Fake Your Death

“You can’t do this!” I shout, tears streaming down my face.

“It’s for your own good, Gerard.” My brother says sternly. He grits his teeth to keep from crying as well. “It’s for everyone’s wellbeing.” I sit down and hold my head in my hands.

“He’s right Gerard. You can’t go on like this.” Frank kneels down beside me, placing a hand on my knee. “You’re going next week.”

“You can’t make me.” I mutter.

“Yes we can, and we are.” Ray argues. I jump out of my chair and storm off to my room, slamming the door behind me. They couldn’t do this. I was fine! I was under control. I can handle alcohol, I can handle medication. There was one thing I couldn’t control, and that was not being able to go without them, which was the reason they were sending me to rehab. I reach under my bed and feel around for the plastic bag. My fingers graze and pinch the edge of the bag and pull it up. Only a few little blue pills remained. I tear open the bag and swallow the contents. What was the harm? Just a few. Maybe two, or three, or eight . . . who cares? I angrily pace my room, trying to think of a way to avoid going. But after an hour, I come up with nothing. I dive onto by bed and let the drugs take affect and lull me to sleep.

When I wake up, the drugs had worn off and left me in a cold sweat. I sit up and look around. The house is uncomfortably still. I leave the room and enter the kitchen, looking for coffee. Mikey isn’t around. I immediately start rummaging through the cabinets for booze. But as smart as Mikey is, he hid it all. It probably wasn’t even in the house. I pour myself a cup of coffee in defeat. I peered around the room and see a note taped to the fridge.

‘Gerard,
I went out for a few hours. Please, don’t try anything. I’ll be home as soon as I can. – Mikey.’
The words written smoothly in his neat handwriting made me angry. I crumple the note and toss it across the room. I dump my coffee into the sink. I storm to the bathroom and rummage through the bathroom cabinet, finding nothing but shampoo, soap and toothpaste. I move on to my bathroom in the basement, coming up with nothing of interest. He had taken everything sharp, any medicine, and all cleaning supplies. I pad back to the kitchen. Then I get an idea.

Glass.

I choose a drinking glass from the cupboard and go back to my room in the basement. I swing the glass on the edge of the porcelain sink in my bathroom, breaking it into pieces. I gently caress the largest shard in between my fingers and press it into the pale skin that covered my forearm. I force it harder into my skin until a smooth red ribbon forms underneath it. I grind my teeth in a sick smile as the relief of the release hits me. I slide the glass to a clean part of my arm and do the same. After numerous cuts, I move to my other arm and create another unique crisscrossing pattern. By now, both my arms and hands were stained crimson, so I strip down and hop in the shower. The hot water stings the cuts I made and only provides me with more pleasure. My clothes were also stained, so I hide them among the rest of my laundry. I pull on fresh jeans and a long sleeve shirt and sit down at my desk and look over some of my old drawings. I left a lot behind at my parents’ house when we started touring. My parents are currently on vacation, so Mikes and I have the house to ourselves.

“Gerard?” Mikey bellows from the kitchen upstairs. “Hello?” He calls again. He comes down the stairs and enters my room. He surveys the room until his eyes lock with mine in the corner of
the room.

“Where’d you go?” I glare at him from behind the dark curtain of hair that hung in front of my eyes.

“The guys needed help recording something.” He says simply. He comes over and sits on the edge of my desk. “Gerard,” he starts. “I know how pissed you must be, but-“

“Save it.” I snap, cutting him off. Guilt washes over me almost immediately. I never snapped at my baby brother. Ever. “Mikey, I-“

“I get it. Don’t worry about it.” He sighs. “Look, the sooner you go, the sooner you get better, and the sooner we can get on with our lives, the better.” He pushes off of my desk. “I brought home some take-out if you’re interested.” He leaves and goes back upstairs. I stand up and mope towards the door and close it with barely a click.

“Only four more days. Only four until I have to leave.” I tell myself as I lie down and bury my face into my pillow. “Only four, only four, only four. . . .”

Notes

Yo! So I hope you like it so far! Let me know in the comments if you like it and should continue. I'll try to update every Tuesday, like Two Is Better Than One, which if you haven't read already, you should! I am also working on several other stories so if I update late, then I hope you'll forgive me. BTW another story I'm working on is about Mikey and a girl named Natalia. It remains nameless, but if you guys have any ideas, message or comment your ideas and I'll start posting chapters when I find a title that I like! Love you