.Reflection F/G (TW: eating disorder, mention of alcoholism/ drug abuse/ suicidal ideation) 2/3.eliseraMay 14 2012, 12:24:53 UTC
He’s sacked out on the dress room couch, head tilted back against the headrest, his feet on the coffee table and a towel over his face. He’s tired, so fucking tired, and his head won’t stop hurting. Considering how much time Gerard spends in the gym to keep up his endurance, a few concerts in a row shouldn’t take this much out of him. Gerard can’t already be burned out.
“Hey, Gee,” Ray says, jostling Gerard’s feet to get his attention. “Time to hit the bus, man. Frankie’s already bailed.”
“Sure,” he sighs, flinging the towel off and ignoring Mikey’s raised eyebrows when it hits his brother in the chest. Mikey’s being weird lately, hovering more and more, whisper-yelling with Frank and forcing food on Gerard. It’s exhausting to keep him off his back and Gerard hates fighting with him. Especially since Frank’s teamed up with him and pokes at Gerard all the time, too.
Sighing, Gerard gets up and then his vision tilts, going white and black at the edges in rapid succession. He has to grab for Ray to keep his feet under him.
“Shit, Gee,” Ray says, getting him around the middle and Gerard wrenches himself away at the touch, falls back onto the couch. “What’s wrong?”
“Headache,” Gerard says, hands clutching his head. His stomach is cramping and he’d hurl for sure if it weren’t empty. Thank god for small favors.
“I think you better get Frankie,” Mikey says, sitting down next to Gerard and dropping the towel back over his head. Gerard slumps against him, seeking comfort, and so fucking grateful for having the towel back. He can feel clammy sweat breaking out on his neck, his forehead, the small of his back and he doesn’t want to think about what’s going on, what’s happening.
“I just need a minute,” he mumbles.
“Uhuh,” Ray says and there is a brief touch to the top of Gerard’s head that he’s pretty sure is Ray’s hand. “Just stay down.”
There are steps, then the door’s closing and all that’s left is the heavy silence sitting between him and Mikey.
“I’m fine,” Gerard says.
“Do you remember how I kept saying that when I was drunk all the time? And when I swallowed pills by the dozen? And when I wanted to kill myself?”
Gerard takes the towel off, stares at Mikey. “This isn’t anything like that.”
“You say the same fucking thing every time you’re really not fine, too.”
Dropping his head back against the couch, Gerard sighs. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
The door opens, slams into the wall and Gerard’s just gotten his head back up when Frank lays his palm on Gerard’s forehead, pressing him back down.
“What’s wrong?” Frank asks and Gerard rolls his eyes
“Nothing is wrong,” he says, squinting up at Frank and then Ray when he looms over Frank’s shoulder. “Stop freaking the fuck out, guys.”
“You’re not feverish,” Frank says, taking his hand off of Gerard’s forehead and grabbing his wrist, his fingers winding easily around it.
“Because I’m fine,” Gerard snaps. “I just got fucking dizzy.”
Frank’s face closes off. “That’s the second time today, Gee. That’s just not okay anymore.”
“Oh, fuck you,” he says, struggling upright and to his feet, wrenching his wrist free with effort in the process. It’s not far to the bus but Ray is hot on his heels, one of his big hands burning warmth into the small of Gerard’s back. Gerard ignores him and his steadying hands as he climbs the stairs. Flinging himself down into his bunk with once again weak knees, he draws the curtain shut; he can’t stand to look at Ray’s expression a second longer.
…
Gerard knows, okay, but he doesn’t want to. Just like he knew about the drinking and the pills and the coke and back then he didn’t want to know that he had a serious problem either.
Knowing how badly he fucked up back then doesn’t make any easier to stop himself this time.
…
Then there’s an article, and Frank ranting about what the interviewer wrote about Frankie and him, and Ray looking confused and a bit hurt about what the fucker said about his weight.
Gerard sits there, his stomach once again clenched up hard around nothing, stares at the words and then back up at Ray again, and thinks, oh.
“Hey, Gee,” Ray says, jostling Gerard’s feet to get his attention. “Time to hit the bus, man. Frankie’s already bailed.”
“Sure,” he sighs, flinging the towel off and ignoring Mikey’s raised eyebrows when it hits his brother in the chest. Mikey’s being weird lately, hovering more and more, whisper-yelling with Frank and forcing food on Gerard. It’s exhausting to keep him off his back and Gerard hates fighting with him. Especially since Frank’s teamed up with him and pokes at Gerard all the time, too.
Sighing, Gerard gets up and then his vision tilts, going white and black at the edges in rapid succession. He has to grab for Ray to keep his feet under him.
“Shit, Gee,” Ray says, getting him around the middle and Gerard wrenches himself away at the touch, falls back onto the couch. “What’s wrong?”
“Headache,” Gerard says, hands clutching his head. His stomach is cramping and he’d hurl for sure if it weren’t empty. Thank god for small favors.
“I think you better get Frankie,” Mikey says, sitting down next to Gerard and dropping the towel back over his head. Gerard slumps against him, seeking comfort, and so fucking grateful for having the towel back. He can feel clammy sweat breaking out on his neck, his forehead, the small of his back and he doesn’t want to think about what’s going on, what’s happening.
“I just need a minute,” he mumbles.
“Uhuh,” Ray says and there is a brief touch to the top of Gerard’s head that he’s pretty sure is Ray’s hand. “Just stay down.”
There are steps, then the door’s closing and all that’s left is the heavy silence sitting between him and Mikey.
“I’m fine,” Gerard says.
“Do you remember how I kept saying that when I was drunk all the time? And when I swallowed pills by the dozen? And when I wanted to kill myself?”
Gerard takes the towel off, stares at Mikey. “This isn’t anything like that.”
“You say the same fucking thing every time you’re really not fine, too.”
Dropping his head back against the couch, Gerard sighs. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
The door opens, slams into the wall and Gerard’s just gotten his head back up when Frank lays his palm on Gerard’s forehead, pressing him back down.
“What’s wrong?” Frank asks and Gerard rolls his eyes
“Nothing is wrong,” he says, squinting up at Frank and then Ray when he looms over Frank’s shoulder. “Stop freaking the fuck out, guys.”
“You’re not feverish,” Frank says, taking his hand off of Gerard’s forehead and grabbing his wrist, his fingers winding easily around it.
“Because I’m fine,” Gerard snaps. “I just got fucking dizzy.”
Frank’s face closes off. “That’s the second time today, Gee. That’s just not okay anymore.”
“Oh, fuck you,” he says, struggling upright and to his feet, wrenching his wrist free with effort in the process. It’s not far to the bus but Ray is hot on his heels, one of his big hands burning warmth into the small of Gerard’s back. Gerard ignores him and his steadying hands as he climbs the stairs. Flinging himself down into his bunk with once again weak knees, he draws the curtain shut; he can’t stand to look at Ray’s expression a second longer.
…
Gerard knows, okay, but he doesn’t want to. Just like he knew about the drinking and the pills and the coke and back then he didn’t want to know that he had a serious problem either.
Knowing how badly he fucked up back then doesn’t make any easier to stop himself this time.
…
Then there’s an article, and Frank ranting about what the interviewer wrote about Frankie and him, and Ray looking confused and a bit hurt about what the fucker said about his weight.
Gerard sits there, his stomach once again clenched up hard around nothing, stares at the words and then back up at Ray again, and thinks, oh.
This isn’t just about him and he can’t ignore it.
...
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