He can't fucking take it anymore. He shoots another look at his desk drawer, then shakes his head, shaking off his hesitation. He's gotta. He's got no other option. And even if he did have another choice, another way out, he wouldn't want to take it. This is just so much easier.
He takes another swig of his beer, then tosses the bottle across the room. He gives a satisfied chuckle into the darkness of the basement when it shatters, then reaches over to his nightstand, snatching up his pills. He pops a couple red ones, but then, because he doesn't have time to fly right now, swallows a couple blue ones, bringing himself most of the way back down. He tosses the pills on the ground, not carrying when they scatter and roll, because he doesn't have to anymore.
He pushes himself up to his feet, and stumbles over to his desk. He reaches for the drawer, but feels like he's forgetting something. Then, it dawns on him. He snatches up pen and a piece of paper, and scribbles down:
I'm sorry everyone. I just couldn't take it anymore. Please know that this isn't your fault. There's nothing you could have done to help. I was a lost cause, and my life was going nowhere. Mikey, I hope you know not to follow in my footsteps. I was a failure, but you've got so much potential. You're so talented and so special, Mikes, and you're going to do so much good in the world. I just know it. I'll tell Grandma Elena how much you guys miss her. I love you all so much. Goodbye. xoxo Gerard
He figures that that's good enough, and puts the paper down in the center of his desk, somewhere where it'll be in plain view for whoever tries to find it. Then, he goes back to his drawer, and pulls out what he had stashed there weeks ago. Only now is he finally getting the guts to do it.
He feels the firm, heavy weight of it in his hand as he moves to the center of his room. It's thick and cold, and it's so comforting.
As he places the barrel of the gun between his lips, the lyrics to a song he'll never get to write flash through his mind.
Well let's go back to the middle of the day that starts it all
I can't begin to let you know just what I'm feeling
And now the red ones make me fly
And the blue ones help me fall
And I think I'll blow my brains against the ceiling
And that is exactly what he does.