Home Sweet Home | Gerard Way

5

GERARD KNOWS when I get home. Of course he does. The bus took much longer than normal, which only made the tension in my stomach rise into a bubble in my throat.

He grins when I approach him. Closed door, lock it-one lock, two lock, three.

He knows what I did, he had to have seen. Instead of a hit to the shoulder, he maintains his small smile. You did it, Mariah, you did it! The praise that should not be mine hollering throughout the apartment. There are no concerns or questions in Gerard's voice, and for once I feel invincible. Gerard may get away he wants, but he does not rule the world.

Gerard takes his silenced strides and smooshes his thumb into my lips, hard.

"Do you know how long I have been waiting?" He says, "Do you know what time it is?"

I look at the cable box. 5:03. I am supposed to be here before then, before Edward gets here. Heat him up an TV tray meal, pour him a glass of milk.

I cannot explain that the bus was slow. I cannot come up with an excuse oh the spot because that is not what Mariah does. Mariah does not make excuses.

But she makes stories.

"Do you think you were having fun?"

"No, Gerard, I swear. I-"

"You what?"

"It's no problem. They are going to be at the park tomorrow. Both of them."

"And that's all?"

"That is all. He is nothing, and you know it. He is nothing and will always be nothing." I say.

"Just motherly love?" He asks, more to himself. I nod even though that mere plot line is sick.

And then everything this familiar. Gerard says, you need me, you love me. Say it. Say it.
And I will say it. I will lie to him. I will reassure him with figs, and he will take it.

***

MIDNIGHT ALMOST exactly. We're in bed. I stare at the popcorn ceiling with hands on my stomach, slightest little grin on my lips. Gerard's body jerks and ticks with horror.

"I am good," he mutters. "I am. I am a good boy. No, not the rope."

I close my eyes and say, "Let me use the rope again, okay? Good mothers do good things."

"Please dear god, no."

"You didn't pray enough. You didn't bow your head in church," I get to my knees and hover over the man who took me, face red hot.

"I'm sorry!" His voice picks up.

"Sorry isn't enough, you sick bastard-"

Eyes fly open.

He takes one of his hands to the side of my head, smashing me into the thin mattress, springs squeaking with barely any support. His other hand pushes heavy down on my chest, right where a yellow bruise has formed.

Nothing is being said between the two of us. I have learned to be quiet and to take it-which is such a pity way to survive in my mind.

He shoves me into the headboard and pulls off my pants.

I stare out the window at the headlights of cars passing by while he swears and thrusts. Air is aching down my throat and into my lungs until he grabs my hair and says, "Do it again and I'll fucking drown you the tub. You hear me?"

Do it, I want to say. Do it, do it, do it! Kill me!

But I can't say that, I can't say that because I am almost free. I am almost out.