It's Not a Fashion Statement

-one month later-
Gerard stepped out of the flower shop, the two bouquets of brightly pigmented flowers resting in his arms. The red roses blended with the assortment of huge white lilies and pale, pastel shades of pink blossoming flowers, whilst in the other bouquet, the purple pansies and huge bright yellow flowers and gorgeous green leaves that enveloped the silk ribbons holding them together, contrasted so beautifully. The flowers lit up in comparison to the dull, clouded skies that loomed over the city.

January in New York city had never been the most joyous of times, people trying to get back into the swing of things after the Christmas break. Nonetheless, it was always beautiful, the frost glazed windows and the light, feathery snow that would float down from the skies like glitter. The fountains often frozen to icicles, spindles of glass ornament like sculptures that were created from the once running water. The winter season would always be beautiful, from the orange sunsets on a clear cold day to the foggy atmosphere that would sting your lungs when you breathe in a little too much. It was very romantic, and buying red flowers for him in this season just seemed right, the fierce red contrasting with the pale white snow would stand out. Red has always been a color of love and compassion, it’s a feeling so strong and raw is love, it’s a feeling you can’t force, not true love, anyway, as cheesy as that sounds. Red is such a rich color, red is the color of blood, red is the color that represents anger, red is the color of love, and they’re all so strong and raw, no wonder red is represented for it.

Gerard put an excessive amount thought into choosing these particular flowers, the bright yellow, purple and green for his baby brother, along side the red, pink and white ones for his Frankie.

Gerard hadn’t really been thinking a lot recently, Gerard couldn’t. Gerard was just numb and his mind wouldn’t work that way. It took him a lot to actually really think about what he was doing.
He did put all his effort in whilst picking the flowers, though. After all, Gerard was a designer, Gerard was an artist and Gerard most certainly cared about his family more than anything else in the world, so really, choosing the right flowers for the people that meant more than anything to him was more of a task than most people would view it as.

Gerard was certain that as little as the flowers would really mean- after all, they were just flowers- if he actually put meaning behind them, then surely they’d be more than an aesthetically pleasing contrast against the cold stone of his grave and the crumpled sheets of his hospital bed.

Gerard shivered, a chill crawling up his back like icy fingerprints climbing up his spine and tickling his bones. Maybe that was because of the cold weather, maybe it was because Gerard didn’t even care to bother dressing warm anymore, and maybe it was even because someone did actually touch his back.

But as much as Gerard hated to admit it, and as much as Gerard tried to lie to himself about it to maybe feel a little less guilty, the truth always rose up from the lies, it was none of those literal reasons. Gerard always shook with fear and when the image of their broken bodies flashed before his eyes again, and how fucking little he tried. When he was reminded the last thing he told his brother was that he hates him, when he was reminded the fact they’re both gone because of him, Gerard couldn't help but shiver.

And Gerard knew, it really is only a matter of time until he goes along with them.

From the first mistake to the last, this was all Gerard’s fault. Sending Frankie to the ‘director,’ to being so careless, absent minded and selfish he didn’t even call the police when he knew Frankie was in trouble, fuck, from the first thing he ever did by leaving that arts college to help Bert, the stupid bet because he was so broke. It was doing permanently foolish things because he was temporarily upset, like the fucking drugs he was into because he was so bored, the endless nights of alcohol because he hated who he was, and most importantly, running away from his problems expecting time would heal it all.
Gerard was drowning and he should’ve realized sooner that he could’ve pulled himself out of the gaping hole he was being suffocated by and dragged down into; after all, you only drown by staying in the water, not by falling in.

He was so stupid and naïve, and this is how it turned out.
Not only was it hard living without his best friends, his own brother and his love of his life, Gerard had to live with the ongoing fact he was responsible for all of it.

He could blame it on Bert, like everyone did. The facts were straight, Bert was the criminal on the run from prison, and Bert was the one with the gun in his hands. Of course the police automatically trusted what they thought was just the evidence.

But really, Bert was never the criminal; it was always Gerard. Gerard did bad things, Gerard lied, he ran, he stole, and Gerard was a fake and a bad person, even worse than Bert. Bert was just doing what a lot of people would do, reacting, and now he’s dead too. Believe it or not, Gerard once liked Bert, and Gerard would always feel guilty beyond belief of what he caused him.
So really, Gerard technically murdered four people, when you think about it.

And that had so many effects to it, it was like a domino effect; knock one down you knock another, then another. It was like a forest fire; set one tree alight, it’ll spread and burn the whole forest down.

He hurt one person and that will never stop the hurt. Gerard thought about mikey, then he thought about how that would hurt Kristin, his mom, his dad, himself. Bert surely had people, people even all those years ago that would be hurt because Gerard ran and left and played the blame game. Patrick, fuck, Pete would’ve been devastated, god knows what happened, maybe he did set out to kill someone, maybe he even possibly killed himself, god knows.
And Frankie, Gerard didn’t really know who else it may have affected bar himself. But Gerard knew that he really couldn't live without frank, and that sooner or later he was going to be dead, and it was going to be a death in his own hands.

Including the eventual death of himself, Gerard would technically be a serial killer, and that’s excluding all the deaths that Pete could’ve potentially caused. And so on, Gerard truly made a mess and there’s no denying it was all down to him.

All his life, Gerard had just been digging his own grave.
And Gerard was the worst kind of bad, Gerard never learnt his lessons, and he still tried to lie to himself to make him feel better, Gerard still tried to cover it up with a fake smile. Gerard was just that person that even though it’s digging at the back of his brain, Gerard would never actually admit something to himself, no matter how many times he’d have to pay and face the consequences.

Gerard got sympathy, of course everyone heard about the news. But no one knew that it was entirely Gerard’s fault, to them Gerard was just the good guy who lost all he had and that was life, things just happened, that’s life, they’d say.

But deep down, Gerard knew everything happened for a reason, it was not karma, and it was not just life.

Gerard got cards, he got gifts, and he got ‘I’m sorry’ so many times.
And he appreciated their efforts, he really did, but all that did was tear him down, because after a month of lying to himself, Gerard was finally coming to grips with reality and the fact he did all this, and he had to pay for that someway, and the emotional trauma he was forced to live with really wasn’t enough. Or maybe it was.

Maybe the doctors did that by keeping Frankie on that life support machine. Maybe the doctors still had him there because it was their way of mocking Gerard, every time Gerard stepped through that hospital door and added another bouquet of flowers to the end of franks bed.
They probably lied to Gerard, telling him there was a possibility of Frankie waking up just so that Gerard could pay, so that Gerard would cling onto Frankie’s skeletal hand with all the last glimmers of hope he had, until he’d just have to sit there and stare dumbfounded and bored at the lifeless figure in the bed, being forced to take the pressured oxygen and the nutrients that really weren’t doing anything.
Maybe the doctors just told Gerard that Frankie could possibly wake up so that Gerard’s pain could last longer, so that he could have wasted hope, or maybe it was simply because they wanted Gerard to watch him die, because clearly the bullet in his boyfriend's shoulder and the screaming and crying wasn’t enough. Apparently, having to hold his love in his arms whilst he screamed and kicked for his own life wasn’t a good enough punishment.
Maybe the doctors weren’t doctors at all; maybe it was some form of all the people that Gerard ever hurt's spirits taking over their bodies. Maybe they were all just bodies of people, but have had their souls taken over by demonic ghosts that want Gerard Way to really pay.

That’s got to be right, Gerard thought to himself, upon entering the graveyard his brothers buried body was in. Because in all seriousness, doctors can surely tell, after a whole month, someone isn’t going to just suddenly wake up. You can’t be dead for a month and suddenly wake up.
Doctors lie, they do, Gerard knew that ever since they told him in the ambulance they were all going to be okay.

His brother died the next morning; Frankie still wasn’t awake after a whole month. Gerard was certainly far from okay and in all honesty; Gerard was seemingly close to going insane. Though, he’d never admit that to himself, along with everything else that weighed him down.

Gerard placed the red roses on the ground, the ones he was going to add to franks bedframe in the empty hospital room later that evening. Franks body may have been there, but that’s it. Gerard had lost pretty much all hope now; it was a spark that couldn’t light up the fire. Gerard knew that frank was dead and he still clung onto his thin, delicate lifeless hand every time he visited. Gerard knew deep down he was holding onto thin air but he still held on tight, because like with everything, Gerard was far too scared to let go, and he was far too stupid to just admit it to himself, and god damn it, Gerard always had to lie to himself like this.
He looked back down at the purple, yellow, and green bouquet in his hands, and all thoughts of frank and his blood red bouquet were pushed aside.

The ground was wet and dear god, so cold. But Gerard barely felt it soak through his tight jeans when he fell to his knees in front of his brother’s grave.
Gerard had been numb, sitting at home in front of the log fire, staring off into the distance, cold, alone and lying.
But here, he was so mad and angry, and he was so sad. In fact, Gerard wasn’t sad, Gerard was in pain.
He sobbed into his chewed up jumper sleeves, he let the tears run and run and soak through the bitten fabric. The delicate bouquet dropped from his grip into the snow, and Gerard did nothing but cry harder. His sobs became irregular, raw and raspy, and anyone just seeing him there, would be able to tell Gerard way was utterly broken.
Gerard stroked down the marble slab engraved with his brother's name, tracing the pattern of the letters beneath his shaking fingers. His disconsolate, languishing tone wavered whilst he tried to form some words, but it was really no use, because Gerard knew there was nothing he could say that could make this even remotely justified; Gerard’s the only person who deserved this pain, it was no one else, really. His brother certainly deserved more than a rock with his name on. His brother actually deserved to be alive.

And Frankie deserved more than bed sheets that hadn’t been washed in a month, he deserved more than a stupid plastic tube stuck up his nostrils and crappy countless bouquets of flowers at the end of his bed. He deserved more than a delinquent inconspicuous hospital room and a blue bracelet that stated he’s in a fucking coma. Frankie deserved his own mother to show up once at his side, he really did.

And the worst part was, Gerard had all that they both deserved, because Gerard’s mother was always there for him, comforting him and telling him he’ll get by, Gerard wasn’t dead and Gerard didn’t have nothing but a few wilted flowers and a marble stone to be remembered by.

Gerard propped the flowers up carefully, after pressing a kiss to his palm and touching the dirt. He really didn’t want to leave; Gerard really didn’t want to just go, because fuck, mikey at least deserved that. But Gerard knew he couldn’t take it, and Gerard knew he was a selfish asshole and he already knew there was nothing he could do but accept it.

Tears lined in his eyes, Gerard stood up on shaky legs, grabbing for the frost covered red roses and lilies. He grabbed ahold by the stems and gave mikey one last look before hanging his head and shuffling out of the snow coated graveyard. Gerard used to think graveyards were nice, he used to believe graveyards were a good place, but now it’s as if they’re just there to mock him and everyone else who’s five feet under the ground.

His grip on the flowers tightened, the shivers that would run down his spine like a spiders crawling up his back got stronger, almost like something was scratching at his back, clawing at his bones, whilst the image of his brother flashed before his eyes. But as always, Gerard just shrugged, and said, ‘oh well’, because there’s nothing he can do, apart from lie to himself and just blame it all on the cold.

-

Soon enough, Gerard had arrived at the hospital; the one he visited every day.
The flowers clutched in his sweaty palms and his head hung low, covered with a black hood, Gerard no longer even bothered checking in at reception, because over the last month his dedication to the boy in the bed with the life support machine meant the receptionists actually got tired of checking Gerard in. some say it was unprofessional, but really the boy, Gerard, just couldn’t force words out, he really couldn’t communicate with the staff why he was there, and after it became regular occurrences, his hood up and flowers in his hands, the receptionists never even gave a second glance when he passed the corridors.

They’d turn to each other and sigh sometimes, because Gerard really was hanging on with all he had and they could only really respect the whole-heartedness and commitment he had devoted to this poor boy in the bed, and they could only really share sympathetic glances because the boy who crossed the corridors every day with flowers in his hands had really lost the world and all that mattered to him.

He looked so weak and venerable, in reality; Gerard was far from a boy, all that he’d achieved and all that he’d been through, some would say he’s wiser and more experienced than most people. But Gerard lied like a little boy, he hid the truth and he was scared of a lot of things and maybe that was why he appeared so helpless and small.

By the time he had reached Frankie’s door, he was already almost crying again, because Gerard really didn’t know how long he could keep doing this for. Of course he probably deserved all this heartbreak, but that still doesn’t change anything, it didn’t mean Frankie and mikey would come back to life when he’s suddenly payed the consequences.
Gerard knew that, but Gerard lied to himself, he told himself it’s the least he can do. But it’s the mistake Gerard keeps making, lying to himself, because once you lie it becomes part of your future, if he’d just admit the fact he can’t change anything he wouldn’t waste his endless nights sat in the crummy hospital or crying at his brothers grave. Telling the truth makes it part of your past, and maybe it was finally time for Gerard to try to put this behind him.

But still, Gerard opened the door and placed the gorgeous flowers on his bed. He tried not to look at his peaceful face, but Gerard just couldn’t resist, even though it hurt so bad to see him so lifeless, Gerard couldn’t stop himself, because he would never really know the last time he’d be able to see his face. Gerard would never know when exactly the time he’d be able to hold his hand and touch his delicate skin would be the last, despite that in return Frankie just laid still and lifeless, it was still something. Gerard never knew when Frankie could just be taken off life support, and as much as he hated the on going wasted hope he had, and the slow death he was having to watch, Gerard really couldn’t deny it would probably be worse when Frankie’s underground with only an engrave slab of concrete to be remembered by. No matter how cold Frankie skin felt in his, it’d never be quite as cold as a slab of rock placed with thousands of others in a field. Nothing can be quite that cold and numbing.

And so, Gerard’s dilated, bloodshot, teary eyes looked up at Frankie’s face, and it only took a good few minutes of trying his hardest not to cry that Gerard broke down, and he eventually just let the tears roll down his cold cheeks.

Gerard vowed that he wouldn’t cry, at least one day, he promised to himself he’d try and stay strong, but it’s always too much. Just like Gerard vowed that if frank ever did wake up, he’d never ever let go, and no matter what, he would never leave or do anything stupid because Gerard was tired of this feeling and he never wanted Frankie to feel that way, ever.

Gerard’s hand touched Frankie’s, and it brought a new wave of tears. Fuck, Gerard was practically a fucking waterworks.

Franks fingers were curled into his palm, whilst Gerard curled his fingers between his lovers. Gerard knew no matter what, he’d never miss a day to bring his brother flowers, and he’d never miss a day to intertwine his fingers in his lovers one last time. Gerard was so bad at letting things go, and he was also really bad at admitting things, so they always just seemed to be stored somewhere in his mind.

Gerard wanted to speak to frank, he really wanted to say encouraging words in hope he’d hear them. But Gerard never could, because what encouraging things would he be able to say to someone else, whilst he’s constantly trying to encourage himself that suicide is not the answer here?
You see, Gerard really was starting to give up hope.

And he sat in that room for at least three hours, biting his lip and clenching his eyes shut, just trying to live with himself, but dear god, It was really, really hard for Gerard. Every time Gerard would look in the mirror he’d see a man with blood on his hands, because Gerard really was guilty for this mess.

When he was about to leave he did what he always did, he gently ran his hands through franks hair, and he pressed a kiss to his forehead. He knew it was cliché, but Gerard didn’t care.

Gerard didn’t really care about anyone or anything apart from the two people who weren’t even there anymore.

Notes

its been nine days, fuck i'm so sorry guys. for about a week i was crashed at my friends because of shit at home and idk i got back and ive really not been in a mood to write. i know its not hard but i really hate forcing myself to do things, like writing and drawing, because then it feels like a chore sort of thing and i'd get really tired of it. anyway, sorry guys :/ i promise ill try to get back in the swing of things yo
also im so sorry about grammar mistake i'm so tired i cant be arsed correcting them just deal w it ok