Come, Angels of Unknown

Being the person I usually was, I failed to see most of the reasons that lie behind my actions. Predicting the consequences didn’t even enter the equation, which was probably one of my many, many faults as a human being.

Being the person I usually was; I’d succeeded to make myself look like a complete, insensitive, shallow bastard who didn’t give a damn about another person’s feelings. To be honest, I’d thought of myself as that for the most part of my life, and it hadn’t excessively bothered me – not until now.
But still, that didn’t justify the fact that I’d treated the only person who brought out the little good I had in me like utter trash.

I’d spent the past two days wallowing on my couch, today being Monday. It was hardly five in the morning, but that hadn’t stopped me from waking up from my bizarrely terrifying dream and promising myself that I wouldn’t fall back asleep. I hadn’t even had coffee yet, I was too busy staring at the blank of my living room wall.

I knew I could’ve handled things differently, but I also knew it was by far too late to beat myself up over it. That didn’t keep me from hating myself for everything, though, so the past two days had been everything but eventful. The only things changing were the weather and my state of mind; strangely in synchronization. Such synchronization that it looked as if it were natural, actually, even though it was so artificial I wanted to slap myself as harshly as my weak flexors and extensors allowed.
Everything inside my head was screaming, groaning; pulling me by my brainwaves and making me want to rip it out and give my exhausted neck a break.
It was so excruciatingly tiring and I was drained of energy, but I couldn’t sleep. It felt as if I was living in a psychological horror movie.

The fact that my phone had rung so many times – with me ignoring it stubbornly – was only leaving me slightly more puzzled and sinking further into a metaphorical darkness.
Maybe I just wanted to escape myself, somehow, but avoiding distractions was obviously the wrong way. Maybe I didn’t; maybe I was just looking for a reason to stop fighting off the urge to end the battle and call it quits.

I never would’ve told that repeating one single scene inside one’s head could cause such agonizing emotional pain. It just seemed so surreal to me when I thought about it, but now when I was experiencing it I couldn’t bring myself to shake it off. It felt like it wouldn’t work.

“He’d come at night and hit me. He’d come at night and tell me I’m nothing, that I don’t deserve to live, that I wasn’t a good son. And I believed him, I believed every word he said and now I can’t stop it. I can’t stop the feeling inside my gut that tells me the exact same thing he used to. I’m a fucking mess, Gerard, and I even feel guilty because he fucking died and I didn’t. That’s probably the thing I was so afraid to admit. The doctor wanted to send me to a psychiatrist because… goddamnit, I’m not okay. I have scars which pass the point of being figurative. I have burns that aren’t etched into my soul, but my body. And you deserve better. And I’m sorry.”

Frank’s face was so clear, so pure, so raw and emotional that I couldn’t comprehend how much of himself he’d been hiding for all this time. His eyes; that had never seemed completely honest before were now shining with truth etched into them, and all I could do was stare blankly.

I gawked in shock, in disbelief; I couldn’t even think, the only things I felt at that moment were anger and hurt, no consideration towards him at all. The only thing important to me at that moment was myself and the hollow feeling I got inside my chest; itching and burning as if someone tore something out of it. I didn’t know where it had come from or why it’d occurred there, but it was so deep and dark that I couldn’t make myself stop the explosion that happened only mere moments after.

“How could you hide that from me?” I hissed, my voice coated in fury, coming out with an edge I couldn’t quite recognize.

“I was scared,” he admitted, his shakes visible on his arms and shoulders. My reflexes were telling me to hold him, but my gut was screaming against it and I just felt so betrayed at that moment; so tricked, even though I was none.

“No!” I screamed at the vacant room, throwing the cushion I’d been hugging up until now to the other side of the doorstep. I heard a loud meow, followed by a scratch and a silent thump. I didn’t acknowledge it, I knew Milo had been through worse than this and I was too selfish of a person to worry about him now. I was too caught up in my own fear that was slowly crawling across my wrists and into my fingers, making them grip the sweatpants fabric that covered my knees forcefully. I was lost, in pain and afraid, afraid that I might lose the only thing that had been making me feel like a human being for the past month or so. Afraid that I’d already lost it.

I’d made a mistake of not mentally preparing myself for getting hurt. I didn’t blame Frank, he wasn’t the one who had gotten me hurt in the first place – it was myself, because I consciously shoved him away and practically told him to stay away from me when he needed me the most. It wasn’t his fault, it was mine; and that was the sole essence of this entire problem.

I was the guilty one, and guilt was probably the only thing my tortured emotional station couldn’t handle.

“Please,” he whimpered. “I can’t do this on my own.”

I gulped loudly, the obnoxious noise being the only thing breaking the audible mixture of silence and his quiet sobs. “I need… time,” I mumbled, fidgeting around and standing up. “I need time to think. I’ll… I’ll call you.”

He fell silent, looking up at me with fear in his eyes. Those glassy, bloodshot eyes whose current look I’ll probably never forget while I’m alive. He knew I wouldn’t call. But I walked away anyway.

I started screaming again, kicking my legs violently over the couch in some idiotic hope that would make this disgusting sick feeling go away. I wanted to make the time turn back and hug him there at the spot, take all my words away and replace them with comforting ones he’d needed so desperately when I’d denied them to him. I wanted to tell him how I could be his shoulder to cry on, how I could be the one who would open the figurative door of emotional recovery and push him inside to mend the wounds and scrapes he’d gotten from the battle he’d been fighting for a long time. I wanted to kiss it all better, but now I was so disgusted by my own self that I didn’t even want to think about kissing him. It felt so repulsing to think that he’d be kissing the lips of such a foul creature.

*

At some point it started raining, but I still hadn’t changed my position. My feet were still against the back of my upper thighs and my arms are around my knees, my fingers fiddling with each other since they had nothing better to do. I knew I smelled bad but I couldn’t care less, I probably smelled the way I felt.

The rain was loud, but somehow calming; the way the big balls of cold water kicked the thin glass of my windows was the only kind of music that could even my breathing in a moment like this one. The entirety of my body was pulsating, like it would after a tiring workout, and my head was heavily buzzing with unpleasant vibrations. It felt so agonizing to feel like I did at that moment, because helplessness is by far something to be feared of.

“Gerard?” I heard a familiar voice yell, my head twitching in the direction of the sound.

“M… Mikey?” I managed to croak out, but it came out so muffled he couldn’t hear.

“Gee?” He repeated; his footsteps louder as he was approaching the living room. “I’m home! I accidentally left my suitcase at Mel’s place, so I’ll go pick that up later. I was wondering if you wanted to get chinese or something first, though. Like, brother bonding time and shit.” His face peeked through the doorway, his hair fuzzy and a smile etched onto his lips as he was skimming the room briefly. His eyes landed on me eventually and he frowned, eyes widening. “Gerard, what happened?”

“I fucked up,” I said, hoarse, “I fucked up really bad.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure we can fix it-”

“No, Mikey! We can’t fix it. I can’t fix it, neither can you. It doesn’t matter what A level you passed, this can never be fixed. I fucked up really bad. And you don’t have to pretend to be the perfect brother who solves every problem I have,” I shrieked at him, completely unaware of my words before I saw the expression on his face.

“If you just told me what’s wrong maybe I can-”

“Fucking no!” I yelled, kicking around and managing to punch myself in the thigh as I was flapping my hands, “Didn’t you hear what I just said? This is all my fault. I fucked up. I fucked up really bad. I hurt Frank. I’m good for nothing. I hate everything, I hate myself. The only thing I don’t hate is Frank but that doesn’t fucking matter because he hates me. I don’t want your help, I don’t want your pity. I want nothing. Especially not from you.”

“Fuck you, Gerard. I’m here, offering you some form of comfort and you’re being a little bitch? Whatever you did, I’m sure it’ll be okay because I’ve fucking seen the way Frank looks at you and that’s not something you give up on because of a stupid fight. Just fucking… stop being a dick and maybe you won’t end up wallowing at the end,” Mikey sneered and left the room. I stared in front of myself for a while before I heard the keys jingle and a click as he shut the front door, obviously leaving the apartment.

I took that moment as an opportunity, considering my hands were folded in fists, and let a part of my momentary rage out by kicking myself in the jaw. I breathed heavily, already feeling a bruise blooming at the far right of my chin and hissing at the numbing pain.
“Fuck you!” I screamed at the empty space, my voice giving in. I wasn’t sure if the curse words were directed to Mikey, the world, or myself, for that matter, but I know I fell asleep just after the breaths I was violently taking started spinning my head around, leading me into nothingness.

*

Being violently awoken by the telephone ringing was probably one of the most obnoxious things I’d ever experienced in my entire life, and I was aware that it wasn’t the first, nor the last time I’d have to deal with it. I groaned, cracking my neck and reaching for the telephone, thanking God I did not believe in that the dream I had couldn’t be summoned into my memory.

“Hello?” I coughed out, trying to make myself sound somewhat normal.

“Is this Mr. Gerard Way?” A female voice said, unfamiliar and official. I immediately furrowed my brow.

“Yes, who is this?” I tried to sound as polite as I could, but my voice was slightly tousled by sleep and my head was acting like an amusement park that seriously lacked amusement.

“I’m calling from St. David’s hospital, it says here that you’re Michael Way’s brother.”

My back immediately straightened, dread coursing through my veins as I was whispering, “What happened to him?”

“I’m sorry to inform you… but your brother’s in ICU. He had a car crash.”

Notes

I originally wanted to make it longer, but I feel like I stopped in a good place...
I'm also glad to inform you that we've reached the beginning of the plot *confetti* - meaning that it should all get more interesting and exciting from now on [if I don't completely fail at writing it]. Anyway, let's hope I won't, and celebrate the fact that I have the entire thing planned out.

Life update: School started today and I'm already sick of it even though I still haven't had any classes yet. The sole fact that I have Biology tomorrow is making me sick to the gut.
My mom called me a 'grumpyhead' several times today and I started wondering if everyone else sees me that way, too... I'm not grumpy, I'm just kinda absent-minded, I think. Whatever.

Well, I think that's it. I think I'll see you very soon [presumably including continuous rants about how much I hate my Biology teacher].