before throwing it at Bert's face, punching him square in the face, nose starting to bleed. The singer from The Used gaped at the guitarist, bringing a hand up to catch the blood pouring from his nose. "Bastard." He grunted, eyes widened a little, he had underestimated what Frank would do.
"And yet I'm still a better fucking man than you." Frank retorted, crossing his arms over his chest before kicking the door frame with the side of his foot. He didn't know what to do, a part from stand there at the scene, glaring at Bert, who was beginning to walk off in to the joining bathroom of the bedroom, muttering profanities under his breath - ones aimed directly at the guitarist.
Running his fingers through his hair, Frank shot a quick glance at Bert, then walked over to Gerard, who was still sat in the chair, completely oblivious as to what was happening around him. He had been doing well. Now, he had broken his promise and let, not only himself, but Frank and Mikey down. "You were supposed to get better, Gee..." He murmured, crouching down so he could look up at Gerard. The singer was barely awake, not processing entirely what anyone was saying, or what was going on. Knowing Gerard could listen to at least some of it, Frank began rambling on, getting a little more of his pent up emotions out, while Bert was still attending to his bloody nose. "You were supposed to stay away and you were supposed to get better. You were supposed to change."
A deep breath escaped Gerard's lips, his eyes slowly focusing on the guitarist. He wanted to talk, to answer back, although, his mouth wouldn't move, his voice wouldn't work and all he could do was stare hopelessly back at Frank.
Bert trudged back in to the bedroom, raising his eyebrows at Frank. "I think you're being a bit rude."
"Excuse me?"
"You don't come in a room before knocking." He pointed to the hall, gesturing for Frank to get a move on and leave. "Bye, bye."
Frank was seemingly lost for words, mouth opening and closing, yet no words came out, no confidence arose in him to shoot back. What could he do anyway? It wasn't like he could carry Gerard out. Though, the more he stood and thought about it, the fonder he became of the idea - it was better than leaving him there, defenceless, so Bert could use him for what he pleased. "No." Frank gritted, clenched his fists by his sides, shoving Bert out of the way as he went over to Gerard, Bert stumbling back in the process. "Gee?" The guitarist said, gently shaking the singer's shoulder, hoping Gerard's mind was clear enough to walk, or carry on a conversation and respond accordingly. "Gee, come on, you need to get up." Frank told him, louder this time, competing with the volume of the music. Sighing, he hooked his arms under Gerard's, helping him out of the chair so he could move. Ignoring Bert's drunken, lousy protests, Frank draped Gerard's arm over his shoulders, practically carrying him out. They made it to the top of the stairs, then the guitarist started to doubt how much strength and balance he had for the two of them.
Finally, after many breaks on the stairs case, they managed to duck past people, avoid getting thrown up on and to the car safely. Just as Frank yanked the car door open for him, the black haired boy took a sharp breath, stepping back, pushing Frank away from him as he doubled over. Clutching his torso, he collapsed to his knees on the pavement, emptying the little contents of his stomach. Arching his eyebrows sadly, Frank stood beside his friend, placing a hand on his back, a silent way of telling him, somehow, it was going to be okay.
At some point, it was all going to be okay.
Luckily, they had lost Bert back there. He hadn't seemed to have cared enough to even bother to try and chase them down. For that, Frank was thankful.
Gerard let out a choked sob, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his dirty jacket, feeling overwhelmingly ashamed of himself. He closed his eyes, wanting the dreading feeling to disappear, his mind fading in and out of consciousness, nearly falling asleep every second. He felt two arms wrap around him, pulling him up off of the ground. Sighing heavily, he rested his head on their shoulder, grateful for the assistance - he needed it.
Frank helped his friend up, trying to be as gentle as he possibly could be. Right then, he just wanted to get the hell out of there. After allowing Gerard to lie down on the back seats of the car, somewhat hesitantly, he climbed in himself, smacking the steering wheel out of frustration as soon as he was sat down. Ignoring the law, he didn't bother with his seatbelt and drove off, escaping the horrible atmosphere of the party. Gerard looked fine in the back, even when Frank drove over the speed bumps, he remained asleep.
~
"Where did you find him?" Mikey asked curiously, scratching the back of his head anxiously, thanking God to high heaven that Frank had brought his brother back home.
"Some party." Frank mumbled, not taking his eyes off of the back haired boy's limp form. "It looks worse this time, Mikes." He sighed, holding his head in his hands, elbows digging in to the hard surface of the table.
"What do you mean?" The younger Way brother questioned. Eyebrows furrowing together, he sat down opposite Frank, a serious expression on his face as his mind raced with all possible outcomes. "What do you mean worse?" He repeated once Frank hadn't replied in a couple of minutes.
"It means..." Frank sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "It means... This is more than just alcohol. He-he... He coughed up blood Mikey, I saw. He tried to hide it once, but I saw it." He trailed off, glancing at the black haired boy, then staring back at the table, tracing the cracks in the wood with his eyes, refusing to meet Mikey's gaze.
The bassist let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in and slouched back in the chair. "Well..." He stopped, not knowing at all what to say. Not knowing at all what to do, how to act, where to go, where to look, what the hell to say next. Except: "do you think he needs professional help? A therapist?" He added after receiving a confused look from Frank.
The guitarist raised his eyebrows, "a therapist?" He whispered, suddenly listening intently to what Mikey had to say. "That's-that's... He wouldn't in a million years agree to see a therapist."
Nodding, he sighed, scratching his fingers through his hair. "I know... But what else can we do?"