Chapter 2- Gerard
I wake up extremely disoriented, my head throbbing. My eyes go in and out of focus repeatedly as a very small, very grey, and very industrial room comes into view. I try to sit up on something that feels like a bed, but when I do I realize I ‘m restrained with thick canvas straps over a full body tarp. A straitjacket? I throw my head back on the hard mattress and I immediately cry out in pain. What the fucking fuck?!The impact with my injury brings it all rushing back.
Came up short on payment for smack. Bert beat me up, threw me in the alley. Withdrawal. Shaking. Body aching and burning. Vomiting. Sobbing. Ground. Whistles blowing. Cops. Footsteps. Caught. Caught. My heartbeat increases exponentially as I start to panic. They found me. Found me in the junkie alley. How could I be so fucking stupid?!? Fucking withdrawal. Where the hell am I? Jail? A hospital? I’m so dead. Oh my god. Hot tears begin to leak out of my eyes as I try to wiggle free of the jacket, shaking, not caring about all the injuries I have and may worsen.
I start to scream, “Get me the FUCK OUT OF HERE! Somebody, anybody help me!”
I hear footsteps coming towards my room and a moment later my door opens.A police officer, balding and middle aged, opens the door and walks into the room carrying a file.
“Ah, Mr. Way, you finally regained consciousness. Welcome to Monroeville’s federal prison.” He says, walking over to tower over me on the bed.
I glare at him, any chance of intimidation lost by the fact I am rolled up like a sushi roll on a bed, covered in tears and bruises. “Why the fuck am I here? I’ve done nothing wrong, and even if I did, you sure as fucking hell couldn’t prove it,” I sneer at him through my tears.
“Oh, but I, the drug detection apartment, and the officer found you in a homeless slum beg to differ.You were found with characteristic needle punctures in your arm, a large concentration of heroin in your bloodstream, and in the middle of an obvious withdrawal episode. It’ll be much easier for you if you stop screaming profanities at me and talk to me like the civilized human being you may or may not be,” He says matter-of-factly.
Well, fuck. He’s got me there. I sigh angrily and refuse to meet his eyes.
“So how long am I going to be here exactly?” I ask, pretending to be defeated. “And why in the ever loving fuck am I in a straightjacket? I can assure you, I’m not crazy.” I add quickly.
He answers me emotionlessly, reading from a paper inside the file. “You were…” He scans for an answer to my question. I roll my eyes. “You were shaking extensively while unconscious. We were afraid you would injure yourself with the violent tremors…at least further, anyway.”
He glances at me. “How did you get all these injuries? A black eye, fractured ribs, severe bruising on the back and stomach…” He trails off, waiting for an answer. I glare at him, making it obvious I would provide no answer.He sighs. “Fine. Have it your way, punk. Now, I’m going to attempt to help you stand up so we can get this thing off you, okay? Don’t bite, scratch, or injure me at all or you’ll be in more trouble. Got it?” He looks at me warily.
I laugh bitterly. “What kind of freak do you take me for? I’m an addict, not a homicidal maniac.” He mutters under his breath, “Well, those things often go hand in hand.”
I choose to ignore his comment and wiggle a bit to remind him I’m still pretty much a fucking caterpillar here. He places a hand on each of my sides firmly and heaves me to my feet. After ten or so minutes of being shifted around and unbuckled, I was finally free. I immediately made a run for the door to escape this literal prison. The officer behind me made no move to stop me or even turn to watch me. Hmm, that’s fucking strange. Oh well, hasta la vista, bitches. All of a sudden an extremely burly officer stepped from a door and blocked my path. I bounced off him, falling to the floor with a dull thud. I screamed in pain as hot flashes from my ribs and back had me seeing stars. The guard hauled me off the ground by the front of my grungy hoodie and brought me up far too close to his face to be comfortable.
He grumbled in a low voice, “Try to run again and you’ll wish you were back in that alley, you fuckin’ junkie.” I stared, wide-eyed at him. He slowly put me down and lumbered away back into the shadows.
I tried one last attempt to get out of this.I turned to the other officer, now lounging smugly against the doorframe of my escaped room.I started to beg him to not make me go to prison.
“Please, Officer…” I glanced at his shiny gold nametag. Peterson. Stupid name. “Officer Peterson, please. I can’t go to jail. Those inmates will eat me alive. You know what they do to guys like me in prison. I’m begging you; please don’t put me in jail. You want money? I’ll find you some money.You want a fix? I know a guy, he can-”
*Smack* He slaps me across the face, leaving the left side burning and stinging. I stare at him, trying to hold back panicky sobs.His eyes bore into mine, his face red with anger. “Did you really. Just ask a Police Officer. If he wanted a FIX?!? What kind of law enforcer do you think I am, GERARD?” He sneers my name as if he was talking to a flea. Oh shit. He’s mad. Why the fuck did I offer to get him smack? Stupid, stupid, STUPID.
He continues screaming at me in the middle of the hallway. “You fucking JUNKIES are all the same, you know that? Stupid, worthless, brain dead BASTARDS, mooching off of taxpayer’s MONEY.”
My anger overtakes me. I scream back right into his face, “You have NO right WHATSOEVER to judge me and label me. You PATHETIC MAN.”
He looks at me, an unreadable expression shadowing his face. He composes himself, anger dispersing, and starts chuckling dryly.
He speaks in a low whisper. “You know, I could put you in jail for five years alone just for saying that. Hell, I could even shoot you, right now. I’d say it was in self-defense. No one would think I was lying. I’m a police officer, you’re a vagabond addict. Who would they believe? Me. You have no family who would mourn you anyway, do you?”
I look away. Hot tears form at the corners of my eyes. “I could do anything I wanted to you right now. And I would, too. Too bad you’re not staying here. Your fucking blubbering was useless.”
I look back to him, confused and overjoyed. Oh thank god. First thing, I’ll go back to Bert. Beg forgiveness, let him do what he wants with me, anything for a fix. I’ll even- My thoughts were caught short by Peterson. “No, you’re going to rehab. A complete detox. Have fun drowning in your own addiction.” He smirks. No. God No. Anything but that. Send me to jail, I’d prefer it. Just. Not .To. Get. Clean!
His pager beeps. He looks down at it, and back up to me. He puts on his ‘civilized-policeman-not-a-fucking-douchebag-asshole-at-all’ face and snaps a pair of handcuffs on me quickly. I start to protest, but he motions to his gun holster and I quickly stand up and follow him to a doorway. He pushes me through them and goes to exchange some words to a woman in a white doctor’s coat. Oh great. Rehab starts now. She comes over to me. Her hair is jet black and pulled up into high pigtails. Strange.
She says in a high, mock-concerned voice, “Hi Gerard. My name is Doctor Ballato, but you can call me Lindsey. How are you?”
Her skin is very pale and her smile too plastic looking.I arch an eyebrow at her. “I’m fucking shitty, thanks for asking.” I slightly spit out at her. She widens her eyes a fraction and turns around to converse with Peterson again. She turns back around to me.
“Officer Peterson will escort us to the other side of the building, where the Monroeville Rehabilitation Institute is located.” Oh. So she’s afraid to be alone with me. Ha. They start to walk away, but I stay in place, contemplating escape. Peterson seems to read my mind and drags me along by my handcuff chains. Fuckin’ Peterson.
I’m dragged along with Lindsey and Peterson until we reach doors marked with a red capital R. Peterson takes off my handcuffs and walks away without another word to me, presumably to go eat some donuts and laugh at me. “Nice meeting you!” I call out sarcastically. He glares over his shoulder. I flip him the bird as we pass through the doors and he disappears from view.
Lindsey proceeds to give me a tour of the rehab floor I am staying on. This is apparently an independent building from the prison, self-sufficient with a cafeteria, four floors, and shower rooms. Great. I don’t care. Shut up ,”Doctor”.
We pass rooms and rooms of sleeping patients, the lights having been turned off half an hour ago at 9:15. One of the doors is open, and a faint crying is drifting out, accompanied by a raspy singing. We come to the door and Lindsey walks past, apparently ignoring the crying. I stop and peer in.
In front of me is an indescribable scene. A teenager, looking no older than 16 or seventeen is sweating profusely and shaking, crying softly. His eyes are a bright hazel color and very bloodshot, his inky black hair limp from sweat. I, for an unknown reason, fiercely want to comfort him, hold him until everything’s okay. I want to be the one to sing to him while his head is in my lap. Get a grip Gerard, you’re fucking losing it. But it’s not my lap he’s lying in. His head rests cradled in the lap of a man with long, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wears a doctor’s coat like Lindsey. He is singing softly to the boy, a sweet and caring lullaby I can faintly remember hearing somewhere.His is the raspy voice.I stand listening to him sing.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take, my sunshine away.
I am unable to tear my eyes way from the scene. The boy has all but fallen asleep and the man senses my presence. Instead of him screaming at me or glaring like I expected him to, he smiles softly and rests a finger on his lips. Shhh. Alright. I silently nod and shuffle away, hoping I did not disturb the young man’s sleep.
I am led into a room next door to the boy’s, the lights remaining off. Lindsey is saying something, but I’m not paying attention to her. I nod absently and she walks out, about to close the door. I stop her quickly. “Lindsey, who was that boy in the room next to mine? The one with his head in a doctor’s lap?” I ask quietly, wondering out loud.
She looks confused for a second before answering, “Oh, his name is Frank. Frank Iero. He’s only been here for a few days. He is-was a meth addict, and currently in the throes of a tough withdrawal. Sorry if he disturbs you.”
I say his name silently, feeling it fill my mouth. “No, it won’t be a problem, thanks. Night.” I say absentmindedly. She nods and closes the door, leaving me alone in the darkness with my jumbled thoughts. Frank. Frank. I stare at the wall, knowing that he sleeps fitfully in the next room.

'Frank'. I like it. It's nice.

Notes

WOOHOO LONG CHAPTER at least by my standards hahah. Don't you just love Peterson? *sarcasm*
and in real life lynz is amazing and lovely. This is just fiction people. Not my opinion on her in real life.

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XXX Mourning-Glory XXX