A Silent Scream *MCR fanfic*

10

Seemingly out of the blue, I was fully conscious. I glanced around, and, realizing I was in Gerard's room, called out,

"Hey Gerard?" Almost instantaneously, he was in his room.

"You're awake."

"Yeah. I was out for?"

"A few hours."

"My god, I'm a wimp." I got myself out of his bed and stretched. He questioned,

"Who attacked you?"

"Oh, this football dude and a couple college guys." I didn't recognize the expression on Gerard's face. Shrugging off my minor confusion, I went and checked myself out in the mirror. 

Cringing, I fully understood just how bad of an idea that was. Purple bruises already covered almost all of my face, fingerprints marked down my arms and legs, and my torso was about 75% bruise. The gash on my cheek was still bleeding a little bit. Definitely gonna scar. I apparently had numerous cuts pretty much everywhere. The sight of my own body sickened me. I hurriedly got myself back into Gerard's room, where there weren't any mirrors. He was still in there, and in a shaky voice I asked,

"Can I borrow something? Long-sleeved?" A sad smile appeared on his face, then vanished immediately. He went over to his dresser and tossed me black sweatpants, and a grey long-sleeved shirt.  He then left me to change, which I did. His clothes fit me surprisingly well. I ventured down into the kitchen, since it sounded like nobody else was home. I wasn't sure where Gerard had disappeared to, and I made myself some toast. 

I heard footsteps behind me and turned, expecting Gerard. I found Mikey. I knew my face was bright red, which wasn't good for the whole him-believing-that-Gerard-and-I-were-just -friends thing. Even worse since I was very obviously in Gerard's clothing. I could almost see the hurt in his eyes, and he asked, a brutal tone to his voice,

"Still wanna say there's nothing happening with you and my brother?"

"Mikey. Nothing is happening. I got beat up. I called Gerard. He came and picked me up. I'm only wearing his clothes becuase mine got ripped."

"Who beat you up? Why?"

"This football player and a couple college kid. You should know. The entire school hates me."

"I heard about that. I thought people were kidding though."

"No. Definitely not. Are we good? If it's in any way possible...well...I need a friend. That actually goes to my school?"

"We're good. I can be a friend." I let my lips curl into a smile before heading back up to Gerard's room.

***Four Days Later***

The bruises hadn't faded. I hadn't hidden them.  And nobody had asked. Not the teachers, not the Principal, nobody. I couldn't take another three days. Maybe I just wouldn't go to school, just for one day. That seemed like a good plan. I turned off my alarm and lay down in my bed at the playground, carefully, since I was still incredibly sore. 

For a few hours, I drifted in and out of sleep, dreamlessly. When I finally truly awoke I vaguely noticed that I was crying. I let my logical side slip into the back of my mind and the emotions overtake me. 

***

Sometime during the whirlwind of fury and pain, I'd sliced open my hand. It was bleeding quite a bit, and I was completely unbothered by the blood running over my hand. In fact, the pain felt almost good. Ultimately, I decided that I wanted more of the sweet agony, and did everything I could to split open my skin.

I'm not sure how much later it was, but I collapsed, not from blood loss or anything. I just lost the ability to do anything. I knew the depression I should've been feeling for the past month and a half had finally caught up with me, all at once. I had no tears left to cry, so I just lay there; dripping blood, forcing myself to breathe, waiting for something to change.

***

It was dark before anything happened. Gerard came down, and as soon as he saw me he almost dropped his cool composure. I don't know how, but he knew that I either couldn't or wouldn't walk, and picked me up, carrying me back to his house. 

After setting me down in the bathroom, he retrieved a washcloth, and started carefully washing the wounds. As he did so, I just stared blankly at nothing. After a few minutes, he asked,

"Who did this?" I had meant to sit in stubborn silence, but I let the answer slip past my lips, and whispered,

"Me."

Then, something I truly hadn't expected happened. He lost his mask. I could read, with ease, everything he felt. He was angry, confused, hurt, disappointed, but most of all, he was scared. 

No. Scared wasn't the right word. It wasn't powerful enough. The closest word that flittered through my head was petrified. But the fear he was feeling was deeper than "petrified." This was the kind of fear you feel when you're told that someone you truly care for is dying. When your best friends admits to being suicidal. The kind of fear that's completely intertwined with pain. The kind of fear that's the worst. The kind of fear you only see in someone's who's broken. 

He was only unmasked for a moment, then returned to the same old unreadable expression he always had. It's remarkable how well he can hide so much emotion. When he's unmasked, he holds all his emotion in his eyes. Of course, his face shifts a bit, but it's mainly his eyes. Watching him return to being masked...it's like what I imagine it's like to watch somebody die. He seemed empty now. Now that I know just how full of emotion he can be...it's just strange. I realized he was about to ask something.

"Why?" His voice was smooth, but I could tell that is only happening through quite a bit of concentration. I lifted my head, so I could truly look at him, and answered, voice lacking any kind of emotion,

"It felt better than anything I was feeling." He maintained eye contact for a few moments, then returned to cleaning the cuts.  

When I'm free of any blood, Gerard said,

"I've found you covered in your own blood too many times. You don't need to contribute to that. Okay?"

I looked him over, and saw a hint of a scar hiding underneath his sleeve. I pushed up his sleeve and pointed at the scars lining his arms and retorted,

"Don't be a hypocrite." With that, I picked myself up and stormed out of his house, making sure to take the very long way back to the playground. If he does make the idiotic decision to chase after me, he won't find me at the playground within the hour. If he doesn't give up by then, I can always just refuse to speak to him. 

***

Some part of me must have expected Gerard to wait, for when he wasn't sitting on his bench waiting, a part of me was upset. I shoved that small part into the back corner of my head and went to bed, trying to ignore the pain radiating from my arms as I -with difficulty- fell into a dreamless sleep.