Gerard has a funny relationship with alcohol.
On the whole, he doesn’t drink it, it clouds his mind and makes him do things he wouldn’t normally, so Gerard doesn’t even think about drinking it, he’s in a better place in his life now, there is no need to think about it. Gerard can go, days, weeks and even months without touching the stuff, he is perfectly content with being sober and being alive and here and all of that other shit. But then, but then.
It could be a bad day at work, an argument with Mikey, hell, it could be stepping on a lady bug on his way home, it doesn’t fucking matter though, because whatever it is, who ever it may be, it always leads Gerard back to square one. The bottle.
Tonight is one of those nights, Gerard is intoxicated, smashed, paralytic and there is no going back now. He lies on the half collapsed deckchair looking out over the balcony at his town, the stars seem to laugh at him, twinkling in a way that would usually stimulate some kind of creative thought proses. Tonight though, tonight the stars piss him off, all silver and dancing above his head like they have the right to freedom.
There had been an incident at work, an incident at work that Gerard can hardly remember in his state of being. An incident at work that had caused Ryan to quit.
Gerard had been typical Gerard, all shuffling and glaring at the customers and being a general nuisance like he always is when he hasn’t had a full night of sleep. Ryan had gotten in his way on his third return from the staff kitchen that morning, in his hands a scolding mug of coffee. Gerard’s shirt had been ruined, they had lost potential customers and Ryan had gotten an ear full of snappy you-shouldn’t-have-fucked-with-me-Gerard.
If it had been Bob at the hand of Gerard’s relentless word vomit, the day might not have been such a drag, but Ryan was apparently a sensitive little flower so it was probably the last of the Ross kid Gerard would be seeing for a while.
His mood had only gotten worse through the day and by the time Gerard had reached his flat, a drink was desperately needed and wrapped in a brown paper bag, in his hand.
Gerard had an okay apartment, it was on the wrong side of Newark to be considered nice and when he had told his mom just where he was moving she had demurred worriedly for a few days before Gerard could convince her it was a good decision.
But the apartment block was new, had been cheep and looked over the glassy mirror of one of Belleville’s lakes. This had been the main selling point for Gerard because, sure the lake got searched every couple months for dead bodies and, yes several have been found there in Gerard’s lifetime alone. But the lake is a point of beauty, especially at night when the rubbish and the needles and the hobos and the general Jersey are all tucked into the black cloth of the dark, and all that is left is the beautiful silver ink smothering the estate.
The lake normally inspires Gerard, he writes stories about monsters and ghosts haunting the black abase and paints and sketches it day and night. But tonight, having turned his face away from the falling stars, Gerard is simply looking glumly at it, as if the murky water alone could be enough to change his life.
It’s windy, so small ripples ricochet through the pool and Gerard watches them, the steady movement sending him into a lull of almost sleep. He knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t pass out outside, but right now, the knowledge seems wasted on him, he doesn’t care if he wakes up tomorrow with pneumonia, he doesn’t care if tomorrow, he doesn’t wake up at all.
He would rather stay in this lucid state, not quite dreaming but close enough. The cold air is still present pinching at his pink cheeks like his Aunt Mary used to do when he was a kid with a bowl cut at the crowded family get-togethers.
