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Fatality Is Like Ghosts In Snow" By Adora Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, don't sue. Chapter One Lenore eyed her old school warily. A banner reading "Welcome Back, Class of 2000!" hung across the large entrance. She took a deep breath and made her way across the parking lot. Upon entering the building, she was greeted by a short, plump woman she immediately recognized as Marianna Torres. "Oh, my gosh!" she squealed. She threw her arms around Lenore. "I can't believe it's you! I can't believe you came!" She turned to the other alumni, who were assembled near the door, talking and hugging as they reacquainted themselves. "Everyone remember Lenore Callazo? Or should I say Lenore Way?" she added with a wink. Lenore paled. She knew she shouldn't have come. "No, no, I'm still Lenore Callazo," she forced out, her voice strained. Marianna, not picking up on Lenore's obvious discomfort, continued: "Oh, well I always saw you too getting married, having kids, you know, the whole nine yards. You two were so in love back in school. Remember when..." Lenore stormed past Marianna without letting her finish, not bothering to take her nametag. As she walked down the hallway, old memories flooded her mind. She closed her eyes in an attempt to block them out. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door to the gymnasium open. "Just tonight," she muttered to herself. "Just this one night." It had been a shock, getting the invitation in the mail. She had buried herself under paperwork at the secretarial job she hated in a vain attempt to drown the memories of her years at Newark High. She certainly hadn't forgotten them, though. She had overcome many things in the years subsequent to her high school graduation; her past wasn't one of them. High school had been a less-than-pleasant experience for Lenore. It seemed as though those four years of her life were the most difficult. Not to say that there hadn't been anything positive during her high school career...she had, after all, fallen in love. As a freshman, she was loud and rebellious, smoking outside before and after school, drinking, and dabbling in marijuana. She had been suspended on several occasions for insolence, mouthing off, and for her foul mouth. Her grades were poor, her social life more important than schoolwork. Her parents cracked down in an attempt to control their daughter, only to watch her slip even farther from their grasp. There was one night that was still vivid in her mind. Her hand flew to her chest and felt out the faint scar that ran from her collarbone to her sternum, and she remembered. They were in the car. Lenore and her mother, driving home from a trip to the mall gone sour. Lenore's mother had suggested the shopping trip in hopes of bonding with her eldest daughter. It had been in Macy's that tempers had flared. "Why don't you try on this?" her mother suggested, holding up a pink camisole. Lenore sneered. "I don't think so." She turned back to the rack of tiny black tops she had been browsing through. Her mother slammed the shirt on its hanger onto the rack and whirled on her daughter. "I am sick of your attitude with me. All that you do is complain when your father and I are trying to understand what the hell you're doing with your life. You're throwing it all away! Everything we worked for to give you, down the drain, because you're too God damned selfish to think about somebody else for a change!" Lenore glared at her mother. "If you actually cared about me then maybe I wouldn't be such a fuck-up, Mom. Maybe it's all your fault. And don't tell me that I'm selfish when you're the one going to your dinner parties and your "Girls' Night Out" when you could be taking care of your family." Lenore had known that that wasn't true...her parents did work hard, and her mother rarely went out, and when she did, she always made sure to be home before midnight. But at that point, Lenore hadn't cared about what was true and what wasn't...it had been about hurting her mother as deeply and as badly as she could. "I have worked so hard to be a good mother," she forced out, her eyes glossy with tears. "I have done everything in my power to see to it that you will live a good life. All that I've ever wanted for you was the happiness that I left behind. And you go and throw it in my face." Looking back, Lenore felt sick; she was disgusted with herself, knowing that she had actually taken pleasure in seeing her mother so distraught. "Then I guess you did a pretty shitty job, Mom, because look at me! I'm a grade-A fuck up, huh? I'm sorry that I'm not your God damned princess! Go baby someone else, because I don't really care anymore." Her mother had broken into tears right there, in the middle of the Apparel for Young Women department. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to control herself, and then reached into her purse. She pulled out a black box and thrust it at her daughter. "I bought this for you last week. I wanted to give it to you today, as a late birthday present. Enjoy it." She had then slipped away into the bathroom, leaving Lenore alone in the center of the department store. Lenore opened the box slowly and was floored: a beautiful onyx and ruby necklace winked up at her, the faces of the gems catching the fluorescent light of the store. She fingered it gently, dumbfounded and unsure of what to do. Her mother had returned form the bathroom moments later, and Lenore, not knowing what to say, opted to say nothing at all. The drive home was tense. The awkward silence was thick and caught in their throats when they breathed. Lenore's mother's brows had been furrowed in concentration as she contemplated what to do with her daughter. Private school, boarding school, punishment... At the same time, guilt rode at Lenore's mind, berating her for regarding her mother as she had. She had opened her mouth to apologize when the screeching of brakes and the flashing of lights sent her spiraling down into darkness. The accident had killed her mother. Lenore survived, with a broken leg and sprained wrist. She stayed in the hospital for a few days, to ensure that she was free of any internal trauma. After she was released, she found herself in a state of depression, up to her head in culpability. She blamed herself for the accident. If she hadn't been so terrible that day, if she had told her mother she loved her...The If's were endless...she played a thousand possible scenarios out in her mind, each one ending the same way: with a well-behaved daughter and a loving, living mother.
CHAPTER 2
Lenore stood outside of the gym, staring at the double
doors, the eggshell-white paint peeling in long
curling strips. The colored lights shone from under
the door, illuminating the dimly lit hallway. Chapter 3 New Year's Eve fell on a Tuesday that year. Lenore had gone to a party. The party. It wasn't something she had planned on doing.-it had been a last minute decision influenced by a sudden desire to feel as carefree as she had been in her freshman year. She didn't know whose party it was, but then again, no one really did. All that anybody really cared about was the fact that there wouldn't be parents present and that there was booze. Nothing else mattered. The party had moved smoothly at first. She downed her alcohol with ease until she could feel herself getting tipsy. She smiled; it had been a while. She continued to drink, savoring the feeling of not having to care about anything for a change. She had been having a good time for the first time since her mother's death when she heard it-a sharp voice, loud against the dull roar of all of the other attendees. "Oh my God, isn't that her?" "Who?" another voice asked. "That girl whose mom died. I heard it was her fault-she killed her mom." The guilt that had been drowned in alcohol rushed back, and she was immediately sobered up. She looked at where the voice had come from. Two blonde girls stood there, their hair long and highlighted, their beautiful faces twisted maliciously. Beautifully maliciously. "Oh, shit, I think she heard you," the girl that had spoken second said. The first girl laughed loudly. "Who the fuck cares? She doesn't matter, anyway." And they walked away, floating on air. Somehow, even in their cruelty, they were still perfect. Perfect like Lenore would never be. She remembered the next part like a movie, like some sort of out-of-body experience. She saw herself running up the stairs, finding her way to the upstairs bathroom they were told not to use. She slammed the door and locked it. Flinging the medicine cabinet open, she frantically searched until she found what she was looking for: a disposable razor. It was rusty, she noticed. She watched as she put the razor to her wrist and sliced deep. She saw herself wince and let out a muffled cry. She bit her lip until she bled. Her vision was filled with blood, then. Blood everywhere, on her legs and her arms, trickling from her mouth. She closed her eyes and sighed, either out of contentment or out of the sudden numbness she was surely feeling, she didn't know. She didn't know how long she had been watching herself sitting there, bleeding. Time had been twirling around her, dancing and spinning and losing control. She didn't know the time; she didn't care. And then the doorknob jiggled. She saw herself open her mouth to try to protest, but the loss of blood wouldn't let her. She willed herself to force the sound to, to just say something-anything! The doorknob continued to jiggle. She heard a muffled, "Shit!" and then the jiggling stopped. She sighed from relief. Just then, though, she heard the scrape of metal on metal. Some more jiggling. She watched panic write itself across her face. And then the door was open. She wanted to yell at the intruder, to tell him or her to get out, to leave her be. But again, the blood loss was proving to be not-so-great. The saw that the intruder was the boy she had seen on the stage. The boy with the too-short-hair and the black clothes and the too-angular nose. And now, when he swore loudly and lifted her up in his arms and rushed her downstairs, when he brought her to the hospital and waited there with her all night, when he saved her life, she didn't find him to be any more attractive than she had before. All she saw was an unattractive boy that had taken her away from her mother. Again. And she hated him for it. Chapter 4 Woodside Bridge Mental Hospital, "where patients are people, too". That's where she was. In a small bedroom, with a metal hospital bed and white walls and a white tile floor. The White Room. No sharp objects. Room-temperature food was served on paper plates that were taken away as soon as she finished; the nurse hovered over her as she ate, ready to snatch away her dull plastic knife and fork in case she attempted to "hurt herself again". She felt like anything but a person there. She made a friend at Woodside. His name was Andrew, and he was visited by Celine, a faceless girl with pink hair and rotting flesh. She told him about the future; they were friends. Lenore liked Andrew. He didn't talk much, but then again, neither did she. When he did talk, though, he always had something worth listening to. He was smart, like she was (the results of the mandatory IQ and aptitude tests administered by the Woodside doctors deemed her borderline-genius). There weren't very many smart people at Woodside. There were lots of people-teenagers, mostly-that had no grasp of their lives, that had no idea why they had done what they had. They couldn't remember what triggered enough self-hate to try and kill themselves, couldn't even remember hating themselves. Andrew and Lenore remembered, though. Lenore remembered the conversation with her mother that day. She remembered the clean smell of Macys and the glare of the fluorescent lights and the hatred that bubbled inside her. And she remembered the party, the sneers on those girls' faces, their cold, unsympathetic laughter, their nonchalance when they talked about mother's life. She remembered the red on the endless white tile-white and red, white and red. There was lots of red and lots of white. She dreamt about it sometimes. But she dreamt about the look on the boy's face (Gerard, she later found out) in the door of the bathroom more. She thought about him a lot, about how much she hated him. She had been ready to see her mother again. She had been ready to apologize. And he stopped her. He stole her away from her mother and now she would never see her again. Not for a long time, the Woodside doctors promised. (And they did it with smiles, like they were helping her, rows of razor-sharp teeth catching the artificial light of The White Room. Andrew's dad used to bring girls home with him at night. Little girls, Andrew's age. He used to do things with them, and they used to cry. Sometimes they'd scream. Celine Desroden went to school with Andrew. They played together on the playground. She didn't scream. But seven years later when she was in Andrew's ninth-grade homeroom, Mrs. Howard, the literature teacher, found her on the pavement outside the main building, facedown. Andrew said that Celine had looked really pretty at the funeral, and that she was still pretty, even without her face and with flesh that was falling away. He said he thought he might have loved her.
Lenore liked her therapist, Susie. Susie was the only person that listened to her. She listened to her talk about her mom and her dad and Gerard and about the red and white. She was the one that kept her from going completely insane. Lenore was on suicide watch. She didn't know why-she wasn't going to kill herself. Susie knew it; she and Lenore talked about it a lot. Susie had asked her outright, once, if she was going to do it. "No." Susie looked at Lenore. "You're not." It wasn't a question, it was an affirmation, a verification. Lenore shook her head. "No, I'm not. There's no point." "But your momÉ" She shrugged. "It's my fault. It's going to take me a long time to be OK. I might never be OK. But I know my mom, and she loved me a lot. That sort of makes this all worse, because I didn't love her back enough, you know? But she loved me and she wanted me to be happy, and I think she still does. She's watching, you know, right now. She's smiling, too, I think. " "How do you know she's in Heaven? Couldn't she have gone to Hell?" Lenore didn't get angry or close up like she used to when Susie asked this: "People like my mom don't go to Hell." And then, on a Wednesday, she was out. She was out of Woodside, out of the white, into the world. It was the end of August, which meant school. Which meant Girl One and Girl Two with their sneers and their unsympathetic laughter and their nonchalance. Which meant Gerard. Which meant everyone else. She didn't think she was ready, but she knew that she would never really be Ready. And no amount of time in Woodside could fix that. Chapter 5 Remembering was hard. Her heart ached as she looked around the gym, the pink and green lights illuminating the dark room. Everything reeked of Gerard. The stage, the bleachers, the fucking ceiling. Seeing it all after five long years made her heart break all over again. She had talked to Mikey for a while after it all had happened, after she had moved away to California and Gerard had stayed on the East Coast. Mikey had said he was going to art school. She had smiled despite herself--he had always talked about art school, said he would go and paint her a thousand pictures of beautiful things, said he would paint her. He never did. In the beginning, Mikey said that Gerard was miserable without her, and she was glad. She wanted him to hurt as much as she did, to feel lost and dead like she did. "Good," she had spat angrily. "I'm fucking glad." But eventually, time and distance wore on her friendship with Mikey, because phone lines can only do so much, and they fell out of touch. They would talk occassionally, if one of them had been thinking about the other, but that was rare, and soon all she had were photographs and memories. And she still missed Gee. Oh god, she missed him.
She had first spoken to Gerard a week after returning to school. To say that that first week had been difficult would be a huge understatement: she had been harrassed by people she had never seen before, by her old friends. Her teachers treated her like a freak, like a piece of antique glass that would break if handled too roughly. After almost every class, she was pulled aside to make she was "doing OK." It was sickening. No one had cared about her before it. No one had known who she was. She liked being invisible. And now she was another teenage statistic, another name to add to a list of Hopeless Cases. She hadn't known that that would be so painful. She kept quiet through it all. She said nothing, did nothing to defend herself. She took each verbal blow (most of them hitting her heart, right where it hurt) and let it sit and simmer. She had thought that her time with Susie and her conversations with Andrew would have helped her cope, but she was wrong--it hurt. Badly. She hadn't been prepared for the slew of hatred that had been waiting for her. She had never needed anyone before, never needed defending, but now...all that she wanted was for one person to stick up for her, to help her up when she was shoved into a locker in the hall. To sit with her at lunch. To tell Maria Marshal and her friends to just shut up. To tell Anthony Bicket to go fuck himself. Because God knows that she could never do it for herself. She hadn't seen Gerard during that first week. She was glad. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to face the person that had ruined everything, the person that had made her into the freak everyone now saw her as. If he hadn't stopped her, then she wouldn't be like this. She wouldn't have to be here to be treated like this. She knew, deep down, that she was grateful. That she didn't want to die. But she had to hate him, had to blame him; she needed someone to blame. She knwe that eventually, they would meet, whether it be arranged or by chance, and that she would have to face him and talk to him and deal with him, but she was avoiding that time like the plague. She didn't want to have to cope with any more than she already was. She would have to confront all of her problems sooner or later, she knew: Gerard, the rumors, the harrassment, her mother... But until she was ready, until she could, she dealt with them all in the same way: she shut everything out, shut herself in. And she was quiet.
Whispers and giggles circulated as she stood and went to the door. "Oh my god, did they find her razor or something?" "What, did she kill her dad, too?" "Maybe they're transferring her. But I don't think we're that lucky." She didn't react. Instead, she clenched her jaw and continued walking. She always did. She was suprised to see Susie in the office, along with Mrs. Schralenberg, the guidance counselor. Susie smiled at her softly. "Hi, Lenore." Lenore didn't return the smile, but nodded. Susie understood. Lenore took a seat in the chair across from the two women and waited in silence. She didn't turn when she heard the door open--she didn't care enough to. She stared at her hands in her lap, looked at the scars that adorned her wrists. She hadn't made any effort to hide them; everyone already knew about them, and they would talk anyway. She heard Mrs. Schralenberg speak: "Good morning, Mr. Way." "Mr. Way" didn't reply. She heard him fall into the chair beside her. The room was silent for a long moment until Mrs. Schralenberg spoke again. "Do you two know why you're here?" It was then that Lenore looked up at the boy, and when she did, she stopped breathing. It was him. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, and then looked back down quickly. Lenore looked at Susie questioningly. Susie sighed. "Gerard, this is Lenore Callazo. Lenore, this is Gerard Way. He saved your life, Lenore." Lenore glared. "I know who the fuck he is," she snapped, her anger unconcealed. The three other occupants of the room looked at her, surprised at the outburst. "What--?" Susie began. Lenore shook her head, shutting down again. She didn't speak again, and Susie continued again with a sigh. "I realize that this is, of course, a very difficult time for you, Lenore, and that our sessions alone cannot help you heal. Gerard here came to Mrs. Schralenberg about what happened..." (She paused then, when Gerard scoffed.) "...And she and I have agreed that you two should meet a few times a week and get to know each other. You can help each other heal." She waited for either of the teenagers to react, but neither did anything. She sighed heavily again. "Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, you two will meet from 3-5, starting tomorrow. Saturdays, you'll meet from 11-3. I don't care where you meet, but your parents are aware of the situation and will make sure that you do meet." She looked from Gerard and Lenore and then back to Gerard. "Are you OK with this?" Lenore said nothing, and Gerard only shrugged. "We don't really have a choice, do we?" he remarked bitterly. Mrs. Schralenberg spoke now: "No, Mr. Way, you don't. You both may go back to class." They stood simultaneously and left. Gerard looked at Lenore uneasily. "Just so you know," he said softly, "I didn't come to Schralenberg about anything." Lenore turned to him, fire in her eyes. "Whatever. Tomorrow, at the library, OK?" She didn't wait for him to reply before turning on her heel and stalking away. Looking back, she wondered if things had started differently, would it have ended differently? Would there have been anything at all? She wasn't given a chance to decide when the doors opened, and someone she never thought she would see again entered the gym...entered her life. Again.
Chapter 6 "Ray?" The air was suddenly viscous, catching in my throat. I choked on the tension, croaked out his name hoarsely. It wasn't that I wasn't glad to see Ray--he had been the first to befriend me out of the boys, even before Gerard; it was the fact that even now, they were friends. The fact that where Ray was, Gerard was sure to be, too. He looked around, his hair as big as ever, his face still holding that awkward 16-year-old charm. I smiled lightly as I remembered my 6-day crush on him. I had been crushed when he had introduced me to Annalise, his girlfriend, and how I had withdrawn from everyone for a good week, before we all got drunk together for the first time, and how I hadn't felt anything when we kissed. Ray had been there for me for a long time. He was the first person I told about Andrew, the first person that knew about Gerard, the first person that knew about my mom. He wasn't the first person to see me cry after my return to school, but he was the first to hold me. "Nora?" I looked up from where I was huddled in the corner of my room, holding my knees to my chest, my body tired from crying and my face streaked with tears. "Ray?" He stepped further into the room and closed the door behind him. I was enveloped in darkness, and suddenly I felt arms around me. Instead of pulling away, I let myself fall into him and wrapped my arms around him, sobs wracking my thin frame. He let me cry into his shoulder, rocking me back and forth in his arms, not saying anything. We sat there for what seemed like hours, him playing the role of the best friend, which was fitting, seeing as he was just that. After my sobs had quieted, he pulled away and tilted my head up with a gentle hand and looked into my eyes. "What's wrong, babygirl?" Tears filled my eyes again. "I love him so much," I whispered hoarsely. Compassion filled his eyes. "Oh, sweety, I know you do." He pulled me back into his arms, and I cried again. I had always thought that when I finally opened up to someone that I would hate it, but in all honesty, I had never felt so incredibly safe, there in Ray's arms. I never got to thank him for that night. He turned and looked at me, and broke into a wide smile. "Nora!" He threw his arms around me, and I laughed softly, and returned to embrace. He held me at arm's length and smiled. "How are you?" I smiled weakly. "Surviving." Clarity washed over his face, and he nodded. "Aren't we all?" I smiled. "I missed you," I whispered, feeling tears well up behind my eyes. He pulled me into a tight hug again and whispered into my hair, "You're still my best friend." I looked up at him, crying openly now, and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. "Thank you," I said. "For what?" "For letting me cry." He didn't say anything, but the way he pulled me into another hug made it clear that he remembered that night as clearly as I did. Chapter 7 I hadn't realized how much I had missed Ray, and the other guys, until I saw him again. We sat together, talking quietly in a corner of the gym, ever the loners of the school. I hadn't really laughed in a while, and it felt strange to do so again. Wonderfully strange. After a while, though, we grew sick of the mildew-y smell that had hung in the air five year ago, and had yet to vacate the building. I stretched and stood up. I needed a cigarette. I told Ray this. He made a face. "You still smoke?" I grinned wryly. "Thank Frank for that." Ray chuckled softly. "Those three still smoke, too. I swear, after all that Gerard's been through, you'd think he'd give fucking nicotine up, too, right?" His words were casual, but as soon as he realized what he had said, his eyes widened, and he snapped his mouth shut. "Oh, shit! I'm sorry. I--fuck, I shouldn't have said that. I know it's still..." He sighed. "I know that feelings like yours don't just...go." He shook his head. "God dammit," he muttered, more to himself than to me. I smiled sadly, feeling bad for the both of us. "Don't worry about it," I said softly, my voice concealing the pain that tugged at my heart at the mention of his name. "I--" I paused. "I'm OK." I nodded with finality, if only to reassure myself that I really was OK. But even after five years, I knew that I wasn't OK. I think Ray knew, too. We drove to a 7-11 in Ray's car. I smiled as we pulled into the parking lot of the run-down place, memories of taking advantage of the cashier's raging hormones with my unbuttoned uniform shirt and short skirt to score us a few packs of cigarettes. I looked at Ray and smiled with a wistful sigh. "The best times of my life," I said dreamily. He looked at me and grinned. "You were such a nicotine whore." "I resent that! I got you assholes cigarettes for free!" Ray laughed and pulled me into a friendly embrace. "Come on, babe, let's go buy a pack. Legally, of course." I giggled--giggled--and pulled him by the wrist through the door. And stopped short. He was at the fucking counter. Right at the motherfucking 7-11 where he fucking asked me out. Right where we fucking made out every day after school. Right where he broke my heart. And he looked about as shocked as I did. "Nora?" His voice was quiet, like I remembered, quiet and a little too high-pitched. His hair was long now, and hung around his face in a curtain of tangled black, brown roots just starting to come in. His hazel eyes were wide and as gorgeous as ever. And his lips... They looked as they always had, full and pale, and I imagined they felt as soft as they had five years ago. I stared at him, my mind registering his presence. He was here, the boy that had broken my heart (in this exact same fucking spot) five years ago. And now we were face-to-fucking-face again, and everything I had planned to say to him--the curses and the accusations and the anger--all flew out the window, and all I was left with was the pain in my heart that I suddenly realized had never really faded. I was fucking speechless.
"Gerard," I somehow managed to force out. I was in shock. I hadn't been prepared to see him again so soon. No, I hadn't been prepared to ever see him again. And here he was, in the flesh, at OUR spot, buying a pack of fucking cigarettes. (I noticed with distaste that he smoked Marlboro Reds, like I did.) Ray coughed uncomfrtably, breaking the tense silence that had settled over us. I turned to him, suddenly remembering his presence. "Well, it was nice to see you again, Ray, but I really have to get going. I, uh...I've got to go...somewhere...else..." I trailed off uncertainly and made for the door. "Wait!" I stopped, my hand on the door handle. Ray ran up next to me and placed his hand on the door. "Don't go. Come back to the hotel with us, Nor. I barely got to see you!" I looked up at him and immediately caved--his eyes were wide with hope, his curly hair everywhere. My gentle smile betrayed the sinking feeling in my stomach. "OK, Ray." He laughed and scooped me up in his arms. I squeaked and squirmed away. "Let's go." I followed Ray out the door, but not before turning back to look at Gerard; his hair was falling into his face messily, his eyes wide. He looked dazed and windswept--he was beautiful. I've come to find since then that turning back and broken hearts seem to go hand in hand. Chapter 8 "Here." Ray handed me a glass of water and four Advil pills, which I downed quickly. I had never been much of a drinker, but I wasn't opposed to taking more medication than was deemed "safe". Had I been into alcohol, though, I didn't doubt that I'd have been completely drunk at this point. I sighed heavily; the Advil would have to do. It had started off with the silence, heavy and tense. Ray, ever the peace maker, attempted to keep conversation up, bringing up topics all three of us could talk about knowlegably. That went no where. So then he tried conversation with me, and then with Gerard, separately. Again, it flopped. So he had settled for the silence. That was a bad idea. I have never been able to deal with silence. Not after Gerard. We had been able to sit forever and not say a word; just being together had been enough. I suppose after It had happened, I associated silence with Gerard, and Gerard was the reason I took too much Nyquil at night for nearly three years. Gerard was the reason I had buried myself up to my neck in paperwork I had no interest in. Gerard was the reason I had given up music, my old friends, my whole fucking life. Even after we had both left Jersey, he to New York to study art (as Mikey later told me, before even that friendship deteriorated), and I to California, in an attempt to escape him. (I was unsuccessful in that, but managed to dive headfirst into denial--just another step closer to rock bottom.) Silence had been a big part of my relationship with Gerard in the beginning, and even after we had become friends--and later, lovers--we would find ourselves sitting one of our beds, just looking at nothing. And that had been enough. I remembered our first meeting, the first of the slew of "sessions" that Susie and Mrs. Schralenberg had arranged. It was a Wednesday now, and I was in the library, waiting. School had ended twenty minutes ago, and Gerard wasn't there. I wondered if he wanted me to hate him, because he was only giving me yet another reason to do so. I heard him before I saw him. He was with another boy, and they were talking loudly. "Jesus Christ, Frank, you're such a dumbfuck! Do you want us to die?!" The other boy--Frank--laughed. "Fuck, Gerard, chill out. That asshole can't do shit to us." I could hear the disbelief and indignance in Gerard's voice. "Are you stupid? The kid is HUGE! And he's got the whole fucking football team--meaning the whole SCHOOL!--behind him! We're going to DIE." Frank laughed again. "Chill, man. It's all good. Look, there's that chick." Note to self: Add "Asshole Friends" to list of reasons to hate Gerard Way. Gerard and Frank sat down at the table. I wanted to say something about Frank's presence, but I had had another bad day: Maria Marshall, captain of the cheerleading team, had made it her personal mission, yet again, to make my life a living hell. She and her friends seemed to think that my mother's death was something hilarious, apparently as funny as my misery. So isntead of telling Gerard to get Frank out of there, I slid down in my seat and hunched my shoulders a little more. I had managed to master the art of invisibility in under two weeks. I glanced up to let the two boys know that I knew that they were there, and then looked back down to my notebook, in which I had been scribbling the lyrics to a song I had been working on. After a few long minutes of silence, someone coughed. It was a smoker's cough, raspy and dry, scratchy and undoubtedly hard on the vocal chords. I wasn't sure who it was, but I was hard pressed to really care. Even if I had, I knew that I wouldn't look up. So I continued to write, pausing every few lines to change something or to brainstorm. The same person coughed again. "So, uh, what are you writing?" Gerard finally asked. His voice sounded timid and apprehensive, much different than when he had been talking with Frank earlier. I glanced up again. Frank looked completely bored and was openly smoking a cigarette. The librarian glared at him, and he winked and blew out the smoke in her direction. Gerard was hunched in his chair, his short hair hanging awkwardly in front of his eyes. He looked like he didn't fit into his own skin, like he was uncomfortable in his body. I hadn't realized then, but he and I had been sitting the exact same way. I guess we both craved anonymity as much as the other. "Song," I muttered, and looked back down. We fell into silence again. After several more long minutes, Frank said in an annoyed tone, "This blows. Can we go yet?" I looked up then. His eyes met mine defiantly, daring me to speak up. As per usual, I backed down without a word. He looked satisfied. Gerard looked at me indecisively. When I didn't do or say anything, he shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, sure," he agreed, standing up. Looking back, I often wondered if I shouldn't have returned to the library the next day, if maybe Gerard would have stayed out of my life. If maybe the ordeal would have passed, and my life would have been something that was borderline-normal. I didn't know if that would have been the right decision, necessarily, but I knew that it would have felt a Helluva lot better than having my heart ripped out and stomped on, which was exactly what wound up happening. Bad luck just never fucking dies, huh? I was surprised; I hadn't realized that sleeping would be involved. I was not going to spend the night. Ray was important to me, but not enough for me to face Gerard for any longer than was necessary. The hour and a half we had spent together, not speaking to one another, was difficult enough. What got to me first was his obvious lack of guilt. He was uncomfortable, obviously, but clearly guilt-free. And he had the audacity to come back, to show his face again, to come back into my life, after what he had done. I knew, somewhere in me, that I had walked into it, that I should have forseen it. But it was easier to blame him, to let it be his fault. I had been hurt once before, and had been hurting for five fucking years. It couldn't be my fault. Not after all that time. "How are you?" he finally asked. I seethed. I learned then that at least one part of me had changed since first meeting Gerard, because instead of letting my anger boil inside, like I had done with Frank, I glared at him and opened my mouth: "Don't you even dare." My voice was low and threatening; I was surprised at how dangerous it sounded. He opened his mouth, and then shut it, like he didn't know what to say. Good. Let him be uncomfortable. "I can't believe you came back," I hissed at him. "After what you did, you show up here like it's all fucking OK, and then try to start conversation. ASKING ME HOW I AM DOESN'T FUCKING JUSTIFY IT, GERARD. CONVERSATION WON'T FUCKING FIX IT!" I think I realized as soon as I opened my mouth that it was a mistake, because doing so opened a can of worms. "Don't pin this on me," he said, his voice slow and angry. "Don't make this my fault. This is your thing--it always was your thing! You couldn't even fucking trust me, Nora! You--" "DON'T CALL ME THAT!" I shrieked, tears stining my eyes. I hadn't realized just how painful seeing him--talking with (or yelling at) him--would be. "You have no right, coming back here, after what you did! You know what you fucking did, and you still came back!" "I pity you," he said, his voice slow and steady. "You're the same as you were back in high school. You can't face your problems. You ran to California, but that didn't work, did it, Lenore?" (I found, then, that his use of my given name hurt nmore than when he used the nickname Frank had given me in high school.) "Because you can't run fromt everything. Your problems won't just disappear." He laughed bitterly. "And I'd bet anything that you still haven't moved on. What are you doing with your life? Holding a steady job? Nothing to do with music, of course, despite the fact that that's your fucking passion. Probably secretarial work, even though you're the most unorganized person I know. And you've probably been trying to forget it all. You can't just cut three yearse of your life out, Lenore. You can't do it." "I HAVE TO!" The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. "...What?" He was confused, which made me hate him even more. "I have to forget, Gerard! You don't get it! I'm not YOU. I can't fucking move on. I'm still the fucked up girl I was in high school. And it's YOUR FAULT. You took me away from my mom, and then you came and you made me fall in love with you, and then you broke my heart and you left and now you're doing what I always wanted to do. You took me from my mom, and then you took my heart, and then you took my fucking dream! And here I am, back in New-fucking-Jersey, a complete wreck, because of YOU!" "Don't blame this on me!" he shouted, standing up now. I stood, too, so that I could look him in the eye. "I am not the reason you are like this, so don't even TRY that. I saved your fucking life! What was I supposed to do, let you die there?" "YES!" "DON'T BE AN IDIOT! YOU KNOW YOU'RE FUCKING GRATEFUL YOU'RE ALIVE. AND YOU HAVE ME TO THANK FOR THAT!" "FUCK YOU! And then his lips were on mine, kissing me with an incredible urgency. And I was kissing him back just as hungrily, wrapping my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his dark hair. We backed up until my legs hit the bed, and we fell back onto it, still connected at the mouth. He pulled his lips away from my mouth and trailed kisses down my jawline and onto my neck, where he bit me hard enough to draw blood. I moaned loudly and grabbed his face and kissed him full on the lips again. I was vaguely aware of our clothes slowly peeling off, only able to focus on his lips on my skin and his hands running up and down my body. And then he was in me, and it was just as amazing and just as passionate as the first time. It was white hot, mindblowing, greedy sex. His body warmed my own; I couldn't get close enough to him, couldn't get enough of him. "Gerard!" His name rolled off of my tongue easily, and I didn't question it. All that I was aware of was the feeling of our bodies, moving together; the feeling of him pounding into me and kissing me hungrily, biting my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. I clawed at his back, trying to get closer, to melt into him. Our mouths were hot against each other, moving in sync hungrily, taking and taking and taking. And then I saw white and I felt--not heard--him cry my name, and he collapsed on top of me. I stroked his hair gently as we both breathed heavily, catching our breaths. He buried his face in the crook of my neck and kissed it gently. I was painfully aware of his lips, burning my skin. I looked into his eyes quickly, and was confused by what I saw, but fell into a deep post-sex sleep before I could even attempt to comprehend it, or what had just happened. Chapter 9 I was woken the next morning by the sound of pots and pans banging from outside the room, beyond the closed door. I looked beside me, to where Gerard was sleeping beside me, looking absolutely stunning, naked. ...WHAT?! Panic hit me like a ton of bricks. And suddenly, I couldn't breathe. I began to gasp, trying to catch my breath, trying to calm myself down. I looked around frantically for my bag, stumbling out of bed, scrambling to find my inhaler. Fuck. My bad was in Ray's car. I began to cry, and my breathing became even more shallow. I collapsed on the floor, dry sobs wracking my body; I was convinced I was going to die. And then a pair of strong arms lifted me up and sat me on the bed, and an inhaler was put to my lips, and my airways were clear and I was taking deep, gasped breaths of air. I felt a hand brush away the tears that were still coursing down my face and looked up slowly. Gerard was standing in front of me, holding what I presumed to be Mikey's inhaler, looking extremely concerned. I sobbed again and curled up into a ball. He made a "tcht" sound and pulled me into a hug. I let him hold me, my arms wrapped around him, sobbing into his bare shoulder. I hadn't had an attack in God knows how long, and I had forgotten how frightening they were. I smiled lightly as I remembered how Mikey and I had met. "Shit!" I was walking down the hall, my head down, as per usual, going to another dreaded library meeting with Gerard. I was surprised to hear his voice. I stopped walking, and I could make out strangled, gasped breathing. I immediately recognized the shallow, panicky sound: asthma. I, myself, had asthma, and I had always been afraid of attacks. As I listened to the breathing and what I presumed to be Gerard's swearing (both of which were growng increasingly worse), I grabbed my own inhaler. Finally, my brain and my body communicated with one another, and I dropped my books and darted into the classroom from which the noises were coming. To say that I was surprised to see Gerard holding a thin, frail-looking boy on the floor of Mr. Sayre's algebra classroom was an understatement. I stared for a few seconds before finally reacting. I pushed Gerard out of the way violently and put my inhaler to the boy's lips. He took two puffs and, after a moment, could breathe again. He began to choke loudly, and then began sobbing. Sympathetic, I pulled him into a hug. I managed to soothe him into silence. "Are you alright," I asked after he had stopped crying and was breathing normally again. He nodded silently. I turned to look to Gerard. "That's my brother," he said softly. "He left his inhaler at home, and Josh..." He trailed off, his expression angry. I furrowed my brow. Josh Jenkins was a jock, and a less-than-friendly character. He had a knack for picking on smaller students. I scowled darkly and turned back to the boy. "Josh...hit you?" He nodded miserably and pointing to a black eye that was slowly developing. "Oh, fuck," I muttered. "I'm so sorry that this happened. He's such an asshole. If anything, take comfort in the knowledge that after he graduates, he'll probably marry into his family and have deformed babies with his cousin." He laughed weakly, and I smiled at him as warmly as I could. The poor boy was still shaking, and I couldn't find it in my heart to not smile at him--he reminded me so much of myself, and after being teased for over two months, I couldn't possibly not empathize with him. "Thank you," he muttered weakly, and began to pick himself up off the floor. Before I could say anything in return, who but The Idiot himself should make an appearance. "Hey, the little faggot's got himself a savior. And look! It's the murderer!" Usually, I would have ignored Josh's comments, but a sudden rush of adrenaline fueled my next actions. I stepped up to him and said darkly and dangerously, "Say that again." He laughed. "Why? Does it turn you on? 'Cause, you know, for a murdered, you're pretty--" I didn't give him the opportunity to complete his thought (if it could even be called that). The backside of my hand met his face with such force that I could actually hear the bone in his cheek crack. He fell to the ground with a loud cry, cradling his cheek with his hands. I stooped down next to him. "Apologize." He looked at me, bewildered. "You psycho, you just broke my cheek bone!" I repeated myself. When he said nothing, I said lowly, "I will not hesitate to break the other side of your face. Now apologize." He nodded and choked out a pained apology to the boy, who was standing against the wall in a state of complete shock. He nodded frantically. "OK," he said, sounding nervous. "It's OK." I suppose hat it's true when they say adrenaline gives you strangth, because I somehow managed to heave Josh up from the floor. "Get your sorry ass to the nurse. I don't care what you tell her." He nodded and hurried off. I turned to the boy. "I'm sorry about that, but..." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I exhaled loudly and said softly, "I know what it's like. And I don't think anyone else needs to know." I shot him a weak smile. "And hey, no one sticks up for me, and that really blows, and you seem like a nice enough kid, and..." I trailed off again. Suddenly feeling awkward, I grabbed my inhaler and placed it in my pocket. "I, uh, hope you're OK and all. I actually have to, uh, go now. Um, feel...better?" I scurried out of the room and began to collect my books off of the floor, where I had dropped them earlier. I was surprised when I was handed my English textbook. I looked up to see the boy. He smiled shyly. I liked his smile. "I'm Mikey," he said softly. "And thanks. For everything." I smiled. "It's really no problem. He's...he's a terrible person, really. You seem nice, and he's a lot bigger than you. He's such an asshole, really. I hope...are you OK?" He smiled and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. (I couldn't help but grin at the cliche geek-ness of it all.) "Yeah, I'm OK." And then me and Mikey were friends. Everything else fell into place after that. "HOLY SHIT!" Both Gerard and I woke with a start. I strained my neck and looked over to the doorway from the bed, where Gerard and I lay, tangled up in the cotton sheets. Fuck. Ray stood there, holding a pan of eggs, looking completely shocked. "You two...you...you're...you fucked?!" And with those words, images of the previous night flashed in frnot of me, and regret crashed down on me. I had had sex. With Gerard. With Gerard. Gerard who had broken my heart. Gerard who had left with his band to hit it big. Gerard who had left me in shambles for five long years. Gerard who had walked back into my life without warning and seen through the walls I'd built around myself and broken my heart all over again. Oh, God, this was bad. This was really, really bad. Gerard glared at him. "No shit, asshole." He looked at me, and the smirk he wore quickly faded. "Baby, what's wrong?" I grabbed one of the sheets and wrapped it around myself, standing. "No, no, no. This," I said, motioning to the bed, and then to Gerard and myself, "Isn't good. It was a really bad idea. I...I can't. No. It was a mistake. Because I haven't seen you in...a long time, and I can't just..." I shook my head. "I can't do this." Seeing that Ray had left, I threw my jeans and my t-shirt on quickly. "Nora, what--" I turned on Gerard and spoke quickly. "Gerard. I haven't seen you in five fucking years. I have to move on, like you said, and having sex with you is not the best way to do that." It was difficult to not crawl back in bed with him, seeing the forlorn expression on his face. "But Nora...I mean...I still..." He sighed. "Can't we still have something?" I shook my head. "Gerard, it can't work. You broke my heart once, and I'm setting myself up for you to do it again." And I left then, scurried out of the room and through the living area, past Ray, who called something about staying for breakfast after me, and down the stairs to the parking garage. When I realized that I had taken Ray's car here and didn't have my own, I began to sob. And when I found that I had no money on me, I started the long walk home, crying the whole way. Chapter 10 I gues that my landlord saw that I was a completel wreck and took pity on me, because for once, she didn't argue when I told her meekly that I had forgotten my key again, and that Yes, I would have the rent by the end of the week. I dragged myself into my room and managed to keep the tears at bay until I collapsed onto my bed. I had thought that I had cried myself dry on the walk home, but a fresh wave of tears washed over me, and I curled up into a ball, clutching the white sheet tightly. I somehow managed to fall asleep, and when I woke up after a good four hours, my head was pounding and my answering machine was beeping. "Fuck," I whispered, and stood slowly. I popped five Advil and trudged over to the answering machine. I pressed the PLAY MESSAGES button and fell back onto my worn hand-me-down couch heavily. I picked at the torn burlap-like material as I listened to Eve, my boss, say that if I missed another deadline that God dammit, I'd be fired, and this time she meant it. I smiles when I hear my father had called to tell me that he won the golf tournament at the country club. I closes my eyes and sigh contentedly as I head Gerard's smooth voice say-- What? I shot up off the couch and hit REPLAY: "Nora, hi. It's Gerard. I, uh...I know that you said that you don't want anything, and I understand, but...um...I don't know how to do this, really--I'm not good with this stuff, and I hate to be doing it over the phone, but, uh...I miss you. A lot. And I--" There is a short pause, and I can hear him take a deep breath. "I just...still have feeling for you, I guess." Another deep breath. "We're going back on tour; our manager just called, right after you left. Warped Tour. We're excited. I'd love to hear from you, or to see you there. Even if it's only to talk to you. Or to watch you talk to Ray. And I know that Mikey really wants to see you, too. And Frank hasn't shut up since Ray told him you were here. And...uh...I just miss you a lot, Lenore. Call me back? 555-1976. ...Bye." By the time his message is over, I'd sunk to the floor and I'm crying again. Fuck him. Fuck him for doing this to me all over again. I hated that after all this time, his voice alone could reduce me to a sobbing mess. I feel like fucking high school. A memory that I had long forgotten pops into my head--the first time I had cried in front of Gerard. Gerard and I had only been going to the required meetings for two weeks, and Frank had been there almost every time, bar one or two, when he apparently had "better things to do." We hadn't really talked about anything, but then again, neither of us had really been willing to even attend the meetings, let alone talk with each other. It was a Thursday. I had never minded Thursdays much, even with the meetings with Gerard. But during math, first period, when I had pulled out my assignment pad to write down the homework (textbook pages 461-463, odd problems only), my breath had caught in my throat and my world had stopped for a few long seconds: it was November 19th--the one year anniversary of my mother's death. I was a wreck the rest of the day. I was grateful, though, that I had managed to remain invisible, and I thanked God, or whoever was up there, for letting Maria and her friends forget about tormenting me, if only for that one day. I spoke too soon. I had been on my way to the meeting with Gerard in the library when they found me. Maria, in her short skirt and sleek beaded top, standing with her weight on one long tanned leg, arms folded across her chest, her friends behind her, grinned broadly. "You know what today is, don't you?" I paled. She knew. She knew. How did she know? Who had told her? I didn't have time to try to figure out the answers to those questions, because before I could even comprehend what was happening, I was pressed up against the wall, Maria and her friends only inches away from me. "How does it feel," she sneered, "To know that you killed your own mother?" I remained silent. Ignore it. Ignore it, and she'll go. "I know that I'd feel like shit, knowing that my mother was dead because of me. Because I'm an ungrateful little shit." She grinned nastily at me, baring her perfect white teeth. Like the doctors at Woodside. Razor-fucking-sharp. "I hope you're happy," she hissed. Something in me snapped then. "You weren't there," I choked out. "You have no idea what happened." She laughed loudly at my attempt to defend myself. "Bullshit. Everyone knows it was your fault!" I shook my head frantically. "No. No! It wasn't my fault! I--I couldn't have done anything. It wouldn't have mattered if I had been there or not!" Maria leaned in so that I could feel her hot breath on my face. Her cruel smile had yet to drop from her face. "Even so," she said slowly, "It should have been you that died." And with that, she giggled loudly and walked away, her friends behind her. I remember staring after them, in a state of shock, unable to do anything. I didn't cry--not then. I just stood there, motionless. I finally remembered that I had a meeting with Gerard. I glanced at the wall clock as I made my way towards the library: 3:18. I was late. I made it into the library in one piece, and sat down across from Gerard, who was by himself that day. He glared at me. "You're late," he said distastefully. I looked down and nodded. "I--" My voice was strangled; it sounded odd to me, like I was listening to a recording of myself speaking. "I know. I'm sorry." He rolled his eyes. "You know, it's pretty sucky of you to be this late. I don't want to be here either, but at least I made the fucking effort to get here." He sighed heavily. "Whatever." I don't know what I had expected. Maybe sympathy? But he didn't know what had just occurred only minutes before. He didn't know that by saving my life, he had opened up a whole world of pain for me. He didn't know that his harsh words had been what set me off, that his unadulaterated nastiness that Thursday in the library were what unleashed all of the hate and anger and pain I had been holding in for the past three months. I hadn't expected the tears--they came suddenly, and once they started, I couldn't stop them. I remember that I didn't sob; I just sat there in silence, staring down at my hands, tearse coursing down my face. He had been silent for a moment before asking in an unsure voice, "Are you crying?" I snapped my head up to look at him. "What the fuck do you think?" I seethed. "Would you be fucking crying if you had to deal with the shit I've gotten for the past three months? Or if you had completely forgotten that today was the one year anniversary of your mother's death?" He was silent, so I continued. "I have been through more than every single one of those girls has been through. I have been in the fucking psych ward. My only friend is still in the fucking institution, and I doubt he'll be out soon. He's the only person that gives a shit about me. He and my dad. And instead of fucking sympathy or understanding, I come to school everyday and am constantly made fun of and tripped and made into a fucking mockery because my mother is dead, and somehow, that's FUNNY. Somehow, the fact that I was in the car that day and the fact that I'm fucking different makes it my fault. So I'm a fucking MURDERER now! And you know what the best part is? You and Frank and your other friends who are so different and who whine about getting shit from the jocks and from the cheerleaders and for being judged don't know the half of it! You have no idea what it's like to wake up every morning and realize that you have to endure another day of sitting by yourself and wishing you were dead and having no one give a fuck about the fact that you're a fucking person. You will never know what this feels like, because you have a fucking friend, and you have two parents to love you and to care about you. And you don't realize how fucking lucky you are." I took a deep breath, my voice shaking with emotion. "And tomorrow," I finished quietly, my voice a quivering whisper, "None of this will matter. Everything will be the same as it was today." Gerard looked at me for a long time after that. I sat there in silence, staring down at my hands on the ancient table, reading the "Jackie Hearts Billy"'s that were scratched into the surface. I finally looked back up at him after what had to be fifteen minutes, to find that he was still looking at me, expressionless. I looked at him long and hard before standing and leaving.
It occurred to me then, as I sat against my wall, crying silently, much like I had on that Thursday in November, that Gerard had never said anything about that day. And neither had I. We weren't friends after that--it had taken more than that (Mikey, Frank, and Ray, to name a few factors) to get us to accept each other's friendship. But something changed that day. Something small changed, and a thousand doors were unlocked. I wondered if Gerard remembered that Thursday. I hoped he did.
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