---Gerard---

Bullets racking through my soul. I am in pain.

My head down, my eyes low to the ground and my feet dragging on the linoleum flooring. My thoughts corrupt with the blonde haired boy and his green eyes. The thoughts are just flashes, just small images: A scar, U-G, a stray hair, a part of that chocolate and cream fedora, his gray hoodie. One thing after another, they keep taking over my mind, and I can barely focus on anything besides him. What is he doing? Is he okay? Who is he with? Is he using protection? Has he been with any girls? Does he think himself a slut after all this sleeping around? Is his PTSD bothering him? Is his anxiety distracting him? Will he be okay?

I barely see the person who knocks me down onto my ass on accident, he's short but strong, and as I finally look up, I instantly recognize Pete by his dark hair and whiskey eyes, his strong jaw and chiseled face, his Metallica tank top, and his ripped skinny jeans. In his hand is a much paler palm. I clench a fist as my eyes look to Patrick, a look of anxiety immediately sparks in his green eye. A flash of fear because of me. Because I made him agree to too many promises. Because I'm the reason, he's gone. Because it's my fault, I'm lonely. Because I was the one who told him to kill himself.

I scramble to my feet, tears falling to my cheeks and my heart beginning to ache all over again. I wish I could take painkiller for it. I want to take painkiller for it. One tablet, two tablets, three, four, five, ten, fifteen, down the whole capsule and wait for it to kill me. It would relieve me of this pain. The pain of seeing him with another boy, a fuckboy. I know I shouldn't call him that but I've seen how many people he's been with in the past few months... Girls, boys, anyone he can get together with he'll do it. For the sex. For the company. I like him as a friend, he's cool, but... I just hate what he does... It hurts people...

Like me...

I don't talk to anyone as I run through the halls, my hood bouncing behind me with each step I take. I can't focus on what's happening until I've reached my locker and I can take a deep breath. Patrick keeps flashing in my mind, his hand in Pete's. I hate it. Patrick's mine. He was my boyfriend... I knew it was too good to be true: He lived with me, we made love, he was comfortable around me, he loved me. Bob came along and fucked him up, all over again; made him hurt himself again like he used to. Bob and the fighting and the self-harm. It ruined him again like it had before and now he's gone. He's not mine anymore. He's Pete's. He's gone to drugs... Thankfully, Pete told me about that because he knew I'd be worried. I thanked him.

I'm wiping my tears as I throw a few things into my locker and shut it with a loud slam that makes me cringe. The hall is beginning to empty as people trickle into their classes and, though I feel like going home, the only thing I can do is follow them into my first period.

First, second, and third periods go by fast, faster than I want them to. I don't want to see Patrick. I don't want the jealousy to get the best of me... I don't want to be jealous of Pete. I shouldn't be jealous of Pete. Patrick chose him over me. It's my fault that he doesn't want me, I wasn't enough. I've never been enough. I can't stop Mama, I couldn't save Dad, I couldn't change Mikey's mind. Why should I be enough for Patrick? He said he's taking a break but for how long until he has to accept that he's not mine anymore and he wants to be with someone else? I'm a constant downer, why should anyone like me...?

You should just kill yourself and get it over you. You deserve it.

Frank talked to me in second, he told me that Brendon told him everything that's going on and he said to me it's going to be okay. I nearly cried again. Nearly. I hate this. I hate being so sad all the fucking time. I hate that I want to hate Patrick at least half as much as I hate myself but I can't. I hate that no matter how hard I try to escape the constant thought of him, those bright green eyes, that nervous smile, those sleeved arms, that beautiful stomach. Everything just hurts me inside because I can't have him. Because of me, I've ruined myself.

Patrick and Pete sit as far away as they can from me, keeping mostly to themselves but it's hard for them since Brendon keeps dragging them back into him, Joe's, and Ryan's conversation. They're talking about Science homework. I can't focus on something like that for long. Though, I'm too distracted. So instead, I take out my sketchbook and pencil, and I draw during most of lunch, Frank sitting beside me, quietly.

"Don't you want to go talk to Brendon?" I ask after about ten minutes of lunch. I see him smile softly out of the corner of my eye and shake his head, "No, I don't want you to be alone..."

I swallow and look over to him, then bite my lip, "Can I draw you?"

He giggles softly and splays himself out in mock seduction, "Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack."

"I swear to God," I whisper with a small smile. I flip through the pages of my book, passing by a picture of Mikey, a picture of Mama, one or two of Dallon, a couple of Andy, a few trees, a dragon, a city street, The Black Parade, Patrick-

My eyes rest on Patrick for a moment. Those gray lips, that gray hair, jawline, ears, nose, everything I had yet to complete. It's all there, and it hurts. It hurts so badly, and it's only a fucking picture.

I feel Frank's warm palm on my arm, his voice sounds like heaven, "It's going to be okay, Gee... He'll come back... I promise..."

How strong are your promises?

I have yet to break one.

"Please don't say you promise me anything..." I whisper.

"Why?"

"The last time someone promised me something, they broke it and my heart along with it," I reply. My pencil begins to trace Frank's jawline onto the paper, "I just hope he's back soon."

***

I can't take it anymore.

I can't take the jealousy and the knowing he's not coming back. I can't take how much happier he looks with Pete than he did with me. I hate how instead of trying to work this out with me, he goes to drugs and sleeping with other guys like I'm nothing to him. Like I'm just a setback. This isn't the Patrick I used to know, this Patrick's been corrupted by drugs and smoking and whatever else Brendon and Joe got him on, and I don't know how to get him back. I want my real Patrick back, the Patrick who is still healing and isn't trying to cover up how broken he really is with drugs.

I have to keep telling Mama that Patrick's been visiting Pete a lot because they're really close friends and they like having each other as company. I'd found out she wasn't home the night we fought. She'd been out with Elisa and Sarah. She asked if I felt left out. I said no. I thought yes.

I fucking cry myself to sleep at night because I'm scared Patrick's in trouble. I'm scared he'll overdose and fucking die. I'm terrified. I hate being so worried and I hate that I can't do shit to help him. I hate feeling useless. I hate being useless. I just want to end it. He's happier now. I can't do anything. I love him, but he doesn't love me back. I want to help him, but he won't let me. He has drugs, I'm just worrying too much. He said this isn't the end of us, but he's broken his promises.

I open the cupboard and grab the capsule of sleeping tablets, setting it down on the counter before walking to the kitchen and grabbing a glass. My thoughts are completely blank when I return. Am I really doing this? What if he really does come back? What if things will be okay?

Things will never be okay. You're a fuck up. You worry too much, and you didn't love him enough. How could you even call it love? It was a hopeless relationship between two boys with mommy and daddy issues. It's fucking pathetic.

I fill the cup with water. There's no going back now. The note's on the counter. I can't help but read it for the hundredth time. My handwriting shaky and I wonder if they'll be able to read it.

I'm sorry for this, I'm so fucking sorry, but I'm out of reasons to live.

Mama, please understand it wasn't you. I know you're getting better please don't let this be a setback. I want you to stop smoking, both Mikey and I want you to stop. I believe in you, you're going to do great. I love you so much. Stay strong, please. Dad would be so proud of how far you've healed. Don't disappoint him.

Mikey, I love you. I'm sorry I did this, I wish I could have seen you. I wish I could have seen you one last time and I'm so selfish for doing this, but I can't take it anymore. My heart hurts. Stay alive for me, please.

Frank, I'm sorry for doing this. You were my best friend, and I would have told you one last time, but you'd only start worrying and stop me from doing this. I love you (as a friend), and I hope you find someone else to share everything with. It was hopeless anyway.

Pete, take care of Patrick for me. He likes you. Don't disappoint him and don't force him to open up to you. I hope you and him work out like him and I never could.

Brendon, Ryan and Joe, you have to take care of Patrick, too, because I, obviously, can't do it. Please make sure he's safe... I don't want him to join me. He just deserves happiness.

Patrick, Patrick, Patrick, you're my life. I love you. I love you so, so much. I'm so sorry for doing this but I don't really think you'll miss me. You have Pete and Brendon and Ryan and Joe and Pete and Frank. Take care of them, and they'll take care of you. Keep going to counseling, you're getting better, trust me. You'll heal even if I'm not by your side. You broke two promises but that's okay. I forgive you. I promised I would always be there for you the day that Bob... you know... I'm sorry for breaking that promise. I guess this is my three cheers for sweet revenge, I love you. I never meant what I said. I can't let you die on me. Never. You mean so much. I'll always love you, Sugar. Live happily with Pete, he likes you, you like him. Maybe it could turn into more. It probably won't help but... if you ever feel lonely or if you ever want to end it like I did, remember how I held you on the bridge. Remember how we danced at homecoming while Tyler Joseph was singing, "Stay alive, stay alive for me." I want you to remember there are people who care for you even if you feel lost in the world.

Promise not to forget me?

-Gerard

I grip the edge of the counter, tears are streaming down my face now. I look at my reflection one last time. My black hair is a tangled mess, my brown eyes look scared, there are bags under them, and my tears are dripping down my chin. I hate it. I hate how I look. I hate how I can't fix anything.

I grab the bottle of pills and pour some into my hand. This is it... This is it... This is it...

I hold them to my lips and shut my eyes.

"Gerard? What are you doing?"