Photograph That I Gave You

I don't stop running until I'm inside our bus and locking the bathroom door with shaking hands. Its so close, too close -Death. So close I can nearly taste it. Death is a parasite. Incorporeal, omnipotent, it latches onto those who are too close to it. I've seen it happen over and over again, you loose interest in all your passions until you have no reason to be alive, but you are, dragged along by routine and expectation only. Death feeds off you and gets stronger and stronger until there's more death inside than yourself. Until its only death inside, then it finds another host. Sometimes it needs one right away and there isn't time for the deterioration it just strikes. Death isn't a natural process; disease, killing, accidents, suicide-theres all ways Death twists reality to find a way to consume its host. Sometimes I wonder, if we never got too close, we could be immortal. But we are so stupid, we always get too close. Its happened to me, that's why I know what it tastes like, it tastes like being forced to eat your favorite food over and over til you hate it, it tastes like a friends smile and conversations from behind six inches of glass, it tastes like the collapse of all the stars and the hopes and dreams that went with them. The only reason I'm still here is I've found a way to slow it down. But I got too close to it again. They are too close to it. I need to go back, get them away before its too late, but I'm frozen with terror. Its not caution, I couldn't care less what happens to me, its plain fear. An inexplicable, gut wrenching fear. That paralizes me.
A familiar numb feeling sinks through my body. It doesn't matter anymore, I could go back, its inside me. I can taste it, I can feel it, I can...see it?
Holy shit. I can see it. A darkness starting in my palm and winding its way up through my veins. Like a poison the charcoal blackness is accompanied by an excruciating, burning cold pain.
I gasp. This has never happened before.
Fuck, it's reached past my elbow. Every centimeter it climbs brings me one step closer to agony.
The darkness crawls up my neck and spills into my chest. I cry out and slam into the sink. What about when it reaches my head, or my heart what then?
I can just let it, this can be it.
But I can't.
Desperatly I grab the razor off the shelf, snap the plastic rim off it like I've done so many times before, and pull down the soft grey neckline if my shirt. As I drag the blade across my chest there is no feeling of relief, just a sharp stinging pain to add to the crushing ache. But for one wretched, blissful moment, I am in so much pain I forget who I am.
A thick black liquid oozes out if the gash staining my shirt. This is whats kept death at bay for so long, amputating it out of me. But I could never see it, this is new, this is worse. The aching cold subsides and I wonder if I'm doing the right thing.
I could embarce the hollowness, punish myself that way, but its in my experience that I more so deserve all this suffering, all the intense pain, rather than a desolate descent into dust, that seems too peaceful for someone as awful as me. Because when I was a kid I loved superheros and I strongly believed the bad guys should always be bright to justice, this is me sticking to that belief. Until I think I've suffered enough I cant let myself die.
Or maybe part of it is I'm too much of a coward, which makes me hate myself even more. Everyone hates me, I know that. They're just good at hiding it but they must hate me. How could you not. My friends, my manager, my bandmates, even my parents.
He doesn't hate you. You hang on for him.
Wait what? Fuck. No. That's a dillusion, everyone hates me. Right...
Of course. But even though I'm a burden to the world, if I let Death in now, my ending will come far too soon, I need more time to hurt, to burn inside, to complete unfinished business. Its just another way im selfish. In case there isn't a hell I have to create one for myself. Because the end is a plateau where things can't get any better but they also can't get any worse. I know it will never get better here but I can make it so much worse. Worse than that neutral darkness.
I feel weak and lean against the door for support. The liquid is still oozing from my wound but its almost gone from my system, except for some still left on the inside of my wrist and the back of my knuckles.
Meticulously I cut a hole in each of the fingertips on my left hand flinching as the sharp edge of the blade pierces the delicate skin. I watch the last of the black drain away, dripping onto the silver blade like molasses onto a spoon.
I've bought myself more time. Now I have to use it properly. I raise the knife behind my ear and-
"Gerard?" I jump at the unexpected sound of my name, the smale blade clatters to the floor. "Gee? Come on," I'd recognize the voice immediately. Its the one voice that always been there for me, no matter how bleak things get, he never left. The one person I can count on.
"Hey Mikey," I whimper. I wasn't crying before but the simple sound of my little brothers voice is enough to send me over the edge. It reminds me that there was a time before all this, when I was happy and that I'll never have that again.
"Are you going to let me in?" he asks.
No no no fuck no. The grimy tile floor and cramped walls are still splattered with the black ooze. If it touches him I don't know what will happen, as my older brother its my job to protect h-
With a slam the flimsy door swings open. Guess a skinny kid can break down a cheap, thin door when we wants to. Shit, i wasn't anticipating this. "Get the fuck out Mikey!" I exclaim "Don't touch the blac-" I trail off. Looking again, there is no deathly black liquid just my own bright blood, too much off it all over the place. I check my hands and chest and yes there is red blood flowing from the wounds nothing else.
"I-I fuck Mikey I'm sorry,"
There's an awkward silence and though none says it I know were both thinking about the last time this happened, the time I promised would be the last.
He just sighs frustratedly but as ways there's none of the disappointment in his gaze that I got from our parents, just fear. Not fear of me but fear for me. He knows I'm getting worse "Well, lets clean up i guess,"
I wish he'd just give up on me already I can't figure out why he hasn't, it must be something to do with responsibility since I'm family. But I'm a waste of his efforts.
He passes me some leftover bandages from one if many Frank-realted-accidents and leaves to go get towels.I peel my blood soakes tshirt off and gingerly wrap it around the gash, more to keep Mikey happy. Then I quickly grab a black shirt from the hall floor and put it on.
"Catch," A dishtowel lands on my face and I hear Mikey's rare laughter echoing through the small bus. I'm so glad he seems to be okay, I love him so much so I try to lighten up.
"You're supposed to say catch before you throw the thing," I smirk taking the plaid cloth off my face.
"Like you know stuff about sports," He snipes good-naturedly. We being to practicedly clean the blood away, soon falling into a rythem. He shouldn't be so good at this. He deserves a brother who can help him out, give him advice, not a depressed fuck up. I can't count the number of times he's had to glue together my broken pieces. I love him so much but I really wish he didn't have to have me as an older brother. I weigh him down, he must be so sick of me. He's so special and talented and I don't think he realizes that which breaks my heart. When we've mopped it all up we wring out the towels, watching my secret wash down the drain.
Out in the kitchen,he pours me a cup of coffee and one for himself.We stand in silence sipping our caffinated drinks. Hesitantly he asks "So will you tell me why?"
I groan, "Mikes I can't okay," Burdening him with what I know would only be cruel, it wouldn't help anyways, no one escapes death anymore.
"Fuck, Gerard I'm your brother you can trust me,"
"I do trust you," unwanted tears slide into my coffee. "I just can't, I'm so sorry,"
He pauses then nods "OK, but just...promise me you'll get better?" He gives me an awkward hug.
"I'll try," Its an outright lie, in fact getting better is the exact opposite of what I have in mind, but i cant worry him, he worries too much already.
"Alright," he pulls away. He then exits the trailer mumbling something about drying the towels on the pavement.
I stand there alone drinking the coffee. If theres one pleasure I will allow myself it's coffee simply because I would die without it.
Soon Ray and Bob enter.
"Hey man are you ok?" They ask.
"I'm okay now," I say with a fake reassuring smile "Guess I wasn't up to see bodies today, plus I'd end up stepping on the evidence or something,"
They half laugh.
"We didnt actually see the bodies," explains Bob "But as soon as you left Frank booked it inside, it was so fucking weird, but then he didn't come out for a really long time and we were freaking out,"
I feel the colour drain from my face, "Why? What happened?!"
"He's fine," Ray assures me obviously perceiving my panic "The police came and carried him out. He passed out at the sight of the bodies, apparently they were pretty mangled."
"Heh," I let out a dry laugh "You don't say," Fuck fuck fuck. Frank saw the bodies, he was in the same rooms with them. If that isn't an invitation the death I don't know what is
"So they took him down to the station for a statement, same with Jamia. He should be back pretty soon," continues Ray. "Oh ok," I say casually trying to keep from screaming. My hands are clenched into anguished fists.
"Hey, whos starving? Lets go get some takeout." Suggests Bob.
"Sounds good, I'll tell Mikey." Ray goes outside to find him.
Bob turns to me "You coming Way?"
"Huh? Oh, nah. I'd better wait here for him," I say struggling to keep my voice even.
He shrugs Suit yourself,"
I glare at the back of his blond head willing him to move faster. After what feels like an eternity but was really a few seconds I'm alone.
I break down crying rocking back and forth on my feet. Time slows down and speeds up. It can't be true, he wouldnt run in there, not Frankie, not my Frankie.
Maybe it didnt infect him, maybe he's okay. He's Frank, he's not just okay he's perfect. Death can't touch him, he'll be fine , yeah fine, but I'm not convinced. I carefully extract a crumpled piece if paper from my jean pocket and stare at it, smoothing out the edges.
Suddenly a short figure with black bangs stumbles in, I shove the paper back into my pocket. Frank doesn't see me, but as I watch him. The bleak and hollow stare his normally bright eyes have, make me want to rip my heart out. And once I get the chance, I will. I fucking will.

Notes

I've been staying up til 1am every night trying to write this but I swear its cursed. Hopefully this will fucking work on the 6th attempt. I'm so sorry. Lots of typos but I have no time. Thanks