Somebody Out There Loves You After All (Gerard Way x Reader)

(Chapter 25) Homecoming

After that first call that delivered the gutwrenching news of Gerard's state after I left, things would continue on their downward progression, never once feeling remorse and giving me a fucking break. 

The times where I would be hanging on the telephone, shaky palms lubricating the receiver with how sweaty they were from utter fear and worry for everyone back home seemed to be uncountable. I honestly could barely listen to how it affected everyone, not just Gerard. His development into alcoholism would send a ripple through the group, taking a toll on everyone. 

I tried so desperately to get ahold of him, but his slurred and disjointed sentences would do nothing but torture my heart even more than it already was from being away. The total lack of control I had in the situation bothered me. Hearing the most important person to me crumbling over the static lines that would be the only thing to connect us would make me feel worthless and a waste. Only if I were home, I could help him, save him, but no. I was forced to stay and try to get through to him with an "I love you, this isn't good for you." or a pathetic, "The alcohol only makes it worse, you don't need it." I sounded so pitiful with my amateurish remarks, but it wasn't like I had dealt with anything of this ugly nature before.

 I couldn't help but blame myself. One for being the person to rip his livelihood to pieces by moving away, and two, by not being able to save him or help him reach improvement. All the actions I could do were inconsequential and it was agonizing. Sometimes I even believed it would have been better if we never met; It would have turned out better for him if instead of declaring our friendship that day on the third grader playground, I just smiled and parted ways, leaving to go play alone like I always did. To get picked on by Missy and her troop of bitches instead of obtaining my ultimate desire: friends and acceptance. 

One spring evening I would finally let one of these creeping thoughts seep out over the phone line, leaving Frank flabbergasted. He assured me that I did nothing wrong, of course. But those sneaking and ever persisting thoughts would always arise every once in a while, especially ramping up as Gerard got even worse. I had tried to plan a trip home during summer vacation, but my father, who I barely referred to as my dad but to by his first name, shot it down and said that it was too expensive. I explained the circumstances, trying to persuade him, but he simply shook his head dismissively and repeated his prior answer. Son of a bitch. 

As 1994 waned, and the early months of '95 passed by sluggishly, the boys back home and I got to scheming. What were we planning you might ask? My homecoming. 

I planned to live true to my promise to return to New Jersey as soon as I could. The catch was, that it was going to be a complete surprise to Gerard. We all thought that it was best to leave it a secret until he laid eyes on me, after all, who doesn't love a good surprise? 

The zipper of my old suitcase that never before had seen the light of day made a telltale sound as it enclosed my modest belongings. The wheels rolled against the wood of the hallway, being the only sound in the house as I made my way toward the front door. I didn't once look back on the shabby little house as I journeyed onto the concrete of the driveway and to a taxi. My eyes were directed forward as the cab took off down the roadway and to the airport. I felt no sense of attachment and sadness as I boarded my flight. I could even feel a grin surface on my face as I looked out of the window and into the brilliance of the early morning clouds. 

Florida garnered nothing more than pain for me and the people I care for. Florida was innumerable useless days of perpetual boredom and worry, Florida was staring at the ceiling at night with nothing but your thoughts, Florida was devoid of friendship and camaraderie since everyone was against you; Even your own father, Florida was sticky isolated summer afternoons of reading the same old books, listening to the same old records of which were your only friends. Florida was desolate.