A Shot at Loss

Remember

I remember, it was 6 years ago to the day, hour, minute that the bullet proof vest you worshipped failed its task. It failed to stop the shot to your heart. Six years since our last kiss, last embrace, our last night in bed.

That night I stood on the stage with a crowd of 10,000 strong before us. You tackling the songs head on with all your effort. You came up behind me screaming lyrics down my ear, hugging my neck and unbeknownst to the crowd, grinding your hips into mine. I surveyed our fans and saw security guards preparing to yank a girl off the top of the crowd. I glanced back down at my bass, I also glanced at you right there in all your glory. Then I heard a bang that wasn't Bob breaking another drum skin. I stared at you holding your chest, I listened to the mic hit the floor, I watched as you fell, a puddle of red forming round you.

Security guards blocked the doors and pinned the girl to the floor, removing the revolver from her hand. I'd fallen beside you, bass cracked on the floor when I'd dropped it. Everything was a blur from that moment. Paramedics hauled you away; I was carted into a police car. Frank, Ray and Bob came and disappeared every now and then.

We arrived at the hospital and you were taken from me again, straight into surgery. I waited for years and in that time I'd cried, screamed, argued, lashed out, gone numb, panicked, had an asthma attack and cried again. Just for some nameless faces in green and blood soaked clothes to whisper 'I'm sorry'. Sorry. One word to make it ok, one word to relieve them of the guilt that they couldn't save you.

I smacked away the reassuring hand on my shoulder Ray had put there. I ran into the operating theatre, I gagged at the sight. Blood was everywhere; your chest still had open wounds dug into it. Nurses that were cleaning up the area around the table stopped in shock. I staggered over to you, skidding on the red liquid on my way. I held your hand that day and I kissed your blood soaked lips, I still taste them now.

The press conference a few days later was unbearable. Questions Gerard. So many questions. About you, the band, your old habits, the bands future… Then some one shouted out a question I heard, one that made everyone fall silent.

"Mickey, Mickey. Is it true you and your brother were actually lovers?"

My head and vision began to swim, I stood to leave in anger but found my body could go not further than a few steps before all went black. The official statement was stress. Stress from the 'incident' and from all the bad habits I picked up off of you. Smoking that didn't help my asthma one bit; alcohol didn't help my weak liver. Lack of sleep was something all of us suffered from. Every time we closed our eyes we all saw you Gee, falling. Can't you see what you've done to us?

I woke a day after my blackout to see that your body had been stolen from the morgue and that the girl had admitted in full force with a manic grin that she had done it. She was sectioned. You were never found 'because she would never tell (The nasty men were listening now…). I'm so lost Gee.

My chemical Romance remained, me singing in your place. I think it's just me but I didn't feel right.

It's one year on Gee, where are you? You said in that letter that came 4 months ago that you would be here, on Smith Bridge over the river we used to spit into when I was to short to reach over the towering stone walls, when you would lift me grasping my hips perfectly like you did in bed with me. I feel that small again Gee and the stone is now suffocating me.

It's one year on Gee and I'm so cold. I wore what I thought was fitting, jeans, trainers, t-shirt, bandana on my neck. My heavy coat didn't shield the cold at all how ever. Was that your doing? Answer me goddammit!

But you won't will you? You'll never talk to me again. I leant against the solid rock wall, now it only came up to my lower back. I close my eyes to remember the days when you were here, when it was just you and me balancing on this wall, scared of falling the wrong way and getting worse that a bumped head and scraped knee. I climbed up again and took my glasses off because you weren't there to do it for me.

Left foot forward, done. Now my right foot, why is this so easy? I closed my eyes from the blurry drop to my side. I can almost feel you guiding me like you used to. Your chest to my back, your arms holding mine out in perfect balance. But was it your hand pressing against my side, pushing me into the water?

It's so cold Gee, but I can see you, feel you kiss me as I stop fighting for the surface, stop trying to heave off my heavy coat. I open my eyes and your there, crystal clear. Smiling. I let you drag me down to the depths, I let you squeeze the air from my lungs and I let you whisper in my ear that everything was okay now.

A local runner found my body the next day. We laughed as she screamed and ran for a phone. We leant against the wall, me in your arms, sharing looks and kisses as people walked through us putting up tape and road blocks. But we stared at Bob, Frankie and Ray as they were brought to the scene to identify me. I was so still and lifeless, is that how I look now Gee? You shake your head. Good. I jerked my head as I heard Frankie throw up. I'm sorry guys, I didn't mean for it to end this way.

You motioned for us to get on the bus that held our band members; we watched them all night from the couch. We watched as their pale faces woke and switched on CNN. There I was again, Bob left the room. It was a suicide, supposedly. Since I took my glasses off and suicide is a coward's way out and I didn't want to see my death. Lies, nothing more and nothing less.

I can see a light and you held out your hand for me, I kiss our friends goodbye before taking it. I remember, it was 6 days to the minute I spent my last night grieving, my last night crying, my last night missing you. I remember Gee.