I'll be stuck fixated on one star, when the world is crashing down.

TO MEEEEE :D

I can taste bitter, stale coffee and the starch of a rushed lunch lingers with it on my tongue. My eyes are tired and sore and the screen of my computer seems to pulsate gently against the warmth of my face. It burns holes in my sleep. I keep my breathing quiet.

 "I'm just so angry. All the time," he says. I imagine him rubbing his eyes and then letting his hand drop back to his thigh with a short slapping sound. "And the worst part is I don't even know why. God. I just. I need to know that someone feels. Something."

 I blink slowly and feel my eyelashes brush my cheek. I don't know if I'm supposed to reply so I just keep my mouth shut.

 "Sometimes I get really lonely. You know. I feel so fucking stupid saying this. I don't even know you but. It's like being kicked in the gut. Over and over and. I just want someone to tell me they feel like this too. Because I'm not insane. I'm just. Lonely."

 I can't suppress a tired sigh. It must sound like I don't care. Maybe I don't.

"And sometimes I just want to die, like. You know? But then I think. Wow, who would miss me? What's the point if no one even notices?"

 I frown a little. Something shifts in my chest and I straighten in my chair.

 "I mean, who would even care? I've never done anything that. Matters. I've never loved anyone, I've never. No one ever loved me. I don't want this to turn into some kind of fucking pity party, but I. need to say it. I've got all these insecurities and it feels like one day I'm just going to fucking snap and I'll lose control and then. What? What would happen?"

 I imagine him to slide down onto the floor, and bang the back of his head against the wall. Probably not even feeling it. I imagine him to be young, with dark hair and beautiful lips. The drop-kick curve of his jaw leads me down to the pale skin of his neck - probably rough with 4am stubble - and to the fabric of his shirt. Maybe he isn't wearing one.

 "There would be no one here to stop me, if I wanted to do. I don't know. Something stupid. Not even you could stop me. I'm probably talking to myself right now. Not that it matters. I mean, I'll just call again and talk at someone for hours until I can't afford it anymore."

 I want to speak but nothing comes. He sounds like a smoker. A singer, maybe.

 "Now I feel totally stupid and weak. You know I hoped this would make me feel closer to someone, but it really just makes me realise how far away we are from each other. How far away I am from help. I want to give up."

 I feel my mouth open a little but -

 "I think I gave up a long time ago. I stopped believing in myself, I guess. And you know, god. What if there is a god? What if I'm going to hell? What if the way I lived my life is just. Wrong?"

 A pause.

 "I keep asking myself all these stupid questions. It keeps me awake and then I start thinking that maybe I'm driving myself mad. You know? It's hard to even understand that. Why would such a concept even exist? And then. When I am insane, who's gonna be there with me? You?"

 I hear his voice crack with a sad laugh. Then I imagine his pale lips dropping from the bitter smile so fast it's like it was never even there at all. Then maybe he closes his eyes - dark grey - and just listens to himself breathing. Listens to the dull thumping in his chest.

 "It's like I'm already dead."

 There's a pause. Three seconds. I imagine a flash of metal and pressure at his temple. Before I can even breathe the gunshot explodes through the phone and seconds later a flat tone rings through the receiver.

Italy was wonderful, especially Venice. Such an amazing place! But it was really cold, and our bus journey was 22 hours long. Not cool.

I missed you all lots, and here are some photos from the trip :]

Venice is literally the most expensive place on the planet. But the food is gorgeous!

Some guy was standing up in a gondola, singing. And he fell out into the water. Very funny.

Although the water is disgusting, so I do feel a bit sorry for him!

 

Anyway. I'll post a few more photos in the next few days, and I'll catch up with everyone and everything as soon as I can.

Love you all x

This is driving me insane. Why, when I most need it, can I not write? Or draw? Or take a decent photograph? I’m not fishing for compliments here; I just need to say something. It’s just as well I never joked myself into the fucking delusion that I’d be able to do any of those things for a living.

 

There are thousands of things I want to say, but when it comes to it, none of them seem to really exist. That sounds weird, but its how I feel.

 

I’m not happy with anything I write. It has to be epic and intense and extreme otherwise it’s bullshit. But then it gets old, and its cliché and I cringe at the words, but write them anyway.

 

I don’t feel like I’m good at any of this anymore. I thought that maybe after stuff at college cooled down a bit; I’d be able to focus on writing. But I’ve tried and tried and nothing is working. It’s gone beyond writer’s block now. It’s like the creativity has just…gone. What happens when I give up? Will that be it? The thing I love most just thrown away.

 

But to add to this I don’t even feel like I’m part of my own body. If you can picture that, just for a second…it doesn’t feel like I just wrote all those lines, it’s like I can’t remember ever being anywhere, properly. Like I’m floating above myself in some fucking dream world. I get so lost in books and films and just…thoughts that nothing else really matters, as long as I have that place where anything is possible.

 

A boy I know was in a car accident at the weekend, and now he’s in intensive care, maybe paralysed. But I don’t feel anything for him. That’s fucking awful, I know. But I can’t help it. As I said, right now, somehow nothing else matters.

 

These feelings of detachment make me want to write, but oh, hey. I can’t.

 

Nothing that’s good enough for you guys, anyway. I consider you to be my most important audience, so you’ll be disappointed to know that everything I’ve shown you is the best I can do. And I hate it.

 

Yeah, I bet you’re wishing you hadn’t bothered now. I am.

Life was dark.

 

I bite my lip and close my eyes tight as the rush bursts along my veins and crackles like electricity into my head.

 

It was this place. This deep, grey place. The buzzing in my head would keep me awake and I wondered if I was the only one in the world that felt these things.

 

I think I'm drowning…

Asphyxiated…

 

Too many days passed and I didn’t even know if I was breathing. I don’t think I cared. The ceiling grew faces and laughs turned to silent frowns. Disapproval turned to disgust.

 

Is this what life really feels like?

 

I wanna break this spell…
You've created…

 

Thoughts went round and round in my head until I forgot myself. I was nothing but air. Wishful thinking, you might say.

 

Nothing makes any sense. My thoughts are disjointed and everything that made me happy has faded into darkness.

 

I hate everything I do, I hate who I am and I’ve got nothing left to say, but I force it anyway because I feel like I need to.

 

I need your acceptance because without you, I don’t even exist.

 

 

I pretended that I was real, just for a while.

 

You're something beautiful…
A contradiction…

 

“Why don’t you love me?”

 

“Because there’s nothing to love. You’re a hopeless case.”

 

The words cut like blades, but I was so used to the feeling I almost welcomed it.

 

“But I love you…”

 

“Stop saying that. You don’t even know what the word means. Everything you say is just…fucking bullshit.”

 

It was a new feeling, this conflict.

 

I finally had someone else to hate.

I wanna play the game…
I want the friction…

“I’m trying to tell you how I feel.”

He shuffles his feet and his tattered trainers scrape on the pavement like sandpaper. His shoulders hunch and he closes his eyes a little against the cold wind. The air brings folds of dark hair around his face, but he doesn’t push them away.

 

You will be the death of me…
You will be the death of me…

“I want to die where no one can see me.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Like. I don’t want anyone to find me. I want to be eaten by wolves or. Something.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t want you to come to my funeral.”

 

He kisses my fingers, one by one and smiles a slow, beautiful, broken smile.

 

“I won’t.”

 

Bury it…
I won't let you bury it…
I won't let you smother it…
I won't let you murder it…

 

“You’re getting ill.”

 

I swallow again and stare, red-eyed and hateful, at his bare back.

 

“Hey,” I whisper. “I can see your bones.”

 

Our time is running out…
Our time is running out…

All the mirrors are broken, because I can’t stand the sight of myself. He pinned blankets over the windows last night so I don’t know if it’s daytime or not. I’m too far gone. It’s too late.

 

You can't push it underground…
You can't stop it screaming out…

“You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he whispers. Please. Let me go.”

 

I wanted freedom…
Bound and restricted…
I tried to give you up…
But I'm addicted…

“Whatever. I don’t care.” I speak but it feels like there’s ice in my throat. I make sure the ropes are too tight, and I make sure the blindfold is too thick and as I close the door on him I feel a smile fall over my face.

 

“Please. Just let me out,”

 

His poor voice is muffled by the walls and soon it is lost in the flickering crackle of flames.

 

How did it come to this?

Don't start something that I have no fucking time to finish.

There isn’t a day that goes past where I don’t think about him. I close my eyes and remember the course skin of his fingertips, scratchy from where he played his guitar too hard. I almost remember the feeling in my stomach when he laughed, a slight clenching of the muscles, a race of the heart. Yes. Even now, I can almost smell the sweet musky aroma of the skin between his shoulder blades…

 

 I let myself lapse into a reverie, all too aware of the pain that will return when my thoughts are shattered, and I come crashing back to reality at breakneck speed. Sometimes, I want to fall asleep and never wake up. I want to live in my dream world forever where everything is right, and the world isn’t inside-out and my heart doesn’t wrench with every little prickle of hope that comes soaring my way…where I’m with him. And he’s alive.  

 

*

 

“Here’s to…the New York city l-lights. And…here’s to…the sunset…” I hear the words falling from my lips in an alcohol induced slur and cringe inwardly. I hold the bottle of clear liquid up above my head, pointing it wildly towards the window where orange and white and yellow and green and red merge in a whirling mess of colour, staining the backs of my eyes. “And here’s to…the-whoa. Floorboards…god I love the f-fl…” with my nose pushed into the bare wood, I blink back tears and try to sit up again, my head feeling too heavy to lift. “w-what the fuck…”

 

A shrill ringing.

 

“S-stop that.”

 

It’s the phone. Get up.

 

“Nrrghh.”

 

I yank the receiver off the wall and slump down again, straining the wire. A passing thought. Get a cordless phone.

 

“Mm?”

 

“Jess. Jessica. It’s me, David.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Are you sober?”

 

What do you think.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Please promise me you’ll stay in your apartment tonight…don’t wander off again, I don’t want to have to call the cops at fu-”

 

“Why are you calling me?”

 

“Because I’m worried about you. And because I call you every night.”

 

“Yeah well. You don’t have to.”

 

“Go to bed. Please?”

 

“Mm.”

“Go get some sleep.”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

I hang up; or rather throw the phone at the wall until I hit the call button. I know he means well but I just don’t need that right now. I don’t deserve it, in the least.

 

It feels like my joints are full of broken glass every time I move, and the journey to my bed is epic and unnecessarily long. Several things, including the coffee table stand in my way and I can feel the bruises on my shins blossoming already.

 

Crawling under the covers, I feel darkness creep in, pressing down on my eyelids, binding my limbs.

 

I never used to be scared of the dark.

 

*

 

Knock.

 

Knock.

 

It’s too early to be opening my eyes.

 

The air is too cold, the other side of the bed is stiff and un-creased and I feel more lonely than usual.

 

I hit the coffee table again on my way through the apartment.

 

Shinache Headache. Fuckingeverythingache.

 

Pulling the door open, half-closed eyes: “yeah?”

 

“A parcel for a Mrs…Jessica Hunter.”

 

“Miss. It’s Miss…and not…” the FedEx guy doesn’t hear me, but passes over a long, rectangle-shaped package. Oh god. My mother has sent me flat-pack furniture. You know, I bet its fucking shelving.

 

“This is for you…sign here please?”

 

“Umm…I didn’t order anything…” mumble. Stop mumbling at helpful strangers.

 

“Well then, I guess it’s a gift.” Smile. My god, you’re so efficient and happy and it’s so early and I’m so hung-over…

 

The package is half as tall as I am, and slightly wider. It’s impossibly light for anything decent to be hidden there, so I pass it off as…I don’t know what. Air. It’s probably a joke.

 

Or someone sent me anthrax as a birthday present.

 

Whatever it is, I lean it against the wall, noticing the weighty thump it makes against the plaster. As if it weighs a ton.

 

“Okay, have a nice day!”

 

I nod as he takes his clipboard back. “Will do.”

 

Closing the door behind him, it feels suddenly as though someone has clamped their hands over my ears. I can hear a faint whistling, and the room seems to spin. I grab the wall with one hand and blink a few times. It passes as quickly as it comes, and I put it down to having too much gin in my bloodstream. Dizzy moment. Head rush.

 

Turning away from the package and the door, I take a few steps towards the kitchen. But I have to stop. I don’t know why but my body won’t let me go any further.

 

Open it.

 

I turn back and grab the package with both hands, again surprised at how light it feels. I place it on the dining table and scout the edges for a note. Or a name. Finding none, I run my fingers over it for a seam or join in the brown paper that binds it. Impatient, I scrub and scratch at it with my nails until a small rip appears in the top, and I push my fingers inside, tearing the paper from the box.

 

It’s made of heavyweight white cardboard, tied with a red ribbon. Looks expensive. Tearing this off too, I pull the long lid free and peek inside.

 

Meters of soft, black strips of silk meet my eyes, and I drop the lid to the floor with a soft clatter before delving my hands down into it, pulling the strands away and leaving them to float through the air like feather-light ribbons.

 

Frantic and excited, suddenly fuelled by curiosity.

 

I hit something. Dusting away the silk shreds: “what the hell…”

 

It’s a leg. And I almost drop it.

 

But somehow it’s warm and I don’t want to drop it. I want to run my fingers over it and test the smooth, rubbery material under the light.

 

Placing it on the table, I go slower now. An arm. A perfectly-formed hand with large almost square, but delicate fingers. Familiar.  Another leg. A beautifully sculpted, perfectly muscular torso…

 

Someone sent me a mannequin.

 

I stop.

 

I don’t want to see its head. Or it’s face.

 

A thousand questions scream through my mind but before everything else, put it together.

 

My brother has been sick almost ever since I can remember. It’s something I’ve grown up with, something that’s nearly comfortable to me. Our family was tight, and we cared about Gerard as best we could, all the time trying to give him a halfway normal life.

 

When I was ten, we spent Christmas Eve sleeping on the seats of a waiting room in some cold, dreary hospital, surrounded by fake Santas and flashy lights that mad me feel sick, just waiting for Gerard to come out and tell us he was okay. The day after, no one could hide their anxious expressions, mom couldn’t hide her tears, and no one would say a word.

 

I’ll never forget that Christmas.

 

We are three years apart, but it never feels like that. We are the closest brothers, best friends. I can look in his eyes and know what he’s thinking. Know that he’s scared. Know that he’s lonely. And he is the same with me.

 

“Hey, Mikey. Are you asleep?”

 

Suddenly we’re back home in our room, trying to ignore the sounds of our parents fighting. I’m almost fifteen years old, but I feel so much older.

 

My eyes snapped open, but there was nothing to see. A strip of light shined from under the door but it was swallowed by the darkness, leaving me clutching my sheets close to my chest and tucking my toes into the blankets, just in case.

 

“No, are you?”

 

I heard him laugh quietly and shift onto his side so he was facing me.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

I blinked at the gloomy ceiling and took a breath.

 

“I guess.” I always love the way that in total darkness your voice becomes this almost visible being, floating in the air above you as you speak. “Are you?”

 

“Yeah, of course I am.”

 

I don’t know why he lied to me. We both knew what was happening to him, and we both knew he was getting worse, and we both knew our parents couldn’t afford the treatment, and still…

 

“Did that boy beat you up again?” he asked with casual anxiousness. My stomach flipped inside me and for a few seconds I squeezed my eyes shut.

 

“No, I haven’t seen him in school for weeks.” The lies just kept coming, it seemed.

 

“Oh,”

 

And now I think back on it, I almost laugh. That boy was the very one that stole my brother’s heart and mind and entire soul. How things change…

 

“Have you seen Max recently? He misses you.”

 

Gerard sighed and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling too. “Yeah. I kinda miss him but…you know.”

 

“Mm.”

 

Truth was, I didn’t have a fucking clue. I had no problem that my brother liked guys as well as girls, maybe even a little more, but. I didn’t know the workings of a relationship like that. It was violent and messy and a little cathartic, for him anyway. He used to drink a lot to get through it, maybe even do drugs. But hey. That was his call and I trusted him enough to not have to say anything.

 

“Do you think you’ll ever see him again?” I don’t know where the question came from, but it was too late.

 

“Uh, maybe.” He was uncomfortable, I could tell. “But maybe not. I don’t know.”

 

Max had done something a few weeks ago that made Gerard a frantic mess of drinking and smoking and holding up in his basement for days at a time. From what I figured, they hadn’t spoken since.

 

“If you don’t want to talk about it then, that’s cool,” I half whispered.

 

“n-no, it’s fine. I just haven’t…figured stuff out yet.”

 

He fell silent for a few minutes and I almost thought he’d fallen asleep.

 

“…Mikey?”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Do you ever wish I wasn’t your brother?”

 

“…What?” I sat up, propping myself on my elbow. “No way, dude. Of course not.” I stared into the darkness before leaning towards my bedside table and switching the lamp on. “Why would I ever wish that?” squinting from the sudden light, I felt around for my glasses and put them on.

 

“Gerard.”

 

“I’m just…god, it sucks, you know…? All this pressure on you. I wish you didn’t have to…put up with me…”

 

“Hey, listen. Gerard.” He was turned away from me, facing the wall. “Gee…c’mon. You’re the best brother and best friend I’ll ever hope to have. Don’t put yourself out like this…”

 

“…I’m sorry. I. I shouldn’t have said anything. Don’t worry.” A little fear thudded in my heart as I watched him wipe his cheek with the back of his hand.

 

“Gerard…please tell me if something’s wrong…”

 

“…go to sleep, Mikey.”

 

I turned the light off, but stayed awake for hours.

 

*

 

Two days later, mom found my brother unconscious on the bathroom floor, an empty bottle of prescription pills still clasped in his hand. The flashing lights of the ambulance lit up our faces in harsh contrast with the darkness of night, and the neighbours came to watch. When they slammed the doors shut, I remember sinking to the ground and clutching my knees to my chest, unable to breathe.

 

After what felt like days in the emergency room, the doctor said they’d pumped the toxins out of his stomach and he would be fine. I felt tears of relief sting my eyes and ran to the bathroom where I threw up and cried for an hour straight.

 

I don’t think I’ve ever forgiven him for that.

 

When frank came along, it took a while to adjust. It was weird. Plain old fucking weird.

 

And yet, Gerard hadn’t been happier. Ever. They were hardly ever apart that summer, and when they were, Gerard wouldn’t stop talking about him. His test results were getting better and his behaviour was showing it too. No more mood swings, no more drinking. The invigorated, fresh look on his face, the colour in his cheeks, the light in his eyes, they all pointed to one thing. Frank was the person that could save my brother’s life.

 

Just a week ago, when we started getting calls from Gerard’s school saying that he was missing; it was just like the time he tried to kill himself. I felt it all over again. The gripping feeling in my chest, the anxiety eating away at my insides.

 

But then we found out that Frank was with him. And suddenly the worry disappeared, like I somehow knew he was okay. That they were both going to make it.

 

We drove to the hospital in near silence, punctuated by my mother’s mutterings, “I can’t believe this…how could he…?”

 

When we got up to Gerard’s room and I saw Frank, my pulse jumped a little. He looked bad. Really awful. For a second I wondered if I was wrong, and if we were too late. Then my parents started yelling at him and all I could do was watch. His eyes clouded over with regret and fear and he just stood there and took it all. He’d lost a lot of weight and was unhealthily pale; like the ink in his tattoos had just slipped out of his skin. It was almost a whole different person.

 

After they’d gone I was left there with him, and I didn’t know what to do.

 

“I’m sorry.” he said weakly. “You know I am.”

 

I nodded and felt sadness stab at my heart. He meant it.

 

“I’m sorry too. “

 

There was so much left to say, but I knew that wasn’t the time. So I looked down and just walked away, leaving him on his own.

 

He was broken, and I knew it. But he wasn't mine to fix.

The bus engine groaned as it took me away from the hospital, a dull roaring in the back of my head. It was raining again and torrents of grey water gushed down the glass, blurring the dark world beyond and making the streetlamps burst with painfully bright light. It felt like everything around me had splintered into a million pieces, and later I knew I would be angry but at that moment, there was nothing. I was still biting my nails, only knowing to stop they were smeared with the orange-brown stain of blood. 

 

I felt sick.

 

I was shaking.

 

There was a weight on my chest and I just couldn’t fucking breathe-

 

The bus lurched to a stop and nausea rose in my throat. I stood up and stumbled to the front, muttering thanks to the driver before stepping out in to the rain. I could walk from here. And I needed the air.

 

I wasn’t glad to be back in this town. The sight of grand houses and iron gates didn’t entice a flutter of reassurance in my stomach, it made me pull my hood up and shove my hands into my pockets, staring down at the sidewalk as I watched my feet fall one in front of the other. The smell of industry and pollution was washed from the air into the gutter in streams of murky water, collecting in puddles that splashed over my Etnies and soaked into my jeans.

 

I passed the route I used to take to my old high school, but didn’t feel like reminiscing. It just made everything hurt so much more. I wanted to be back inside the cage of my bedroom where I could bury my face in a pillow and scream until my throat got sore. Where no one would care. No one would ask me if I was okay. No one would worry.

 

Cars driven by washed-out office workers rushed past on the wet streets, hurrying to get home to their TV dinners and whiny kids and matching kitchen sets and American Dream lifestyles. They’re in the wrong fucking town for that shit.

 

I almost laughed. 

 

At least half an hour had passed, and the rain had soaked through my hoodie and jeans by the time I reached my front door. But I didn’t feel the cold.

 

All the lights were off and my parents’ cars were gone from the driveway. At least I wouldn’t be disturbed. There was a key under the doormat and I let myself in to the cold, dark house.

 

I didn’t bother with lights as I staggered to the kitchen and threw my hoodie onto the breakfast table. There was note on the fridge.

 

Frank,

If you come home for your holiday we’ve gone skiing with your aunt Christina. We’ll be gone for a month, and will be back before the end of February.

Don’t have any parties.

Love, mom.

 

Ps. Your father is still angry.

 

A little relief spread through me at the thought of being alone for so long. I had almost two months to wallow in misery before I would have to move out and get a job and try my fucking hardest to get my life back.

 

The answer phone was beeping in the hall. I listened to the messages. Mom’s hairdresser. Someone from my father’s business. Mom. “Frank, where the hell are you?” and again. “Frank, if you come home and get this, can you call us?”

 

I figured it would be about me running away with Gerard and us assaulting, or nearly killing a motel owner.

 

In that case, it could wait.

 

My hair hung limp and wet in my eyes, and I dripped rainwater all over the floor as I wandered to the gold-framed mirror by the door. I rubbed my eyes a little and wiped the rainwater from my face, turning to see how wet my shirt had got and ignoring how thin I now was.

 

Thankfully there was enough beer in the fridge to get through the night, so I opened a bottle and headed towards the kitchen table, collapsing into a chair and taking a large sip, feeling the liquor fill my empty stomach. There was silence.

 

And that was it. There was nothing left to distract me.

 

There was nothing other to do than just think about it; truly let it all in. And once I started I couldn’t stop. I kept picturing the look on Gerard’s face, kept feeling the crushing in my lungs, the burning in my stomach. Over and over and fucking over. I’m sorry.

 

I drained half the bottle and slammed it down too hard.

 

That second of realisation that brought everything to a grinding halt was replaying in my head, all the colours too bright, all the sounds too loud. It was the perfect nightmare. The ultimate fear.

 

I finished the bottle. Got another. Wished I had some cigarettes left. Had a shot of vodka. One of gin. Another beer. More gin, this time from the bottle. My throat burned. The hunger was gone, but…

 

It was still there.

 

That moment.

 

Gerard with his hair a tangled mess and eyes like pools of spilt ink. That little shake of his head, the tremble of his perfect lips. Those fucking words. My god, I just didn’t get it. And that made me smile. After everything, I still didn’t get him. He was fucking unpredictable and stupid and irrational and scared and lonely and my entire fucking world and he just didn’t want me anymore. Without him I had nothing. I was nothing. The full strength of it hit me in an agonising wave, and I felt like I was going to drown under the pressure

 

“Fuck!” I threw my beer bottle down in frustration and it slipped to the floor where it smashed, shards sticking up like broken bones. I groaned and kicked the table leg, gritting my teeth together.

 

Burying my face in my hands and closing my eyes, I tried to calm the anger. But it wouldn’t go away. I could see it all; hear it, almost fucking taste it. Those words and the tears and that look…

 

I stood up and pushed everything on the table to the floor, sending a vase hurtling into the tiles. An ear-splitting smash pierced the silence and my thoughts like the boom of thunder. My fingers were shaking as I pushed the hair out of my eyes. The fire still wasn’t gone.

 

Feeling the alcohol inside me flow into my bloodstream, I turned and swung my fist at the wall with a cry of fury.

 

This was unfair.

 

Again and again.

 

I didn’t understand.

 

It was gone.

 

Everything we worked for was lost.

 

What if he didn't make it through Chemo-

 

I fucking loved him-

 

He said he loved me-

 

My whole arm ached to the bone and my knuckles felt like they might explode. The cuts from earlier opened up and left a bloody imprint on the beige paint, and one of them looked like a “G”.

 

Breathing hard, I collapsed back into my chair and gripped the edges of the table to stop the room from tilting so much. A kaleidoscope of colours burst behind my eyes, pulsing and swirling and popping with each beat of my heart.

 

I didn’t notice the tears until I tasted the salt on my lips.

 

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the voices and feeling of falling and spinning in my head.

 

“…I still love you.”

The bus engine groaned as it took me away from the hospital, a dull roaring in the back of my head. It was raining again and torrents of grey water gushed down the glass, blurring the dark world beyond and making the streetlamps burst with painfully bright light. It felt like everything around me had splintered into a million pieces, and later I knew I would be angry but at that moment, there was nothing. I was still biting my nails, only knowing to stop they were smeared with the orange-brown stain of blood. 

 

I felt sick.

 

I was shaking.

 

There was a weight on my chest and I just couldn’t fucking breathe-

 

The bus lurched to a stop and nausea rose in my throat. I stood up and stumbled to the front, muttering thanks to the driver before stepping out in to the rain. I could walk from here. And I needed the air.

 

I wasn’t glad to be back in this town. The sight of grand houses and iron gates didn’t entice a flutter of reassurance in my stomach, it made me pull my hood up and shove my hands into my pockets, staring down at the sidewalk as I watched my feet fall one in front of the other. The smell of industry and pollution was washed from the air into the gutter in streams of murky water, collecting in puddles that splashed over my Etnies and soaked into my jeans.

 

I passed the route I used to take to my old high school, but didn’t feel like reminiscing. It just made everything hurt so much more. I wanted to be back inside the cage of my bedroom where I could bury my face in a pillow and scream until my throat got sore. Where no one would care. No one would ask me if I was okay. No one would worry.

 

Cars driven by washed-out office workers rushed past on the wet streets, hurrying to get home to their TV dinners and whiny kids and matching kitchen sets and American Dream lifestyles. They’re in the wrong fucking town for that shit.

 

I almost laughed. 

 

At least half an hour had passed, and the rain had soaked through my hoodie and jeans by the time I reached my front door. But I didn’t feel the cold.

 

All the lights were off and my parents’ cars were gone from the driveway. At least I wouldn’t be disturbed. There was a key under the doormat and I let myself in to the cold, dark house.

 

I didn’t bother with lights as I staggered to the kitchen and threw my hoodie onto the breakfast table. There was note on the fridge.

 

Frank,

If you come home for your holiday we’ve gone skiing with your aunt Christina. We’ll be gone for a month, and will be back before the end of February.

Don’t have any parties.

Love, mom.

 

Ps. Your father is still angry.

 

A little relief spread through me at the thought of being alone for so long. I had almost two months to wallow in misery before I would have to move out and get a job and try my fucking hardest to get my life back.

 

The answer phone was beeping in the hall. I listened to the messages. Mom’s hairdresser. Someone from my father’s business. Mom. “Frank, where the hell are you?” and again. “Frank, if you come home and get this, can you call us?”

 

I figured it would be about me running away with Gerard and us assaulting, or nearly killing a motel owner.

 

In that case, it could wait.

 

My hair hung limp and wet in my eyes, and I dripped rainwater all over the floor as I wandered to the gold-framed mirror by the door. I rubbed my eyes a little and wiped the rainwater from my face, turning to see how wet my shirt had got and ignoring how thin I now was.

 

Thankfully there was enough beer in the fridge to get through the night, so I opened a bottle and headed towards the kitchen table, collapsing into a chair and taking a large sip, feeling the liquor fill my empty stomach. There was silence.

 

And that was it. There was nothing left to distract me.

 

There was nothing other to do than just think about it; truly let it all in. And once I started I couldn’t stop. I kept picturing the look on Gerard’s face, kept feeling the crushing in my lungs, the burning in my stomach. Over and over and fucking over. I’m sorry.

 

I drained half the bottle and slammed it down too hard.

 

That second of realisation that brought everything to a grinding halt was replaying in my head, all the colours too bright, all the sounds too loud. It was the perfect nightmare. The ultimate fear.

 

I finished the bottle. Got another. Wished I had some cigarettes left. Had a shot of vodka. One of gin. Another beer. More gin, this time from the bottle. My throat burned. The hunger was gone, but…

 

It was still there.

 

That moment.

 

Gerard with his hair a tangled mess and eyes like pools of spilt ink. That little shake of his head, the tremble of his perfect lips. Those fucking words. My god, I just didn’t get it. And that made me smile. After everything, I still didn’t get him. He was fucking unpredictable and stupid and irrational and scared and lonely and my entire fucking world and he just didn’t want me anymore. Without him I had nothing. I was nothing. The full strength of it hit me in an agonising wave, and I felt like I was going to drown under the pressure

 

“Fuck!” I threw my beer bottle down in frustration and it slipped to the floor where it smashed, shards sticking up like broken bones. I groaned and kicked the table leg, gritting my teeth together.

 

Burying my face in my hands and closing my eyes, I tried to calm the anger. But it wouldn’t go away. I could see it all; hear it, almost fucking taste it. Those words and the tears and that look…

 

I stood up and pushed everything on the table to the floor, sending a vase hurtling into the tiles. An ear-splitting smash pierced the silence and my thoughts like the boom of thunder. My fingers were shaking as I pushed the hair out of my eyes. The fire still wasn’t gone.

 

Feeling the alcohol inside me flow into my bloodstream, I turned and swung my fist at the wall with a cry of fury.

 

This was unfair.

 

Again and again.

 

I didn’t understand.

 

I fucking loved him-

 

He said he loved me-

 

My whole arm ached to the bone and my knuckles felt like they might explode. The cuts from earlier opened up and left a bloody imprint on the beige paint, and one of them looked like a “G”.

 

Breathing hard, I collapsed back into my chair and gripped the edges of the table to stop the room from tilting so much. A kaleidoscope of colours burst behind my eyes, pulsing and swirling and popping with each beat of my heart.

 

I didn’t notice the tears until I tasted the salt on my lips.

 

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the voices and feeling of falling and spinning in my head.

 

“…I still love you.”

My hands were shaking and my blood was pumping into my brain twice as fast as it should have been.

 

Please say you still want me. Please don’t let them change your mind…

 

I found the corridor empty, lit by those strange overhead strip lights. The ones that buzzed inside your head in a quiet murmur that is somehow louder than everything else. My footfalls echoed as I paced down to the smaller room, passing the coffee machine, and then damn, just a few steps away from Gerard’s door my stomach was doing back flips and I didn’t think I could speak. But at least his parents weren’t there to scream at me again.

 

I reached his door and peered through the window of meshed glass. He was sitting, cross-legged on his bed just staring at the wall. Somehow he looked so much older, but no less vulnerable. His hands twisted slowly in his lap, short nails and pale fingers tumbling over each other. Artist’s hands, aching for a paintbrush or pencil.

 

His hair was tangled as usual and stuck up at the front and side, no doubt where he’d been anxiously pushing it around, out of his eyes. Rosebud lips pushed gently together in defiance trembled a little, and it took me a few seconds of staring at his crushingly perfect face to realise it was streaked with tears.

 

“Gee…”

 

He couldn’t hear me.

 

I knocked on the door softy and watched as he closed his eyes, frowning a little, as though he was in pain.

 

“Gee, are you…” my voice died in my throat as another tear squeezed past his lashes and plummeted onto his upturned wrist. I tapped on the door again, a little harder. No response. Pushing down on the handle, I felt my stomach suddenly turn heavy. It was locked, and he knew I was there. But he wasn’t…

 

“Gerard? Can you hear me? Gee! Open the door, please?” I said, hearing the sad desperation in my voice and hating it.

 

Gerard hunched his shoulders a little and stared down at his hands.

 

“Gee, please! I came back for you! Please just…” he wiped a tear from his cheek and blinked hard, gazing with blank determination at his bedcover. The one I had shared with him only hours before.

 

I thought of his father and what he might have said to change Gerard’s mind about me. Everything he said would be true, of course but…this wasn’t right. I tried, I really fucking tried to make things good for Gerard. But now…suddenly fire roared inside and I punched the wooden door as hard as I could, somehow hoping to smash it down. I needed to get through to him…why wasn’t he letting me in, why didn’t he understand?

 

Putting my palm flat, I smacked my hand into the window, over and over. “Gerard! Let me in!” I punched it again and felt the skin split a little, the burn across my knuckles so familiar, and yet so different this time. “Please, I love you!” I shouted, voice cracking. I pushed myself against the wood and stared at Gerard’s motionless form, praying he would turn around and smile.

 

What I would give to see that smile again...

 

But then he did turn around, and for a second I felt the flutter of relief in my chest. But only for a second.

 

As if in slow motion he raised his eyes to mine, so big and glassy and full of fear and misery and so many more things that I just wanted to fix, and his lips parted in a silent cry that fractured my heart right in two.

 

Ringing in my ears again. I couldn’t hear my own voice. “Gerard! I lo- I fucking love you!” I tried, shouting over that deafening ringing and hissing inside my head. Chaos and panic and confusion erupted inside me, and hot angry tears spilled over my lashes as he mouthed the words,

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Turning sideways, he slowly slumped down onto the mattress and curled his legs up, like a broken doll.

 

“G-Gerard? Wh…you can’t just…don’t give up! I…you can’t…” I faltered, head spinning. I banged on the door again and he clamped his hands over his ears, arching down into himself, trying to get away.  “Please don’t leave me…” I pleaded, voice now no more than a desperate whisper.

 

“Please…”

I ran the tap and splashed cold water over my face, rubbing my eyes, feeling the sockets of bone under my calloused fingers.

 

There was no sense in it. Gerard said they could fix himand I firmly believed that. So what was making me feel like I was about to plunge headlong over the edge of my sanity? I tried to picture it in my head and sawa ribbon, red. Tying Gerard to me. The further away I was from him, the thinner and more worn the ribbon got. Someone could come along with some big shiny scissors and

 

But hey, that made no sense either.

 

I justdepended on him so much. I needed him with me, to keep things right. I needed him to be okayafter everything, I needed some fucking normality. I needed an excuse to treat him like someone I loved, lusted after, and not have to worry about hurting him, or making him ill. I needed to be there for him all the time, and for us to do all things we ever wanted, without being constantly on edge. Even if his condition was stable, he had at least five months of chemotherapy to get through. And I was no expert, but I knew it wasnt going to be a fucking walk in the park.

 

Frustrated, I pushed my fingers back into my eyes until I saw stars. The dizzy feeling returned and I gripped the edge of the sink, trying to regain some normal vision. Everything was a whirling purple mess of dots and swirls and utter bullshit and I clamped my teeth together hard until it subsided.  

 

Maybe I was just overtired and starving.

 

Feeling a little panicky and nauseous, still in a daze, I made my way outside to the coffee machine in the corridor. A nurse smiled at me with a little look of concern, clutching a clipboard to her chest. I nodded to her glumly and foraged in my pockets from some money. Raising my hand to slot a coin into the machine, I heard a sound that made my stomach flip.

 

"-which way? This one? Which room is it?"

 

It was Gerards mother.

 

My feet frozen to the floor, I turned my heard and watched her appear round the corner, followed quickly by her husband who looked furious, and Mikey, who looked terrified.

 

Her eyes locked with mine and she stopped a few feet away.

 

"What is he doing here." She said quietly, to no one in particular. I tried to find my voice.

 

"Mrs Way, Im so-"

 

"I dont want to hear it. Get out. Now." A deadly venom crawled through her desolate words, chilling me.

 

My heart was suddenly thumping painfully hard and slow. "I'm sorry, I just wa-"

 

"Shut up!" she shouted, slicing the words off in my mouth. "Dont you think youve done enough? Do you understand how worried we were? Just. Just get out!"

 

I didnt think I could move. Mikey was standing on her right, gazing at me with these large, shining dark eyes hidden behind his glasses. His hoodie was too big for him. He was so pale. So much like...

 

"God, Im sorry. I started. I tried, I tried so hard but-"

 

Mikey looked at the floor as his mother cut me off again.

 

"Just leave. And dont think about coming back. Ever." She spat, suddenly pushing past me. Helpless, I stared at her vacant space, feeling as though the walls were closing in, about to crush me. This was happening too fast. I couldnt get a hold on itI looked to Mr Way and saw rage emanating from him like heat.

 

"Did you hear her? Or do I need to remind you again, that youre not welcome here?"

 

"I c-cant leave. Him. He ca-" I stuttered uselessly. Swamped by confusion and panic, I tried to fight back tears.

 

He walked towards me and put his hand on my shoulder, bending close to my ear.

 

"Now listen to me. What you have done over these last few weeks is appalling. We thought he was dead. No phonecalls. No messages. You put us through hell. You have destroyed our family. You have destroyed my son, and whatever precious time he has left. My boy is ruined. His life has been miserable. Because of you. You have to know that this is your. Fault. And god help me, if I ever see your face again you will be very, very sorry. I mean that."

 

I closed my eyes as he moved away; even a little afraid he was going to hit me. Fear thudded in my head, and my heart felt like it was too big for my ribcage.

 

Please. Please let this be a dream.

 

I opened my eyes and looked at Mikey, who was standing awkwardly before me, twisting the sleeves of his hoodie in his long fingers.

 

"Im sorry." I said weakly. "You know I am."

 

He nodded a little and sighed quietly.

 

"Im sorry too."

 

And with that he walked past and just left me there, with ringing in my ears and sharp pains in my lungs. I didnt even have the energy to call out after him. Anxiety flew though me, muddling my thoughts. Suddenly I didnt want to be there anymore. I needed fresh air; I needed to escape, and god, fuck. I needed to cry.

 

I walked down the corridor on shaky legs, not even feeling my feet on the floor. All I could hear was this dull ringing that wouldnt fucking go away. Curling my fingers into tight fists, I bit down on my lip as I jogged down the stairs two at a time. And I didnt stop when I reached the waiting room, just carrying on through, not even noticing if I bashed into people on the way. My vision tunnelled, like a thick black band over the corners of my eyes as the familiar wetness of tears glided over my skin.

 

Breaking through the main doors and out into the parking lot, the frosty wind hit my face and burned my throat. I still didnt stop. More like couldnt stop. Cars flew past in a stream of monotonous fucking colours and shapes. I couldnt breathe. I wanted to be sick but all I could do was walk.

 

"Hey, watch it-!" screeching brakes. My head snapped up and everything focused again, now too sharp. Painful.

 

"Shit. Oh. Sorry dude, I didnt see- " a mumbled mess of words that got lost in the winter wind.

 

"Stupid fucking kid, probably stoned out of your face. I'll hit you next time, I swear-!"

 

The car pulled out just inches away and I could see the driver still shouting bullshit at me in his rear-view mirror.

 

"Yeah well, you probably hit your wife, you motherfucking shithead." I muttered to myself, feeling anger bubble and boil inside.

 

I started walking again, out of the hospital grounds and down the street, but before long the bitter cold gnawed its way through my hoodie and jeans and I was so utterly fucking freezing that I thought my bones would shatter if I took another step. I got to a bus shelter and took a look at the dirt-and-god-knows-what-the-hell-else-covered seats before slumping down onto the ground. I pulled my knees up to my chest and rested my chin on them, letting the cold wind gently buffer my cheeks.

 

I started biting on my lip ring while I let all the thoughts in my head loose. I was confused, and fucking devastated. Angry at myself for letting Gerard down. Angry for not fighting hard enough. Angry forbeing me.

 

A new tear rolled down my cheek, leaving a path of warmth which was quickly swallowed by the icy air. It was followed hastily by another, and then another until I could barely see. Traffic roared past in the street before me, and yet I could still hear these distraught, broken little noises coming with every sob. I tilted my head back and stared up high at the decaying roof, coated with years of graffiti.

 

Maybe they were right.

 

Maybe this was my fault.

 

Maybe without me, Gerard would be happy and relatively healthy and

 

I wasnt trying for him, I was trying for myself. I was being selfish and stupid and arrogant and totally fucking shitty, just like I always had been.

 

I felt worthless and humiliated and that right then I just really wanted his arms around me.

 

That or something to punch. Really hard.

 

*

I thought, and I cried, and I shivered, and I cried some more, and I thought some more and then I cried again until I had firmly hit a brick wall with my emotions. The cold was getting in worse than ever and my legs felt frozen in place again.

 

My fingernails were bitten down so far that they bled, and I could taste it on my lips.

 

I had a cigarette. Last one in the packet.

 

I watched the world go by and I waited until the streetlamps flickered to life. I pushed numb fingers through my hair and rubbed my eyes.

 

I was so fucking tired and so fucking hungry that I wanted to scream. But I couldnt open my mouth.

 

"Honey?"

 

I looked up sharply.

 

"Honey, are you okay?"

 

A woman in grey sweatpants was looking at me with kind worry, the look your mother might give you, standing at the edge of the shelter.

 

"Uh." I cleared my throat. "Yeah. Yeah. Im fine."

 

"Do you need to get home?"

 

Home. Wow. I hadnt even thought of that yet.

 

"Yeah, I do. But. Not, uh. Not yet."

 

"Its cold out here, you might get ill and its getting late," she said with a warm, small smile.

 

"I know. But really. Im okay. Thanks, though."

 

She nodded and walked past; throwing the scarf around her neck that had slipped to her shoulder. She was right. It was cold and late and I really should think about going home. But. That would mean I'd given up, so...

 

I scrambled painfully to my feet and straightened my clothes, dusting off my jeans as I headed back the way I'd come so many hours before. As I walked towards the hospital I felt purposeful, a little desperate. I didn't know what I was expecting, what I'd find when I went back to Gerard's room. Would his parents still be there? Probably.

 

All I did know was that as long as Gerard still wanted me, that was all that fucking mattered.

Just incase you forgot how it ended, the last chapter is here.

I hope you like the starter, it feels so good to be writing this story again :]

 

 

---

 

 

My body hurt all over and for a few seconds, I forgot where I was. But then the surgical smell reached me, mixed with the iron bitterness of dried blood and the familiar musky smell of Gerard’s skin. My eyelids cracked open and light burst through from the blinds above, sending sharp jolts into my head.

 

I tried to sit up, but then remembered Gerard, cuddled protectively in my arms. I didn’t want to wake him but I had to move; my muscles seizing up from being in such an awkward position all night.

 

“Hey. Hey gee…wake up…” I whispered, lips against his forehead. He shifted slowly, frowning and inhaling deeply through his nose before turning onto his side.

 

I struggled over the bar of the bed and sprang lightly onto the tiles, turning back to look at him. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I said, bending down to kiss him on the cheek. A small tired smile pulled at the corners of his lips as he shuffled down into the covers, closing his eyes even tighter.

 

I left the room with my head spinning, feeling as though I was walking in a dream. My muscles were tight and restricting, my feet tingling.

 

Had anything in the last twenty-four hours actually happened?

 

I walked down the corridor and headed towards the restrooms, pushing against the swinging door and screwing my nose up at the smell of bleach and disinfectant. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and stumbled tiredly towards it, touching my face with shaky fingers. My eyes seemed glazed, cloudy even, like there was no one there. Vacant. The usual fire under my skin was gone, replaced by a creeping numbness, some kind of infinite dread. A few hours ago I thought this was all finally over but now, in the cold light of morning, I couldn’t shift the sensation that there would be something else; it almost felt too fucking easy.

 

I knew this wasn’t the end.

 

Give me what I want, give me what I want.

 

Give me a pretty face and smile to match, because without you I’m nothing.

 

I want a reason to be loved and I want something to die for.

 

I want to play with fire and not get burnt.

 

I want to close my eyes and never wake up; I want someone to notice I’ve gone.

 

Give me reality, give me a new mind.

 

I want you and this, and I want everything that goes along with it.

 

I want freedom and I want to be suffocated.

 

I want a blindfold and the breeze in my hair as I run headlong into the traffic.

 

I really want your arms around me as we slowly drown.

 

I want your whispers in my ear to tell me its okay.

 

I want to let go and fall forever. But I want to hit the ground but not know when.

 

I want to be reckless and dangerous and stupid and not have to swallow back the blood.

 

Give me life support.

 

I want today to last forever; I never want to get tired.

 

Give me a hand to hold and lips to kiss.

 

Give me dependence and immortality.

 

I want to know your secrets, everything. I want to know your future so I can set it alight.

 

I want someone who will listen to anything I say. I want attention and I want to be on top of the world.

 

I want to deserve what fate throws at me, and I want to know why.

 

Give me everything you’ve fucking got.

 

I want medication and mutilation.

 

I want the stars at my fingertips and I want to taste the galaxies.

 

I want to crush bone under my toes; I want to feel power in my veins.

 

I want you under my skin and inside my head.

 

Give me rushed apologies and map to lose myself with.

 

Give me dirt and money and sleaze and shock.

 

Give me what its worth.

 

I want hysteria and silence. I want thunder and a six-feet-under sense of humour.

 

I want new beginnings and a way to forget my past.

 

I want to live life backwards. I want you to come with me and never say never.

 

I want to know your desires and I want them to come true.

 

Give me your body.

 

Give me anything.

 

Give me

 

What

 

I

 

Want.

The mornings feel grey and taste of bad choices. I pick my clothes from your floor in silence, just to make it easier. For you.

 

It doesn’t feel like that was me.

 

Was it?

 

I felt like I was floating. No, flying above my body. Watching the way your eyes sparkled and your lips curved at the edges to show such a heart shattering smile.

 

Your heart beating a rhythm I could finally understand…

 

God, I couldn’t hide the happiness…but then…

 

It takes a lot. It takes strength and will power and a stony expression and a clear no.

 

I’m sorry.

 

It takes ignoring your calls and it takes pulling out my hair in frustration because I want to, I really do. More than anything.

And for once, you do too.

And it means a lot but I just don’t feel like this is real.

 

I’ll wake up any second to a cold bed and day filled with crushed hopes.

 

“I want to see you shine, take me up on this?”

 

It takes lies and arguments and heartbreak and I’m not ready for those things.

 

It takes a kiss and a convincing something. And every time I see you it feels like fire.

 

It takes belief in something after death, something to save my life.

 

Do you ever think of me?

 

Do you ever wonder why I shake when you touch me?

 

And why I look at you in that way?

 

At the smoke from your cigarette and how it seems to spiral perfectly from your mouth, and how your laugh is infectious and your smile makes me crumble?

 

I’ve never talked about this before. I can’t believe you are listening so quietly.

Because inside I’m screaming a thousand times over, I love you. I love you.

I fucking love you.

 

I can’t tell if things have got better or if I’ve just stopped caring.

“Come with me. Let’s run away.”

 

A burst of recklessness, a wild unfurling of desires. I don’t care what happens after this.

 

There’s nothing I need here, I’m willing to throw it all away. It’s nothing. Its ashes. And you are the force that sweeps inside me, tearing me into the sky to touch the stars. Leave it all behind.

 

My mind is full of lights and voices, fireworks erupting in a torrent of screams behind my eyes. I need you.

 

“It’s going to be okay. Hold my hand.” A desperate, grasping touch, almost painful, almost too much to handle. Like the smooth lick of a flame. Warm and intense and unforgiving. But a touch that brings excitement and fills me with the raging energy of youth.

 

I know there will be nothing after this. This is not wiping the slate clean; this is smashing the slate into a thousand pieces and burning it to the ground. But what happens next? Tomorrow is word you never use. Yesterday has never touched your lips. But it has touched mine, yesterday has filled my head with sadness and regret that made me shake. Yesterday is a nightmare that never goes away, that lingers and seeps into my blood with every forced smile.

 

It used to feel like I was underwater, constantly drowning, always on the verge of death...being stifled and constricted and suffocated…But now I’m coming up for air. I grasp your hand tighter. This is all I have left.

 

Chemicals erode the floorboards, soaking in like a virus. Spreading, engulfing.

 

Now they know how it feels to be me.

 

The curtains go black with the slick liquid sloshed over them, dripping steadily onto the ornaments below. Children playing on swings, cats wearing clothes. I always hated their warped sense of life.  They never knew happiness. They never knew freedom. Only to recreate it, make it commercial. Something to buy, and own. They have never felt like this.

 

The scent of Phosphorus spirals into the air around us. Of liberation and finality. The inevitable creak and snap and hiss of the world melting at our feet. Please never leave me.

 

There is a faint orange light cast over the universe as we leave, and all I can hear is your breathing and our hurried footfalls on the pavement. The heartbeat of the city.

 

I can smell burning.

just a quick question...

I've got an idea for another story...and I need your opinons.

Would you prefer fan-fiction or just normal fiction?

 

It would work so heart-breakingly well as a fanfic, but I’m just not sure..

 

Please tell me what you think, so I can start writing again!

 

Love.

 

April 9^th 11: 22 pm

 

 People are running, running as fast as they can through the streets, away from the bridge. Sirens roar in the distance and Bob can’t catch his breath.

 

“Guys! Stop, wait!”

 

Quinn is ahead of him, Pete’s arm around his waist pulling him to a stop. They collapse against the window of a clothes store, Quinn holding onto Pete in a death grip. “Oh god, oh god…” he says over and over. Gerard has his back to the group and doesn’t seem to be breathing at all.

 

“He was just there and then; he was gone and…fuck!” Quinn is a wreck, and everyone suddenly realises he and Mikey were closer than they thought.

 

Gerard won’t let himself think about anything other than Frank. Because he can’t let it all in, he cant lose control. Not yet. Bob walks towards him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, listen to me man. I’m so sorry about your brother…I’m sorry…shit…are you okay?” Gerard says nothing, but turns his head towards the sound of breaking glass. Quinn is crying in the background and Pete is trying to comfort him. So much panic, so much chaos and loss, all so fast…

 

“Okay, Gee. We have to get out of here. Listen, we really…we gotta get moving. We can…try another bridge or a tunnel or something, anything. I don’t know but we can’t stay here…it’s not. It’s not safe, okay?” Bob knows he’s talking shit, and he knows Gerard isn’t listening but he can’t think of anything else to do. This is all too fucking much.

 

“He’s dead. He’s fucking dead.” More breaking glass and Gerard starts off across the street to where people are breaking into an electronics store. 

 

“Hey, wait. Where are you going?”

 

“Gerard, wait!” Pete calls. Bob gives Pete a helpless look and runs after Gerard, the camera shaking and wobbling in his hand.

 

“Hey, come on man, what are you doing?” Bob squeezes past a man carrying a TV on his shoulders and pushes his way into the store. “Sorry, excuse me, shit, okay. Excuse me. Gerard?”

 

Bob stops in front of a display television showing a news broadcast. The Brooklyn bridge collapses all over again before his eyes. “Shit…”

 

Another screen shows something in the city, moving between the buildings. Parts of it are illuminated by helicopter searchlights but Bob can’t tell what it is. He reaches up and turns the volume up so he can hear.

 

“-continue now with our breaking news story, from lower Manhattan. We are getting some truly extraordinary live images here in the studio. For those of you just joining us, lower Manhattan is in an absolute state of chaos-”

 

Tanks and other armoured vehicles roll past the store in a torrent of noise and Bob steps outside for a better look. More helicopters circle overhead and suddenly in the darkness between two skyscrapers, Bob sees it. Something huge moving in and out of the lights.

 

“This is a mandatory evacuation!” comes from a vehicle passing by. “We need everyone out of this area, now-!”

 

Bob heads back inside the store to find Gerard, his heart thumping loudly in his chest.

 

“Hey, Gerard? Dude, I think we need to fucking get out of here. Like right fucking now. There's a load of serious shit going down outside.” He’s not listening. He’s throwing packages over his shoulder, looking for something on the shelves.

“Gerard? I’m fucking serious. We need to-” a group of people are gathered around a mounted TV, stolen stereos in their arms, staring, transfixed, at the screen. “…what’s going on?”

 

“-well, the military will not let us get too close, but from what we can see there’s clearly a sizeable mobilisation of troops and equipment and they’re trying to get everyone to leave the area-”

 

Next screen. There it is again, something, whatever it is, moving between buildings. 

 

“-Guess is as good as mine at this point, there appears to be something coming off of it, the ground is covered-

 

Next.

 

“-looks like there’s something falling off of it, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes, it does. There are pieces falling all over the street-”

 

“Oh fucking shit...”

 

They look like dogs…but…they have too many legs. More like giant fucking spiders skating over the street and sidewalks-

 

“-Whatever they are they’re moving, they’re-”

 

They’re jumping. Troops fire at them and one leaps up and-

 

“-oh! Oh my god! It’s-”

 

“Oh, shit…” Bob can hardly believe his eyes. And is about to shout for Gerard again when Pete finds him, Quinn following close behind. Both are almost hysterical.

 

“Dude, we gotta get out of here! Where is he?”

 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him, I don’t know, he wont listen to me, he’s-” Bob follows them through the store. Gerard is on the phone.

 

“Hey, we have to go. Now.” Pete is saying, trying to pull Gerard’s hand from over his free ear. Bob can tell Pete is angry and scared, he has never seen him look like this.

 

“It’s time to leave the electronics store, seriously.” Bob says, helplessly.

 

“Come on man, this is-”

 

“-just stop it, okay?! Stop!” Gerard shouts. He pushes the phone harder to his ear and closes his eyes. Bob can hear the message. It’s Frank.

 

“-please…oh, god. I can’t- I can’t move. Fuck. It hurts, Gee…my…my apartment. It fell. Fell down on me and…I can’t…I’m bleeding and…Gee? Gee can you hear me? Oh god, please…” beep. “To delete this message-” he slams the phone shut and no one says anything for what feels like minutes. There is nothing to say.

 

He walks away, and the group follow.

 

April 9^th 11:47 pm.

 

“I’m coming to get you, okay. Just. Don’t give up. I’m on my way. Call me if. Just call me.” he’s on the phone again.

 

“Gee, I think you should, uh. Think about this.” Pete says, catching up with him. “Frank’s apartment is in Midtown. Which is. That way. And what the fuck else is that way?”

 

“Guys, wait up! Fuck…”

 

“-some horrific shit, okay? You’re walking right towards it.”

 

“Gerard, please. This is. Insane. It already killed Mikey. I’m not letting it kill you too!” Quinn shouts. “We are not going to the middle of the city. We are not.”

 

“No,” Gerard turns. “We’re not. You’re not coming with me.” he points to a side street where a crowd is being escorted by troops in the opposite direction.

 

“Look, there. Go with them. Follow the military, and just get out of here. Okay?” 

 

“Gee…”

 

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

 

Bob turns towards Quinn and Pete. “Guys I think…we should…” Pete rolls his eyes.

 

“Jesus fucking shit.”

 

“Gee, wait up, we’re coming with you!”

 

“Wait! Fuck, man. Don’t make me tackle you!” Bob warns, jogging again, to catch up with Gerard.

 

“Look, just turn around. Get out of the city. I have to do this.”

 

“We’re coming. Okay? So. Shut the hell up and let’s just move.” Pete says.

 

“You don’t have to, I mean-”

 

“Seriously, dude. We’re coming.”

 

Gerard nods before turning on his heel and walking back towards the middle of the city. Bob takes a deep breath.

 

"Okay. Let's go."

We all feel a little crazy when the twenty-four-hour clock has gone back to numbers we understand and we’re still staring away at the screen. Feeling our eyes burning and our backs aching.

 

But if you can’t sleep then there's nothing left to do other than whine about it.

 

My feet are twitching and I’m forgetting how to think. The colours are fading and there’s a song in my head that I’ve never heard. I feel like I should write or draw but all that comes out is I can’t sleep I can’t sleep I can’t fucking sleep. Please kill me. Please shut my brain up, make it stop.

 

Give me peace.

 

Give me tranquillity.

 

Give me a break.

 

Give me a brain bleed.

 

Give me intracranial pressure leading to a load of fucking shit that no one ever wants to see.

 

Give me arterial pulsation.

 

And for fuck’s sake give me hypertension because damn. That just sounds bad-fucking-ass, right?

 

Give me a lasting feeling of disgust.

 

Give me fascination.

 

Give me dirt under my fingernails.

 

Give me grazes on my knees.

 

Give me something to hurt myself with.

 

I always figured it was fine to abuse your body. It’s yours. So fuck it. I’ll stab myself with pins and take drugs until I smell blood. Mine or yours.

 

Give me a heightened perception of the noises in my head.

 

Give me something I haven’t had before.

 

The sky is black, but then it’s been black all day. But I’m not sure what day is anymore. That’s when your eyes open again to the world you want to burn to the ground. And you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and forget how to stand because you’re just so fucked up that nothing works anymore.

 

God, give me the power to shut it all out.

 

Give me a reason to carry on.

 

And the conversations. They are the nearest thing I have to anything. How old are you? Do you have a lad? What are you wearing?

 

I’m wearing your guts, you fucking creep.

 

Give me someone to care about.

 

Give me a chance.

 

Give me life.

 

Goodnight, turn out the lights.

 

What’s that smell?

 

The covers on my bed try to eat me and there are faces at the window. I stare at them and I wish we could have met under better circumstances. Nothing is right, nothing is real. The screen is hurting my insides, sizzling my fucking synapses. How’s that for poetry in motion.

 

Give me artistic licence.

 

Give me a reason to be an asshole and a cheat and a liar.

 

Give me a reason to steal and hurt and not give a fuck.

 

Give me something to make me better.

 

Give me someone that will believe everything they read.

Chapter: 2/?

Warnings: Violence, horror, gore, swearing, sexual situations, character death.

Disclaimer: Not my plot. And..oh yeah. Don't own the characters either. Damn.

Enjoy!

 

---

March 18^th 3:23 pm

 

“Shit, I got the back of your head. Hold on…” the camera, now back in Frank’s hands whirls around to show him and Gerard sitting in the back of a taxi, fingers interlinked, Gerard’s head tilting to rest on Frank’s shoulder.

 

“So, we’re just about to go back to the apartment, for a little private time…” Frank says, smirking. Gerard kisses the top of his head lightly.

 

“We might get some champagne, maybe some-”

 

April 9^th, 10:32 pm

 

There is a slight breeze on the roof of the building, and worried voices can be heard, little pieces of conversation.

 

“…the whole fuckin’ place was shaking, just like…tremors or something…fuck…”

 

“Can anyone see anything?” Mikey asks from where he stands behind Bob. Gerard turns and looks at the camera,

 

“Some party, huh?” he jokes, a worried smile on his face.

 

“Baby, I don’t think we should be up here,” says the girl that Mikey is with.

 

“Its fine,” he tells her with a kiss to her cheek. Quinn tries not to look, and turns his head towards the streets below, just as an explosion shakes through the city again. Someone screams, and Pete and Gerard run to the edge, leaning over to try and get a good view.

 

“What the fuck is happening?” Bob says, running to join them. There is smoke rising from lower Manhattan, and it looks as if a building has collapsed.

 

Another explosion, accompanied by terrified screams.

 

“We shouldn’t be up here,” Gerard says quickly. “It might not be safe, everyone, down to the street, now!”

 

Concrete, then the wooden floor of the apartment, then stairs flash past as they try to get to the bottom of the building. Alarms are ringing all around and the lights flicker on and off as the electricity falters.

 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” Quinn shouts, running after Bob, breaths short and ragged.

 

“Is everyone here?” Gerard shouts, as they burst out onto the street. Hundreds of people are running past them, panicked and terrified.

 

“Has anyone seen Pete?” Bob yells, turning round on the spot to search for him. There are so many people…so much noise…

 

“Pete?” Gerard shouts, standing on his toes and craning his neck to see over the crowds.

 

Bob swings the camera round to show cars speeding down the street between two large buildings, more people running and screaming.

 

Something large falls from the sky and crashes down into the road ahead with a deafening scream of scraping metal. Bob grabs Mikey and dives behind a parked car as the object skids past them, tearing up the asphalt.

 

“Fuck! Oh, shit! What the fuck is that?” Mikey screams, gripping onto Bob’s shirt as tightly as he can. The object comes to a stop, and Bob almost drops the camera. The head of the Statue of Liberty lays before them, broken and charred.

 

“oh my god…oh jesus fucking christ…”

 

He pulls Mikey to his feet and starts to walk towards it, as people begin to crowd around, taking photos, or manically calling their friends. A nearby SUV’s car alarm wails into the night as the damaged engine catches on fire. 

 

“Shit, guys, are you all okay?” Gerard calls as he jogs over to Bob and Mikey. Quinn follows, looking terrified.

 

“Yeah. We’re fine. I don’t know where Pete is though, we have to find him. God…what the fuck is happening here?” Bob replies breathlessly.

 

“Fuck, look!” Quinn shouts, pointing to the street behind Bob. He turns the camera round to see smoke pouring between two buildings, flames licking the sides of them both. Something moves inside the smoke, something far too big to be normal…

 

“Hey, did you guys see that?” he asks, taking a few steps back. Suddenly a skyscraper collapses in on itself, all the windows shattering in a thunderous crash, tons of dust and rubble flying into the street below. It flows towards them like a tidal wave and suddenly people are pushing and shoving their way past, trying to get away.

 

“What the fuck is going on?!” Mikey screams as he stumbles onto the sidewalk, Quinn, Bob and Gerard following to get out of the road as fast as they can. They reach a convenience store, smashing through the glass door and skidding into the shelves and displays as they try to get some cover.

 

“Oh my…shit!” Gerard shouts desperately, grabbing on to Quinn’s arm as the lights flicker out and the building shakes again. Someone is crying behind them.

 

“Oh god…please no…” whispers a woman grasping onto her husband who has a large bleeding cut on his head. More people burst through the doors to get shelter as clouds of plaster dust engulf the whole street, blocking out everything else from view. The lights continue to flash on and off.

 

“Jesus Christ, there are people still out there…” Quinn says, his voice almost cracking. 

 

Things fall from the shelves around them as the store shudders and as Gerard puts his arms over his head, tremors rip through the room. Bottles smash on the floor, sending wine and spirits flowing across the tiles. There is another resounding boom and the windows of the store are blown out, sending shards of broken glass and rolling plumes of debris and smoke in through the massive openings.   

 

The air is impossible to breathe, and immediately people start to cough and choke. Bob drops the camera and puts his hands over his mouth.

 

“Cover your eyes!” Gerard shouts. They crouch together on the floor until everything falls eerily silent outside.

 

“Oh my god…oh my god…ughh…” Mikey can hardly breathe and he feels anxiety and panic rise in his throat.

 

“…is everyone okay?” Quinn asks, getting to his feet. He helps Mikey up and doesn’t let go of his hand. Mikey’s fingers squeeze his so tight that it hurts.

 

Bob picks up the camera and gets up, coughing a little. “We have to find Pete. Now, guys. He might still be out there…” he looks to the others who are shaken and scared.

 

“Okay, Bob’s right…Let’s find him and then we can get the fuck out of here.” Gerard says. The group start moving and he touches Mikey’s shoulder as they walk.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

 

Mikey nods and tightens his grip on Quinn’s hand. Quinn notices the girl that was with him earlier is gone. Lost in the confusion.

 

Outside, the street is coated in dust and rubble, and the streetlamps flash and flare as they struggle to stay bright. Sirens and gunfire can be heard far away, and there are only a few people left wandering towards the noise, hoping for rescue. 

 

“Pete! Hey! I see him!” Mikey calls, dropping Quinn’s hand and rushing over to a figure drifting through the smoke towards them. The camera shakes as the group runs to him.

 

“-didn’t stay to watch, man…fuck…I’ve never seen anything like that before…” his voice is high and he sounds terrified as Bob reaches him. His cheeks are tearstained and he is shaking badly. “Jesus…it was…fuck it was huge…it was…ea-” he collapses against Gerard who has pulled him into a tight hug. The rest of his sentence is lost.  

 

“Hey, dude. Did you see what it was?” Bob asks, steadying the camera on Pete’s face.

 

“Not now, okay?” Quinn says quietly. A little surprise flashes in Pete’s eyes as Quinn stands up for him. They don’t seem like enemies now; they seem like the closest, tightest of friends.

 

“We have to figure out how to get out of here…what’s the quickest way?” Mikey asks the group.

 

“Brooklyn Bridge. It has to be,” Quinn replies.

 

“Yeah…yeah okay.” Mikey replies. He looks around at his friends, feeling numb. “Is everyone okay to start walking?”

 

Pete frees himself from Gerard’s grip and wipes his face on the back of his sleeve. “Let’s go.” He says decidedly, shaking dust out of his hair.

 

They set off along the streets towards the bridge, following the crowds of confused, scared people, walking in almost complete silence. They can still hear gunfire and the howling of sirens in the distance, although it doesn’t sound real.

 

After ten minutes of walking, the group reach the bridge. It is packed with people, crushed together, pushing each other to get across. Helicopters circle overhead, searchlights flashing over the crowds. Armed soldiers try to assist but their efforts get caught up in the panic, and they have to scream over the noise. “Calm down sir! Just keep walking! You have to keep moving!”

 

“This is too fucking much,” Bob murmurs as he gets jostled by people on all sides. Gerard walks in front of him, but suddenly stops, digging in his pocket.

 

“Dude, move, you can’t just stop,” Bob calls. Gerard turns around and heads towards the railings, out of the way of the stream of people. Bob grabs Pete and follows him, pushing through the crowd. Quinn joins them a few seconds later, looking confused.

 

Gerard has his cell phone pressed to his ear, his face creased in concentration.

 

“Mikey!” Quinn suddenly shouts, realising that he isn’t with them. He turns and scans the crowd, feeling more panicked by the second. He sees Mikey a few meters away, turned towards his friends, shouting something that Quinn can’t hear.

 

“Mikey! Come back! You have to wait!” he hops onto a railing and shakes his head at Quinn. He can’t hear either. People shove past him, and Quinn can see him apologising to every one of them.

 

“Mikey! Come here!”

 

Bob turns towards Gerard who is still on the phone.

 

“Frank? Frank can you…what? What do you mean you’re hurt?! Where are…hello?” he looks quickly at the screen, which is black. Dead battery.

 

“Fuck!” he shouts, looking up. He seems suddenly terrified.

 

Bob turns back towards Mikey, and sees Quinn fighting slowly through the crowd towards him. He suddenly feels tremors under his feet and a few people fall as the bridge shakes and trembles precariously.

 

“Mikey!” it’s a strangled scream that tears from Quinn’s throat as he watches something huge crash down over the crowds and hit the bridge, shattering the concrete with a deafening blast.

 

 “Mikey! No!” this time Gerard shouts, fear in his eyes as the thick wires holding the bridge together snap like whipcords, flailing through the air.

 

“Fuck! Guys come on! Move!” Pete is yelling, dragging Gerard and Bob backwards. “Quinn!”

 

He is lost in the crowd, fighting his way back to his friends as the main part of the bridge collapses, crashing down into the water below.

 

Mikey is gone.

 

Gerard is too scared to speak, but let’s himself be pulled back towards safety, terror showing clearly in his features. He thinks he can hear Mikey calling him over the chaos of noise, but knows it’s impossible. Bob catches Quinn’s hand and pulls him roughly through a group of people, putting his arm around his frail shoulders, telling him it’s going to be alright. They don’t stop fighting forwards until they reach the stable surface of the street, screams still ringing in their ears.