“I never thought to see the end of my son’s book. His chapter of school had yet to be written. He was only eighteen but he always seemed younger because he was so small. Even after he got those silly tattoos he seemed like he still needed my protection. I didn’t want to cow him or get too involved in his affairs because the more I tried to the more he pushed me away. I guess in the end if I could have saved him he wouldn’t let me.
“I knew he was getting bullied. What mother ca see her son come home with black eyes, fat lips and bruises everywhere and not know. And then there were the cuts, I could never tell who made them. I had gone to the school. The councillor was working with him but he was the only staff member, as far as I could see, that gave a damn about this boy who was being discriminated against. When I spoke to the school they said they were handling it. I guess I believed them because I knew they didn’t want me involved, I don’t think Frank did either.
“I spoke to parents, I spoke to therapists, I consulted every damn book out there but I guess now what I should have done is talk to my son.
“It still doesn’t seem real. I mean it took nine months to make that boy. That man, that person. He was unique and funny, sweet and diligent and they tore him down for his differences. I’ve heard people now blame him. Blame his sexuality, his height, his music, everything that made my boy who he was. But I could never blame him. I could only blame me. I see some parents even tear their own kids down. If children see everyone around them feeling uncomfortable with who they are you’re only going to have trouble. I made it known that I didn’t judge Frank but he went from horrible environments at school to his room. I can’t say I didn’t think things were wrong. All I can say is I wish I had made them right.
“You have only one job as a parent, to nurture your child and help them grow, and I failed that. I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll never forgive those who made my son feel that way. I’ll forgive my son for what he’s done to me but I’ll never get over it. No one should ever have to bury their child.”
-Linda Iero, grieving mother of Frank Iero

Well I can only say that Dr Spelunker is a good writer. There was no doubt the book was going to be hard-hitting, but that was just fucking.
I started just reading the chapter on Frank. But I don’t know, soon I was reading the piece on Constance and then I was reading the whole thing, including the technical psychological stuff and the advice. Some lines stuck in my mind and others I just didn’t understand.
She had scars all over her and we never knew until we went to the funeral home that we found out a line from Constance’s mom. Depression feels like a dark cloud that only gets heavier when you smile and darker when you try and make it go away. Going back I could maybe have saved that one life, but there would always be another, because like is unfair.
My mom doesn’t send me back to school until the following Monday. In the mean time I read and then re-read the entire book. It’s so full of the word selfish. Kids that are selfish, no wonder people aren’t too into it.
Obviously these kids were victims; Constance was sexually abused by her teacher in the fourth grade. Michael had social anxiety, paranoia, and schizophrenia. I know what happened to Frank. It makes me feel like shit. I know that that’s the wrong approach, but it’s true. All those others had a reason to be so fucked up. I, fucked myself up.
I go to Dr Spelunker’s on Thursday. I put the book on the desk and sit down.
“Hello Gerard. Did you read the chapter on Frank?” She smiles.
“I read it all. It was very good.”
“I know,” I raise my eyebrows. “I know that it is Gerard, now what did you think?”
“Of the Frank bit or the whole thing?”
“Did you read the whole thing?” I nod. “Well then how does it make you feel?”
“Selfish.”
“I used the word eight hundred and eleven times. Elaborate?”
“Whoa. Okay. Um… I don’t know I just feel selfish.”
“Do you feel like killing yourself would be selfish because it would only cure your problems while creating lots for others?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I feel like I don’t deserve to feel this bad. I’m so fucked up but all the ways I am are down to me being bad at being a human.” She’s looking at me intently now. “Uh… I am the one who made myself the way I am and that’s why people don’t treat me the way they do each other. Their religion is important and I have chosen to go against it. I wasn’t sexually abused, I don’t have schizophrenia or paranoia or anything. I’m perfectly alright. I’m A-Okay only I’ve fucked myself up and it’s selfish of me to think that I deserve to be helped or let leave when there are other people who have a reason to want to.” I take a deep breath. I probably said too much. I mean this is probably what therapists thrive on.
“Oh, Gerard,” is all she says for a while. Then, “You can’t chose who you are. Also, you don’t need a reason to be depressed and god knows if you did you have one. Anyone can get depressed. Anyone. You could have a happy home situation and still get depressed. You could eat well and still get depressed. You could be well off and get depressed. You could have a boyfriend or girlfriend, you could have good food, and you could have good grades. You don’t need a reason to be depressed. You could have what’s deemed to be a perfect life and get depressed, that’s what’s so dangerous about depression; anyone could get it. Sure; things can spark it. Something big could happen or you could have some other big issues but that doesn’t make your depression automatically more important than anyone else’s. Depression is not justifiable and that is not the reason to feel selfish.”

Frank jumps on me on Monday. Literally pounces. “You can’t do it, Gerard. I thought you’d done it. I thought the reason you were gone is you fucking killed yourself you big asshole. I thought you were in purgatory or off somewhere swinging from a noose, you dickhead.”
“Oh,” I say and reach past him to get a book from my locker.
“Okay listen this is why you can’t do it. I’ve compiled a list of valid reasons, my mom’s wording. Okay, number one; you are too good at art. The world would be lost without your comics, man. Number two; you’re friends Jack and Alex would miss you too much. Number three; everyone else in this school would be afraid to come out ever. From what you’ve told me there are only three not straight people in the whole school and that doesn’t make sense. Number four-”
“Frank.”
“No, shut the fuck up. Number four; you’re poor parents, okay. You would tear them apart. Which is pretty mean considering they made you. Number five; those assholes would be invited to your funeral, you know you don’t want them there. Number six; they’d probably play bad music at it-”
“Frank! I’m not going to do it!”
“Really?” he looks so fucking happy. I nod. “Fucking yes Gerard,” he launches at me again, knocking me to the floor kissing me. I just kind of lie under him kissing back, my arms sticking up; locked in place by shock.
Frank doesn’t get off until the bell rings and I say, “I have to go to class,” into his mouth.
When he gets off me he chatters away quickly while I get my books, “made the right decision, but I had ninety nine reasons man! Literally you could have let me get to at least thirty!”
“Bye Frank.” It was March the third.

Frank often made me promise not to do it. Only twice did I come close again, both during my finals. I spent all my time studying and writing an essay to try get into college. I know I won’t get in but everyone was pushing me to try. I guess I owed it to my parents to at least try since I scared the shit out of them.
I spent the months in fucking therapy. Dr Spelunker and Mr Corgan combined. Yea, I guess it helped, but not as much as Frank did. Everyone else is so careful around me in case they trigger me or something. My parent’s most of all but then Mikey picked up on the habit. Jack and Alex joked around but never with me. No more gay jokes, at least not when I’m around.
And the weirdest thing was the way everyone else started acting. Logan just completely stopped being mean. That’s not to say he started being nice but still. Apparently his mom was cheerleader prom queen during Frank’s time in school. She had taken the death of frank pretty personally and when she found out about me and her son from Mr Corgan she went crazy. Chase not only stopped being mean but told me he was sorry. I freaked out completely and nearly started crying which only added to the awkwardness.
It’s not like everyone automatically became my friend, just everyone took it hard. No one shoves me in the halls anymore. No one jeers. No one punches me or takes my money or writes on my stuff. It’s just an uncomfortable feeling everywhere but at least I’m no longer in physical pain.
Carla tells me what happened when I was away. Mr Corgan went full on drill sergeant therapist on the school. He gave every class a talk on mental health and if anyone needed help or knew someone who did to talk to him. Then he went to any class that he thought relevant to me and told them all to stop being assholes, basically. I don’t think that’s all he said but I didn’t pester Carla for details.
In the months after that, I spent lunchtimes either with Mr Corgan “working through my problems” or with Frank, making out while listening to Iron Maiden or just talking.
Now, my graduation robes are surprisingly heavy and stupidly dusty. I mean, I’m coughing randomly as plumes of dead skin and things rise. My mom starts her crying at ten when I’m showered and changed and doesn’t properly stop for the rest of the day. My dad smiles constantly and Mikey keeps making jokes and trying to lighten the mood.
We drive to the school. We’re early enough that we actually get to park within the gates. My mom and dad and Mikey take their seats in the crowded hall. We have twenty three minutes before it officially begins.
The other graduating students are standing around the adjoining room to the auditorium.
I stand around there for a total of fifteen seconds before I say, “I have to do something,” to no-one in particular and run out of the room.
Frank is sitting on the floor by the lockers looking out over the carpark. He stands up when I run down the way. “Gerard?”
“I am going to graduate,” I gasp, out of breath from my short run.
“I know! Go graduate!”
“I can’t.”
“Why?!”
“Because this is the last time I’ll ever be in this school.”
“We said goodbye yesterday fucking hell! You cried!”
“I’ll cry again!”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he says but I can see him swelling with emotion too.
“I’ll never see you again.”
“Go graduate.”
“Unless I die soon we’ll never speak again.”
“Go graduate and get on with your life.”
“And even if I did die whenever I’m meant to, it won’t be here, to be in your level.”
“Fuck it Gerard, go graduate and live your life like I can’t live mine!” he starts crying. Being dead I didn’t know he still could cry. He slides down against my locker and sits on the floor, knees drawn into his chest.
“And you know what the worst part is,” I murmur, beginning to shake now myself, “even if I do die when I’m supposed to and I do get into your level, I’ll be old. I’ll be old and you won’t recognise me and you won’t love me.”
“Of course I will,” he spits.
“No you won’t. I know you won’t,” I slide down to the floor next to him. “But I love you now.”
“And I love you now.”

Notes

Hi.
THE END
Sorry if it was very feelsy, i haven't done a feely fic in a while. In fact it felt weird writing this because i'm having such lighthearted conversations at the same time :L
When i finish a fic it's like i've come to the end of an era... I get so overly attatched to the storyline and characters and setting and everything, it's ridiculous.
Anyway thank you so so SO so much for reading :) if you liked this you might like my other fics but you might not idk i can't make those kind of promises :p thanks for reading and let me know what you think!