'Gerard? Gee? Dude, wake up!' I could feel someone shaking me and opened my eyes to see my brother, looking annoyed. 'You can go back to sleep on the plane. Come on.'

The plane. Right. We were at JFK, waiting to board our plane to London. Or was it Los Angeles? I had forgotten so I looked down at my ticket. Yup, London. I was so fucking tired, only having finished a live appearance on TRL a few hours ago. And now it was too early in the morning and I was not looking forward to getting on this flight. The last one to the UK had been so crowded and the label wasn't willing to pay for business class so we had to huddle up in economy, falling asleep on each other, waking up achy and in a pissy mood. Whatever, I thought, this was my life now.

And considering that six months ago I was at this very same airport, stoned out of my mind, leaving for Japan and thinking that I would never return because I would die there, my life was pretty sweet these days. Because I had returned, barely alive but eager to get sober, get help, thinking about the person I loved. The person who loved me back. Lana. Who I had called to say goodbye, convinced that I would never see her again and who had finally, after so long, said those three words, leaving me speechless, too scared to say them back although I had felt it. Then a few days later in my hotel room, the fact that I still had to say them back to her, had kept me alive. Had kept me from swallowing those 30 sleeping pills I had lined up in front of me so neatly.

I had called a therapist, scheduling an appointment, the minute we had arrived back in New York. I stopped drinking, I threw away the drugs, I went through cold turkey, sweating, throwing up, shaking, thinking, this must be what Lana had felt like all this time. Now after everything I had done to hurt her, I deserved to go through this. It was my punishment and I accepted it. And after all, she had pulled through. I could do this too.

17 days later, my head was as clear as a summer sky and although I could still feel the physical consequences of all those things I had done to my body, I was improving steadily. Despite being in the middle of touring, we didn't cancel. Despite being surrounded by alcohol and drugs as usual, I didn't give in. Yes, I was smoking more, drinking ridiculous amounts of coffee but it was all I needed. The guys made an effort not to get totally wasted in front of me but I had no problem with them drinking their beers on the bus or backstage. Yes, we had a bus now. There had been a lot of changes. Matt had left and our old friend Bob Bryar had taken over for him as our new drummer.

And now, we were on our way to Europe. Starting our tour in Bristol and playing ten shows in the UK before moving to the mainland for a couple more in other cities. Including Paris.

Ray seemed to read my thoughts. 'Are you gonna visit Lana this time?' he asked and I sighed, pretending to watch the safety instructions. 'We have three days off in Paris.'

'I haven't talked to her in months. I'm not sure she wants to see me.' I finally answered.

'I'm sure she wants to. Don't be a coward, Gerard.' he was right, of course. I was a coward.

Deep down I knew I couldn't make things right, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I wanted to. I couldn't turn back time. But I wanted to tell her in person. Tell her the reason why I was still alive. Say it back.

*

'Au revoir, Mademoiselle Lana, see you next time!' Colette waved and I smiled, waving back before closing the door. I watched through the window as she got into the car with her mother, making sure she was safe.

I remembered how annoyed my own mother used to be whenever she had to pick me up from ballet class because my father didn't have time. These days she would just send a driver but these days, she was still in New York and I was in Paris, living by myself.

It was great being back and although I missed New York, it had been easy to pick up where I had left. My friends were happy to reconnect, well, most of them anyway and I had been able to move into our old apartment in Passy. Although it was way too big and over the top for just me, I liked it there. The ballet school I used to dance at had been looking for a teacher and my former one, Madame Bonnet, had hired me on the spot. Actually, she had cried, whispering 'Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!' over and over again, squeezing my hand. She had told me the angels had sent me and I had laughed, remembering Elena saying the same thing to me, back when we had first met.

Elena. I still thought about her a lot, wondering where exactly she was and if she was disappointed in me. Disappointed that I couldn't take care of Gerard. I knew it wasn't my fault and I knew he didn't blame me for leaving but I still felt guilty, although it had been the only sensible thing to do. I had kept him from seeing that he had to take care of himself first. And ultimately, that's what I had to do too. But now that it had been six months since I had last heard from him, the pain in my chest was worsening again. The last time we had talked, before he had left to go to Japan, I had told him I loved him. Mainly because I could sense that he was about to do something stupid, that he was about to give up for good and I had wanted him to know. Also, because it had been the truth and he deserved to know.

At least I knew he was still alive, thanks to the internet. They were getting more and more popular and successful now and I prayed that he was handling it well, that maybe, now that he had to deliver, had to work harder than ever before, getting hammered every night wasn't an option anymore. Of course I was tempted to type his name into google, find out what exactly he was up to, look at pictures of him to see if he had gotten worse. But I couldn't. I couldn't do this to myself. Not now, not when I was doing so well. That didn't change the fact that I secretly hoped he would call again one day. That maybe, there was a chance that we could see each other again. And most importantly, that he would get over his issues and be happy, healthy, finally able to see that he deserved it.

I was still in remission, seeing my doctor here in Paris once a month to make sure it stayed that way. My strength had come back and a lot of it had to do with the kids I was teaching. Actually, I had surprised myself, since I had never imagined myself to be working with children. Especially after the cancer, knowing that I could never have my own. There was just something peaceful in watching them dance around in their little tutus, already so graceful but still full of mischief and curiosity. Had I ever been like that? As far as I could remember, I had always been a very serious child. Now all I wanted to do was to dance and jump with the kids, their laughter brightening my days, soaking up the carefreeness, the happiness. The last time I had experienced feeling like this had been with Gerard.

*

Singing the song I had written about my grandmother was never easy, no matter how many times the words left my mouth. The whole album was about her, actually and I had written most of it in a drunken haze or in the midst of a painful comedown when it felt like I was being torn apart, hating myself so much that I could throw up just thinking about my miserable existence. All these feelings came back to me as I stood on the stage but now, it all had a different meaning, a different message.

I wanted those kids to know that no matter what happened and no matter how much they felt like they were better off just killing themselves, there was a way out. Yes, it was easier said than done but it was possible. Yes, it was the most difficult, most painful shit they had to face but they could overcome it. I realized they looked up to me, saw me as a hero for getting sober, for getting over being depressed and suicidal. And although I was far from being a hero, I had somehow managed to turn all my suffering into something positive. Show them that I wasn't any better than them, on the contrary, we were exactly the same. The only difference was that I knew for sure there was a way out while they still doubted it. But getting up on that stage every night, completely sober, facing my demons as vulnerable as I was without any substance numbing my fear, my pain, my anxiety, I wanted them to know that they could do it too.

And after every show there were kids waiting for us, telling us their stories, showing us their scars. It was overwhelming when I autographed their signs saying 'MCR saved my life'. Did they realize that they saved their own? That we were merely providing the soundtrack, maybe the inspiration for it? They were stronger than they thought and I told them every night.

'So Paris tomorrow...' Brian announced as we got onto our bus somewhere in Germany. 'We'll arrive early in the morning, check into our hotel and then you're free to do whatever you want. Three days off, dudes. Make the most of it.' he looked at me, raising his brows.

Yeah. They all knew. And although they more or less minded their own business, they would still let me know that they thought I should take some time to meet with Lana. Even Mikey, which surprised me. I had her address, I had her number. I knew where she was working and I roughly knew her schedule. What I still didn't know was whether she wanted to see me or not. Yes, I could just call her and find out, but after so long she would probably tell me to fuck off. We had stayed friends after she had left, we had kept in touch and proven to each other that we still cared even though we couldn't be together. But a lot could happen in six months. And I knew I had hurt her. Again.

Somehow, I still managed to leave my warm hotel bed the next evening, taking a shower and getting dressed to leave. It was snowing again as I jumped into the cab, giving the driver the address. I felt sick to my stomach, my hands shaky and I craved a cigarette to calm some of the nerves. Oh, it probably wouldn't do shit.

She lived in a nice area and I remembered her telling me she could see the Eiffel Tower and the Seine from her apartment. It was prettier than New York, I had to admit it. And it suited her.

The car stopped and I paid the driver, my anxiety now making my palms sweaty despite the cold. I got out, rushing over to the entrance to get away from the snow which was now falling heavily. Nervously, I scanned the list of names for hers and my heart ached when I found it. I took a deep breath, putting my finger over the button but retracting it almost immediately. Was this a mistake? Did I really have the right to come back into her life like this? Without giving her a choice? Fuck. I needed a cigarette.

*

'I think I do need a roommate, actually. Or a pet. Yeah, maybe a pet is better.' I giggled and Célia looked at me in shock.

She had just finished complaining about not finding a suitable place to live and I had offered her to move in with me. Only half-serious about it. Yes, my apartment felt really empty sometimes but I enjoyed being on my own. But a cat or a dog would totally make a difference.

'I can't believe you rather have a pet than me.' she took another sip of her wine while shaking her head.

'Well, pets are a lot cleaner than you.' I joked which earned me another scolding look from her.

We were at our favorite bistro in Montmartre, Célia, her boyfriend Noah and I, enjoying a late dinner. I had known them both since we were children and I had predicted that they would become a couple long before they were even aware that they had feelings for each other. I loved them like the siblings I never had but sometimes I couldn't help but get sad, watching them, being so in love. The way he looked at her reminded me of the way Gerard had looked at me, their subtle little touches just like the ones we had shared.

Célia knew how much I missed him, I had told her everything. Even the dark, scary parts. And bless her heart, she had done her best to distract me, even trying to set me up with one of Noah's co-workers, Mateo. Who was nice, lovely, actually but just not Gerard. It had been one and a half years. Would I ever get over him? Every time that thought entered my mind, I couldn't help but think, was I even meant to get over him? Maybe I was kidding myself but when we had said goodbye, we had done so with the hope of it not being forever. That's why we had stayed in touch, that's why we had stayed friends, because deep down, we had known that there was a chance, that once he'd get over his issues, I could come back to New York and we could start over again. Or was that simply wishful thinking? Because I wasn't ready to let go?

'Maybe you should, you know, move in with your boyfriend?' I laughed and Noah nodded while Célia rolled her eyes.

'Ugh, I told you, that's out of the question.' she looked at Noah, giving him an apologetic look. 'I love you, petit chou, but living together is a whole different story. I'm not ready to do that yet.'

'It's fine, I know. Plus, there's that problem with the messiness.' he pretended to sulk and she slapped his arm.

'Also, he snores. I remember from that one party we had, was it my 18th birthday?' I said and Célia nodded.

'Yes! Yes, he does snore. See, it's not all my fault that we can't live together. If I don't roll him over at least 15 times a night, I wouldn't be able to get any sleep!'

'Oh what a surprise, the girls are ganging up on me. Just for the record, all men snore!' Noah defended himself.

'Gerard didn't.' I said, without thinking and they both grew quiet at my comment. Just then, the waitress saved the day by arriving with the check.

They offered to give me a ride home but I declined, preferring the metro, although most likely crowded at this hour on a friday night, a bit of people-watching would take my mind off things. I wrapped the scarf tighter around my neck as I got off at my stop, preparing for the snow storm that would rattle my bones on my way to my apartment.

'Bonsoir!' I greeted the dark figure standing next to the door, assuming it was one of my neighbors.

'Hey Lana.' I heard a familiar voice reply and my heart stopped as I turned on the lights, looking into Gerard's hazel eyes for the first time in 18 months.