*Trigger warning*



Gerard pov.




I had a relatively normal life, ok parents, a wonderful and caring brother, and decent grades. Well, it was pretty normal until about my senior year of high school.

I had always been considered a 'different kid', interested in paranormal occurrences, and the concept of reality. It had been that way since I was born, really. I guess I just didn't believe what was real and what wasn't. Or I just couldn't grasp that concept.

Things like that have always been hard for me. I mean, I saw an alien in fifth grade. That changed my perspective on a lot of things. When I told my parents, my face was as white as snow and apparently there was sweat dripping off of my face, almost as if I just got out of a pool. They said I claimed I "Couldn't let it find me." Of course, that freaked them out a bit. They thought I was mental. I was sent to therapy for the next five months after that incident.

Every night though, I stayed up for hours, hiding under my covers lying in a pool of my sweat, waiting for it to grab me from my room and kill me. Any normal parent would've been concerned if their child was doing this. My parents handled it in a very interesting way, however.

They sent me to the usual therapy, and got my eyes checked, and even sent me to an allergist to see if I was allergic to anything that could be causing these 'hallucinations' as they called them. They also had another way of 'treating me'. Personally, I don't think it treated me, it just made me worse. They asked me where I thought the thing I was most scared of at the time was hiding. I always said the basement. I know there's things down there. So, they put a smile on their face and said they'd help me get the thing out of the basement. Little did I know, as soon as I walked through the door, they would shut it behind me, causing me to be locked in the basement alone with things on the hunt, ready to kill me, or just plain torture me for their amusements. I remember being stuck down their for hours, sitting at the top step, as close to the door as possible and banging on the door and screaming until my lungs and throat couldn't handle it anymore. I cried and cried, I was so scared they would get me.

Sometimes they did, and they dragged me down the stairs, and scratched me with their sharp little fingernails and bit me with their jagged teeth. I had nightmares about what happened those days. This was every Saturday for me. Until it stopped one day.

The things stopped coming. I remember, it was like being released from a cell, and free to live, without fear. It was one of the best days of my life.

The things stopped coming for about seven years. I lived without them, and I grew to live a somewhat normal life. Of course, I still saw minor things, but I learned to ignore them. They didn't bother me, and I didn't bother them. It was a mutual understanding.

I loved my life, and it was great. I still didn't have friends, and was bullied tremendously, which wasn't ideal, but I had my brother Mikey and I was just glad the things were gone. I was a very happy person until my senior year. That's when it all went downhill.

I started to see things again, but this time, it wasn't monsters. It was people, trying to make me do things. There's Amy, she makes me fear everything I do. There's Charles, he makes me starve myself and makes me constantly feel bad about myself. If I don't listen to them I get hurt, or scratched. There's also other people, but they don't come as much so I tend to not fear them. Well, I don't fear them a lot.

My mom told me about how every day when I got home, I ran upstairs immediately, headphones in, and a scowl on my face. She told me how i used to always greet her with a loving hug and kiss on the cheek before I went upstairs, but now it stopped. The first thing that came to her mind was adolescence of course, teenagers are bound to act like that sometimes, but it wasn't just things like not greeting her when I came home.

I didn't come down to eat dinner, ever, and I had even started to lose my temper so quickly, that I hit Mikey. Often.

Before, I had loved Mikey so much, and would never even think of hurting him, but no one understands what I was going through, I couldn't even begin to explain it to my mom.

Even the smallest things set me off. Having to do homework, not being able to draw something the way I wanted it to be, and even playing a wrong chord on the guitar. I took it out on Mikey. Always. Half of the time, it wasn't even his fault. And the worst part was, I never felt bad about it.

That's when my mom began to get worried.

She always, came up to my room, questioning how my day was, or if something was wrong. I always answered with a quick "fine" or "nothing".

She left my room after that, figuring she'd get nothing out of me.

And she was right.

I didn't even know what was wrong with me. Hell, I didn't think anything was wrong with me, I didn't notice anything unusual. I basically though it was just depression weighing me down and that it was perfectly normal.

It wasn't normal.

My 'depression' as I called it, had gotten very bad. I had started cutting, very frequently, and just had this feeling of sadness all the time. It's like it wouldn't go away, and hell, it sure felt like it wouldn't go away. I got home every day, ran up into my room and stared at myself in the mirror. Just stared, for hours. Looking at my filthy, pathetic, reflection and wishing, just begging to God that I could die. Leave this filthy world behind.

That's when he came.

I looked in the corner of the mirror and saw a man sitting in the darkest part of my room. He stood up, his complexion almost like a shadow in the dark and walked over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

When he got closer I could see his very pale skin glowing in the dim light. He was tall, with short brown hair and a oval shaped face. His blue eyes, piercing my flesh as he looked at me. He had a very serious look on his face as he stared me down.
"You want to die?" He questioned.

I had no clue who this man was and what he was doing in my bedroom, but I think it was pretty obvious those were my intentions, and I didn't want to see what would happen if I lied to this man. I just gave him a slight nod, and his features on his face became sinister.

"Good, good. Now I have a very good way to help you with that...itch for death." He said, a smirk on his face. He can't be that bad if he's helping me..right?

"Oh, I'm Heath by the way." He tells me.

I gave him another nod. I wasn't sure if I trusted this man, but I was so desperate, that I'd do anything he told me, if I could die.

He slammed his hand through my mirror, and I jumped as the shards flew everywhere. I had to close my eyes, and I put my hands up to block my face from getting punctured from the flying glass.

I opened my eyes and saw Heath standing in front of me, a shard in his hand.

"Here," He snapped, handing me the glass. "Use this, cut down your arm and make sure to hit the vein, it's your only chance of not surviving."

I could feel adrenaline coursing through my veins, and a cold shiver shooting up my spine. Did I really want to do this?

I looked down at the glass, and could visibly see my hand shaking violently from nerves.

"Well, what are you waiting for, you bastard!" He shouted, and I had to cover my ears, because his screaming was so loud. "Chop, chop! If you don't hurry your mom will come in and stop you from hurting yourself!" He screamed, right in my ear.

Well, he had a point I guess.

I could feel the silent tears streaming from the corner of my eyes as I brought the glass down on myself, tearing the skin with each movement I made. The blood flowed from the large cut I inflicted upon myself and dripped down from the sides of my arm, reaching the floor.
I remember my last thought very clearly.

I don't want to die.



~Present Time~



And that's how I ended up here this morning, lying in a hospital bed in a drab white room with hardly any colored felt for the light blue of the sheets.

"Gerard." A voice, says, before opening the door.

A doctor in a white coat enters, holding a clipboard.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Anderson, and I'd just like to inform you on the results of the X-Rays we took yesterday." He says, still looking me straight in the eye.

X-rays? I don't remember any X-rays. Fuck, I don't remember hardly anything except for right before I passed out!

"U-uh ok." I manage to stutter out quietly.

"We have been informed by your X-rays that you have some brain damage. We looked further into it and we've seen that it has been connected to schizophrenia. Have you heard of that before?" He asks, like he's talking to a child.

"No.." I respond.

What the fuck is schizophrenia?

"Well it is a disease that makes things very hard for you to realize what is real and what's not. Your parents have told us you've seen hallucinations since you were very young. That is a side effect of schizophrenia. We've decided to keep you in the hospital for a while, since it seems you have problems for years. Your family and I both agree this is the best option for you." He says, a sympathetic look on his face.

No, no, no.

I can't stay in a fucking hospital! And they think I'm crazy! I'm not crazy! I don't see hallucinations, there's nothing wrong with me!

I feel a burst of anger rise up in my stomach and I scream. I don't scream anything in particular, it's just an ear piercing scream.

The doctors quickly rush over to me, and bring a needle towards me. No, after all of this bad news a needle is the last thing I need. Needles are my biggest fear, they can't just do this to me. They quickly inject the needle into my non injured arm, and my vision blackens, reminding me of that lovely time I tried to kill myself not too long ago.

Notes

New story! I hope you enjoyed! I just want to inform you that this story will be pretty dark and that there will be multiple trigger warnings, but not in every chapter. Well I hope you like, and will want to continue reading. I'll try to update as soon as I can, since I'm on winter break rn I'll hopefully have lots of time to update.

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