Heaven Help Us

"Please" I whispered as tears rolled down my cheeks. The room was dark and cold and my breath came out in white clouds. I shook my head to get a grip of my tears and bit my lower lip as I prayed silently in my head. My hands were around me in a slight attempt to get a little warmer and I shivered as the temperature dropped even more.

"Frank?" A voice behind me asked and I turned around quickly and tried to hide the fact that I had been crying. Obviously it didn't work since she gave me that sympathetic look again.

"Why are you crying?" She asked but I simply shook my head and made my way out the door from the freezer room. Yeah that's right, Frank Iero, once guitarist in My Chemical Romance was now working at a convenience store. And I always snuck back to the freezer room when I felt I had to be alone to cry, since no one ever came there. Well except for Emma that is.

She was a teenage girl that gave me the creeps sometimes, but she was extremely caring and sweet. Her red hair was always tucked behind her ears and there was always a smile on her lips. Except when she gave me the worried looks she always gave me when she saw I had been crying. Of course she didn't know why, no one ever knew, but she still cared.

"Let's not talk about this" I said and got back to work. I could tell she was a little reluctant to just drop the subject, but she did so anyway.


+


I was broken.

Everything about me was broken.

I had no friends, except for a teenage girl I was working with. How pathetic was I? I was always alone, except for my cat Mittens. She kept me company in my shitty apartment just a few blocks from the store I worked at. My apartment always had a strong smell of mould, but it didn't even bother me anymore. I had grown used to it I suppose.

In ten years I had achieved nothing. I hadn't dated, I hadn't mourned Ellie and I hadn't gotten over Gerard. I wanted him back, I wanted to see him smile and I wanted to smell his newly washed hair again. I could kill just to get a glimpse of him… again. I did see him, about five years earlier he and Jenn had been on vacation in Chicago and they had walked right past the diner where I worked back then.

I remember it like it was yesterday, my breath had caught in my chest and I had had to take a firm grip on the counter to not pass out. I told my boss I was sick, and he believed me since I had been paler then ever, and gone home to weep. I had trashed my apartment and the neighbors complained. That's why I was thrown out from that apartment, and since I needed a new place to stay I thought I should move as well.

I did, to New York. And here I've been living for five years. Gerard living not at all too far away, but me always too scared to go see him. Why? Because I was a coward. I needed him to work properly, but I had just left. I had left him and Jenn when they needed me the most and I felt like a fool for it. There wasn't a day in my life where I didn't regret leaving him. I didn't even know anymore why I had left him; it was all just blurry to me.

Some days I thought about killing myself, and God knows I've been close so many times. But then I always changed my mind at the last second. The second before I tipped the chair over and let myself hang, or the second before I took that last step over the edge. Every time I tried to work up the nerve to take my own life I broke down afterwards. I screamed, I threw things, I hit myself, and then I cried until I couldn't breathe.

My appearance had changed too. I looked five years older then I was, I had some gray hair, and always bag under my eyes. I always had skin that resembled wax more then anything else, and my hair was always unwashed. I didn't have anyone to fix myself for anymore. I was chain smoking, since that was kind of killing me, I thought. Slowly though, slowly and painfully.

With a hoarse laugh I lit another cigarette as I reflected on the last ten years of my life. I was so fucked up, and I would never be fixed again. The thing I needed to be fixed was Gerard, and I didn't have the balls to seek him out. Maybe I should do just that, but I couldn't. I knew they still lived in the same house, don't ask how, but I never even tried to make my way there. Not even to just catch a glimpse of them.

I put my cigarette out and then grabbed another one, my fourth in twenty minutes. I heard Mittens make her way over to the couch and I knew there was just a matter of seconds before she would jump up into my lap and demand to be petted. And alas, she did just that. With a sigh I let my hand stroke her black fur and within minutes she was purring.

When my fourth cigarette was gone I didn't light another one, instead I took out my whiskey bottle (I pushed Mittens out of my lap) and drank straight from it, not bothering with a glass. That's what alcoholics do; they don't bother with a fucking glass. They just down the liquid from the bottle. Thinking of me as an alcoholic was nothing special to me, I thought of myself as a drunken fuckhead all the time. But in all honesty, I don't think I was an alcoholic. I wasn't in a state of denial, I just wasn't an alcoholic. Didn't drink enough for that.

As the hours passed I had more whiskey, ten more cigarettes and then a quick shower before bed. My bathroom was a mess, just like the rest of the apartment, and it smelled like feet. My bathwater was always a light shade of brown, but I didn't care. I never cared, never, about anything. I didn't bother washing my hair, even though I should've since I hadn't done so in about a week, or maybe more. Days were always the same, nothing made one day different from the other.

As usual I didn't sleep in silence; no I had my gay porn on. Yes, judge me, hate me, I don't care. I was a loser, a drunk (not really), addicted to cigarettes (oh yes) and worthless in every sense of the word. Why not porn? I hadn't had sex with another human being (it sounds like I had sex with animals, but no, not that either) for ten years, so jacking of to gay porn was all I had.

As I lay on my back I closed my eyes and let my hand venture lower and lower on my stomach as the moaning noises from the TV where getting louder and louder.

"This" I thought, "is my fucking life, and it will never change" My hand snuck into my boxers and I let my fingers trace my cock slowly. "I'm worthless" I said quietly as my fingers found a tight grip, "and no one will ever love me"

My hand started working faster and faster as my breathing hitched.

"No one will ever love me" I whispered as I felt my climax approach, "like Gerard did" And then I came, thinking about Gerard, as always. After my orgasm I felt like shit, as always. I turned on my side and pulled my knees to my chest, laying in fetal position. I knew I was crying, even before I could feel the tears on my cheeks, and I cursed myself in my head.
And just like for the last ten years, I fell asleep, hugging my legs and crying violently.

A/N: R&R