I'm not okay (frerard and possibly rikey)

chapter 4: pain and parents

Author's note: alrighty, this chapter is gonna have some depressing thoughts and a lot of it's a projection of my early teenage years.

Gerard's POV

"Can you still see the bruise?" I ask Mikey as I finish applying my mom's foundation over the bruise around my eye.

"No, not really," Mikey says.

I stare in the bathroom mirror. After washing the blood of my face and covering the bruise, I look pretty much normal.

Well I mean, not normal, cuz I never look normal, but not like I was repeatedly punched and kicked while lying on the ground behind a school and crying.

The makeup doesn't quite match my inordinately pale skin tone, but it's similar enough to go beyond notice. A lot of the damage was done to my chest anyway. Nothing's broken, I know that, but I'm nervous to see the extent of bruising caused by the pain I suffered through.

"Why do you have to cover it up?" Mikey asks me. "Aren't you gonna tell Mom and Dad?"

I stare at him. "Um. No."

"Why not?"

"When was the last time either of them cared when either of them cared about anything that happened to me?"

Mikey opens his mouth and closes it without saying anything.

"That's what I thought." My gaze rests on my reflection for a few more seconds before I look away. "They'll be home in an hour or so and I'd like to change out of this."

Mikey nods. "Yeah. Me too."

I walk out of the bathroom and into my room and close the door behind me.

There's blood and eyeliner tears on the collar of my shirt. I take off my jacket, throwing onto the floor and I begin to unbutton my shirt.

As I drop my shirt, I'm shocked at the sheer amount of bruising on my ribs and chest. Purple and blue bruises interspersed with blotches of black cover parts of my chest and ribs.

I just got about 4 times uglier.

I take off the rest of my uniform and hate on my body some more before changing in to a pair of black jeans, a nirvana T-shirt and a gray hoodie.

There's the sound of the door opening. That's probably my mom. I ignore the noise and press play on my CD player.

Bullet with Butterfly Wings by Smashing Pumpkins starts playing and I block everything out except the music. I flop down onto my bed and wince as my ribs make contact. Hearing my mother and Mikey's voices from downstairs, I turn the music up louder so it drowns out the background noise.

An hour and a Smashing Pumpkins album later, I can smell pasta sauce and garlic bread from downstairs and Mikey opens my door. "Mom says dinner."

I pause my CD player. "Fine." I climb off my bed and follow him down the stairs and into the dining room.

The sight and smell of pasta, tomato sauce and garlic bread makes me absolutely ravenous. I fucking love pasta and garlic bread. (I was really craving garlic bread and pasta when I wrote this)

"Oh my god, you love pasta!" A voice says in my head.

"Carbs make you fat," another voice warns.

"But garlic bread! Pasta! You love them!" The first voice insists.

"But they'll make you fat!" The second voice counters.

"It's pasta and fucking garlic bread, you have to eat it. And you're bloody hungry." The first voice points out.

"Fine, but then you have to throw it up." The second voice compromises.

"Fine, I'll do it, but shut up," I whisper aloud.

My parents look at me like I'm insane.

"I'm sorry, what?" My father asks.

"Nothing, just..." I tail away. Just what? Talking to yourself? Having a conversation with voices in your head about whether or not to throw up Italian food? Yeah, some how I doubt my parents would understand.

I sound like every teenager, but my parents don't understand me at all. The depression, self harm, suicide. They don't understand and they don't care enough to try to.

As we're eating my mom turns to Mikey. "So how was your day, sweetheart?"

"Ummm, it was fine," Mikey says, "I got switched to Gerard's social class since I was getting 100s on everything."

"Mikey! That's so great!" My mother enthuses, beaming. "Your father and I are so proud of you!"

"We are," my father confirms.

I put down my fork and brace myself. My parents are unable to compliment Mikey without putting me down. Either by saying I'm a disappointment or that I need to be a better example for him.

"Gerard, how are your grades?" My mother asks me.

Um.

Well.

Shit.

"Ummm, well, I-"

The phone ringing cuts me off mid sentence.

My mother practically runs to the phone. "I'm expecting a call from work." She says, picking up the phone. "Oh, hello, Miss Baker. Yes, I heard. Oh? What did he do this time?"

Yay. Miss Baker is my social teacher. I'm almost positive they're talking about me and that believe is increased by the look my mother gives me before she continues.

"Really? The last four? All of them?" She looks horrified and after a few minutes she puts the phone down and hangs up.

"Gerard." Her voice quiet, which is pretty odd as most of the time she talks to me she's yelling. "Did you really FAIL your last four tests in social?"

I bite my lip. "Yeah, but-"

"And you swore at your teacher?" My mother says, cutting across me.

"Yeah, okay, but that was an accident! Okay? It slipped out! I didn't mean to!"

"You swore at your teacher?" My father echoes.

"Yes, I just said that, but it was an accident!" I say, my voice gradually getting louder. (Then God's revolver and twice as shiny- okay, I'll stop)

My mother glares at me. "Go to your room, Gerard."

"Fine!" I stand up and walk out of the room.

"And you're grounded," my father calls from the dining room as I walk up the stairs to my room.