The Thing About Pain

The name slipped past the boys lips and tumbled out into the open. Gerard Way. It had a nice ring to it. Why was he named Gerard? None the less, it was still an odd yet beautiful name. His words stuck with me. The four words that slipped past his tragically chapped lips hit me hard. He didn't belong here, just like I didn't. I was now intrigued by why he was here, and why he didn't belong. He was the last person to introduce himself to us all. So that was our little therapy group. Mainly psychopaths and near criminals.
The thing about these therapy groups was that after we introduce ourselves, we got to talk to the other members for around half an hour because of those with anxiety issues, or to try to get those who are mute to speak. Although, today wasn't one of those days. Today was the day that the doctors pried at the enigma that was Gerard Way. All seven sets of eyes were set upon the boy who wriggled in his seat. His body language showed the lack of comfort he possessed and it made the corners of my lips twitch up, but as soon as my smile appeared, it was erased off my ugly face. I looked shitty when I smiled. All I know about how I look, is what I remember from before this institute. From what I knew, there were no mirrors. At least not for me.
Episodes, they called them. I can't use a mirror because I'll have an episode, whatever that's supposed to mean.
My eyes were fixated upon the breathtaking mystery, who I was patiently waiting to unravel. Just to clarify, that does not mean to remove ones clothing, it means find out ones secrets, the deepest and of darkest kind. The things that you don't want to look back on because it will rip your heart out right before your eyes, once again.

"Can we see a drawing?" Mrs. Lark asked Gerard. Slowly the hazel eyed mystery nodded at her, as if unsure of what everyone will think and if he should pull out whatever it is he was about to pull out. His skeletal hand reached for the cover of his sketchbook and opened it forty-five degrees, and as if his swift movements were featherlight, he pulled out a piece of paper. He held the paper up three centimetres under his fear stricken eyes and waited for an answer. The drawing was of a cemetery on an October night, fog twisting itself around the tombstones. Every tomb stone had an intricate design of cracks and moss on it, yet one caught my attention like no other; the tombstone without a name, or date of death. Nothing. Just blank, and at first I thought that maybe he forgot to fill it in, but then I realised he didn't. He purposely left it unattended. The most detail was found on that tombstone and it looked the oldest out of them all.
A few gasps were heard from patients when Gerard pulled this drawing out of his book. His face flushed and he avoided the gaze of everyone in the room. What I would give to be able to draw like that.

"I-I r-r-really l-l-like it." Hayley muttered quietly.

"Exceptional." Mrs. Lark sighed out.

"You should have made it gruesome and painful. The deaths pretty cool though... Needs blood though." Gerard tensed at what Bert was suggesting. He better not decide to ruin this picture with any form of blood, whether it be his own, or just graphite on paper. My stomach churned at the thought of Gerard's blood being spilt. What is it with me?

"If I had your skills, Way, and hadn't nearly killed someone, I'd fucking start a career with this shit." Ryan beamed.

"Language!" Mrs. Lark reminded. What is she? Language patrol? Maybe she shouldn't be here if the word 'fuck' can disgust her so much, as half the people here are fuck ups. "Now, Gerard, what does this represent to you?" She asked.

"W-well... You see, it uh... It represents death I guess. And see that nameless grave back there. It seems the least important but in fact, that's the whole point of the drawing." He states.

"Why?"

"B-because, some people aren't worth remembering. Like in the wars, the people who didn't get medals were put in nameless graves. Some people aren't worth remembering so they're buried without a tombstone, or just aren't the trouble of putting a name on the tombstone." He was nearly in tears at this point.

"Well, everyone is worth something. Who is this about, Gerard? You seem very upset. Talking it out is going to help." Mrs. Lark pushed on. She didn't get any hints did she? Was she so oblivious to what Gerard was aiming for? What he was trying to say? She couldn't just keep pushing and pushing until he snapped like an elastic band and either, him ending up hurt, or she would.

"Shouldn't you know?" He shot back angrily, straining his voice against the tears threatening to spill. "You are a shrink aren't you?" What's with the sudden change in mood? Also, let me point out that the term 'shrink' isn't the most appropriate word to use. Perhaps psychiatrist would be more polite than saying 'shrink' because it was a term that was used strictly by adults and it was disrespectful to use, especially if talking about someone older than you.

"Well, psychiatrist actually, Gerard, and no, I shouldn't know until you tell me." You could hear the restraint in her voice, as well as the irritation.

"If you really must know," Gerard sighed out. "it's about me." He whispered the last part. "I'm worth nothing. I'm worthless," As he was talking I got up and walked over to him. Don't touch him. He won't like it. "I'm not worth remembering, I'll just be a nameless grave when I'm older, that's all I deserve. To be forgotten." The angry Gerard was replaced by a shy, sorrowful, depressive Gerard. "I'm gross, worthless, ugly, and deserve to die." He spat the harsh words at himself. I kneeled down next to his chair and focused my eyes on his being. Don't you dare. My mind tried with me. Remember what happened last time? You remember. It's why you're here. I shook it all off and refocused myself on my enigma as much as I could.

"You're worth everything, and you're god damn beautiful." Gerard's head shot to look at me. His face staring down at mine, six inches away from mine. Half the room gawked at me, while the other half choked on their spit and fell off their chairs.

Notes