There's an old derelict hotel near where I live. It's a pretty unremarkable building, faded bricks, doors and windows boarded up... You know what an abandoned building looks like.
The hotel's been there for decades, with its crumbling roof and decaying sign with half the letter missing. No-one's been near it for years, and no-one ever sets foot in there
except this one guy.
He comes out occasionally, every few weeks or so and he looks so pale and thin. Deathly.
I saw him a few times and I always wondered what kept him there. Why he stayed in that old hotel even after it went out of business and everyone else moved on. I'm a curious person and it gets to that point where the curiosity is just eating me up, so one day I waited outside the hotel for him to emerge. When he did I approached him cautiously, with his long, greasy black hair and stick-like frame, and I asked him. I asked him why.
I remember the moment well. The way his weary gaze fell on me through his golden-hazel eyes. He must have been beautiful once, but now his face was marred by shadows, his eyes dull and his face void of expression. He was a broken person.
I remember how we sat on the bench by the side of the park and talked. That was when I learnt his story. The story of Gerard Way.
I was so happy. I'd found the love of my life. A boy. His name was Frank Iero. I loved him more than anything - I still do - and I was pretty sure he loved me too. So I asked him to be my boyfriend and he said yes. We moved on pretty quickly and had soon bought a small apartment together. It wasn't much, we didn't have a lot of money with Frank not working and me making very little, but it was home.
I came home from work one day and I couldn't find him anywhere, I was starting to worry when I saw the bathroom door ajar and his form was visible through the crack in the door. I pushed the door open with a grin, expecting to see him brushing his teeth or fixing his hair but instead it was a different scene that greeted me. His weakened form was slumped over the basin. I moved towards him to see what was wrong, if he was sick or something, but as I got closer I saw the pools of scarlet and crimson splattering the basin. I rushed forward, pulling him into my arms, tears began to form in my eyes as I asked him what happened. Did someone hurt him? Was he okay? I looked up into his face and was shocked to see him smiling slightly. I pulled away from him a little.
'Wha...' I began but he cut me off.
'I didn't want you to find out about this Gee
but I guessed you would find out sooner or later' he sighed.
I was puzzled but things soon became clear as I spotted the bloodstained razor lying on the floor by his feet, at the same time he held up his bloody wrists for me to see. He'd been cutting himself.
I couldn't help it. I broke into sobs and sank to my knees, my face in my hands. He'd always seemed so happy, why would he do something like this?
He gently prised my hands away from my face a pulled me to my feet.
'Don't be sad Gee, I'm better this way. I'm
I looked him in the eye and hugged him tight.
you have to stop this' I mumbled in his ear gesturing at the blood and the razor.
'But Gee... it's fine... it's not like I'm gonna kill mys...'
I cut him off.
'No Frankie, you have to stop this. I can't risk losing you.'
He scowled and opened his mouth as it to protest but he stopped himself. He closed his eyes briefly and opened them again, taking one look at the pained expression on my face and sighed in defeat.
'Fine, I'll try and stop cutting... for you'
'Promise' he grinned at me.
I sighed in relief, but silently vowed to myself that I would keep a close eye on him, as I turned on the taps and began to wash his wounds.
A few months passed and I kept a close watch on Frank, and although I left him hardly any opportunity too, he kept cutting, despite his promise. I never saw him do it, but I saw the fresh scars it left on his arms. I should have got help before it was too late but I didn't. I was determined to fix him on my own. I was stupid.
I tried to distract him, taking him out more, taking more time off work to spend time with him, but nothing worked. I tried everything. Except talking to him. I knew that was what I should do but i didn't want to bring it up. I was scared of causing an argument and upsetting him. I was scared he would leave me
or worse. I couldn't let that happen. I loved him too much.
I decided we needed a break, so I booked us a little holiday. Nothing fancy, we couldn't afford much, just a couple of weeks in a small hotel about 3 hours drive away from where we lived. A change of scenery, you know.
We had been there for about a week, and we were both happy there. We liked it in our little room - Number 13, Frankie's favourite number - and there had been no new scars on Frankie's arms since we got there which was good.
I awoke one morning to Frankie's sleeping form, snoring softly, cuddled up into my chest. I stared at him for a while - he was so cute when he was slept - before slowly disentangling myself from him, careful not to wake him. I slipped out of our room to get coffee for us both, ready for when he woke up.
I got back to the room and I opened the door awkwardly with my elbow, I had two cups of steaming coffee in my hands, and entered the room. I walked over to the bed but Frankie wasn't in there. I placed the coffee down on the bedside table and surveyed the room, puzzled. Maybe he'd woken up and gone out while I was gone? But then I turned and saw the bathroom light was on.
It was like a replay of the first time I had found him cutting, only worse. I walked in expecting to see him brushing his teeth or fixing his hair, but like before it was a different scene that greeted me. Blood splattered the basin, like before only this time instead of being slumped over the basin, he was lying pale and limp on the floor in a small rapidly growing puddle of his own blood.
I rushed forward and fell to my knees, pulling him up onto my lap, where I held him close. I gazed down into his eyes.
'Frankie... why?' I asked, my voice breaking as silent tears began to fall down my face.
Frank smiled at me weakly and feebly tried to move his arm. I looked down to see a crumpled note clutched in his hand. I grabbed the note scanning it quickly, aware that he was losing blood, and consciousness fast.
The note read:
You've kept me alive this long, only you could, but I can't tie you down forever. It's hard to survive and I don't think I can anymore. But you have to know this Gee, It's not your fault. You tried your best but I just can't accept my fate, I don't belong here. I don't belong anywhere.
Don't cry for me, just remember...
I love you.
I scrunched the note angrily in my hand once I'd finished and took his hand softly in mine.
'Frankie...' I whimpered uselessly.
'I don't belong here Gee...' he whispered, his voice hoarse.
'Yes you do Frankie... you belong here... with me'
He just shook his head disbelievingly.
'I need to belong' he muttered
'You need to hang on' I retaliated, desperate now, the panic rising in my chest, tears still cascading rapidly down my cheeks.
'I need... need... you' he breathed so quietly I could hardly hear him, before his eyes fluttered closed for the last time.
Despite his wishes, I did cry for him. A lot. For about a week it must have been, I just sat there, on the grotty, blood soaked bathroom floor of the hotel, holding his lifeless body and rocking, whispering soothing words to him. Pretty soon though, someone found us and the police were notified. They came and cleaned up the blood and, although I fought and fought, they took his body. They couldn't do anything about me though. They couldn't move me. I just stayed there revelling in my last happy memories of Frank...
I still see Gerard sometimes, and when I do we always talk. Sometimes we go for coffee and I tell him all about what's going on in the rest of the world. The world outside his little hotel-bubble, and he tells me about Frank. He still sees him sometimes.
I only tell him the interesting things that go on though. The happy things. I hope to interest him enough that one day he might re-join civilisation but I know it won't work. He's getting better though. He looks better. Occasionally he ponders the idea of leaving the hotel, of starting a new life and I encourage these thoughts, though he'll never do it. I don't think he ever could.
Every time, he'll go back to that abandoned hotel and hide himself away again, in that room of memories good and bad, the air thick with love and loss. Hide himself away behind the rotting door of Room 13