Red is the Divine Exception

Gerard’s P.o.v.

The creak of the door fills the apartment as I sneak through the crack. Slipping past the doorway, I enter the dark hallway thats leads to the living room. The normally orange walls now black from the unlit night. In a very peculiar way, tonight there was no moon out to guide my drunken self home. I couldn’t hail a taxi, not like there was many out considering how early in the morning it was, but to continue; I’d spent all my cash at the bar. Just trying to grasp the raw reality of numbness, but like every night I would proceed to end up with another man against my lips. I guess that’s the next best cure for loneliness. That’s what it’s like to live the life of Gerard Way. The really tragic and unescapable terror of being quite the slave among gay bars. A slut, they call me, but who’s really the slut? Me, or the man desperate enough to rub their genitals against the next best thing to their hand. Exactly. I sigh and tip toe across the room, reaching the couch. I carry on and take my shoes off, grab a cigarette from the table stand, light it; and slip into a deep slumber as I laid down on the couch with one foot hanging over the edge. White noise being the last thing I heard before I drift off.

I look at the note I’d written. “I’m finally leaving,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. I set the note down on the night stand and get up from my bed. I limp over and grab my suitcase, quickly I look over myself in the mirror. My frail body, pale and bruised. Unfortunately, make up can’t cover up everything I try to hide. That’s why I purposely haven’t seen anyone in the past 4 years; and also because when you sell drugs it’s not the smartest idea to get your family involved. Learned that the hard way when I was in high school. My black hair, all mattered and greasy; and don’t even get me started on how badly I smell of alcohol. These eyes used to be full of passion and purpose, but now they just dulled to depression and sadness. Over the years of abuse and pain killers mixed with heroine, nothing was left. An empty container of emotions, but right now I have a tad bit of hope. And if that little bit of hope is going to get me through this, than i’ll take it. I’ll make it, I just need to leave.

I continue my journey out of the bedroom and head out to the hallway, down to the living room. When all the sudden the front door to our condo opened. A drunken man makes his way into the house, stumbling and muttering ineligible words. I drop my suitcase as I notice the beer can in his left hand and a shiny object in the right.

"What’re doin’ Gee? You leav'n me?“ He laughs a psychotic laugh.

"No, I’m just-.” I murmur and stumble back when I realize he’s coming closer to me. Holding a knife.

"Oh, so you won’t leave me even if I were to happen to accidentally stab you?“ He moves forward to take my neck into his hands. A tear escapes my eye and I begin to sob uncontrollably.

"N-no, I’d never l-leave you.” How could I ever think i’d ever be able to leave him? My stomach churns as if I already smell the vile cowardliness.

"What a pussy you are!“ He screams in my face then grabs my throat, pulling my against the wall as he begins to lift me off the ground.

I cough and struggle to breathe, my eyes so watery I couldn’t see anything.

"Plea- let….g-.” Is all I get out before he knees me in the stomach, My body launches forward from impact. I kneel on the floor with my hand clutching my abdomen, wheezing, but all that could come out was blood. He grabs my hair and pulls my head back, making my lips hang, desperate to close. All I could hear was the sound of my hair being chopped off with his knife. The long strands of red hair fall to the dirty carpet. The scratching burning my eardrums as I screamed from all the torture he’s put me through. All the shit he’s made me become, a monster I’ll never overcome. A fear that I have to face head on or I’ll die. I’ll fucking die.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! I hate you, you scumbag! I’m fucking getting out of this shit hole without you, asshole!" I shout and get a shot of adrenaline throughout my body. I kick his legs causing him to fall forward, then push him over so his body is facing the other direction. I take this time to run into the bedroom, knowing he’s too drunk to get his senses back. I look through the nightstand and find what I’m looking for.

My gun.

I grasp it with shaky hands, the tears flowing even harder than before. He comes into view and I aim at him with my finger on the trigger. I’m unsure if it’s actually pointing at the right one since there’s three of him.

"You wouldn’t, you love me.“ He cries with pleading eyes.

"I fucking hate you!” I shriek as my lips tremble. Am I really doing this?

"I’ll kill you if yo-.“ His sentence was silenced by the overpowering sound of the gunshot.

Right in the heart, shot right in the heart like how he’s done to me all these years.

I did it.

My eyes open as I gasp for breath. I look around the room, confused as I see Mikey leaning over me with an apologetic look on his face.

"I’m sorry, you were screaming. I-I tried shaking you, but you wouldn’t wake up. I’m sorry I slapped you.” He looks down like he’s ashamed of his actions.

"No, no. It’s okay Mikey. I’m sorry I woke you up.“ I say then grab his cheek to make him look at me. I fake a smile just so Mikey doesn’t feel accountable for my past.

"Nightmares?” He asked in a disappointed tone knowing what my answer will be.

I nod.

For years now I’ve been have night terrors, but doctors just say they’re tremors, but I know they’re not. I know what caused it, but I refuse to admit anything.

Mikey leaves the living room and heads over to our kitchen. I get up, groaning, fuck I must’ve been really drunk since there was a cigarette bud laying on the ground. My head pounds and
I quickly begin to feel the normal hangover. I sprint to the bathroom feeling the bile taste rise in my throat. As I get there I lift the toilet seat and pour out some of what I assume was yesterday’s breakfast. As I finish up, I hear Mikey rushing over with the routine water. Everyday plays like this. I wake up from a nightmare, eat breakfast, head out or sit in my room till I can’t handle being alone anymore, and then end up crawling back home drunk as usual. Ever since 3 years ago. I don’t talk about it, not even to myself. It only comes up in my nightmares.

"You know, I really hate it when you do this to yourself, Gerard. It’s not healthy, and I think you should seek medical attention. I love you an-.“ I cut him off.

"Are you fucking stupid? I’m on a bounty, I can’t go to hospitals or anywhere. I’m supposed to be dead, Mikey. Plus, I’m fine.” I add.

He scoffs,“Really? No you’re not Gerard, you’re sick. You need help. I want you to stop drinking your life away.”

"Oh, that’s not what you said when we started selling drugs. Huh, don’t screw with me, you were just as fucked up.“ I comment.

"Seriously, your going to bring that up again? I was like what? 15 years old? Get over it, I got fixed. I only say this because I want to see you get married and have kids or some shit like that.” I laugh at his response.

"You know I’m the gayest man out there, there is no family in my future. I literally wore a fucking pink, feather boa to our junior year prom. I was fabulous.“ I sway my hips and wink at my little brother making him giggle a little.

"Yeah, before you met Kyle.” I went to a complete silence after he said his name. I storm out of the room.

How could he fucking say that? He’s knows how I feel about that monster.

I run into my bedroom and lock myself in there. I get undressed, hearing Mikey pounding on the door trying to apologize, but I won’t take his shit. Once I’m done getting ready, I open the door and push the desperate man out of my eyesight.

Soon I find myself at the same designated smoking area as yesterday. It was, what I assumed, the afternoon. The sidewalks busy as usual.

A little part of me was hoping to see Ghoul here, maybe even just a glance, but like the other part of me expected, he’s no where to be seen. Giving up, I get up and begin to walk to the local vinyl shop since the bar isn’t open for another 5 hours.

There’s always something about record shop, maybe it’s the smell, but every time I go into one it reminds me of the good memories as a kid. The dusty interior is lined with shelves upon shelves of records. I glance around and find my favorite album of David Bowie.

Low.

I rush over and grab it, holding the beautiful music to my chest. I haven’t listened to this album in a long while. Kind of makes me sad, he was everything to me and like all artists they end up in a shit hole record store. Bowie deserves more. I take the record and place it on the clerks register.

"Bowie? That takes me back.“ He scoffs and shakes his head like he’s remembering a time when he lost his virginity to some old hag of a woman while in the background it plays Oh You Pretty Things.

I don’t reply to him, I don’t deserve this man’s words. I never have.

As I walk out of the record store I begin to gravitate towards Ray Beans.

I mope into the positive atmosphere I still feel like shit, so this place isn’t helping. The uneasiness rising from to my throat and I begin to head through the busy crowd over to the bathroom. As I make my way there I see all the wannabe teenagers still trying to make a buck or two selling fake drugs. Crackheads wouldn't know the difference anyways, I just hope those kids know how dangerous this industry is. It sucks you in, millions and millions regrets come along with it, and among those are the reasons why you continue to do it anyways, even when you know that murder is your shadow that seems to increasingly weigh more than the day before. A black figure that reminds you of your shitty decisions, nothing like living the cemetery drive.

I plunge into a stall, shit, stupid fucking people making out, move the fuck out of my way unless you want to get vomit in-between your slobbery kiss. I push them to the ground and immediately throw up the bile syrup. Good, great Gerard, your a fucking master of not being able to keep the food in. Not that you didn't practice as a kid. Ah! Another reason why the police would never suspect you're the fat, greasy kid in the photos they have of "Gerard Way." Why can't they just believe I committed suicide, I mean it was pretty realistic and reasonable. Not only did I attend my funeral, but I also listened to what everyone had to say about me. Most of the kids from school just said they were sorry for never noticing, but the teachers were the worst; somehow they acted as if I made somewhat of a significance in their life. "Oh he was a darling, Gerard, I'll really miss you and your witty remarks about the importance of hair growth," which I may add that what I actually said was,"You fucking scumbag of a teacher, go polish your nasty ass bald spot. Oh and while you're at it dust off your ancient ball sack that your wife never goes near anymore. Fucking cunt." His jaw nearly dropped to the floor after I screamed at him. I was usually a quiet kid, but that particular hour I lost it as I saw the test scores for our finals of the semester. He failed me, because 'I wasn't smart enough to pass the class.' Do you even know how many countless hours I spent in tutoring? Do you even fucking know?

"Hey Gerard, don't mean to be rude buddy, but I think it's best if you leave. I don't want another outbreak to go around my place again. Thanks." He pats me on the back and I turn around to see that it's Ray. I wipe my mouth and nod in agreement since at this point I don't want to be here either.

"Oh shit man, you look really sick. You okay?" He adds with a look of concern in his face.

"Yeah, I just- I need to go." My throat contracts and I choke on the air, finding this place to be getting smaller and smaller with every given second. I don't care who I run into, who gets angry with me. I don't have time to see. I need to leave.

The black surrounds me once again and I step outside only to see darkness.

Wasn't it just sunny outside?

Whatever, it doesn't matter cause now the bar's open. I take a deep breath in as I find relief in being able to breathe again. My nerves begin to calm as I make my way down the quiet streets of New York at night. It's so peaceful at this time of the night. Around the time when everyone's asleep and at home, mostly because their too scared they're going to get mugged. Can't blame them, but I look like I'd be the mugger not the victim, so not often am I mugged.

I hear the sound of crickets chirping, wind blowing, and distant whispers. To my right there's a couple around the age of me. They're holding hands and making out with an occasional nibble on one another's earlobe. It suddenly reminds me of the way he and I used to be. A tear escapes my eye. I can't think about him right now, he's the last thing I want on my mind. Stop remembering the good things, forget them, don't you ever forget what kind of pain he caused you, Gerard. The endless nights of torture and beatings. Your bruises you had to cover up with all the make up he allowed you to use. Remind yourself of the scars he made you feel.

I stop in my tracks and look over to my left. A sign in front of the bar I normally go to says "A night to remember, or forget, the ladies of drag have arrived!" Well I might as go in to at least see what they have to offer.

Blasting music, beams of lights, and guys touching me in every way possible. That's the first thing I experienced while strolling in. A few snickers escapes a guys mouth as he turns me around to face him. I'm only given a second or two to see who he is, but then he guides me over to the stage room.

"Hey -um- not to be rude or anything, but where are you taking me?" I ask, not too concerned for my well-being.

"Oh honey, you'll be quite the doll." The drag queen replies. Wait, are they dressing me up?

I pull back and begin to walk away when suddenly he grips onto my shoulder in a demanding way. My body tenses up and I think he notices so he loosens the tight grip.

"I don't think you'd like me, I'm not the one yo-." He shushes me and we continue to the stage room.

I'm pulled to a halt, then the drag queen gestures me to sit in the chair to my right. As I sit down the chair makes a squeaky noise and once again my body tenses. My fingers cling to the arms of the chair, the wood barely stable by itself.

"Oh sweetie,-" he clicks his tongue and giggles," this old thing. It's been doing that for years now, just don't put too much thought into it and you'll forget."

There's not much I can do either than nodding.

The brushes swoop over my eyes, adding the vibrant color to my sickly tone. The thing with make up is that it's a very black or white opinion. You either love it and look at the intricate winged eyeliner as art. Or you hate it and think of makeup as a fake face. The thing with me is that I'm very much the grey of the opinion. I used it for both purposes. First, I was a makeup artist for my little brother, he was quite the model for me. But as time went on, I began to use my skills as a way to cover the marks of weakness. I don't feel I can fully go for one statement, I understand both sides of the argument. While I'm thinking he asks me to open my eyes and look in the mirror.

Life on Mars.

The exact makeup design, Bowie's pristine yet demanding blues. The cheekbones an orange, but it fits great with my undertones. The pale pink, chapped lips he perfected. I was the most beautiful person, a piece of living art. My makeup was all tied together with the description of extravagant, elegance, and refinement. The drag queen comes back with matching bra and panties. He hands them to me and signs me to the changing room.

Does he want me to wear this? It's so revealing I don't think I can pull it off. My body is so ugly I don't deserve this lingerie. The light blue does go well with my hair, but I don't know. I try to give it back to him but he refuses to accept it, well what the fuck am I supposed to do now? Whatever, I don't have much of a choice do I? I slide the skimpy clothing over my hips, letting it shape to my figure. All I see in the mirror is a suicidal, fat, desperate alcoholic. My lips tremble and tears slide down my cheeks. I can't do this, look at me, I'm nothing but a fuck up. Nothing more than a drug dealer who happened to get caught with the big guys. Now I live my life a fake, because I'm too scared someone is an undercover police. I want my family, I need someone to love me even when I do the crazy shit I normally do. That's why no one loves me, because I'm self destructive, it's my personality and nobody understands that if I'm a certain way for too long I go crazy and feel trapped. Somehow the numbness helps me control the urges. Bottoms up and you'll forget who you are making life seamlessly easier to follow. Yet here I stand still hungover from the day before, dressed in lingerie, with a certain type of makeup that'll blow anyone one away; but it isn't as it seems cause the guy who puts on a show isn't just for you, it's for him. I step out of the changing stall with full blown confidence, fuck it I don't care, I'm mother fucking Gerard Way, the most wanted man alive.

I grab a nearby beer and down it in one gulp. I take a deep breath in and hold it in till they pull the curtains back only to reveal a few drunken men cheering me on. The way I waved my hips made the men go wild. Ever so often I'd latch gazes with one certain guy who I had my eyes on for the night. Every step I take he comes nearer to the stand in front of the pole. As soon as the cold metal touched my fingertips a wave of lust flows through my body. Who knew I'd be a great stripper along with a drug dealer? Almost as an instinct my body curved in ways I never thought would turn me on. I'm making myself horny just by teasing the mysterious man and oh honey it's never felt so good. I'm a stripper who's nothing more than the glory hole girl, showing my ass for the money I'd soon gain. A little wink at the man as I notice him rubbing the bulge in his trousers. I slide my back down the pole, licking my fingers with sweat glistened hair covering my view. My legs open and I reach down to slip my hand over the erection forming in the tight panties, almost too tight. A whimper escapes my lips and I pull my head back to keep in the moans. Oh god I can't do this anymore.

I step up and off the strip, landing on the floor next to him. He picks me up immediately attaching his lips to mine. Fuck, I want this too much. In-between our kissing he takes a swig from his beer then glues his lips to me until we've both had some of his drink. Still carrying me, he takes us to the private men's bathroom, which is just a bathroom with one stall and a lock. I'm put back down on the ground and I start to feel fuzzy as the alcohol runs through my veins making every movement even drowsier. A moan sounds through the room when the mysterious man smacks my ass, and fuck I never knew how hot that was. Without any foreplay other than kissing, I slide his trousers down to his knees.

"You wan't my massive cock inside of you, don't you whore. Filthy whore, only thing you're good at is being my boy toy." He teases me by slowly pulling down my pants.

"Please, fuck, I want your huge cock inside my ass right now. Please!" I beg.

Groans release in return to him filling me whole without any lube or prep. It burns, but in a way that's so pleasurable. He smacks my ass to keep me making noise while he finds my prostate. I help guide him by shifting a little further up- Oh shit -I scream through the room's walls.

"You like that? I bet it's the best you've had, isn't it?" It's definitely not the best I've had, but its certainly better than the sex I've had recently.

I try to reply, but all I can fluster out is screams. He continues to ram into my prostate over and over again. Avarice for his cock to be in my tight ass, I beg for him to pound me into the sink while I'm bent over. Once again like every night I feel the tightness in my stomach clench, legs trembling. I grab onto the sink to hold me up from this pitiful, yet pleasurable, orgasm; but my arms flail and hang over the sink while he continues to fuck me hard. I'm so close I can feel it. I grab my cock and thrust it in my hand, god I haven't needed to do this in a while. Only after a few sloppy thrusts I cum in my hand. Sounds fill the room; definitely not the most intense sex I'd ever had, but it's enough for me to wake up tomorrow.

He removes himself making cum drip from my ass onto the ground. I hadn't even noticed he came. He ties the condom and throws it out on his way out. Quick and easy. The way I prefer but honestly it makes me feel like garbage afterwards. Just a fuck machine, that's all I'll ever be to men. The dirty scumbags of the world don't even bother to thank me. Then again I shouldn't expect them to, they never have and they never will, that's something I'll just have to accept.

I stand up from the counter, my knees weak, and make my way out of the bathroom to head over to the changing room to grab my clothes. Oh god this is embarrassing. Everyone stares at me as I walk out, shit they heard. I mean who couldn't, I was like a bomb filled with porn stars. Quickly I grab my clothes and sigh when I notice the drag queen isn't there. Good, I'm not really in the mood to talk. My vocal chords are kinda blown out. As I change I notice a stain on the panties from when I came. Well shit, I don't want to be rude. I guess I'll take them to the nearby laundry mat. When I get my outfit on, I shuffle out of the bar. Wow first night coming out of here without being super drunk.

The wind hits my face and I shiver. I better hurry before I get too cold.

As I insert the coins into the laundry machine, the bell rings on the door indicating someone's coming in. I look over to see who it was and a huge smile spreads over my face. The mysterious tatted man I know as Ghoul. He looks over, but instead of returning the smile he frowns. What's with him?

Notes

Sorry I'm just starting to get into writing this again. I f you want more please comment, because Idk if it's even interesting or not. I wrote a long chapter as an apology letter I guess. Idek anymore.

-XOXO fqomb.