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no food for the wicked	By : jesikalovesyou Category: My Chemical Romance > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1029 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of My Chemical Romance. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-no food for the wicked
- 1
Gerard doesn’t eat anymore.
He doesn’t talk, he doesn’t smile, he doesn’t move.
He doesn’t love me either.
We don’t have sex. We don’t kiss. He won’t let me touch him.
If I try to feed him, he closes his eyes and purses his lips until I give up.
Now he lives at a fucking hospital.
He’ll only let Mikey, who basically lives there, touch him, hold him (even though Mikey hates it because his brother is so fucked up) and I watch and it makes me want to kill myself.
I don’t cry (even though I know he wants me to) when I walk in his room and see him lying there, as still as a fucking statue. I just suck it up – to be strong for him. But he doesn’t fucking care.
Sometimes I want to leave him for good.
But I tried that once. Five minutes late and he started screaming – no words – just the most god-awful sound, like a child being torn apart while they’re still alive.
Screaming, and there was nothing the nurses could do to make him stop. When I got to his door, I could hear it, and it made my blood run cold.
I walked in and he stopped.
He just stopped.
Then he was just as silent as ever, tears still falling down his face and his nose running –though he didn’t try to stop it – and I sat there for my daily 45 minutes and I left.

Frankie loved Gerard. Really loved him. Gerard was God and Frankie was the lamb. Not that Gerard knew it though.
He was so fucking blind to it and if he wanted to blame himself for Frank’s death, that would be the only justifiable way; his obliviousness.
I knew Frankie, and I knew he didn’t care. He was happy to sit across the room and just watch Gerard. That was all he needed and I respect that.
And I know Gerard, and I know that he really didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know that Frank worshipped him like he did or Gerard would’ve stopped it. He didn’t believe in dragging on something like that. It always ended in heartbreak.

I constantly told him the first two weeks that Frankie’s death wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t. He’d yell at me and tell me to “fuck off” and “what do you know, asshole,” and I’d just take it because I believed he didn’t mean it.
After two weeks, he never said anything anymore.
It’s been a year since he’s talked to me (I think he talks to Mikey but Mikey won’t tell me anything) and it kills me to come back here every fucking day and see him but I know he wouldn’t make it through it if I didn’t come.
Sometimes (like now) I just want to grab him by the arms and yell at him: look at me, tell me you love me, tell me you’re okay and you want to go home.
But I don’t touch him even though sometimes when I look at him I get a feeling that he wants me to do it, to make him.
He wants me to stop being quiet and strong, he wants me to break down and cry.
I can’t do it. I can’t give up. I’ve been telling myself I’m strong enough for so long. I can’t break it.
He just sits there today like always.
I want to leave.
I go towards the door (and I should know better, I still have 20 minutes to be here) and I hear a whimper.
I turn around and he’s still staring straight ahead. But now there are tears in his eyes.
I go towards the door again. I hear the sound again, like a crying, hurt animal. I ignore it.
If he ignores me, I’ll ignore him.
I touch the knob and he starts breathing hard and fast. He’s hyperventilating. I turn the knob and I open the door. He’s moaning now, this long, sad, painful moan and I can’t stand it. I go through.
I hear the screams even before I fully get through the door. But it’s different now, he’s screaming, “No! Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me all alone! I don’t want to be alone anymore!” and it is so wretched and full of fear and so fucking urgent. And my stomach is twisting and knotting and I can’t breathe. I’m shaking.
It makes me want to die.
I find myself back in his room standing by his bed and he’s still crying and saying, “Don’t leave me again. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to be alone.” But I can barely hear it because his voice is so low and he’s sobbing and choking hard. I just stand there waiting for his approval, waiting for him to say it’s okay to hold him. After so long.
But he doesn’t say it, he doesn’t say yes.
And I cry.
I cry for him, I cry for me, I cry for Frankie.
I cry because I haven’t cried in so long. I’ve been pretending for so long.
Pretending that if I was strong, he would be strong.
The cries and choking sounds in my ear are loud, fucking loud, but it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard and I’ve missed it so much.
I’ve missed holding him so fucking much.
- 1
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no food for the wicked