Even If Saving You Sends Me To Heaven

The chilly wind blew through the blazer I was wearing as I walked through the streets of New Jersey, not really knowing where to go and what to do. I couldn't go back to George. I didn't want to. I would die before I would willingly go back to him. Besides, him putting me on the street ment one single thing for me - I was kicked out and I didn't have a home anymore. The night hadn't been as bad as it could have been. With the crime rate in Jersey, I could have been the next body found in the local pond, or the next person hanging by my neck in a basement. However, I knew that the fact that I wasn't, could easily change.

I walked into a dark alley with filthy, cheap apartments. They had seven floors, about every other window was broken. The doors and the walls were graffiti stained. There was garbage all over the filthy street, bags containing something with a horrible smell, beer bottles and various kinds of drug related objects. There were two taller, dark-clothed guys at the end of the street, discussing, before on of them handed over a large amount of money, and the other one giving a small paperbag. I walked over to the wall, sitting close to one of the appartment doors, and leaning my head against the hard bricks. I sat there for a while, watching the guys talking a little longer, before the one who had recieved the money turned around, and the other one with the paper bag walked towards me, gripping the bag tightly. I saw who it was about the same time as he saw who I was.

Gerard stopped a couple of feet away, looking at me with large eyes. We just stared at eachother for too many seconds, before he cleared his throat, looking down at his bag. I followed his gaze, and looked at the bag, wondering what he had bought, but not nearly as much as I was wondering what he was doing there.

He looked back up at me, meeting my gaze before offering a tiny smile, walking towards me. I just sat there, not completely knowing what to say or do. I kept looking at him as he walked over to the door next to me, reaching into his pockets and pulling keys out. He shot me a nervous glance, before unlocking and opening the door. He stepped forward, standing in the doorway while holding the door open. He had turned slightly back towards me, looking at me, before cleared his throat ang shot a final smile to me. When I didn't do anything but stare at him, he kind of shifted uncomfortably in front of me. "Um -" he started, lifting his hand up and rubbing his forehead. He sighed again. "- do you want to come in?" he asked, not completely sure what else to say. I was slightly shocked, and I let it show as I looked at him. I then leaned forward a little, peeking in through the door and seeing a dark hall with stairs. There were mailboxes on the wall in there, al though a couple of them were on the floor, leaning against the wall.

I looked back up at him, giving a small nod, before gripping the bricks on the wall behind me so I would be able to get up. I whinced, feeling my sore bottom and back yelling at me for moving too much, but I tried to hide it. However, when I looked back up at him, seing the concern in his eyes, I knew that I had failed miserably. I just looked at my worn old, grayish brown converse, nodded to myself one more time and walked into the hallway. Gerard stepped all the way in, before closing and locking the door. He then started walking towards the stairs, and I grunted, knowing how painful those steps would be for me. I just silently followed him, carefully lifting one foot on the first step, and then the other on the same step. The pain was litterally trying to kill me, but I couldn't stop. Gerard was already too many steps ahead of me, and I couldn't show him what kind of a weak fuck I was. As I finally made it up the first set of stairs, Gerard was waiting for me at the top of the second. When he saw me literally pull my self up the stairs, another look of concern flashed through his eyes. He hesitated, before walking down the steps again, standing next to me. He made a hand movement as if to ask if I needed help, but I shook my head furiously. I was going to do this.

The pain got worse for every step I took, for every muscle tightening, with every movement i made, for every breath I took. Gerard was walking up the stairs next to me, in my pace, ready to help me whenever I needed it, but I was determined that I was going to do it. Besides, I didn't know what he wanted with me, I really felt that I couldn't trust him. Why should I have trusted him? He had left me, his own brother with a man he knew would hurt me beyond anything. He knew what George was able to do.

Before I knew it, he was leading me down the dirty hall. The lights in the ceilig gave the olivegreen walls a dim, yellow color. The lights that were working, that is. The doors we were passing were all painted red, the pain was chipped and the wood was rotting around the door-handles. Gerard stopped in front of one of the doors, the third one from the end of the hall, on the right. His door was one of the few with a doormat. It was nothing fancy, just a regular brown one. When he unlocked and opened the door, he stepped inside and motioned for me to follow. I stared at my shoes as I stepped in too, and he immediately closed and locked the door. I heard shuffeling, signaling that he was taking off his shoes, and I quickly slipped mine off too. I was about to take the blazer from the day before off, but stopped when I felt how damp it was from the rain the night before.

I shot a quick glance at him, standing there and looking me up and down. The cut under his right eye was still visible, but he had somehow covered the black eye completely. His busted lip looked like a busted lip usually did the day after. It wasn't swollen anymore, however. He was wearing a grey, fitting t-shirt and skin-tight, black jeans. He was wearing a bright green belt too. I let my eyes wander around the room as he stood there. The hallway we were standing in was dark. The walls were painted a dark shade of red, and there was a small table in the corner with a small lamp and a the paperbag from earlier that he had placed on it. As he cleared his throat, my eyes darted back to him, and he motioned for me to follow him further into the house. His livingroom was small, dark and sad. No light whatsoever was let in through the window; thick, dark curtains covering them. The dark walls were covered in art. Mostly sketches just put up there, but also some real paintings in real frames. I saw straight away on which of the paintings he was the painter, recognizing the way he used sharp corners and dark colors with a lot of shading involved. I turned around and looked at the far end of the livingroom. There was a kitchen in the corner. It wasn't really a kitchen, more like cobbards, a small fridge and a stove stuffed into a corner. He had a tall table next to his fridge, against the wall with tall stools in red leather-imitation. There was a black couch right next to me, and a smaller coffee table made of some kind of dark wood. I kept looking around and back to the kitchen. A couple of feet away, on the far-end wall, there was a door; his bedroom was probably on the other side. There was another door all the way in the opposite corner from the kitchen, I thought that it was probably his bathroom. I felt him staring at me as I took in his small appartment. I turned my gaze back to him, not knowing what to say. He gave another smile. "Let's sit down" he whispered, and walked over to the couch. I nodded, followed him, and sat down on the opposite side from him; as far away as I could possibly get. I felt myself sinking into the soft warmth of the couch, closing my eyes for a second, and trying to relax. I couldn't believe how people living on the street all their lives would survive. I had been out there for a day, and I felt so sore and stiff. Some of it might be because of the things happening with George, but still.

My thoughts were interrupted by Gerard asking if I wanted something. I just gave him a rejecting look, not really wanting anything but answers yet. He looked disappointed at my response, but he hadn't changed at all when It came to him never giving up. "At least get out of those clothes... I would like my blazer back." He tried to crack a joke, giggling for himself. I just shot him a quick glance, telling him not to go there, but didn't respond in any other way. His smile faltered, and he leaned back into the couch, his arms twisted up behind his head, and his legs streched out in front of him. We sat there for a minute, not doing or saying anything. When I shot him another glance, he smiled again. "Please stop smiling" I heard myself say. I didn't realize I had said it, until he looked at me in confusion. "Why?" He asked. I suddenly felt my anger returning. "Why?", I repeated, "Because there's nothing in this fucked-up world to be fucking smiling about! THAT'S why!" I yelled, seeing his shocked expression, before using my arms to push myself on my feet. I felt really uncomfortable and I wanted to leave before I said something wrong. I only took a few steps towards the door before I heard shuffling from the couch. Soon enough, he was standing right in front of me, one hand on each of my shoulders as if he was going to push me back. I looked up at him, into him. "Please don't go, Mikey" He whispered. I kept looking at him, not knowing what to say straight away. I tried to think what to say, I was going to tell him a lie to why I was leaving so quickly. But for the second time in a very short period of time, my words popped out of my mouth before I could control them. "Like you fucking listened to me when I was the one saying those words." I told him bitterly. At the words, his face fell, and I could see pain and regret swimming through his eyes. This time, however, it didn't go away after a few seconds. It lingered there. Soon enough, tears were welling up. He tried to blink them back, but I could see them. He couldn't take it anymore and tears started running down his cheeks. To be honest, I was quite shocked, seeing him crying like this. I heard him start muttering something under his breath, but I didn't pay attention. I just looked over at my shoes a couple of feet away. I wanted to make him feel like I had felt for this long. I wanted to make him hurt. I wanted him to know what he had left me with. Not the physical, of course, but the feeling of betrayal, guilt, grief and hate. In stead, I put my hand on his shoulder, and gently pushed him against the wall. I kept my hand there, holding him there and looked at his face; his pale skin, his tearstained eyes and the puffyness underneath them. "Gerard. I want you to leave me alone. I have survived so many fucking years, and I can survive another one. You were the one who left me, remember? I don't fucking want to hear apologies, excuses or theories. I can survive getting hit every now and then back there for my last year." I decided not to tell him about all the sexual stuff George was putting me through. "I don't fucking want to know why you're back, how long you've been back and why you've been stalking me around school, I just-" "- I know what he's doing to you, Mikey" My brother piped up, interrupting me.

I could feel my self stop breathing for a couple of seconds, narrowing my eyes, and staring at him. He couldn't have known. I was the only one who knew! Me, and of course George. He was obviously talking about the belt-thing. More then just "hitting" as in punching, but actually using - "I know there's more than the pain his hands are causing you. More than whatever he used to give you that bruise on your cheek." I automatically reached up to my apparently bruised cheek. I let my arm drop, away from him, before looking at the ground ashamed. He couldn't know! How did he know? George had only started after Gerard had left. I couldn't help but getting the bitter thought telling me that he only started because Gerard had left. So I turned around and stepped the last few steps towards my shoes, stuffing my feet into them and heading towards the door. "Please don't leave Mikey" I heard him cry from behind me. I turned around and looked at him, debating wherether to say what I wanted or just ignore his request. "I know he's putting you through something nobody deserves. Evil ways of getting self -satisfaction", he whispered. I was beyond angry. I was furious. If he knew he would fucking come back sooner. Fuck, if he knew, he wouldn't have left at all. He didn't know anything and I was planning on telling him that. I finally opened my mouth; letting the words come out as I watched him crying.

"You don't fucking know anything, Gerard. Anything at all. If you fucking did, you'd know how long I waited before I fucking let my tears come to me. THOSE TEARS - " I pointet at his face"- DIDN'T ESCAPE MY EYES BEFORE IT WAS TOO MUCH! WAY TOO FUCKING MUCH FOR A FUCKING 16 YEAR OLD! I CAN'T SURVIVE, I DON'T WANT TO SURVIVE. UNFORTUNATELY I DON'T EVEN HAVE MONEY TO GET A ROPE SO I CAN FUCKING END IT ALL." I tried to calm down, and took a deep breath." Because I gave you a stupid promise never to cry in front of him! I waited THREE FUCKING YEARS! Do you fucking remember my promise, Gerard?!" I had started yelling now, and as soon as I saw his head give a slight nod, tears still flowing down his face, I continued. "Well, guess the fuck what. I broke my promise, but do you know why? BECAUSE YOU FUCKING BROKE YOURS! BROKE IT. YOU PROMISED TO COME GET ME SOON! IT WAS A PROMISE! YOU WOULD RESCUE ME, NOT JUST LEAVE ME THERE FOR THREE FUCKING YEARS! You know what? Fuck it, fuck you. I've been through enough thanks to you, and I'm not going to go through more. You aren't my fucking brother. You're no less of a shit I am. The only difference between us is that I was forced to be like this. You chose to be like that!" I had to take a break and take another deep breath, before I continued, "I never want to fucking see you again. I HATE YOU." I spat at him, seing my words break into him. He sank to the floor, still sobbing and just giving mee a long look filled with feelings I couldn't recognize. I just shook my head and turned around. I hade a big deal of walking out the door and slamming it shut as hard as I possibly could.

Notes