Fever Dream || Frank Iero

.25.

TW: Discussion of/attempted suicide + drug use

This is a pretty intense chapter, so proceed with caution.

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Mikey rushed over to me and grabbed my hand, his palms drenched in sweat. The terrible sound of Gerard yelling and crying came careening from the bathroom, and it took everything for me not to shut down and find a way to escape the tremendous chaos that was packed into one small hotel room.

    "Please Melissa, he's asking for you, I don't know how else to calm him down. I don't know what to do," Mikey begged, tears in his eyes.

There was table side lamp broken near the bed, small bits of blood where it stood on the nightstand. Glass was everywhere, presumably from beer bottles. The room was a disaster. I didn't want to be selfish enough to wonder if this outburst had anything to do with me, but the thought was out of my control. Maybe Frank is right, I wondered. Maybe I shouldn't have come here.

    "Please," Mikey begged once more.

    "Mikey if he's being violent I don't know if it's a good idea to have them alone together," Ray said.

    I looked back at everyone behind me, each face ridden with fear. They reminded me of a group of school children huddled together, waiting to be told what to do. I didn't feel in any better of a position to be the one to take action, just as scared as the rest of them looked. But something told me that it had to be me.

    The others began arguing about whether or not I should be the one to go, Gerard's wails in the background making my heart pound. We were running out of time before everything was inevitably going to detonate. I remained silent as everyone's voices fought one another, but all I could hear was Gerard.

    "Stop," I blurted, everyone simultaneously falling silent. "Just give me five minutes."

  The calm tone of my voice in no way reflected the havoc inside of my head. Jessica stood behind Pete in tears, Ray and Bob anxiously tapping their feet. I looked over to Frank, his position unchanged from the moment we entered the room. His lips mouthed "Be careful," before I turned around and walked to the bathroom.

  The bathroom was in worse shape than the room was. The mirror above the sink was shattered, more blood strewn about the wall and tile floor. Vomit was on the corner of the toilet seat, and on the floor next to it was Gerard. His hand was swollen and bloodied, the hair on his face sticking from the sweat. The room reeked of alcohol. I wasn't sure anything I've ever seen made me as sad as that scene did. I took in one more deep breath before walking in and kneeling down next to him, his head in his hands.

    "Gerard, I'm here, please talk to me," I tried to sound as calm as possible to avoid working him up even more.

    "I'm so sorry," His voice broke through tears, sobs cutting through me.

    "Shhh," I scooted closer. "You have to tell me what's wrong."

    "I can't do it anymore."

    "Do what?"

    He continued to weep, blood dripping down his arms. I looked up at the top of the toilet and noticed not only pills, but white powder sitting on top. My heart dropped, and I understood how much worse things actually were.

    "Do what, Gerard," My voice now shaky and stern, I looked back at him.

    "I just want it to be over, please."