Missing Pieces~A Helena Story (My Chemical Romance) #5

Gerard slowly walked along the apvement, shaking his head. Occasionally, the orange glow of streeet lights splashed onto him.. He kept his eeys trained in front of him. Th only thing there to see was the occassional light in a window. Befor his mind was able to grasp it, he was standing in front of the cemetery gates. He ran his fingers over the spikes of black-lacquered iron. Rain droplest clung to them like morning dwo. He inhaled the cool scent, surprised to see it was still fresh on the air. Gerard gently pushed the gates open. They squeaked a whisper of protest, then were silent. The steam erupting from his lips into the damp air seemed ethereal as ghosts rising up from thier spots in the earth.
If only my love... If only... Dust rising up from coffins...
Walking through the headstones, he thought he saw something. Turning swiftly, he saw nothing there. He could have sworn it was someone... dancing.
You're just too tired to be out... You haven't exactly been sleeping soundly lately...
Gerard ran a hand over his face.
"I miss you too much Helena..."
Her "I love you..." resounded through his mind.
"Just a dream," he whispered.
Keep telling yourself that...
He shut his eyes.
Gerard felt a bitterness rising up in him that he hadn't felt since he found her... since he read the note.
Why? he wanted to scream as loud as he could. He wanted to scream so loud, he couldn't even hear the glass of the windows surrounding him shatter. That question had been reacurring in his mind. He was groping for some tangible, logical reason. But he could find none.
Why didn't you come to me? I wish you could answer that... because you didn't.
"You never told me how you felt," he sighed. Tears again. But for the first time, tears of anger, as well as pain. A severe, aching longing.
He knotted his hand into a fist, and before he could comprehend his actions, he felt his knuckles collied with a cold gravestone. His hands shook, and he could feel a slight warmth on his hand. He laughed. He could just barely see the swolled hand, his fingers and knuckes oozing crimson. He laughed agian. The laughter was hurting his ears. But he couldn't stop. Gerard's eyes were fixed upon the blood flowing from his hand. There was now crimson-red rivulets caressing his wrist. He could almost imagine a cut on the flesh there.
Is this what it looked like for her?...For you...?
His laughter erupted even further.
"No," he said breathlessly, "there was so much more blood..."
He almost imagined he could see here there, dancing in front of him. When he reaced out to touch her, she exploded into so many little pieces, disappearing.
"Don't leave me here..." he gasped, his laughter commencing to sobs. "Why couldn't you just let me...?"
He sighed, falling against a headstone for support.
Gerard turned his eyes to the inscription.
Sara Willems.
August 10th 1991-February 9th 2005
So young.
Had this girl, like his darling Helena, taken her own life? Had she died in surgery? A car accident?
What had her aspirations been?
Life snatched away at such a young age... Gerard ached for her family.
He tasted a tear running over his lips.
Did Helena cry? How long did the pain last?
"I miss you too much..."
Was she an angel?
Or was she in hell for the mortal crime she had commited? Was she a ghost? Did she simply no longer exist? Was her soul going to be reincarnated?
Gerard straightened, his eyes scanning the yard of graves. So beautiful and so dismal.
Isn't pain so often found in beauty...?
How many people had cried here?
How many souls had realized they had died?
"Helena..."
He shook his head. He felt so lost. And so many other things.
Why why why why why why why why why...
In truth, Helena had been of the few things keeping him alive. Along with his close friends, brother and close family. Helena kept him sane. Helena and his art. Gerard had never known what it would feel like to be without his art. It had never crossed his mind really, what he could do without Helena.
I never thought something like this would happen... I was supposed to be the one to die... to commit suicide...
"Suicide." He let the word roll over his tongue. So bitter, impersonal, scientific. It almost seemed to bite him.
I don't know what to do.
"But there's nothing really I can do..."
....
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