Gerard Way: Serial Killer

Chapter Six.

-TWO DAYS LATER-

A knock on my door was the only thing that made me come to my senses. I was slouched on the sofa, mindlessly staring at the screen as a badass action movie played. I've been in this position for such a long time, everything is numb from my head to my toes to all of my senses.

It was 12:54pm on Saturday, November 2. I've been in the same exact spot since this morning. The voices had dissapated by the time I had stopped crying by the bedside. I haven't eaten or drank anything for a full day. And I wasn't even hungry or thirsty.

I knew it was Frank who was at the door. I had hardly been visiting him. When I did, it was at the café for a few minute chat when I had break. I was avoiding him subconsciously.

Also, at one point I might've accidentally told him where I lived. So here he was. Coming to check on me.

Frank knocked again, only louder this time.

"Gerard, open up. Tell me what's going on," he said sternly.

I sighed and stood up, wincing because my feet and thighs were dead numb. I stumbled painfully over to the door- I'd stepped on a couple pieces of glass when I cleaned up the wreckage, so along with my hands, my feet were bandaged- and turned the knob slowly, dreading my meeting with Frank.

He was standing in the doorway, wringing his hands worriedly. He saw me and smiled. A half-hearted "I'm Worried About You" smile.

"May I come in?" He asked. I sighed and motioned for him to step inside. He did and stood in front of me, looking me up and down, taking his shoes off. His jaw dropped slightly.

"What happened to you? You look more like a skeleton now than at the party!" Frank observed, reaching to tug on my sweatshirt sleeve.

I just grunted and flopped back onto the couch. He sat to my left; the cushion shifting as he sat. I could legitimately feel how horrible I looked.

"Uh, you still mad at me? From when I was drunk? Gerard, I already apologized.."

I shook my head. I wasn't mad at him. I was mad at me. The voices.

"Talk to me. Tell me why you're all... bandaged."

I groaned and looked at him, straight in the eyes. Dead in the eyes. My emotionless, empty eyes honing in on his lively, sympathetic, concerned pupils.

"Okay," I croaked, breaking eye contact, vocal chords grinding, "When you kissed me, uh, I fled like a bastard and started hearing voices. In my, uh, head. I have not heard those voices for a long, long time, Frank. They controlled me. They used me like a puppet- I broke shit-" I brandished my bandages at him, "Including my coffee pot. Oh, and I murdered someone. A young, young teenager. Like, fourteen Frank. Four. Teen," my voice cracked and tears welled in my eyes. My bandaged hands came up to cover my face, heels of my palms digging into my eye sockets.

Frank just embraced me, acting like he understood. "It's okay."

I shoved him off of me, a ruffled look on my face. "It's not okay! I killed someone nine years younger than me- and I didn't even do it- the voices did! I kissed my only friend, and I am going to have to move soon, anyway."

Frank looked offended, hurt playing at his perfect features, but he brushed it off expertly. "Gerard, man, I'm here for you. I'm your... friend." He frailly tried to hug me again, and this time I smashed into him, wrapping my arms around him, melting into his embrace, sending him flat onto the couch on his back. He grunted out of surprise as my weight was forced upon him. I buried my face into the space between his neck and his shoulder, quiet sobs shaking my usually vigilante body. He rested his head against mine.