My Angel

No matter who called me or knocked on my door, I didn't answer. I'd ignore my calls and when someone knocked, I'd only slide o paper under the door that read 'leave me alone'. Nobody seemed to get it. They all kept asking what was wrong. But each time, they received no answer. No explanation. No excuse. And it's been two weeks, and I've been in here. I hadn't eaten much, just a little here and there every time I was home alone. I didn't even go to hell. And by hell, I mean school. Every time Frank would call or text, my heart would break just a little more, and I'd sob my eyes out all over again. It was painful. Dealing with a person you love, and they don't feel the same, yet they still kind of care enough to know whether you're alive or dead. Or perhaps they don't. Perhaps they only care if you're still available to be used by them. Perhaps they truly do care. But not in my case. Oh no. No no no. Not in my case. Not at all. Oh, and, through the door, of course, Mikey told me Patrick broke it off with Pete, and that Patrick punched them both in the eye, saying that he was glad that I told him Pete was cheating. And that made me feel even shittier, but whatever. And I'm pretty sure Mikey won't care now, if I killed myself, I mean. And over the past two weeks, I've thought a lot about suicide. I thought about it everyday. And how no one will miss me, because nobody cares, honsetly. And how no one would ever love me the way I love Frank, so it'd be better to end it all sooner. Because, well, it would. - There was a light knock on the door. I lifted my head up and looked at it. I then hauled myself out of the bathtub and I walked over to the door. "Gerard?" They asked, the voice belonging to Ray. I sighed and wrote another 'leave me alone' note and slid it under the door. Ray didn't seem to take that for an answer. "Gerard, please tell us what's going on?" He pleaded, sighing audibly. Us? I slid another note under the door asking that question. "Yeah," he said, obviously disappointed I didn't actually speak. "Me, Bren, Pete, Mikey, Ryan, your mom, Frank, Lindsey, Patrick... We all want to know what's up with you. We're all here. The others are in the living room. So will you please come out?" No. I won't. I can't. I can't face him. I'm too scared, too weak. I slid another note under the door that read 'no. I can't. I'm sorry'. Ray sighed and walked off. This is fucking it. I can't take this anymore. I'm causing everyone to get all upset. I'm fucking done. - I checked the date and time on my phone: March 22nd, 1:27PM. I sighed. Everyone was still here. No one left. I heard them all talking. No one sounded happy and I was the cause of that. I made everyone unhappy. I could hear whenever Frank sobbed, which broke my heart. I could hear when Ray sighed and told Frank not to talk to me yet, or when Mikey banged his head against the wall and Pete had to stop him. I could hear how unhappy they were, by their tone or their actions. I could hear it all. And that's why I chose to do it. I had to. Whoever was upset about it, would get over it. But I honestly knew nobody would be upset. Maybe mom, or Frank, perhaps even Mikey. But no one else. As it is, I doubt they will even care. And then it became easy to make up my mind. I turned on the water in the tub, drawing myself a bath. I heard footsteps approaching the door; not one person, but multiple. "Gerard?" Frank called, his voice cracking, as if he'd been crying. I chose not to answer him. This was it. I needed to focus. I stripped my sickly skinny body of all my clothes, then took a moment to look at myself in the mirror: I looked dead. But that's what I was going to be, wasn't it? The way I looked was actually fitting. I then shut off the water. I began to write a note as I heard several people call my name, and I heard several sobs too. I wrote two separate notes: one for Frank, and one for everyone else. I know that seems a little selfish, I guess, but selfish was what I was being anyway. 'Well, I know you would expect me to write something like, "I'm sorry", but I'm not writing that. Because I'm not sorry. Not one bit. I know none of you will miss me anyway. I'm a waste of skin. All of you know it. I don't deserve to live. It's true. To mom, you'll move on eventually. You're strong. You'll get over it. I promise. To Mikey, I know you'll get through it too. I know you hate me, so I'm sorry. To everyone else, on the off chance you do miss me, well then I guess I'm sorry. You guys will get over it. So I guess this is goodbye then. Xoxo g' And then I slid it aside. I began writing Frank's when there was a knock on the door. I wrote on a piece of paper and slid it under the door. The paper read 'what?' "Gerard, are you okay in there?" Mikey asked, and I could tell he was on the verge of tears. I sighed. I then slid another piece of paper under the door. It read 'I'm fine. I'm just about to take a bath. Why?' "N- no reason," he replied, and then I heard footsteps walking away. I assumed they were his. "Gerard, please talk to me," Frank cried, and then I heard some sobbing. It made my heart ache and then I remembered who make him cry like that. And I remembered the task at hand. I wrote another note, sliding it under the door. It read 'I'm fine if that's what you're worried about. Please let me take my bath.' "Will you come out after?" He asked, sniffling. Tears started to spill out of my eyes. I wrote another note. And again, I slid it under the door. It read 'maybe'. It was a lie. "Okay," he said, and then I heard all of them walk away. I was crying so hard, trying to fight back the sobs. I managed to finish the letter. 'Frank, I don't know what to say to you. I'm sorry just isn't good enough. Don't think this is because of you, because it's really not. It's me. I just don't want to live anymore. You were the only reason I was staying alive. And when I found out you didn't love me, well, it hurt. But I understood why. Just look at me. If I can't even love myself, how can others love me? If I hate myself, that's saying something. But anyway... Please don't be stupid like me. Please promise me you'll keep on living. I was too afraid to. So go through life and say, "I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this world alone". And you'll make it. You'll carry on. Promise me you won't harm yourself. Promise me. Try to forget about me, please. We'll meet again long in the future, after you have lived your life. But even if you can't forget, try to push me to the back of your mind. Don't try to think about me. It'll only make things worse. I know you care about me, or at least I'd like to believe that. I'm not that stubborn, to think you don't care, I mean. I never thought my last night on earth would be in a bathroom when I was seventeen. But actually, maybe I did think that it would be. That day we met. I want you to love someone as much as I loved you. I want you to have a family and fall in love with someone. I want you to get married and have a long, happy life. All I want is for you to be happy, and I know this isn't helping, but after this is over, I mean. I'm very sorry that I'm putting you through this, but I'm glad that you don't have to deal with me anymore. You don't need that. I love you, Frank. I think I've loved you for a long while. Maybe since we met. Maybe after. But I love you. I promise that even death won't change that. I'll always love you. I'll be in your heart, in your dreams. So whenever it gets rough and you need me, if it ever gets to be too much, go to sleep. In your dreams, you can run away with me, anytime you want. I love you. Xoxo Gerard' I put the letter on the countertop with the first one. I had accidentally let my teardrops fall onto the paper, but I honestly didn't care. I walked over to the mirror, well, the medicine cabinet. I opened it and pulled out some pills. I then pulled a razorblade out of one of the drawers. I had hidden it in there awhile back. Then I climbed into the tub. I began quietly sobbing in the tub. This is it for me. This is the end. I swallowed a handful of pills and then put the razorblade to my wrist. I cut deep, slicing into my skin vertically on my forearm. Blood started to pour as I kept sobbing and sobbing. I then moved to the other arm, but my vision was getting blurry and I was dizzy. I dropped the blade in the water, losing control of my arms. I was still sobbing so hard, but so softly, so no one would hear me. I began thinking about Frank. About Valentine's day, when we kissed. I thought about how much I loved him. I love him. I love Frank Iero, and I wouldn't change that for the world. I love Frank Iero, My Angel. -

Notes

Not the end yet. Please don't kill me.