Ever since we got on the road Gerard’s drinking has gotten progressively worse. Most days he’s drunk before eleven, passed out on the couch by noon. He doesn't even sober up to go on stage anymore. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. Touring puts a lot of stress on him. He worries he’s not going to give the fans what they want, that he’s going to screw things up for everyone. He drinks to cope with that. I just wish there was something I could do to convince him that the fans are here for the music. All they want is for him to go out there and put his heart and soul into the performance. The fans already love him. I guess he just doesn’t see it that way. Maybe he does though. The drinking could be to cope with the intimidation of being an idol for thousands of teenagers. Either way, Gerard is convinced that he can’t be the Gerard he is on stage without the alcohol.

Standing at the end of our bus smoking a cigarette I videotape the boys coming back from their fifth show so far. Warped Tour is insane. You wake up crazy early, not even knowing what city you're in. Most nights, after the last band goes on, the tour manager goes over the agenda for the next day, and all the bands pack up, we don’t usually roll out until around one in the morning.

“Where’s Gee?” I question Frank who is the last one to walk through the row of buses towards me.

“He’s coming,” Frank answers with a grin.

Just then my older brother comes around the corner. He runs his head into the side of another bus. Laughing hysterically he continues towards me, almost falling over. “You okay Gerard?”

He glances at me, laughing hysterically. His eyes are glossy and he holds his hands out in front of himself, swatting away invisible bugs, “Mmm, fucking fine.”

Gerard stumbles past the end of our bus. He’s walking in a zigzag pattern, touching the other bus’s sides to keep himself steady. He’s got his head tilted back a little and I can hear him breathing heavy even after he is a few buses down.

“Dude where are you going?” Mikey calls after him. He leans against the side of our bus, watching our older brother through the tiny screen on my camera. Although it pains me to see my older brother this way, I made a promise that I would document this tour no matter what. Maybe one day Gerard can look back on these tapes and see just how far not only he but the rest of the band have come.

Upon hearing our brother’s voice, Gerard whips around, banging his head on yet another bus. For a few seconds, it looks like he might eat shit, but Gerard manages to steady himself. He’s wearing a big goofy grin, his eyes squinted shut as he tries to process what Mikey just told him. Gerard's not even truly looking at us. I mean, his eyes are pointed in our direction, but it's he's looking through us; like we're ghosts or figments of his imagination. “To the bus little brother. Aren’t you coming?”

“Naw man, you went too far – ” Mikey taps on the end of the My Chemical Romance tour bus – “this one is ours.”

Confusion plays over Gerard’s face. He looks back over his shoulder to whatever bus he thought he was going to get on. Sighing, he stumbles back towards my brother and me. Together, we guide him down the side of the bus and help him up the stairs. Gerard face plants into the couch, letting out a groan. “Will one of you hand me a beer?

“Maybe you should drink some water,” I offer, trying not to let my worry show too much. Gerard’s always had an interesting relationship with alcohol, but he can usually hold himself together. I’m not sure that’s gonna happen this time.

“Here ya go,” Frank says, handing my brother a silver can before sitting down in the middle of the aisle that runs from the front of the bus to the back. I frown at the dark-haired guitarist, but he just shrugs. Frank’s mentality is that Gerard will eventually just get tired of being drunk all the time and just stop. According to Frank, it’s easier to just give Gerard what he wants instead of trying to reason with him. I don’t agree with him. At this point, my older is too far gone to stop himself. He's going to need professional help, especially if people keep enabling him. For Gerard, hitting rock bottoms means dying and that scares the shit out of me.

Mikey sighs, grabbing his coffee cup before heading back down the bus stairs. Scowling at Frank I flip my camera off before putting it down on the table and following my older brother off the bus. Seeing Gerard this way is really eating Mikey up inside. Since the two of us were little, Gerard was always the strong one. He stood up for us, taught us how to draw and other big brother shit. Watching our strong, protective big brother drink himself into oblivion is almost impossible. Sitting down on the asphalt next to him, I rest my head on my brother's shoulder. He takes a sip of coffee, scrunching up his nose and sticking his tongue out as he realizes its cold. I can’t help but laugh a little. “How are you doing Mikey?”

“I’m holding it together. I just wish everyone else would figure out how to do that same.” He responds, leaning back against the bus. "Frank always gives into him. Ray and Bob just avoid the situation altogether by hiding in the back of the bus or not being around. He's not going to get better if he doesn't have support. Good, positive support."

“I know.”

“I’m worried about him, Makayla. He’s never been this bad before. Is he even taking his pills anymore?”

I shrug. I’ve been leaving Gerard’s anti-depressants out on the table for him every morning since we left on tour. They always disappear, but I don’t know if he actually takes them or just flushes them down the toilet. Short of shoving them down his throat, I don't know what else to do to ensure he's actually taking the medication.

“Do you think coming on the tour was a bad idea? Maybe we weren’t ready for something this big again so soon.”

“I don’t think that’s it, Mikey. At home, Gerard is structured. You guys get up and write and go to the studio and then come home. He really isn’t around other people. On the tour with Green Day, it was just you guys. Billie was good about not going overboard, not having booze everywhere. Here Gerard gets to hang out with a whole bunch of other dudes who just get trashed all the time. Gerard isn’t always the best with peer pressure. I don’t think it’s that he wasn’t ready for a tour like this, I just don’t think he was ready for the people on tours like this.”

Mikey sits quietly for a few minutes, letting my words wash over him. This is how he is. My older brother hardly says anything without thoroughly thinking about what was said and deciding just how he wants to word his response. I learned from a very young age to cherish everything Mikey said. No matter what there always some kind of meaning behind it. “He wasn’t ready for Bert.”

I sigh. Bert McCracken is the lead singer for The Used. Fantastic band. Cool guys. Terrible influences. Gerard met Bert on our second day of the tour. Gerard couldn’t get his cigarette lit and Bert decided to help him.Ever since that day Bert and Gerard disappear for hours and my older brother usually comes back completely shit faced. Honestly, I’m surprised that they’ve not met before. Our manager is their manager. Neither Mikey nor I are the biggest fans of Bert. While he may be some kind of musical genius, he's a kind of shit human being. He wants something from my oldest brother and is going to dig his claws in deeper and deeper until he gets it.

“Yeah, I don’t think any of us were quite ready for Bert,” I respond with a slight laugh before digging in my pocket and pulling out my cigarette pack. Mikey scoots away from me a little as I light one.

“Gerard threw up!” Frank’s voice reaches my ears before I see him. He’s changed into light wash jeans with big rips in the knees and a plain tan shirt. He’s got a cigarette tucked behind his left ear, a beer is held in his hand.

Groaning, I rub my eyes with my palms, mentally preparing myself for the scene I'm about to walk in on. I take another long drag from my cigarette before going to stand. My brother stops me, gently placing his hand on my shoulder as he gets up, “I’ll deal with it this time. You got it the last time.”

Leaning my head back against the bus, I offer Frank my lighter. He sits in front of me, legs stretched out in a V so that I'm sitting between them. His eyes are tinted red and I know he is probably only a few beers away from being drunk. The guitarist hands over his beer can and I take a few sips, letting a temporary warmth flow through my body. I don't disapprove of drinking. My brother just can't tolerate it. He takes it to a dangerous extreme. Once Gerard starts he can't stop.

“I’m sorry that I enable him,” Frank mumbles as he rests his head on his knees. I set his beer can on the ground. He eyes it but leaves it untouched.

“You’re his best friend, Frank. You just want him to be happy. In Gerard’s mind, he’s only happy when he’s drunk. I just...doesn't kill you inside, to see him like that?”

Frank swallows, biting at his thumbnail, “I just hate it when you look at me like that,” he responds glancing over at me. "Like you're so disappointed in me."

I do my best to smile back at the guitarist. I know Frank doesn’t have any ill intentions. We're all dealing with the Gerard situation best we can. He's just not as used to this as Mikey and me. I don't know if he gets the gravity of the situation.

I met Frank almost seven years ago. I went to every single Pencey Prep show. They were my favorite band at the time. I’d come from a rough day teaching and go listen to Frank and his band and just be able to get away for a little. After about the tenth show Frank decided to talk to me. We became fast friends. He knew my brothers through the demo CDs that they put out. It got to a point when I spent all my free time listening to Frank record new music. We'd always grab Taco Bell after, sitting in his beat-up Sedan getting high and talking about life. Frank was the first person outside of my family that i really felt like I could connect with. We just got each other. When Gerard offered Frank a spot in My Chemical Romance I was thrilled. He’s a good dude and a wonderful guitarist.

“I don’t look at you like anything,” I respond, picking up his beer and taking a few more sips.

Frank grins, finally taking his cigarette from behind his ear and lighting it, “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Rolling my eyes, I finish off the beer and crush the can under my hand before tossing it at Frank. He scrunches up his nose when it hits his arm, acting like it actually hurt. “You’re a dick, Makayla.”

I let out a laugh. “Stop being such a pansy.”

“I’m gonna show you a pansy,” he grumbles before leaning over, his fingers assaulting my side.

He instantly finds one of my tickle spots and I let out a shriek, laughing uncontrollably. I try and fight Frank off, reaching under his arms and going for his armpits, the only place Frank is ticklish. He lets out a surprised gasp before breaking into his own fit of giggles.

“Stop, stop!” he says in between laughter.

“You first,” I answer back trying to wiggle away from him. It doesn’t work. Frank is quite a bit stronger than I am.

“Never!” The guitarist giggles back, moving his hands to my ribs.

I dig my fingers back into his armpits. He squeals again. “Okay! Okay!” Frank finally says, rolling away from me before letting out a cough as he begins to regain his breath.

Crawling over to him I take my tongue and run it over the side of his face, his skin salty. “That’s for the other morning.”

Frank scrunches up his nose, rubbing the edge of his shirt over his face, "You already got me back for the other morning."

"Did I?" I question innocently, giving him a shrug. "Oh well." With that, I disappear back onto the bus.

Notes