MURDER MACHINE;; Mikey Way, 008

My breathing is louder than the cars zooming past me as I stagger down the sidewalk, only feeling for a way to get back. Every couple seconds I feel a laugh emerge from my chest and I let it out. My senses have shut down, but my sense of smell is strengthened with the blood dripping from my nose. Two more blocks? I let out another howl of laughter, and I have to bend over because it hurts so bad.

I can feel the stares on me, from all these stupid people, heading toward their stupid destinations in their stupid clothes and stupid hai-

I puke all over the sidewalk. I'm not sure why... so I laugh.

And I run through it before it's even all out and sprint down the sidewalk, past some more stupid people. And I can see a glimpse of my apartment building. I sigh, then laugh some more.

I push several wrong buttons in the elevator, and I swear loudly at myself when I have to deal with other people joining me. One woman with a baby in her arms doesn't even enter the elevator; she just stares at me for a few seconds then shuffles through her bag, pretending to have forgotten something, and she runs off. I feel like I should burst out in laughter but I suddenly feel sick instead. And the walk down the hall to my apartment is excruciating. My loud, happy breathing from before has turned into the sound of a child being suffocated. I have to squint at the numbers on the doors to find mine. I shake the doorknob vigorously, expecting it to be open, but instead I have to pound on the door with my fists until I hear footsteps from the other side. I wait painfully and impatiently, feeling tears well up in my eyes. And I couldn't be more happy to see Frank open the door. The second before I fall into him, I can see his eyes wide with fear.

"Mikey, Mikey, what the-"

I can smell the hardwood floor under my nose, and the wonderful high of drugs is wearing off. What I smell next is Frank, the most beautiful, purest scent in all of the world. He kneels down next to me, and says, "Mikey, come on, let's get you to your bed."

And a voice from the general couch area says (so quietly that I'm surprised I heard), "Such a fucking sucker."

Through the blur of the living room that I can still make out, even Frank looks over at Gerard strangely. "What?"

Gerard throws down a video game controller onto the floor, and he looks over the back of the couch toward the two of us. "I'm done babying you, Mikey. And Frank needs to stop, too. I'm done cleaning you up after you deliberately do this shit to yourself, not to mention the life you probably took tonight. I'm sick of your shit, Mikey; get the fuck over yourself. And if you go just as close to scratching Bert, I'm kicking your ass out of here. You can live on the streets where you belong."

Gerard kicks an empty soda can from the floor to the wall, and he storms past Frank and I, heavily dragging his feet to his bedroom, where he slams the door.

I'd feel guilty if I didn't already feel physically dying.

I look up at Frank through my eyelashes. He's so perfect. The ceiling fan creates a glow from behind his black locks of hair. But his expression is one I've never seen before; it's like he's realizing something painful, some kind of truth that he's avoided. And he gets up off the floor, and I realize it's most likely somehow about me.

"Frank..." I whimper desperately, my eyes now beginning to beg for sleep. With difficulty, I pick myself up off the floor, and I end up breathing straight in Frank's face, attempting perfect eye contact. But Frank knows better now. Gerard got to him.

"Mikey..." he says, biting his lip, thinking. And he sighs and says regretfully, "You have to stop..." And he gives me such a disapproving, sad, and just plain horrible look over his shoulder as he walks to the other room.

I'm not just a genius; I'm a genius with a habit. I wonder if there's group therapy for serial killers.

It's called jail. But I've avoided it this long, avoided and ignored the pain that comes along with those disapproving glances from my brother. So I guess I've hit what an alcoholic would call rock bottom. Or what a druggie would call an overdose. But sadly, I'm all of the above and plus a hell of a lot more. And I'll probably come to the same death as all of them.

What is happening to me? My brother, my... my Frank... they hate me. Those tears that were fighting back from before now fall, and I resort to collapsing on the couch, hugging a pillow tightly to my chest, feeling worse than pathetic. Frank will never love me now. And Gerard will forever resign as my brother and one true confidant. I'm not sure what brought them to this, but I'd give it all to take it back.
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