frerard oneshots

what i've done

this ones gonna be triggering.

i cant deal with myself anymore.

murderscene!gee
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pill after pill, it didn't go away.

all the memories, pictures he had around his room, all flushed down the fucking toilet.

to sum it up gerard wasn't good enough. frank didn't want him anymore.

gerard thought frank was a piece of shit. frank left him.
"dont let them put ideas into your head," frank said to gee. "its us against the world."

gerard felt like he could throwup.
it was probably the two bottles worth of pills he swallowed, but it wasnt enough.

he wasnt going to throw them up this time. or at least this time, frank couldnt force him to.

gerard went to the drawer beside his bed, where he opened a small box.

blades.

he took one that he used to use for cocaine before he got clean, but, he might as well to put them to good use.

he made sure his brother went to the store with his family before doing anything, he could barely walk he was so dizzy.

he almost wanted to call frank, but he couldnt this time. he wasnt going to let frank know how much he needed him.
he wasnt going to tell frank that this time it really fucking hurt, that he couldnt handle being alone anymore, but frank didnt care. if he left, he obviously didnt care.

"fuck," gee said as he stumbled into a wall then back to his bedroom, eventually into the bathroom connected to it.

he had everything all laid out, blades, pills, and the classic; jack daniels.

he made little cuts across his arms again just like he used to, before frank used to kiss his wrists every time he saw one of gees scars.
he began to cry, he sobbed and sobbed until he fucking choked, frank had no idea how much pain he caused.

he took gulps of alchohol as he made scars on his wrist. it wasnt going to get better. there was no tomorrow after today. there was nothing after today.
he wasnt going to live after these next few scars.

he began to cut deeper, it used to hurt like a bitch, but so did the pain that gerard felt. he couldnt handle it anymore.

he shouldnt be alive.
frank would be happier.

he decided to take one last giant gulp of jack, then he made one, diagonal, deep, cut across his forearm.

his arm began gushing blood, he was dying this time. he craved to be so close. he did the same thing again on his other forearm and his vision began to blur, he couldnt see.
he stumbled backwards, he slipped on the bathmat and his head banged against the edge of the tub.

he let himself bleed. bleed, bleed, bleed.

he wasnt sorry for it this time.
because this time he was finally dead.