[Mikey's POV]

Finally alone again. I was beginning to think that they'd never leave me.

It's kind of a funny story, really. You attempt suicide one time, and they never trust you alone again. My older brother, Gerard, has been riding my coattails ever since he smacked the pills out of my hands. It's always, "Mikey, are you okay?" "Mikey, how are you feeling?" "Mikey, do you need to talk?" or whatever other question pops into Gerard's inquisitive mind. He always has to be with me, either that or he has to call me every half an hour to see if I'm okay. I get it; he's scared for his baby brother. He seems to have forgotten that I'm not a baby anymore. I'm an adult now. He shouldn't give two shits if I got on the train in time for work or whatever other petty little worry he has involving me.

One of my best friends, Frank? Yeah. he's almost as bad as Gerard. I swear, those two are going to have to start paying my cell phone bill, since they keep blowing up my phone with text messages and phone calls that are less than a line or a minute long. Just a simple, "Are you okay?" or "R U OK" if Frank's decided to be a lazy fuck and not type out the message in English.Gerard's never sent an English text, so I never expect one from him. I don't even bother keeping their numbers in my phone anymore. The only way I can tell their messages apart is that Frank never, for some goddamn reason, capitalizes his "I's" and always uses "your" instead of "you're." Gerard usually just sends, "Txt me if u need 2 tlk," which results in me sending another text asking for clarification on what he just wrote.

Yeah, it sounds funny now, but it's annoying as fuck. In the beginning, I was slightly thankful and didn't give two shits if Frank used the wrong your/'re. That, however, was over two months ago. I haven't touched a razor or a bottle of pills in weeks. You'd think that they'd finally lay off and get on with their lives so I can get on with mine, but I suppose it doesn't work that way. They've gotta keep opening the wounds and dumping salt into them, because I'm not in enough pain as it is, apparently.

I guess they just never believe me when I say that I need help. Every single time I've gone to them before my attempt at killing myself, they've always had the same 'suck it up, buttercup' attitude. Maybe, for some verbal variety, they'd toss in a 'life goes on' or 'get used to the real world, Mikes.' I didn't want to get used to the real world back then. I wanted help to get out alive in the real world. No one bothered giving me the help I needed, so I decided to get my own help. Turns out pills are only effective if your damn brother lets you take them.

Gerard told me that I've changed ever since my whole suicide attempt. He's said that I'm more secluded and that I'm less patient. Maybe, maybe not. You usually aren't 'patient' when you constantly yearn for death. He also says that I'm not as 'innocent.' Okay, full truth there. I'm not the sweet little boy that adores unicorns anymore. I'm simply an avid adorer of bloodshed now.

Maybe suicidal thoughts did fuck with my brain a bit. All I think about now is killing things. Animals, people, whatever. It doesn't matter to me. All I think of every night before I manage to fall asleep is an innocent victim beneath me, screaming and crying as I slowly slice through their flesh with an extremely dull butcher's knife in my hand.

Despise me all you want, but what I really enjoy most about those thoughts is that it's usually my dearest older brother that's fighting for his life.

Notes

So, author's note, here. I don't own My Chemical Romance in any way, shape, or form.
I don't use original characters, so don't ask me questions about it.
Sorry if I swear too much for this to be rated 'R'
(When has anyone ever had that problem?)
So, I'll try to update this twice a week.
Maybe :P
Bye.