Somebody Out There Loves You After All (Gerard Way x Reader)

(Chapter 24) Slip Into the Tragedy

~Gerard's POV~

I watched as she slipped into the unknown beyond the door jamb, me savoring every last second she was in my sight. Her delicate hand pulled the knob, sealing herself outside the house. I couldn't help but rush to the window, the rest of the gang joining to watch her dad's beat-up car pull out of the driveway. Y/n's head hung low as they merged onto the road, zooming down and off out of our view. 

I swore under my breath, smacking the windowsill as my head flung upward to face the ceiling, eyes clenched shut. An oddly gentle hand rested on my shoulder. If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was Y/n's, but alas it was just Ray's. He smiled down at me, goddamn why was he so tall?  "She wouldn't want you to mope around, now. Look at the bright side, you both can still talk on the phone once she gets all settled. Imagine how shitty it would be if you had to communicate by mail or some shit, it's not all bad." 

"Stop being an optimist, this fucking sucks," I groaned, furrowing my brow as I spat the last words. "Just talking isn't comparable to her being here and getting to see her and shit." 

"Well, she still wouldn't want you being overly upset. Do you want to do something to take your mind off it or something?" He proposed.

"No, I think I just need some time," I said before walking over just the way she did, striding beyond the door. 

I walked back home, head hung low; Weighed down with the sorrow. I kept sniffling as my vision became glossed over, trying not to let any tears fall. I lifted my hand from my jean pocket, rubbing my left eye as it was about to defy my obvious protest to cry. With my hand smeared with eyeliner, I cranked the knob of our front door, not daring to look over at Y/n's porch. 

The door squeaked as I stepped inside, hastily walking upstairs and avoiding the calls from the kitchen, "Gee is that you?" Mom hollered. I trudged up the stairs, getting to my room and slamming the door louder than I wanted to. 

I ran my hands through my near-matted hair, Y/n was right to call it a rat's nest. My face contorted as I looked out through my unfortunately open-drawed window. I made my way over, lingering to have a look. Nothing but a depressive shadow had overtaken her empty room; The memories were still there, but the life and joy were exterminated like the common pest. 

I stepped backward, tripping over my own feet as I threw the curtains together violently. By the time I stumbled to my bed, the formerly suppressed tears had made their appearance loud and proud. I could do nothing but lie powerless against my stiff mattress, clutching onto the quilts as I wouldn't surface from drowning in anguish for nearly three hours. 

~A few days later~ 

I had missed a considerable amount of school days, unable to move an inch under the impermeable thumb of grief. Mom finally got the memo about my situation when I didn't leave the house that Monday. Being the understanding parent she was (which I'm forever grateful for), she allowed me a week off. But that was only a week, I would eventually have to partake in the regular affairs of a teenager again and stop wallowing in despondency, but I wasn't thinking that far ahead yet. I was just thinking about skirting through the upcoming few minutes as fine and dandy as I could. 

The day things began to take a turn for the worst was that Wednesday. The fine and dandy were getting harder and harder to grip onto and I just needed something to pull me through. From somewhere in my clouded mind the thought materialized about Mom and Dad's alcohol cabinet downstairs. I had heard that a substance like that could haze the pain away which was what I was exactly in search of. The only part I left out of my consideration of this idea was the repercussions which there were plenty of. But, I had made up my mind, I headed down to raid said cabinet, only taking a meager amount as it was my first go at taking from my parents. Yes, I had drank before, but only socially at parties and such (especially at Frank's). 

My little plan seemed to be having the desired effect I figured after a while. I had made my way back upstairs, then laying back down, benumbed by the alcohol which was what I wanted. I only thought that this was a one-time circumstance; That this would only happen that one time in the wake of my desperation, but no. This would soon develop into an unwanted devious pattern, unbeknownst to anyone for a little while. I couldn't control it, it became a compulsion. Even after I received that first call all the way from Florida, USA from the one person I wanted to hear from, I still unwillingly repeated it. 

The real trouble began to formulate when I began to re-attend school the following week. I was completely off from myself. From my sloppy appearance, mysteriously scented coffee mug, or my lack of communication with the ones that cared about me the most, they could tell something aside from the turmoil of Y/n's departure was afoot. 

Mikey figured it out first, of course. It was even more obvious since we lived together. Then he ratted to the rest of the gang and sure enough, around three weeks after Y/n moved, I got a short fucker banging on my door shouting- "Gerard Arthur Way you better open this fucking door and explain what's happening to you!" 

Begrudgingly, I rolled out of bed, my head kind of in a whirl. I moved down the stairs uncoordinated, pulling the door open upon arrival. "Gerard, finally! We're all worried about you, especially Y/n," he said stepping into the foyer. 

The majority of his words barely registered, except those two simple words that perked my ears right up 'Worried,' and 'Y/n.' 

"Did you tell Y/n!?" I piped, eyebrows raised. 

"Of course, she deserves to know what the hell is up with her boyfriend and why he isn't calling her much!" The little man responded, hands finding a home on his hips after aiding in portraying the severity of his point with gestures. 

"Fuck it, what am I doing with my life anymore?" I replied nonsensically, running my hands through my hair. 

"I sure as hell can't tell and seems like you definitely can't either." 

"You'd be right about that, and your not right about a lot of things, Iero." 

A/N: I just get a kick out of referring to Frank as only 'the short man' or 'the little bitch'. Idek why, fight me if you want, but it's lots of fun. Have a lovely day rats! -Sav