Someone Out There Loves You

*Gerard pov*

My phone beeped, but I had no motivation to move from my current position, (which was lying on my back, on a way too fucking small single bed, staring at the ceiling with unblinking, unfocused eyes) at least not yet, anyway. I was stuck in what was beginning to resemble a neverending cycle of waking up, coffee and a cigarette, back to bed, before my appetite would force me off my back to get something a bit more substantial than caffeine and nicotine. I would always end up back in the small box room I inhabited for the foreseeable future. I would never have envisioned myself asking my little brother for help, but my pride and Chloe’s temper forced my hand in the matter. He and his girlfriend had let me stay in their admittedly small apartment, and had done so with few questions. Of course, there had been the initial ‘What happened with Chloe?’ and “Can you not work out whatever it is?”, and my least favourite of all “How did the pitch go?” That one was the one I found hard to fob off. I could tell Mikey was worried, as a dutiful brother would be, but I found it impossible to put into words just how utterly fucked up my situation was.

The phone beeped again, reminding me that I had yet to read the message. I sighed, rubbing my forehead in annoyance and restrained anger. I knew the message wouldn’t be from Chloe. She had dutifully ignored my existence since I had walked out almost two days ago, other than the one missed call and voicemail she left me the day after. It wasn’t an extraordinary length of time, but it felt like a lifetime, when my life was slowly falling apart at the seams, and I had no real desire to do anything about it. In the back of my mind, it was like a part of me knew I deserved it. I lived a life of thoughtlessness and carelessness. Every action had been selfserving, and the universe was finally pulling the rug from under my feet.

There was a tinge of anger that tingled under my skin, which melded in with the defeated depression that had taken a hold of my psyche over the last two days. I was a child, who had been within reach of a bowl of unlimited candy – everything had been going better than I could have ever hoped for. I had the love of a woman who wasn’t perfect, but she made my days that little bit better, with the knowledge that she was there at the end of it. The hard work I had put into my art was finally paying off, and I had been offered an opportunity to get into the industry I had struggled to get a foot into for years. My confidence was soaring with the realisation that there was more to life than getting by, and selling myself for a lavish lifestyle. I had been living for the first time in years. It had been strange, exciting, confusing at times, but I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

Only, I had traded it in. I had gone back into the habit of using my body to get out of a difficult situation. Maybe I was just destined to forever mess up my life, and destroy my chances of happiness. There was something out to get me in the world, something that always seemed to make my desires within my grasp, but just ever so slightly out of reach when I tried to obtain it. For a few moments, I had actually let myself fantasise about having it all, for once in my life.

Everything had been going so well with the pitch for my comic. I had been nothing short of a mess of nervousness and anxious energy when I stepped inside the boardroom, facing two men who were essentially the deciders of my fate. The men in business suits who had dissected my work to its very essence, and judged it on not just it’s artistic merit, but its marketability, and their opinion on whether I was worth banking on to make them more money, had seemed more than satisfied with the pitch. I had left the office with the belief that I could have possibly secured my dream. I had been so afraid of failing, that I had stopped trying to achieve it. I had been on the brink of success, I swore I felt it. It wasn’t a feeling that I could give a name to, or describe to anybody. It was just a certainty, a baseless knowledge, if you will, that karma may finally for once be coming my way and letting me have the thing I had wanted since I was aware of the concept of working for a living.

I was five years old when I first discovered the joy that art gave me. It had been an escape during my troubling teenage years, and even in Art School, when the crushing blow of college being exactly the same as high school hit me, and lead to a period of disillusionment with the path I had chosen. It was something that called to me, and I had always felt this need to create and destroy, to put my thoughts and feelings onto paper, instead of bottling it inside. It only seemed natural to make a living from something I felt so connected with. Too many years of defeat had dulled that ambition, until I met Chloe, and I slowly regained that part of myself that I had slide over the years. It had almost slithered into nonexistence, crushed under the weight of jadedness when life had just not gone my way quick enough. I had given up on the dream, but with a little bit of encouragement from Chloe, I had chased it again, and landed myself what was one of the most important opportunities I would ever be handed. It had felt like everything was meant to be. Of course, it just wasn’t meant to be.

Gillian, the devil incarnate who had no soul or conscience, or a shred of anything close to humanity, within the stick thin body she inhabited, had decided to take advantage of the one chance I had of making my dream a reality. She blackmailed me, successfully reinforcing that my long held fear of my past never truly staying right where it belonged, was correct.

I had no intention of giving into the woman. Even if I thought I could stomach the idea of actually being in the same room as her for more than a minute, and if I didn’t have Chloe, who I wished to remain faithful to, like I knew she was to me, I didn’t want my career to be forever attached to the a woman as vile as her. She in no way deserved to take any credit for my success, if I were ever to obtain it. It was my work, it was my bloodied fingers and sacrificed hours that would be the reason I made it, not some bitch with a joyless sex life, because she was more interested in money than happiness.

I had walked home after her threat, accepting that my chance had gone, because of the mistakes of my past. It chewed me up, swallowed me whole, and left me to stew in the acidic, infectious thoughts of what might have been if I had left that office earlier, or if I had never even tried. What if Chloe, in her infinite fucking wisdom and need to do what she thought was best by me, hadn’t encouraged me to invest my time into the idea I had stuck in my head and to put out there for others to judge. Part of me, as wrong as it was, blamed her for the anger that manifested with every passing second. That was the only explanation for how I reacted when she doubted whether it had been my work and her encouragement that had gotten me the pitch.

I should have just told her the truth. I should have made her see sense. I should never have let her believe she was right to doubt me. Too much had gone wrong, though, and my head just wasn’t capable of logical thought. So, I left. I left her in our apartment, in the belief that I had fucked my way to getting a chance at the big time. That wasn’t even the biggest mistake I had made that night.

Going to Gillian’s place that night, drunk as hell, and in self destruct mode, trumped every other stupid mistake I had made along the way. Letting her put her hands on me, touching me and using me for her own desire, had brought back the old feelings of being nothing more than a vessel for other people’s enjoyment. She had palmed me through my jeans, and I realised that I just couldn’t.

Not because of Chloe. Not because of what it meant for my career. For once, I stopped for me. I didn’t want to be the guy who let someone use him, yet again. I had done it for so long, because I thought I was okay with it. And for all those years, I had been. I had enjoyed it, even. I truly believed that I had a good life, one that many would be envious of, and maybe I had been right. All I knew, was that right then, it wasn’t something I wanted anymore. I wasn’t that person anymore. I had changed, and I didn’t realise until that moment just how detached I was from the old Gerard. To say Gillian was pissed when I threw her off me was an understatement. Her shrieks were akin to a banshee’s, and I was pretty certain my hearing would never fully recover from the high decimals that emitted from her mouth.

That was how I landed up on Mikey’s doorstep, in the middle of the morning. And two days later, I had barely moved from the spare room. I ignored the texts from Gillian, with more threats of revealing my past to her fiancé if I didn’t ‘finish the job’. I didn’t listen to the voicemail Chloe had left me, and I deleted the texts before I read them. I didn’t think I could face whatever it was she had to say. I didn’t want to take responsibility for ending the best thing that had ever happened to me. I was too stubborn to admit defeat, so I took the cowards way out, and just avoided the clusterfuck I had created. I knew I couldn’t keep doing it forever, but, for the time being, it was a hell of a lot better than facing Chloe, and the destruction I had left in my wake.

Notes

So, if you read my other stories, you already know the reason for my lack of updates. If you don't, basically, I started a new job and moved, plus had a little case of lack of motivation to write. It's all good now though, and I plan on getting back on track.

I apologise for leaving you with such a cliffhanger for so long, It really wasn't intentional. I was going to leave you guessing for longer as to whether Gerard went through with it, so take the early revelation as an apology.

Let me know your thoughts.

Lyra xx

PS, I now have a twitter account. Follow me @MCR_Lyra, where you can talk to me, ask me questions and remind me to update.