Forget About The Dirty Looks.

Gerard's POV.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I attempt to hide myself under the kitchen table. I almost manage it, but half my head is poking out and one of my legs. I try to squeeze in even more, but I end up banging my head and cursing. She must hear me because she stomps into the kitchen.
"I can see you, Gerard. Get out from under there." I don't move, I stay completely still, not even breathing. Her voice is deadly, I know I'm in deep shit.
"Gerard Arthur Way! Get the fuck out of there!" She shouts at me, causing me to jump and bang my head again. I curse under my breath, rubbing my head as I wriggle out. I smile a 'cute' smile at her, hoping to soften her up. Her face stays stone cold. I perch myself onto the table top and cross my arms. I look at her expectantly, raising my eyebrows. She looks at me, raising her eyebrows too.
"Gerard." I hum at her, telling her to continue.
"What are you doing out of the hospital? It's against the rules, you know that..." She slumps over and sighs at me, hanging her head.
"Fuck the rules.." Her head snaps back up, her expression turning angry again.
"Fuck the rules? Gerard, get a grip. The rules are there to keep you safe." She crosses her arms and sighs at me, narrowing her eyes. I shrug my shoulders, rolling my eyes.
"Answer my question. What were you doing out of the hospital?" She's gritting her teeth at me.
I don't know. I couldn't stay in there while Frankie was like... that." I sound pathetic, and I hate it.
"I don't care. You tried to commit suicide, Gerard." I snort at this.
"Yeah, and I would have succeeded if it wasn't for you." I didn't mean to sound quite as harsh, and her eyes fill with tears. I should apologize, but I'm way too stubborn.
"Gerard. Oh, God. How did we get like this?" A tear rolls down her cheek. Her voice shakes slightly. I don't think I've seen her cry in years, but I don't make a move to comfort her.
"I started to feel like this when dad died. I've been suicidal for years, mom." Why am I being so... bitter towards her? I don't have control over my mouth. She gasps slightly, surprised. Her eyes skim over me like she's seeing me in a new light. I will myself not to reveal anything else, like my drug addiction and stuff, but it doesn't work.
"I was also addicted to drugs. I'm an alcoholic. I hate myself. I'm really fucking depressed, mom. Have you seriously not picked up on that?" I can feel myself getting more and more agitated. I can't stop these things from spewing from my mouth. She stares at me, slack-jawed. Her eyes are so wide, I'm surprised they haven't fell out.
"Drugs...? Alcoholic? What else don't I know about you, Gerard?" I shrug.
"I've not been a virgin for years? I think you might know that, though." My voice is casual, like I'm describing the packet of cigarettes I bought from a shop.
"How many years, Gerard?" I straighten up, I don't want to answer this question, it brings up some terrible memories. I owe my mom, though. I should tell her.
"Around four years ago." I try to sound dignified, but my voice comes out as a pathetic squeak. I duck my head, feeling my cheeks burn.
"Four years ago? You would have been... fourteen. Fucking fourteen, Gerard!" I flinch, slightly scared by her tone. I shrug at her, only infuriating her further.
"What the hell? Who even are you? No son of mine would have done that! You... Why?"
"Why not? Have you even considered the circumstances in which it could have happened? What if I didn't want it, mom? What then?" I look her in the eyes, knowing full damn well there are tears in them. Her face drains of color, and she covers her hand with her mouth. The hand is shaking, and the other one is clenched into a fist. She shakes her head at me, and for a second I think she doesn't believe me.
"You... You're lying. You must be, Gerard." Her voice breaks. "Please tell me you weren't... you weren't.. raped. Please." Her voice sounds broken, and the tears have fallen from her eyes now. Mine are still full with tears, but I can't let them fall. I shake my head.
"I wish it wasn't true, mom." My voice breaks, but still no tears fall. I hear a chocked sob coming from my mom, and I see that she's sunk to the floor, and her shoulders are shaking.
"But.. you're my baby. My little boy. Gerard, how... How did it, uh, happen?" Her sentences are broken up with sobs and shuddering breaths, and I have to strain to hear her.
"I owed people money. I became what you would call a whore. I didn't want it, but I was forced." My voice hasn't a trace of sadness, only bitterness.
"Money? What from? Let's.. let's sit down, and, uh, talk about this, properly." She heaves herself up, trying to contain herself. I sit down happily, glad to be off my shaky legs. She sits with a sigh, and rubs her forehead.
"I.. got in with the wrong crowd, basically. They were the only people that would even acknowledge me, so I grasped at the chances of friendship, not wanting to be bullied anymore." She's crying silently now, her shoulders shaking. She nods at me, telling me to continue.
"They were to off their faces to even know who I was most of the time, but the bullying stopped. I took drugs, only little things at first, pills I could afford. Grandma died, and I got worse. I developed a taste for alcohol as well. The drugs got heavier and more expensive. I got given them for free at the time, but I knew I'd have to pay them back." I gulp, trying to stop my voice from shaking.
"Pay them back I did. They took everything from me. My money, my innocence. I got more depressed, I was being... Used almost every night." We sit silent for many minutes, the things I've just told my mom sinking in. I break the silence,
"Frankie saved me, mom. He helped pay off the debts, with money. If he didn't come along then, I would have made sure that I succeeded in an attempt of suicide. It's horrible for me to admit all this, mom, I hope you know this." She nods, staring not at me, but the table.
"Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped."
"They threatened me. They said if I told anyone, they'd murder you, Mikey, Ray. Even Frankie in the end, and I couldn't chance it.." She nods again, silent. I hate these type of silences. Neither of us know what to say to each other. The air between us if tense and strained.
"Were you going to try it again, Gerard?" I don't know what she's talking about. The drugs?
"Try what?"
"Suicide. Where you going to try it again today? The doctors are so worried about you, Gerard. I'm so worried about you. So are Mikey and Ray. And Frank." I shake my head at her. She nods at me and the silence returns. I sigh and sink lower in my chair. My mom suddenly stands up, wipes underneath her eyes and straightens her clothes.
"Let's get you back to the Hospital, then. We've been gone for way too long." I stand up, too, and start to walk to the door. I open it and look behind me, my mom isn't behind me, she isn't next to me. I close the door again and see her standing in the kitchen, staring into space. She looks so weak and vulnerable. I walk up to her and throw my arms around her. She doesn't react for a minute, so I squeeze her, and she wraps her arms around me too. We stand for a moment, in the middle of the kitchen, supporting each other. She pulls away first and walks to the door without a word to me. I follow her, scared by her behavior.
We climb into the car and the radio turns on. Mom switches it off instantly and we drive to the hospital in the cold horrible silence. When we get there, we park the car and get out. I look up at the grey, dingy hospital. How long will I have to stay here? Longer than Frankie has to, probably. I'm already sick of it, so I can't imagine what it would be like if I had to spend weeks in there. I think I'd finally go crazy, and I wouldn't just spend time on a psych ward, I'd be carted off to a psychiatric hospital.
Now, that would be torture. They monitor everything in there, apparently there are even cameras in the rooms that you stay in. That's probably not true, but if it is, then Jesus. You have to wear a uniform almost, you aren't allowed normal everyday things, the cutlery is plastic. I've heard some crazy rumors, I've been put off the idea of a mental hospital for life.
We walk through the ground floor, still not talking. The elevator has nobody in this time, and we get to my floor quickly. I'm only on floor three, though. Unlike Frankie, on floor seven. Is Frankie still asleep? I hope he's okay, I hate seeing him like that.
We get off on my floor, and the ward is pretty quiet. We walk through, trying to get to my room. I have a private room, there were no beds available, normally it's the other way round, but who cares? The doctor is waiting in there, presumably for me. He jumps up when we enter, a scowl on his face. Great, I've pissed the person off that's supposed to get me 'on the road of recovery'. Oh well, I hate him anyway. Hopefully I'll get a new doctor, maybe one like Frank's. I shove past him and sit on the bed, completely blanking them both.

Notes