We're All Outcasts (Gerard Way/ MCR Fanfiction)

Lost In A Coma And Covered In Cake

I had to go back to my reality. I badly wanted to see my friends, family, myself, again.

I was sitting on the Parade float, when my mind began to drift. It was as if my thoughts all softly merged into one and my subconscious took over. I was surrounded by white. I was not in a room, as far as I could tell. On the other hand, it was impossible to tell how far away anything was, because the white was never- ending, stretching into the distance. Well, it might have been miles, it might have been mere centimetres. I was disorientated and confused. One thought was running through my head - hospital bed. My hazy mind became a little clearer and I focused my thoughts on my reality, my friends, my mum, even Patrick. I shut my eyes and when I opened them again, the white was gone.

I was in a hospital cubicle, looking over at a girl lying motionless on the bed. She was hooked up to so many machines, had so many wires and drips and monitors surrounding her that it seemed impossible for her to be asleep. But she was.

Then I realised.

The girl was me.

The blue curtain twitched as someone came into the room; Gerard. My teacher.

"I know you probably can't hear me, but I got you these. Maybe one day you'll wake up and smell the roses, eh?

Happy 16th birthday, Scarlett."

Happy 16th birthday? That couldn't have been right. The play was on 12th of December and it was my birthday on the 15th of February. I'd only been in the Parade for a week or so.

But the plot thickened as I saw the clock on the wall. It displayed the date too - holy fuck, it was my birthday! I had been in the hospital for over two months yet only seven days had gone in the Parade.

He placed the bunch of peach- coloured roses he'd been carrying into a vase on the table next to my bed. They were beautiful and they smelled divine. I stared at him as he sat down in one of the chairs next to the bed, got out a book - dog-eared and well- thumbed - and began to read.

My mum came into the room, holding (for some inexplicable reason) a cake and a handful of cards. I was comatose and she had bought me a fucking cake.

"Happy birthday, sweetie. Oh, who got you those roses?"

As if she expected me to just suddenly spring up out of my coma, sit up in bed and answer her by saying: 'Hello, mum. Gerard bought the roses because he said he loved me. Oh, and we kissed too. But don't worry, he's only 20 and very responsible as a teacher.'

She seemed to be completely ignoring Gerard, who was hunched over his book, a copy of '1984', long hair covering his face in a way that I couldn't help but find attractive.

My mum walked over, probably with the intention of putting the cake on the table. But alas, Gerard's bag had a long strap and she tripped over it. Gerard looked up and managed to catch her before she hit the floor, but the cake flew up into the air and fell down again with a wet splat. Onto my face (well, the girl's face. No, it is my face, isn't it?). I laughed out loud, even though I knew no one could hear me. My mum left the room (presumably to find a nurse and a few baby wipes) and that was when Gerard looked up, studied the mess, and began to laugh too.

"Oh dear, Scarlett. You're lost in a coma and covered in cake. What are we going to do with you?"

And then he began to cry. Silent sobs wracked his body, his shoulders quivering with the effort of trying not to make any noise and pale, slender hands covering his face. It was heart-wrenching watching him cry and I knew it was all my fault. Everything leading up to this was my fault. It was my fault I'd found Gerard's book and drawings, it was my fault that I had just handed them back, it was my fault that I'd gotten a crush on him, it was my fault that I'd led him to kissing me. It was my fault I'd kissed him. It was my fault he'd fallen in love with me, it was my fault that I'd broken his heart. It was my fault he was crying, it was my fault that I'd made him cry on two other occasions.

He got up and reached into his bag; pulling out a card, he placed it on the bottom of the (already precarious) pile on the table. He brushed tears from his eyes and left the room.

A few seconds later, my mum returned to the room, accompanied by a nurse carrying wipes and clean bedsheets. I overheard voices outside; Mikey and Frank had come to visit. The nurse cleaned up the mess, checked my vital signs (no, I'm still alive) and hurried out of the room again, the cake- smothered sheets in a bundle. Mikey and Frank came in.

"Do you want to read her cards out? I can't stay and she'd prefer it if you did it anyway."

Wow. My mum seemed to have had a change of heart. Having said that, her daughter had been in a coma for two months. I suppose they were all supporting each other. Mikey nodded, picking up the cards and handing half of them to Frank, who read his out first:

"'Scarlett,

Happy birthday, get well soon.

Jack.' Jack? Didn't know he was the sort to send cards..."

They carried on, each taking turns until the last one. Mikey read it out:

"'Scarlett,

The world is ugly but you're beautiful to me.

x'"

"Ooh, Scarlett! An anonymous card. Looks like you've got an admirer." teased Frank.

"No, I recognise the handwriting..." Mikey said, frowning, "It's Gerard's."

A short silence filled the room.

"What? Does Gerard usually spout deep shit like that? Uh? Does it mean anything?" garbled Frank.

"Honestly, Frank? I have no idea. Gerard's always been secretive, but I have no idea how we should interpret what's in that card. Maybe he meant it to be nice and friendly, maybe he's-- I just don't know."

"Maybe he's been screwing her in the costume cupboard."

"No. Stop now."

"But--"

"No."

"Okay. Sorry."

"You are going to be the death of me, Frank. What has been seen... cannot be unseen..."

They both laughed.

"Come on, Scarlett. You're 16 now. You can't be lazy forever. Wake up! Coffee! I have coffee! You love coffee!"

"It's not even as if she can hear us." Mikey mused, "If she could, she'd be laughing."

"Yeah, I suppose. But it's better than just being silent and miserable. If I didn't laugh I'd be a sobbing mess on the floor."

"I'm sorry, Frank. I should have noticed."

"She spent so long making sure other people were okay that she didn't ask herself if she was okay."

I didn't have it in me to stay. Frank had hit it on the head; I spent so much time trying to make other people happy, making sure they were okay, that I didn't focus on my own problems. I never once thought about how my heart could have been affecting me, but only how the news would affect the people I knew. My own mistake might have killed me.