Don't Turn Away From Me.

Gerard's POV.
The sun streaming through the windows woke me up, making my head pound. I throw an arm over my eyes, groaning, and use the other hand to search for the aspirin that I keep on the table for times like this. I find it, and I put one in my mouth, swallowing it down dry.
I don't do that with the second one, though, because my mouth is so dry that I can hardly swallow the first without gagging and wanting to throw up. I open an eye slightly, looking for any form of liquid within an arm's reach.
Lucky for me, it's some form of alcohol, the stuff that got me into the situation of a headache in the fucking first place. I consider it for a second, then decide to just swallow enough to get the pill down my throat comfortably.
I lie in my bed for the next half an hour, wanting the pills to work a little before I even lift my head up. My arm is still over my eyes, shielding them from the light. God, I feel like a fucking vampire. The pain dulls a little, so I take my arm off my face and sit up with my eyes closed.
I keep expecting for my mother to call me down for breakfast, or for dad to be shouting at me to get a move on otherwise I'll be late for school, but they don't, just like they haven't for almost two years. That long, yet the disappointment still stabs my heart and twists the hypothetical knife around.
I try to be positive, like how I can be as noisy as I want or how I can do as many drugs or drink as much alcohol as I want without anyone caring, but I'm a pessimist, always have been, always will be.
I stand by my bed for a second, watching the room spin. As soon as it settles down, my stomach heaves. I run to the bathroom, barely getting there before the watery contents of my stomach falls into the basin, making me cringe and the tears to prick at my eyes from the burn of alcohol coming back up. I start to thank God that I don't have long, black hair any more, but remember that I dropped the practise of Christianity almost two years ago, when I found out that if there is a God, he won't help me.
When I've finished, I almost check if a lung was brought up with everything, but instead I sit on the bathroom floor, my chest heaving. I can feel a bead of sweat run from my faded red hair down to my temple, and it makes me shudder.
I finally find some willpower and stand up, turning on the shower and opening a window so the smell of my puke doesn't make me throw up again. I strip off, folding everything neatly and placing the clothes on the floor. I get in, sighing when the warm water soothes the aches and pains.
The water starts streaming into a diluted orange, red color, from my hair. I smile slightly, liking the colors running down the drain. I wash my hair, myself, and brush my teeth while I'm in there, stalling time so I don't have to step out into the cold bathroom.
As soon as I draw back the shower curtain, the arm that isn't covered in running water gets goosebumps, and I shiver. I mentally pat myself on the back when I remember I left a towel on the radiator, the hot radiator.
I run out, grabbing the towel and pressing myself against the heat of the metal.
When I'm almost dry, I turn the shower off, managing to be away from the source of heat for a few minutes while I get changed into the clothes I left myself out last night. Sometimes, drunk me is sensible, but those times are very rare.
My hair is almost dry because of the draft coming in from the open window, so I leave it to dry naturally, not bothering to rub it with the towel. I shut the window, gathering my clothes and throwing them into the hamper as I walk past.
The idea of breakfast seems appealing, but there isn't any food in the cupboards or anything, hinting that I need to go buy some groceries. Sighing, I grab my coat, wallet, and car keys, heading out of the door humming David Bowie's Heroes.
In the shop, I keep my head down, not wanting to bump into anyone that might start a small-minded conversation with me, most likely being about God or how sorry they are for me, being all by myself, which them normally leads them to ask me for dinner, which I have to accept otherwise I'd be thought of as rude.
“Gerard!” Fucking fabulous! It's not a middle aged woman that brings up God and my mom and dad in every conversation I have with them, instead, it's Frank Fucking Iero. He's a trainee priest, ex-best friend, and ex-crush, a person I haven't spoken to properly since we were eighteen.
I conjure up a smile, one that probably looks like somebody who is 'that' close to breaking out an axe and butchering everybody in sight because he's done with their shit, but a smile nonetheless. “Frank..” My voice is lacking in the excitement everybody seems to have around here, even when they're at a funeral, and it makes his little smile drop for a second.
“Gerard, hey!” I give him a little wave, waiting for him to stop running and finally reach me. When he does, he's out of breath and can't talk without huge gasps breaking up the sentence. “How are you doing?” And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how to start a conversation after you made a hung-over, pissed off twenty year old wait for you to actually talk for nearly all eternity. “Fine.” He pauses, looking at me as if he expects me to ask him the question back.
“Okay, good.. Look, I know you haven't been to church in a while, but-” I cut him off with a sigh, walking away to finish shopping. “Gerard!” His hand is on my shoulder, pulling me back slightly, but I shrug it off. “You know I'm not into that shit any more, Iero. What God would have let an eighteen year old watch.. that?” I can't say it, two years after everything, and I can't say it.
Frank sighs, and I see him pop around my body to in front of me, leaning on a random display. “Yes, Gerard, I know. I just- I just thought you might enjoy it. It's not like a usual church service, you don't have to sit, pray, and sing hymns, you can paint and stuff. I know you like drawing, well, you did a few years ago, but even if you don't, you should still come and join in..” I shake my head at him, making him flutter his eyelashes subconsciously. “Please? It'll be fun..” I look down, unable to say no to those eyes. I huff at him, crossing my arms. “I'll think about it, okay? Now leave me alone and go back to praying or whatever the fuck you do on a...” He shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “It's a Tuesday, Gerard .”
“Right, I knew that... Okay, so, leave me alone and go and sing hymns or something.. Thanks a lot, goodbye.” I practically run from him before he coax me into going to something else, he knows full damn well I can't say no to him.
I get back to my apartment, already opening something I bought. My stomach is growling, and it's practically asking for me to fry some bacon and feed it for the first time in a few days. I leave the bags on the kitchen floor, getting out a frying pan and then putting it back, too lazy to fry it, instead opting to grill it.
As it's cooking, I put the groceries away, placing it all in random places that will make me want to murder myself later on.
I put some bread in the toaster, then I put the radio on, cringing when my crappy stereo start playing pop, on the only fucking radio station it can pick up in this God-fearing town. I debate on smashing it up with my own forehead, but decide against it when I hear the fire alarm beeping.
I curse, checking the bacon first, not even realizing that all the smoke is coming from the toaster. When I do realize, I curse again, also fitting in a bit of blasphemy in there, too. I unplug the toaster, holding it with an oven mitt while I run outside. I don't know why I did, opening a window probably would have been just as effective, but I do anyway, the cold making me shiver.
I stand there, reprimanding myself for my stupidity, while the toaster stops smoking and I can fish the black pieces of what used to be bread out of it. I hold the bread up, looking at it regretfully. I mentally start to apologise to it, then I realize what I'm doing and even though it's just me, talking to myself, my cheeks flare up.
In the end, I end up burning the bacon as well, and I just opt for some cereal and a can of beer for my breakfast/lunch/dinner. Well, that isn't the only alcohol I had, I actually ended up just as drunk as the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that... So on, and so on.
The next morning played out the same, except I'm not at the store, I'm a fucking church. Frank didn't care to mention that the stupid art thing was today, and he sounded so hopeful on the phone, though I don't recall him having my number, but I couldn't turn him down, anyway.
So, right now, I'm standing in what looks to be the whole residence of this place, looking like I'm ready for a funeral. Frank is nowhere to be seen, I'm starting to feel sick, and the headache I thought the aspirin would take care of is worming it's way back to being centre place in my head.
I stand, hugging myself, for at least ten minutes in the corner of the room, getting stared at and everything, waiting for Frank to show his stupid, little, fucking adorable face and help me out a little with the anxiety that's bubbling in my chest and stomach.
“Gerard! You came..” He appears out of nowhere, making me jump and crash into a woman that was standing at least five metres away from me. “Yeah, I fucking came..” The same lady I crashed into tuts at me, probably because of my use of profanity, so I roll my eyes back at her. “Gerard, stop being rude! Come on, I'll show you what to do..” He grabs my wrist, the touch making me blush. We weave through the people, finally getting to some unoccupied seats, which Frank pulls me onto.
He hands me a sketchbook, some pencils, and an eraser. “So... I just draw?” He nods, pursing his lips.
“Yes, but make sure it isn't... satanic or anything..” He looks down, blushing, and I laugh.
“I knew the rumors about me were bad... but this? Oh, dear God...” I chuckle once more, looking at Frank.
“I'm sorry.. It's just that you barely ever speak to anyone, you listen to.. 'dark' music, you dress like that.. People are going to talk, Gerard.. I mean, grief sends us to strange places, and some people think.. the 'thing' drove you to loving the Devil, you even threw your bible at the church at some point, didn't you?” I nod, feeling slightly ashamed of myself for doing that.
I was a drugged up, drunk mess, the memories and everything pushed me too far one night, and I was done blaming myself for everything, so I blamed God and lashed out on Him. I don't even believe in Him any more, but I can't help but feel He's partly to blame, in any case.
I sniff, feeling the tears in my eyes as I blink them away, and Frank pats me on the shoulder. “Gerard, I have to go and help Father Peters, but I'll be back soon, just sit tight..” I nod, waving him off. He smiles at me, walking off with a a little wave.
I don't know how long Frank's gone, but it's enough for me to sketch out my parents and I, from when I was around nine, and we went to the beach, the first and only time I've ever been to one. We're all laughing in the drawing, as we are in the photo, but I've somehow managed to incorporate the pain I'm feeling into the minor details of it. In our eyes, in two sea-birds behind us, one dead and the other calling out in pain over it's dead companion, in the water, the greys and blacks of the twisting waves standing out from the rest of the drawing, which is in color- all blues, pinks, oranges, light greens.
I didn't dress in black then, that came a little later, instead I have on a light blue sweater, blue jeans and sneakers. I look like a carefree kid, that is until you look at the eyes. I don't know how I've done it, but all three pairs of eyes are twisted with sadness and angriness.
I stare at the drawing for a minute, looking over every detail before I screw it into a ball and put it in my pocket so no-one can see it. I look around, making sure nobody is looking at me weirdly, and I spot Frank rushing back over to me. He smiles when he sees me looking, but I can't muster even a fake one to give back to him.
“Are you okay?” I nod, running a hand through my hair and looking at my lap. “I know you aren't, but I'm not going to pry, okay?” I nod, looking up at him with a small, grateful smile. I stand up, grabbing my jacket and scarf. “I'm going to go.. I'm bored and all I can hear is people talking about their loving, gracious God... It's making me feel sick, to be honest..” Frank's eyebrows furrow, and he goes to tell me off for speaking that way about the almighty Lord, but I shoot him a look and he stops. “Goodbye, Gerard. I'm glad you came, even if all you did was draw and insult my God..” His tone is sarcastic, and instead of feeling mad, I laugh, because that's the first time I've heard him talk like that to anyone.
“Goodbye, Frankie..” He freezes, I freeze. The nickname was one I used to call him when we were more like brothers than best friends, and it just slipped out. Frank looks up at me with pained eyes, probably remembering the times we laughed together. “Sorry... Shit, I'm just going to fucking go..” I jog away, almost crying with relief when I get away from the stuffy church, full of memories and stuffy people.
The apartment is just as bad, except none of the bad memories include my parents, God, or Frank, they just have me, crying, shouting, smashing things up, getting high, drunk, lost within everything. I take one look at a photograph of my parents at a shitty school dance, and I want to vomit. The tears suddenly spring free, something I haven't let happen in months, and I pick it up and throw it across the room.
“Fuck you! Why did you fucking leave me, you fucking bastards? I love you! Fuck you!” I get another photo, throwing it in roughly the same direction as the other one, and I start to laugh while I cry.
The laughter is hysterical, but I can't stop. I want it all to stop, everything that's rushing around my brain, every emotion, every tear.
I walk into the kitchen, throwing a few more family photos as I do, and take some vodka out of the fridge, drinking it straight from the bottle. I leave the fridge door open, grabbing more alcohol before opening the cupboard and bring the box out.
The box contains all of my drugs, hard or soft. I have a little bit of cocaine, some prescription tablets that went bad last year- but I think it makes them more potent, some anti-depressants that I'm not supposed to be taking any more because I was 'becoming addicted to them', and some pot. I had more drugs less than a week ago, but I had a 'party' with some college friends, and we got wrecked.
I get out the cocaine, smiling manically when I see it's already in powder, and leave the box on the side. I walk into the lounge, drinking vodka, and sit on the floor by the little coffee table that was my mom's, The cocaine comes out of the bag almost as soon as I sit down, I feel that desperate to get high.
I roll up some paper, using that instead of a straw, and I snort some of the coke, having to hold in a sneeze as I do. Leaving the cocaine on the table, I stand up, grabbing the vodka. I choke some back, swaying to some unknown music.
The high doesn't hit straight away, snorting it takes a lot longer than injecting or smoking it, but when it does hit, it hits very strongly. My pulse speeds up, and I start to feel hotter. I open all of the windows in the room, hanging my head out of everyone and shouting to whoever is down on the street, which probably isn't anyone.
I feel the need to do something, like go running or something, but I stop from walking out the door when I hear a knock. “Gerard? Are you in here?” It's Frank, and I bound over and throw open the door. I wrap my arms around him, kissing both of his cheeks before dragging him in. “Um, Gerard...?” He stops in the doorway, looking at the smashed glass and stuff everywhere. He looks at me, concerned, and spots the cocaine and alcohol on and around the table. He looks back and forth between me and the table for a second, then he licks his lips and steps forward, his hand outstretched.
He looks comical, his eyes wide and his hand outstretched like that, so I have to laugh. There was nothing I could have done to have stopped that hysterical laugh from coming out, nothing at all. “Want some?” I smile at him, and then I start jumping up and down slightly, the high not yet worn off.
He looks at me, shocked. “Hm, I'll take that as a no then, shall I?” He nods slightly, looking at the drug on the table. I grab the vodka from where I must have dropped it, and I drink some, making Frank's eyes widen even more and for him to try to grab the bottle from me.
I hold it in the air, and he tries to grab, but he's too small. That makes me laugh, and I drink some more. “Gerard, put the bottle down. What is that? Cocaine?” I nod, making him shake his head. “Cocaine is bad for you... So is.. Vodka?” I nod again, smiling. “I want you to... um, flush the drugs down the toilet, okay? And then I need you to pour that down the sink..” He gestures to the bottles around us, all wide-eyed seriousness, but I laugh at his request. “No way! I like them..” I giggle, spinning around.
“Dance with me, Frankie!” I grab his hands, making him spin around as I laugh. I try to pick him up, but I end up falling over and Frank lands on top of me.
Giggling, I poke his cheek, which is inches away from mine. “Get off me then, silly!” He blushes, jumping off as soon as the word 'get' is said. I continue to lie on the floor, trying to drink the alcohol. “Gerard, you'll choke...” He holds out a hand, which I grab and literally jump up, making Frank stumble and almost fall over. “You sure you're not drunk?” He snorts, as if the idea is preposterous, and shakes his head.
“Of course not..” I roll my eyes at him, walking into the kitchen. I continue to drink from the glass bottle, my footsteps wobbly and my eyesight blurred. “Frank, are you.. aware, are you...” I trail off, forgetting what I was going to say, which makes me laugh. “What?” I shrug, turning around and looking through my box of magic..
I pull out numerous drugs, none of them catching my attention, and they end up spilling out on the floor. Frank, being the good Christian he is, rushes over to help me, but he stops as soon as he realizes what it is I dropped, and he backs away.
I can feel myself coming down from the high, and already the depressed feeling is lurking. I sigh, pushing everything back in the box and slamming it back in the cupboard, slamming the cupboard shut, too. I slam the fridge door shut, as well, and as I walk through to the lounge, I kick a chair, making it fly backwards and fall over.
“Do you ever just hate everything?” I lean on the door frame, watching Frank in the kitchen. He shakes his head at my question. “How could I hate things that were created by God?” I laugh at him, stopping when I realize he's serious.
I sigh, suddenly wanting to be anywhere else but here, even Hell would be better than this town. “Religion was just something somebody made up to stop people from fighting, it's all a load of shit, watch The Da Vinci Code, it talks a lot about God and shit in that..” I have no idea what I'm taking about really, I just wanted to make Frank feel bad, I think. I've only watched the film once, way back when I actually believed in God and I thought it was all blasphemous nonsense, so I didn't pay attention.
“Stop doing that!” My head snaps up to Frank, who, if I just heard him correctly, just shouted at me. “Stop doing what?” He shakes his head, sighing.
“Undermining God. I get that you aren't a believer, but not everything in the world revolves around you and your views, so stop forcing them down other people's throats!” I put my hands up in surrender, barely containing the nasty smirk I have creeping up on my lips. “I'm going to go now, Gerard, you clearly have everything under control here, I just wanted to check on you since I saw you hanging out of a window, and I have, so I'm leaving.” He pushes past me, grabbing his jacket and leaving, slamming the door behind him.
I stare at the door for a while, feeling more and more down as I do, and start crying again. So, the cocaine has worn off, I guess. I wipe my face, sniffing.
Walking into the bedroom, I take off my jeans, folding them and placing them on the floor near the door. Then, I get into bed and curl up, knowing I won't be able to sleep but wanting to be cocooned in something that vaguely resembles my mother's warmth.
Somehow I do manage to sleep, only to be woken up when I hear my phone buzzing. Once again, the my head is pounding, but his time I have no aspirin besides me. I reach out a hand to grab my phone, searching around for it while it buzzes.
“What?” My voice is croaky and it can't sound very attractive to whoever is on the phone.
“Hi...” I groan at Frank's voice, and I almost hang up.
“What do you want?”
“I'm sorry about last night, I didn't mean to run out like that..” I furrow my eyebrows, my cheeks heating up at the thoughts of what I might have done.
“Oh, shit, what did I do?” Please say I didn't kiss you, that was the question I really wanted to ask.
“You.. um, had taken some drugs and you'd drunk a lot of alcohol. I was worried about you so I came in, and we argued about God, so I left.” I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Thank fuck... I thought I'd done something really bad...”
“You had cocaine? That is really bad...” I laugh down the phone, but the slightly movement makes me wince.
“That isn't really bad, Frank. Murder is bad, a little bit of cocaine to keep you sane isn't fucking bad..” I hang up on him, knowing that if we keep talking there would be an argument.
I lie in the bed for another few hours, not daring to move my head or go into the lounge where the curtains are probably open. My mouth is really dry, and my lips are cracked.
Eventually, I have to get out of bed, even if it's to get a drink and something to eat- even though I'm not hungry, and then I get back in. I'm debating on that, when I hear the doorbell ring. Groaning, I climb out of bed, combing my fingers through my hair and pulling on some different, less stained clothes. “Hold on..” I glance at myself in the mirror, not satisfied with my appearance, but deciding that I'll do to just answer the door.
The person knocks again, making me glare at the door. “Yeah, hold on..” I open the door, still glaring. My glare intensifies when I the small man outside the door. “It's you..” He nods at me, returning the glare.
“What is your problem with me? We were best friends, like, two years ago, now look at us!” I give him no answer, I just start to close the door on him. His foot stops me, jammed in the door. “Fuck off, Frank.” He pushes the door, and I let it fall open, my headache getting the better of me.
Storming in, he looks over the place, sighing when he sees it still in a mess. “Gosh, Gerard, what happened to you? The Gerard I knew wouldn't have done any of this..” He gestures around the room, stopping on the cocaine that's still on the table.
“Yeah, well, the Gerard you knew had parents. The Gerard you knew was kind of happy with everything.” I give him a pointed stare, but lucky for me he's stood right in front of an open curtain, meaning sunlight flying directly to my eyes.
“Fuck..” I turn around, walking into the kitchen and searching for some pain reliever that should be on top of the fridge. I find some, swallowing two down with the bottle of vodka next to me. It seemed to make the pills work faster the last time, so why not try it again. “Gerard, it's been two years..” His voice is quiet now, full of sympathy and pity.
“Oh, yeah. I'm sorry, two years is too long to still be grieving for, I forgot. I'll just snap out of this and become the stupid little Christian I was two years ago. I'll go to church everyday, I'll read the bible a million times a year, I'll become small minded again.” He shakes his head at my tone, which is bitter and sarcastic. “I didn't mean it like that.. It came out wrong.. I meant that it's been two years and you should be coming to terms with it, letting things go. I'm sorry if I caused offence..” I shake my head at him this time, letting out a small laugh.
“I can't just get over it! Both of my fucking parents died in front of me! They died, they were good people, yet I survived, me! If there was a God, he'd have let me die and them survive, they could have gotten over me, just like how I can't get over them.” I'm in his face, shouting, but he somehow manages to stay calm. He takes a few steps back, sighing.
“Calm down, Gerard. I know it's hard, but you have to channel your grief into something other than destroying yourself. Try drawing again, not drugs. If you aren't going to come to church and let Him guide you, then don't. Only you can help yourself, you can't let others do the healing for you.” I grit my teeth at his words, because no matter how I look at them , they make sense, and I hate that.
“Whatever, Frank...” I open the fridge, pulling out some beer. I open it, knocking half back.
“See, this is what I mean. Stop it.” I shake my head, defiantly drinking some more. He sighs, sitting down. “At least have something to eat, then.”
“Not hungry..” I put the empty bottle in the sink, almost making it smash.
“No, you're having something to eat, even if I have to force it down your throat.” He stands up, grabbing my shoulders and sitting me down on the chair he was sat on.
I have to smile at this, but only because it's nice to have someone worry about me like my parent used to.

Notes

The views on God in this story are in no way meant to cause any offence, they just fit with the situation and everything.
First chapter, let me know what you think...