You Were Supposed to Save Me - Chris Motionless Sequel

No fucking Way.

*Chris's POV*

        Once i was put under police custody (forcefully, may i add.), they put me in the back of the police vehicle. They say the handcuffs were 'just for safety precautions", but id have to think otherwise. I bent down so i wouldnt hit my head on the car's door frame and plopped down in the uncomfortable back of the car. This was not going to be fun. I Knew i wasnt being arrested or anything, but sitting in the back of a cop car wasn't so pleasant either. 

        Shortly, we finally pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. Let's just say, the car ride was awkward, neither of us tried to make an attempt to talk to each other. Obviously, i wasnt going to talk to the cop, but you'd think it's common courtesy to at least try to strike up a conversation with someone that he's taking to a hospital unwillingly. But, ya know, that's just my thoughts. Anyways, we were at the hospital. The officer led me out of the car and through the glass front doors of this dreaded hospital. Ive been at this hospital way too often lately and it was making me really sick... pun not intended.  But ive never been at this section of the hospital before. It was dull, yet bright at the same time. It lacked color and energy, which is something that wasnt exactly going to help me either. You'd think they'd add a little color around here, it may lighten the mood. But, no, that wouldnt fit the depressing mood theyre trying the get in this part of the hospital. Like, shit, we already want to kill ourselves, a little color might relax us or something.

        (A/N: please dont take that last paragraph offensively or anything, it wasnt intended in that manner. Just wanted to clear that up, okay continue...)

        "How may i help you officer?" A young nurse at the greetings desk said almost flirtatiously to the police officer who smiled charmingly back at her. 

        "Here to deliver a patient to Dr. Way." The nurse batted her eyelashes and it made me want to gag. I rolled my eyes and faked puking to get them to stop. The cop pulled on my handcuffs abruptly and glared at me. "If i were you id behave, because i could make this a whole lot worse for you."

        "Pff." I rolled my eyes again. "Do what you want, im already in hell." His glaring just intensified and it felt like it was lasering through my brain, but why should i care? It's not like he could do anything mildly bad that would concern me. The worst he could do is send me to therapy. Oh, wait, he already is. "If you're going to make this like a jail sentence, do i at least get my one phone call?" 

        "You can call who ever you'd like after you meet with Dr. Way."

        "He's on his way, he should be here any moment now." The nurse informed us as she sat back down at her desk and checked her computer once more. "But for now, i need your name, sir..." I wasnt exactly sure if the nurse was talking to me or the dumb ass cop next to me. I guess it was me because a moment later the police officer nudged me roughly, undoubtedly making me glare and almost his at him.

        "Cerulli, Chris Cerulli." I answered.

        She typed my name into the computer in front of her and read over the files briefly. "Oh." Was all that came out of her red lips then she sat back. Thankfully, before this situation got any more awkward, the doctor walked into the waiting room. He looked extremely over friendly with a smiled planted firmly on his face. He has dyed blonde hair and glasses that sat securely on his nose. He definitely looked young, which made me trust him even less.

        "You must be Christopher Cerulli." I cringed at my name. It sounded so childish and normal, when everyone else said it, and i hate it. "I'm Doctor Way, but you can call me Gerard." he smiled and held his hand out to me for me to shake, but of course i didnt extend my hand back. I just looked from his hand to his eyes then glared. It felt kind of dehumanizing, if that made any sense. I know he was just trying to be nice and make small talk, but he was only looking for answers to fill out on his form to submit to the hospital to, in total, to decide my fate. "Not much of a talker, i see? Well you can follow me to my office... And would someone please get those horrid handcuffs off of him?" The cop unlocked the tight metal cuffs and let me be lead by the therapist, or doctor whatever youd like to call him. Eventally, after being led through many corridors and into the deep maze of the hospital, we reached his office. It looked spacious and personalized, but definitely uncomfortable for me. I sat down in a single chair that sat faving his desk against the wall. Doctor Way scanned brfiefly through his files, then his eyes landed on one part and he looked up at me, noticing that i had been watching him intensely.

        "So, Chris..." He took of his glasses and placed them next to an orabge bottle that was set perfectly on his desk in front of him.

        "Doctor..." I greeted back, never losing his eye contact.

        "Oh, no. Gerard, please."  He requested. "Doctor just sounds too formal, its weird, dont you think?" Oh so this is how he was going to strike up the conversation? I have past experiences with therapists and trust me when i say i know their tricks. I know they try to be sneaky and slither the deep questions into a casual questions in order to get their answers, and believe me, i wasnt going to fall for their traps. I"m smarter than that, I'm smarter than them. I just shrugged in response to his question.

        "I've seen your files and i'd say we have a lot in common." I just gave him a look like 'what the fuck are you talking about?', because in reality this was setting me off. He was just feauling my anger with his typical therapist sayings. Ive heard it all before and ive had enough. I wasnt just going to sit in silence anymore.If he wants to know what is running rampid through my head, then ill let him know.

        "We have nothing in common." I spat.

        "How so?" He looked questioning, picking a pencil up from his desk and pulled out a piece of paper and started scribbling on it.

        "Oh so now youre going to write down everything i say?"

        "No, im just doodling..." He showed me his paper that had a small cartoon drawing of spongebob. Well, i guess it was wrong for me to assume but i was still angry. "But please go on, Chris, id like to know how you think we're different."

        "Well, for one, you're a fucking therapist..." He didnt seem even remotely phased by my cursing, which i guess was a good thing because there was a lot more where that came from. "And you probably have a shit load of money, a perfect life and an amazing family. We are nothing alike. I bet your dont even know what its like to struggle. You say im suffering from a mental illness, but i doubt you even know what its like to have a mental illness. It must be nice to have a perfect life, am i right?" Okay, i was done with my little rant and it seemed to calm me down a bit, but not much.

        "You're right, i Do have an amazing family. I have an amazing wife and a beautiful daughter. And i can imagine it would be nice to have a perfect life and have no mental illnesses." He sighed, looking up from his drawing. What was that suppose to mean?

        "Hmm?" I squinted in confusion, trying to make sense of his words in my mind.

        "I know what its like to have a mental illness. I know exactly what you're going through and its terrible." He looked sympathetic, but i still wasnt buying his bullshit.

        "Oh , yeah and what do you have, Gerard? OCD probably." I gestured towards his perfectly organized desk.

        "Ya know, OCD is still a mental illness that many people struggle with, so i wouldnt find that so funny, Chris..." He looked a little more frustrated with me this tie. I definitely wasnt expecting his tone considering he was a certified doctor. "But no, i dont have OCD. In fact, for many years i have been suffering from Clinical Depression. And in the past i have been suicidal." His words his me like a sledge hammer an a part of me felt so crumpled inside. I definitely felt bad for what i said, but i wasnt going to take it back. "And if you're looking for proof, Mr. Cerulli, then here..." He handed over the orange bottle that sat on his desk. The white label read: 'Gerard Way' and in larger bold letters it said "Prozac".

        "No fucking way." Was the only words that left my regretful mouth.

*************************************************************************************************

Haha clever title right. No fucking WAY. Gerard WAY. Get it? 

NO? okay sorry lol.

Any ways i hope you like it!

COMMENT>VOTE>FOLLOW.