Alternative Ending

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And then I saw him, and just as soon as that I came to wish that I hadn't: because racing towards the unmissable bright red hair or my asshole of a boyfriend, only brought the reality that he wasn't a liar, not this time, anyway.

He lay still on the floor, not breathing by sight and I couldn't bring myself to really check: the empty box of pills beside him were evidence enough and the torn up bit of notebook paper he scribbled what I could only deem to be his note lay beside him as the only thing left of Gerard Way.

And it took me minutes of standing there in the silence that just didn't make this feel real at all, as I couldn't even bring myself to cry: everything just stopped and I just stood there helpless and hoping that this was all a messed up joke, and that he'd get up and laugh at me.

But he didn't, and he never would, and in acceptance of that, I leaned down to pick up the note, only to read the words scribbled in oversized handwriting across the page: 'Haha go fuck yourself you fucking emos like I was going to do this shit. Happy April Fools Day, dipshits.'

And, then, for the first time that day, I started crying.

But from then on, I don't think I ever stopped.

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