Today was especially bad for Gerard. From the moment he woke up, he knew it was going to be bad. His sheets were covered in blood, which revealed itself to be from the marks Gerard had dug into his arms in his sleep. His pajamas had red all over them too, but he only had the energy in him to wash the sheets. It was Thursday, which meant he should've been in school by now, but he couldn't bring himself to go. He simply didn't want to; he didn't feel like it, so he didn't.
He felt an itch.
His cheek burned, tingled. Begged to be scratched. So Gerard did, raking his longer nails over his skin. The skin almost shuddered under his touch, the burning feeling almost relieving itself. Almost. He continued to scratch, the urge lessening by the moment. But before that could disappear, he felt his side begin to itch, and he scratched at that too. This wasn't a physical itch, no, it was all mental.
He wanted to peel all his skin off in one big layer. He wanted to peel off his shell like a clementine, to discard it and let it break down into soil from whence it came. He wanted to pluck every hair off his body slowly, to be picked clean of every scab and every imperfection. To pick off all his acne, as if that would do anything. To rip every molecule of him apart, one by one, until he wasn't anything anymore. This, this is what dermatillomania is. Everyone thought it was just a bad habit, something he could just magically stop, but no, it was part of him. It was branded into his brain. The urge to free himself from this prison of an itch was severe, and before he knew it, a mix of blood and tears was trickling down his cheek, while his arms only screamed out with an irritated and angry red hue. Everything burned and itched and god, this was too much. Leaning against the wall, he slid into a sitting position as the tears just swarmed him, overtaking everything and pouring out of his eyes like there's no tomorrow. To be quite honest, right now, it felt like there was no tomorrow to him.
X o x o x o
Pete felt sad.
And not just normal sad, like the usual, dull drag of everyday life that made him feel like complete and utter shit, but especially sad. The permanent state of exhaustion he'd hit was draining him, and all he wanted to do was sleep for the rest of his life. He had absolutely no idea what prompted this odd spell of downward disposition, and yet here it was, staring him in the face as he couldn't drag himself out of bed. It felt like he was a battery, drained beyond the point of use, left only with a fraction of a percent of power, not even enough to pick up his phone and check all the texts he'd gotten from his concerned and incredibly anxiety-ridden best friend. He knew Mikey would get really worried since he wasn't at school, but he couldn't make himself pick up the phone. His hand felt heavier than cement, like someone had injected titanium into his veins, making moving and impossible feat. Even his breathing was strained, and he really had to make himself breath, because it was almost like his body didn't want to; it was no longer a basic reflex programmed into his body, but rather a chore he had to force himself to do.
Ding.
Another text from Mikey.
With what felt like an immense amount of effort, he reached over to his bedside table and picked up his phone, scrolling through what had just been made the tenth message he'd received.
Mikeyway: Are you coming to school today? I didn't see you outside
Mikeyway: Pete?
Mikeyway: You're worrying me, man
Mikeyway: I guess not. You must be still asleep
Mikeyway: Warn a dude next time
Mikeyway: please
Mikeyway: sorry that sounded so rude
Mikeyway: I should really stop now sorry
Mikeyway: Pete?
Mikeyway: please tell me you're not dead
Sighing softly, he forced himself to type, his thumbs feeling like his bones were made of clouds as he typed out the message.
Pepe-Pete: No, I'm alive. Just sick. Sorry.
Mikey texted back in a matter of seconds. Whether he was waiting for Pete's text or he was just a fast typer, well, that is one of the many secrets that belonged on Buzzfeed: Unsolved.
Mikeyway: Oh. Okay. Sick sick or other sick
Pepe-Pete: uhhh 3rd option
Mikeyway: A dickhead who left his friend hanging
Pepe-Pete: Yeah that's the one
Mikeyway: Dickhead
Pepe-Pete: Love u too man 😂
Setting down his phone, he rolled over in his bed, away from the phone as well as the main source of the light in the room. It was incredibly bright, sure, but it almost felt....muted, as if his mindset was a blockade for his eyes that made everything look dull. The color had drained out of everything, his gory posters of zombies and monsters no longer fun to look at; even his own skin looked pale and washed clean of color, even though he wasn't even Caucasian. How incredibly odd.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to go back to sleep, to cry, to do anything but just sit there and be a waste of space. That's exactly what he felt like anyway, regardless of how many times people told him he wasn't. He just stopped giving that notion a voice out loud, and people dropped it, but it was always repeating in the back of his mind, through the speakers of a record player that's stuck in a loop.
To be quite honest, right now, it felt like there was no tomorrow to him. Everything felt like it was at a stand-still, like it had frozen in the sky and all decided to crash at once in the fashion of an airline jet. He wanted there to be a tomorrow, for there to be hope for him, for time to not sit at this incredibly halt, but unfortunately, he didn't think that was the case.
His phone vibrated again.
Oh fuck. His girlfriend.
She was probably texting him right now, assuming it wasn't Mikey. Oddly enough, he just couldn't make himself roll over and answer it. He didn't want to. His girlfriend could wait, because he felt the room around him dissolve into nothingness as sleep took a hold of him. It gently carried him away from the reality he so longed to leave, and greeted him as an old friend. Pete and the void had always been friends, after all.
YOU ARE READING
You're beautiful to me ||Frerard + Petekey||
Fanfic~The world is ugly~ Gerard Way: the kid who's the most outcast of the outcasts. And the kid who can't stop picking at his skin Frank Iero; the kid who got kicked out of Catholic school. And the kid who's skinny. Too skinny They find solace in each...
