Mikey tucked his feet under the seat in front of him, the plane's turbulence making him sick. He rubbed his eyes under his sunglasses as a bright morning sun clawed through heavy clouds. A static voice rang through the cabin as the plane tipped its nose forward for landing. Mikey leaned forward, clutching his head and stomach, trying to resist the urge to throw up all over the place.
"Mikes, don't worry, bud. We're almost done." Gerard's hand fell on Mikey's back with a thud. Mikey, an awkward 27-year-old with turned-in knees and predominant features, forced a weak smile upward at Gerard before turning back to a fetal position.
"It'll be good to be home. Mikey agrees, don't you, Mikes?" Frank directed the question away from a nodding Ray and to a gagging Mikey. The plane jolted and began vibrating violently as it touched down and rolled to a stop, letting Mikey relax his muscles and lean back into his chair. His stomach twisted as negative thoughts pooled back into his brain and he sighed. The boys shuffled out of the airport, all glad to be off tour, except Mikey. Mikey hated planes, sure, but they got rid of the thoughts. He could never tell which pain was worse; the sickness or the depression. He kept his gaze low, glancing and comparing the cold scars to the fresh, bloody scars on his left wrist, occasionally bumping into Ray. Ray, after the sixth time, bumped Mikey back playfully, forcing a smile out of both of them.
"Sorry, Ray. Just feeling a little tired, I guess." He pulled his sleeves down.
Ray nodded, bright smile still radiating from his face. "No worries, Mikey. I totally get it." he sped up his pace to whisper words between Gerard and Frank. Mikey shrugged as Frank giggled. Mikey never really understood his depression. He couldn't tell what the negative thoughts were, but only that he had them. That he was sure of. He knew the suicidal thoughts meant something, but what and why were never clear answers for him. He tried as hard as he could but he found the effort rather depressing. Not knowing what depressed him had the same effect. He was tired of trying to make things make sense. He knew he'd fail, a piece of knowledge that only depressed him more. Mikey threw his bags into the trunk of the bus and fell backwards on to the couch as it pulled quickly on to the main road. Gerard slumped down beside his brother, a sigh escaping his thin lips.
"Mikey, what's up?" Mikey shook his head, his brother eyeing him with heavy eyes. "I mean it. What's up?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing." Mikey turned his body to face away from Gerard. Gerard rose to his feet and dragged himself to the back of the bus, leaving Mikey alone. Mikey reached into his backpack and grasped the bottle of sleeping pills that rested in crumbs and dirt at the bottom of the worn bag. He didn't know what would happen tonight. What he would find in his empty apartment in New Jersey only 15 minutes away. Maybe he'd rather fall asleep at 10 in the morning than face the day. That's when it happened again. Mikey's body jolted forward, his chest tight, his stomach twisted. He banged his palms against his head in attempt to throw the bad thoughts out. Mikey felt to his right and landed a small knife, the one Gerard kept in his back pocket. Mikey started stabbing the couch, groaning and clenching his teeth, angry at whatever he could be angry at. Gerard pushed into the room once more as the bus came to a stop outside of Mikey's house.
"Mikes! Mikey, stop it!" Gerard fell to his knees and grabbed his brother's arm, twisting it. A small, quiet yelp escaped Mikey. "Are you thinking bad thoughts again?" Gerard crept closer, his eyes soft and his voice shaky. Mikey nodded and dug his head into Gerard's shoulder. Gerard brushed his fingers through Mikey's short hair a few times before speaking again. "You wanna stay with me tonight?"
Mikey lifted his head, shaking it and drying his tears. "I'm good, thanks." At that he rose to his feet, grabbed his bag, smiled to his brother then to the others and hopped out of the bus. He decided he would pick the rest of his stuff up tomorrow as he made his way to his front door. He heard the bus pull away before he looked back. The sun was just above the clouds at this point, casting an orange glow over the houses surrounding his. But the grey apartment building still looked dark, like a cloud blocked the sun from reaching it with its translucent beams. Mikey walked in to his building, letting the weight of his backpack drag at him. He slipped his key into his door and twisted the knob. It was black. It was silent. It was all that Mikey expected, really. He walked to his bedroom in a haze, the front door left open. Mikey had made his decision. He came to realize that his mind had been made up for much longer than he knew. He fell backwards onto his bed, uncasing the sleeping pills from his pocket. He was ready. His breath shook as the room grew cold. Mikey swallowed the first pill, dry. It clawed at his throat as it fell. He took a second, then a third. He started crying as his eyes fluttered. A fourth. A fifth. Through yawns he screamed Gerard's name. A sixth. A seventh. He was thrashing on his bed, trying to go back. An eighth.
He gave up his fight a succumbed to a heavy sleep, the bottle, with only two pills left, fell from his hands and crashed on to the floor. Mikey's heart beat slowed and, eventually, stopped. He grew cold on his bed through the night, undisturbed until two mornings later, when his brother collapsed at his side, gripping the dull grey hand and crying his name.
