MRC One Shots

Dear Gerard

(A/N: TRIGGER WARNING; SUICIDE IS THE MAIN TOPIC)

"Dear Gerard,
            I wrote your name on the side of the bullet, so everyone knows you were the last thing that went through my mind.
                                    Love, Mikey"
I read the note again and again. And before you say it, no, Gerard's not my lover, he's my brother. We were always close though. Like twins that were conjoined at the hip at birth. Only, we weren't conjoined and he's like 3 years older then me.
                  I almost felt bad though. I was making it seem like it was entirely Gerards fault, when in reality it was only partially his fault. I thought about writting a note going into more detail, but I don't think I have the energy anymore.
               I laid down on the bed, gun in my hand. Cocked, loaded, and ready to go. I examined it as I recalled the events that led up to this. The last moments life. "Yay me..." I mumbled.
                  Again, gerard didn't mean to push me over the edge, it just happened. I wondered what started it. Amanda, I guess. I had a crush on her bigger then the empire state building. And finally, she agreed to go out with me.
                        She was sweet to me, and treated me like an actual person, something I wasn't used to. She actually seemed interested, until she met Gerard.
                  After that, it felt like she was only hangging out with me to see my brother. Going out in public wasn't an option anymore, and she would only come over when my older sibling was present. And it sucked. He didn't mean to steal her, he just did. It was the perks of being the better looking brother.
                    What was his fault was when he made out with Amanda during movie night. I remember it like it was yesterday. He sent me to get popcorn, to which I gladly did. When I can back though, he already had her laid down on the bed, trailing kisses up her neck.
                       No matter how many times he apologized, and no matter how many times I said I didn't care, I never believed him, and I never met it. The image was seared into my mind. And it wasn't one I wanted there.
                   It wasn't even loseing Amanda that hurt the most, even though that sucked. It was becomeing the dreaded third wheel. And then a spare tire. And then the tire you threw into the middle of a field after it popped and it lived out the rest of its days as an eye sore. Gerard stayed with Amanda after that night, lowkey rubbing her in my face.
                            Hell, now that I think about it, I don't think I've had an actual conversation with him in well over a month. Which, sucked because we used to tell each other everything. The last conversation we had was him telling me about them fucking and how she "wouldn't walk for a week."
                                         what a lovely conversation to remember him by. After that he joined a band and I was basically forgotten. Everything became about the band and booking gigs, and you guys are gonna love this, finding a bassist. Yes, a bassist. For those of you who don't know, I'm a fucking bassist. and he didn't even let me audition.
                                 I kinda feel into a depression after that. My friends started ignoreing me, my brother didn't have time for me and stole my girl, and I was alone. My mom took me to Doctor after doctor to try and "make me better" but all they did was prescribed a new pill.
                            And trust me, pills get old after awhile. Which, is why I'm using my father's gun instead. I checked to see it was loaded one last time. I took out the the lone bullet. "Gerard" was written on it in tiny but legible writing, as promised. I sighed and loaded it. "This ones to you bro" I mumbled, placing the cold steel against my temple.
                      The last thing I remember was Gerard walking in and screaming for me to put the gun down, just two seconds to late.