Save Me From My Self Destruction. (Frerard)

Chapter 11- Urges That Sent Me To Hell.

Urges That Sent Me To Hell. -

The first hit I took wasn't as spectacular as you'd think. I coughed, but the taste was stuck in my mouth. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't the best thing. The flavor drew me back in, as I took another hit.

I inhaled and closed my eyes, letting the drug work it's magic. I let my mind go blank, I let all the worries I held disappear. For once, I felt whole. I felt normal.

My mind wondered to different topics, never once stopping at my complications or conflict. I thought about colors.

Colors splashed against blank canvas. It was like wonderland, where everything mythical came to life. It was like all the colors were bleeding together, forming puddles of rainbow.

My head exploded, my eyes glazed over and I felt like I was floating in the air, on cloud 9. I was on top of the world, paint brush in hand. I was painting mental images of my depressing thoughts in bright colors. Like the saying, fake it till you make it.

The feeling was spontaneous and dangerous, like a bitter romance that just started to bloom. I felt myself smile for the first time in forever, and I thought about that promise I made to Frank. However, what he doesn't know can't and won't kill him.

As the blunt was no longer in my hand, disappearing into ashes, I wondered how long this feeling would last until I fell back into my dark corner of sadness. How long would I feel like a mad artist that created the world one color at a time?

I rubbed at my red eyes and exhaled happily. I wanted more. I needed more. I couldn't just give up such a wonderful feeling. I needed to feel alive. And that's what it did, made me feel alive.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans as I stood up, for the second time today. I looked at the door, debating if I should go downstairs high as hell or not. Finally, I decided to do the sanest thing to a high person. Jump out the window.

I strode over to the window, opening it all the way up, looking down at the ground. I was on the second floor; it wasn't that high of a jump, but it wasn't exactly low either.

I shrugged my shoulders, brushing off the worry, and jumped. My landing wasn't the best, as I landed right on my back. I had pain shooting up my back and I groaned. I laid on the grass for awhile, having my hands rest on my face. I wasn't high enough to be able to ignore the pain I felt, it was still there. 

"Uh Gerard, are you okay?" I heard Adam ask me. 'Shit,' I thought to myself. Here I was, high, I just jumped from a second story window, and a foster helper was asking me if I was alright. Maybe if I leave my hands to cover my face I'll be okay. 

"Fine," I responded, trying to sound normal, hoping he couldn't smell the marijuana stench the lingered on me currently. 

"Why the hell did you jump from the window?" He asked, it was the first time I have ever heard him swear. I chuckled, and then said "You ask too many questions, I'm Gerard, I'm not very predictable." 

I listened to him as he mumbled something under his breath and then walked away. I exhaled with relief and uncovered my face. The sun shined brightly, right into my eyes, making me wince. This was a stupid idea. 

I slowly got up, placing my hood on my head and kept my head down as I walked back to Zack's usual place. For sure he'd probably shit himself from seeing me again so soon, usually we met up once a week. Since the alcohol incident, we stopped hanging as much, he did his thing and I did mine. However, we still kept in touch and I knew he cared for me as I cared for him. 

I rounded the corner of the building for the second time, but this time I wasn't twitching from withdrawal, I wasn't breathing out his name in desperation. I was careless, free, and totally calm and collected. I felt like my spirit was oozing out of my eye sockets. 

"Gerard?" He asked, exhaling more smoke. This time he was sat Indian style on the ground, his back leaning against the worn out brick building. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, "Back so soon?" He asked, smashing out a cigarette. 

I shrugged and sat down Indian style next to him. I leaned my back against the brick building, titled my head up and looked up at the sky. "Do you think there is life after death?" I asked just out of curiosity. 

I glanced at Zack out of the corner of my eyes, "Not sure, really. When I was little my mother had me go to church, but I was always on the fence about the whole ordeal." He joined me with looking up at the sky. We inspected the clouds as they floated by. 

"Everything is so warped. Do you think I'm going to Hell, Zack?" I looked over at him as he looked at me. He stared into my glazed over eyes. 

"I don't know, Gerard. Maybe we're all going to hell... Hey, are you high?" He started out on serious note but chuckled as he realized my eyes were probably pink and shiny. 

"Fuck, yeah," I rubbed my face with my calloused hands, scratching my eyes and making them burn and probably turn more red. "I smoked the blunt, I'm such a fucking failure, Zack. But damn, it was so relieving. I feel so.. So, open. You know what I mean?" I babbled on, spilling my every thought out of my mouth. 

"I know what you mean, but that doesn't make you a bad person. Everyone needs a way to cope.  Does this mean you want more?" He reached in his pocket, already knowing my immediate answer. He pulled out a baggy, a pipe, and some already rolled blunts. 

As he handed me the weed someone came out of the buildings back door, holding a single beer bottle in his hand. It was the guy who threw me the first blunt, the first blunt I had ever smoked, the one that was causing my high right now. "Ahh, I see you found a purpose for my gift. Now you're back," He grinned at me, cutting a glance from the weed in my hand to my face. 

"Sure did, I'm Gerard." I introduced myself, making myself more comfortable. As it does seem that I will have more in common with Zack and his friends, and be spending more quality time with them. Now that I discovered the magic of this sacred green plant. 

"Charley, want one?" Charley gestured to the beer bottle in his hand. It did look tempting, and Zack could tell by the way I eyed the bottle longingly. I've had the urge to drink for awhile, but kept putting it off, not wanting to go down that path again. But maybe just one.. 

"He's good," Zack said, before I could answer for myself. His eyes were directed at me, and I knew exactly what his look was saying. I was basically his younger brother and he didn't want to see me in the middle of a path of total destruction. 

"Yeah, I'm good. I don't do alcohol," I said, which wasn't the complete and honest truth. 

Just like how I don't smoke weed. 

"Suit yourself," He tipped back the bottle, letting the smooth, cold, alcohol pour down his throat in one go. And for a moment, I wished I was him. Exactly like Charley.