Let Art Be Our Weapon: Frerard/Killjoys Epic

I Promise You I'm Not Okay

          There's no doubt about it. I know exactly what day it is. It's August 3rd, Grace-Jeanette's 12th birthday. I don't even know if she's alive right now and if she is, she might now even realize it's her birthday. I can't bear with myself that much more. I lost Grace-Jeanette and I lost Frank. Mikey hasn't talked to me since I told him to leave. I'm the one alone. I can't bear to live anymore. I sleep in my little closet and I eat in the diner late when no one else is around but I haven't had the strength to go to the diner in two days. I've just been drinking and ingesting pills, taking more than I should and probably border lining overdosing. But I don't care. It's her fucking birthday and she can't celebrate it because of me.
I have never hated myself more than I do right now. Maybe it's because my tolerance is now taking a toll on me. I can't drown out my sorrows anymore. I feel the guilt still gnawing at me and on her birthday, it's ever worse. God, how much has changed in one year. We went on a mission and came back driving all night. We took her to the mailbox and she got to drop off her letters for her parents. One year ago, she was safe with me and now, she's been gone for 5 months. One year ago, I didn't even know Korse was alive or that the Unit was operating again. One year ago Frank and I were still a secret. The others didn't know we were together. One year ago, we were still together and in love. I was with him happy. If only I knew how much was going to change.
I try to stop crying but I can't. The tears come down my face. I miss him so much. I want to go out and find him to tell him I'm sorry and that I still love him but he made it very clear. He's not coming back unless I get better. I don't want to get better but I also want him back. He doesn't know how bad it is and doesn't understand that him not being here is making much wider. But who am I to blame for leading. I neglected him and staying killing him inside. I curl my legs up to my chest and cradle myself. I'm empty without him. He's supposed to be here and hug me. He's supposed to be here with me. I miss him so damn much, his eyes, his smile, the sound of his voice and laugh. It's been so many months since I've seen or heard from him since I've talked to anyone really. I isolate myself and no one really knows I come here. I do this to myself and I hate it. I miss him so much, god damn it.

I try getting up but I'm in so much pain. I've been dreading my life so much that last night I climbed to the roof hoping to stop the pain. I climbed to the top of the roof and threw myself off but I had broken my foot from jumping off the second story. I flailed around on the ground last night trying to cope with the pain. I had to drag myself back to the closet and swallow a hand full of painkillers. It stops the worst of the aching but there was still a sharp sting when I tried standing. Obviously, jumping wouldn't do it because I'm still alive. I need something else. If I were I overdose, I may not take enough and still be alive or I'd take too much and throw it up. My gun's been missing for a while, they still don't trust me to have it back. But.... they forgot about my father's knife. I just need to make it to my locker. I think about then coming back to the closet or going out in the zones but my leg hurts too much that getting to my locker would be a challenge. I wouldn't be able to make it anywhere else. I'll just die there and then it'll be someone else's problem, not mine. I take a few more painkillers and more booze to calm my nerves. It'll be okay, it's almost over. I won't have to deal with this anymore. I won't be suffering.
I hobble out of the room and grit my teeth. My hands ball into fists and I strain to keep myself walking. My foot is most definitely broken but that won't be a problem much longer. With tears in eyes, I make it to the top of stairs but that's as far as I can get. One step down and I topple over. Tumbling down the steps, I hit the bottom hard and sore. Well, I made it down the stairs. I drag myself to my locker and scan my thumb over the pad. It lights up and the door opens. My stuff is all inside. I put on my Dead Pegasus jacket for old time sake. I always loved this jacket, the blue color, and bold stripes. The way the leather fit and molded to my skin. I love this jacket. I grip the locker door and force myself to stand to balance on my good leg. I pick up my mask and run my finger over the old paint. Frank made this for me. I haven't seen him since he left me that night. I doubt it's because he's avoiding me. When I only come out to the rest of the base at the late hours when he's asleep to eat and spend the rest of my days locked away, there is a reason I haven't seen him.
I put the mask on my face. I probably look closer to myself than I have in the last few months. I haven't died my hair since Grace-Jeanette was taken and it's grown out and I've got it cut. Clumps of red hair lie in the closet along with the large, sharp broken glass fragment I used to hack away my hair. It's atrociously uneven and only the tips remain a faded red. I reach for my father's knife and I hold it in my hand. Where?
I could slit my throat but the thought doesn't settle well with me. I could stab myself but I may not hit an organ. I could survive that. And I don't want to survive it. I survive the jump off the roof and that just make everything hurt more. I just want to die, why is it so hard to ask for? I want to end my pain, not create more.
I roll up my sleeve and flick open the blade. Just do it... I find myself become scared. Don't you fucking back out now! I had to drag myself down here and that hurt. Before I can stop myself and get scared I just get it over with. I slash the blade across my wrist. Its sharp edge cuts right now my flesh. Blood instantly pools out and drips over my arm. It's not a deep gash that will kill me in seconds. It's only deep enough to slowly trickle it out. This alone will take a few minutes so I need to cut myself again. I hear someone walk behind me. Fuck.
I toss the blade hastily back in my locker and roll down my sleeve. Ray stands behind me. It's been a while since I've seen him. "Hi, Gerard," he says, taking in my new look. I have my jacket and mask on so he can't see how much I've really changed. How much weight I've lost and how dead I look. He can't see the blood either.
"H-hey," I stutter. I'm slurring from the pills and booze but the anxiety of blood loss it hitting me too. I'm going to pass out soon and that's going raise fucking hell. Granted, it won't my problem. Is it selfish of me to have done this?
Ray comes closer to me and I angle myself to hide my left arm. "I, um, heard about what happened," he says awkwardly. "I know that was four months ago but I haven't seen you since."
"Yeah.." I stutter. I didn't like talking about it still. I'm not over losing Frank. I never will be.
"I'm sorry," he says. "Everything's been really hard since the attack and everything after." I nod listening to him and lean against the lockers. My head's spinning. I can barely keep my balance much longer. "Things will get better and it'll be okay," he says.
"Excuse me?" I spit at him. "Why would you ever dare say that?"
Ray looks confused. "What do you me?"
"Nothing," I scowl. It's not going to be okay. Grace is gone. Frank left me. Mikey hates me. Korse is alive. The base lost almost all the children. It's not going to be okay.
"No, Gerard. Tell me. Tell me honestly what do you mean?" he asks.
"Well if you honestly that's all you had to say," I mumble. Ray looks at me confused. "What will it take to show you that it's not the life it seems? I've told you time and time again you say the words but don't know what it means. You say that you know it's been hard since the attack but you still think things will be better? It's not going to be okay! You don't understand!"
"Hey," he cuts in, "I know it's hard. Don't pretend like you are suffering more than anyone else. I know you hate everything and feel like you lost it all. I can read you like a book."
"You said you read me like a book? Well, the pages on this story are all torn and frayed. You know why you haven't seen me around? It's because I lock myself away so I don't have to deal with anyone, whether it's sympathy or dirty looks."
"Well forget about the dirty looks then! I hate seeing you like this. We miss you, dammit. You wear us out. We're stressing over you." I shake my head. He's wrong. They don't want to see me. I made Mikey cry and Frank hates me by now. He's got to. I've made him miserable. "Please, Gerard. Just come back," he says.
It's too late to come back now, I feel my arms gushing by now. I can barely hold myself up and I need to lean on the lockers to keep myself standing. I can't come back now, it's too late but the thing is I don't care. I got what I deserve, the ending of my life. "Have you heard the news I'm dead?" I whisper.
"What?" Ray asks. I don't know if he's saying what because he didn't hear me or because he did but doesn't understand why I said it. My vision pulses around. I don't want him to save me, or anyone to but at this point, he can't. My back slides against the rows of lockers and I fall over on the ground. "Gerard!" he calls out, trying to catch me. He grabs my arms but all the blood makes it slick and I slip out of his grasp. He screams out between terrified and in shock. He notices the puddle that accumulated on the floor from my arms dripping when I was standing."WHAT DID YOU DO?"
"Well, I'm not okay! I never want to let you down or have you go, it's better off this way. I held you close as we both shook for the last time take a good hard look! I'm really not okay. I'm not o-fucking-kay!" My speech becomes messier and I have a harder time keeping my eyes open.
I feel him desperately trying to stop the bleeding but I'm sure it's already too late. "Why would you do this, you're going to die now!" he says.
"Then I'm okay now. I'm okay," I stutter.
"Why would you do this to yourself? Why would you leave us?" he cries. I close my eyes but he shakes me around. "Stay with me, Gerard. Don't you fucking leave us!"
Ray is one of the smartest people I know. He's a brilliant strategist and he is capable of saying things like it is. I know the answer but I want him to say it so he stops helping me. "I'm going to die?" I ask.
He slowly stops applying pressure to my arm and he just sits still holding me. I hear others coming down the stairs, probably because Ray screamed. He lets out a whimpering sob. "Face it, you're never gonna make it."
I close my eyes and feel something similar to sleep take over, not exactly sleep but close to it. I can't tell if it's a good or bad different. "I don't wanna make it, I just wanna..." I fall still.