Disclaimer: I do not know MCR. I'm not affiliated with them. This has never happened or if it has, it's a coincidence. Please don't sue me...you won't get much!

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CHAPTER ONE

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I hate this. I really fucking hate this. I took a cigarette from the almost empty pack that was placed carefully in the front pocket of my jeans. I glanced at the pack, noticing the red writing. Marlboro Reds. I put the cigarette in my mouth, withdrew my black lighter from it's appointed place in the pack and skillfully lit it up. I welcomed the smoke that I inhaled and my eyes teared up slightly as it burned my raw throat.

I was sitting in the hotel room, alone. We were in New York for a concert and few promo gigs and they gave us one night off. One fucking night. Out of how many? It just seemed like it wasn't enough. I needed more than a day to recoup, to gather my bearings but I guess that wasn't in the question.

The rest of the guys were out getting ripped and I wanted to be with them but I couldn't. I can't let myself get back into the routine of drinking. It would end up being trouble. I could've gone out just for their company but I couldn't bring myself to go in public and face the ridicule. Sure, there had always been the ignorant dick or someone just being spiteful but it had been worse lately. Faggot. Fatass. It was sometimes endless. I can only take so much. I am only mortal...or so I like to sing about. I mean, I love this. I love getting a message out to people but I never thought it would be like this. I never thought it would make me lonely and really fucking depressed.

I took another drag of my cigarette and wandered over to the bed. I sat down and stretched out, my eyes eventually staying fixed on the ceiling. My chest felt heavy from the smoke and I could hear myself breathing. It was like it was back in high school. When I had no one and would come straight home from school and find solace in being isolated from everyone else. I just didn't connect with anyone any more. It seems there is a growing gap between us and no matter how hard I try, I can't close the space.

The cigarette was down to the filter now and I snubbed it out in the ashtray and sat up. Fuck, my head hurt. The cigarettes were starting to catch up with me.

I looked at my hands, which led me to look at my wrists. I could see the ends of the red cuts that extended only a centimeter or so past the end of my shirt sleeves. They didn't know about those. They were actually a very new development. They were an outlet to escape the pressure and frustration of not drinking. I know that I'm an alcoholic. I don't try to deny it. I also know that I've been doing a pretty fucking good job of not drinking but it hasn't been easy. Yeah, therapy helps and so does the medication but sometimes...sometimes the thoughts are still overwhelming.

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I remember the first time it happened. I was changing the razor in my shaver and I dropped it in the sink. I just grabbed for it, hoping that it wouldn't fall down the drain and wound up cutting the palm of my hand. I hadn't felt any pain but I felt the warm, smooth sensation of blood dripping down my palm. It was beautiful. The dark liquid pooling in a small puddle in my palm. The red was so vibrant against a background of pale peach. I watched it for awhile before washing it away.

The second time was on purpose. It was in Seattle. The rest of the guys had come in wasted from a concert after party. I was sitting in the bus watching them. I wanted to give in so bad, to go grab beer after beer and down each one. It was torture to sit out with them and listen to the drunken ramblings of everyone, to smell the bitter stench of liquor on their breaths. I wound up locking myself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter wringing my hands. I chain smoked an entire pack of cigarettes and still felt unsettled. It was then the thought of the razor came to me. It was like I couldn't get ahold of one fast enough. That first cut was bittersweet. It stung and I could feel the flesh ripping underneath it's sharp edge. The sensation was exciting and overwhelming. In a strange way, it paralleled being wasted. It was that intoxicating. I remember I made two cuts along my left forearm. After I was done, I sat on the floor and just enjoyed the bliss of warm liquid running down my arms, over my wrist and pooling on the floor. That was two months ago.

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I got up from the bed and walked over to the window. I pressed my cheek against the cool glass. The lights of the dark city entertained me for awhile but I know that it won't last forever. I know that I'm trying to stall what I will eventually end up doing. My fixation on the lights lasts for maybe ten minutes before I am at the bed again, digging through my suitcase. I find the package of razors and remove one. It's cold, smooth and very inviting. I sit carefully on the edge of the bed and begin to draw complicated designs on my arm. I finish with the left one and move onto the right. I cut stars and patterns. I knew that at least an hour had passed and with each new cut, I felt better an better.

I was starting to outline a particularly interesting cross on my wrist when a knock on the door startled me. I jumped at the unexpected sound and in doing so, I pressed the blade a little bit harder than I intended. I gasped at the sharp pain. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I looked down and there was blood oozing from a gash with such force that it actually scared me. The knocking continued, accompanied by a voice.

"Gee, are you still awake? Frank has our room key and isn't back yet! C'mon, let me in!"

It was Mikey. Why now, of all times? I got up and ran to the bathroom to grab a towel, leaving a crimson trail from the bed to the bathroom. The blood was dripping on the white tiles and it sent a chill up my spine. There was so much blood. I had my hand over the wound but the liquid was escaping from under my fingers. I wrapped a towel around the gash but within a minute it was soaked. Fuck. Not good. Fear was starting to set in and my vision was getting hazy. I could still hear Mikey knocking on the door. What do I do? I didn't want to die on the bathroom floor but...Oh, God, I'm getting so dizzy. I looked at my arm. The towel was completely red now. Mikey. Mikey could help me.

I stumbled to the door and through my hazy vision and dizziness I managed to turn the lock. I could hear Mikey speaking but he sounded a million miles away. There was ringing in my ears as I opened the door. The look on Mikey's face scared the shit out of me and it was all I could do to stay conscious and not pass out.

"Holy fuck! Gerard? Jesus..!" Mikey was stuttering as I fell forward and then everything was black.

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CHAPTER TWO

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Oh, man, I'm so fucking wasted. Well, not too wasted but enough that I feel like just sleeping. To top it off, Frank has the room key. Ridiculous! I should have grabbed it from him. I hope Gerard is still up. I really want to just lay down and pass out, even if it's on the floor.

I can see the door to Gerard's room and I stumble up to it, knocking loudly. Even if he's not up, I'm going to wake him up.

"Gee, are you still awake? Frank has our room key and isn't back yet! C'mon, let me in!" I called loudly, almost to the point of being obnoxious. I heard some scuffling but there was no verbal reply. I kept knocking. I really wanted to lay down. There was still no answer. I leaned up against the wall, laying my head on my arm and kept knocking. He'd eventually answer the door. A few minutes later I heard the locks sliding out of place. I stood up pleased that I was going to finally be able to lay down.

"Jeez, Gerard, it took you long enough! I've only been knocking for forever!" I rambled a bit drunkenly. The door flew open and I gasped. Gerard was pale and his eyes were rolling upward into the back of his head. He had his hand on the doorframe and there was blood everywhere. It was dripping down his arm and soaking his shirt. It was smeared across the door and door handle. At the sight of all it all and Gerard's ghostly pallor, fear was starting to set in. I could tell that he was fighting to stay standing.

"Holy fuck! Gerard? Jesus...!" I was stuttering and that's when Gerard passed out and fell forward. It caught me off guard and the force of Gerard falling into me knocked me to the floor. I sat up, pushing Gerard off of me and turning him onto his back. I got to my knees and looked at him again. That's when I saw the large gash on his wrist.

"Help!" I screamed. "Somebody fucking help me!" I pulled him into my lap, watching as the blood dripped from his wrist onto my jeans. There was blood all over me now and as I grabbed for my cell phone, it smeared across the silver plastic and I could feel the bile rising in my throat. This wasn't good. I pressed the buttons and waited for someone to pick up. A bored sounding operator picked up and I gave her the necessary information and then hung up. I slapped Gerard's cheeks trying to wake him up, or get a response or something.

"Gerard! Can you hear me? C'mon! Open your eyes!" His eyelids fluttered and it floored me.

"I know you're there, open up your eyes!"

It was then I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at a paramedic. He pushed me back and I watched in horror as they quickly loaded him onto a stretcher. The paramedic motioned for me to follow them and I did. I followed the paramedics into the lobby and out the front door where an ambulance with flashing lights was waiting for us. He told me to get in the front seat and I did as he said. Within a minute they were speeding down the streets of New York. I couldn't hear what they were saying over the wail of the sirens but I glanced back every so often and was horrified to see more and more tubing and IV's being inserted.

We arrived at the hospital in about ten minutes and I followed Gerard into the emergency room until a nurse told me I couldn't go any further. I stood in the hallway and watched the stretcher that held Gerard disappear around a corner. I couldn't get his image out of my head. The paleness. The blood. I looked around for a garbage can, found one, then promptly threw up.

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A hospital employee had led me to the ER waiting room and I sat in a chair and filled out the paperwork as best as I could. The waiting was terrible. It seemed as if every second lasted a minute, every minute an hour. I paced, I sat, I drank coffee but the time didn't seem to go any faster. Why were they taking so long? Where were they and what the hell is happening to my brother? I had just sat down again when my cell phone rang. I picked it up and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Mikey!" It was Ray. The guys! I hadn't called them! Ray continued.

"Mikey, why the hell is there blood everywhere in the hallway and in Gerard's room?" I could hear the shakiness in his voice.

"Um...Gerard. Oh, man. I knocked on his door and he opened it and he was just covered in it! He cut his wrist. I do--"

"What?! Are you serious? Is he okay? Where are you at?" Ray was firing the questions at me and I did my best to answer them.

"I don't know if he's okay...he passed out. We're at some hospital..Uh.."

"What hospital?" I looked up to see a doctor walking up to me and I felt my stomach twist. I couldn't read her expression so I didn't know if it was good news or bad.

"Ray, I have to go... the doctor..." I quickly shut my phone, feeling a bit bad about hanging up on Ray and stood up. The doctor gave me a sympathetic smile.

"Is he..?" I asked, my voice trailing.

"Your brother is stable at the moment. He did lose a lot of blood but after giving him a few liters, he came around again." I felt a huge weight lift from my chest. He was okay. The doctor continued.

"But we found something else." My head shot up.

"What do mean?" She paused a moment before continuing.

"There are quite a lot of cuts and other skin injuries on his body. Does he have a history of cutting?" What? Cutting? I wasn't understanding.

"N-no. Not that I know of." She nodded.

"You can see him if you want." I nodded my head and she told me to follow her. She led me down a hallway and into a large room with that was sectioned off with curtains. She led me to one and pulled it back.

"Gerard, your brother is here." she said cheerfully and let me enter the area. She turned to me. " I'll be back in a little bit."

She then promptly left. It was then I was able to look at Gerard. He was still pale and he looked worn. The light green hospital gown made his skin look even paler and with the short sleeves, I saw what the doctor had been talking about. There were gashes, cuts and what looked like burn marks all up and down each arm. They were on his collar bone and I could only imagine where else.

"Mikey." I looked at him as he spoke. He sounded so weak, so tired. "I'm sorry."

I walked up the bed and took his hand. His wrist was bandaged and I could see the slighted hint of blood on the pristine white.

"Gerard..." I tried to keep my voice from trembling but I could still feel the tears stinging my eyes.

"You don't have to say anything." he said. I could tell he was fighting back the tears as well. " I didn't mean to do this. I...I wasn't trying to commit suicide or anything. It just went a little too far. I..I..."

I watched as the first of the tears started to all and the pain that was in his words was hard to bear. I did the only thing that came to my mind. I let go of his hand, leaned down and wrapped my arms around him in a hug. He was cold and I could feel him trembling.

"Gerard, you scared me like I've never been scared before but it'll be okay now." I said softly as I let go.

"I don't know." He said and we both stayed silent.