A Stain That Never Comes OffWith all my will, I opened my pair of stinging eyes. Where the hell am I? My fingers combed the greasy black crown on my head, knots entangled with my fingers. Annoyed, I yanked my right forefinger from the mess. "OW!"
I winced at the sudden shot of pain that now traveled to my brain. I glanced at my right hand, strands of my hair had came off. I let it fall onto the cold hard wooden floor. Then, I observed my surrounding. An Iron Maiden poster hung proudly on the white wall above a writing table that was not a writing table. It's not a writing table because instead of scraps of papers, pens, books or any other stationery items, t-shirts, and trousers were found lying on the table. I suspect it is a closet disguised as a writing table. Next to is was a cupboard filled with books and an old CD player was placed on top.
I know this place. It's... it's what's his name? Em... oh yes, it's Mikey's room and I'm on his bed. Why am I on his bed? Who the hell knows?
I climbed off the solid spring bed and trudged out of the room. Bright white sunlight shone the hallway from the window that had no curtain to shield it. I hate the sun! Miserably, I descended the stairs that creaked and groaned with each step I took. I hate my house!
Upon reaching the ground floor, the front door flung open, brown paper bags that were full of groceries and what-not hid the person who had just entered. The person kicked the white door and it shut closed with a deafening bang. It wasn't till I saw the back of the stranger that I realized it was my band mate, Ray Toro. His afro brown hair was sticking out in all directions. He strode across the hall and into the kitchen. I trailed behind him. He placed the bags on the counter and wiped his forehead. I sat down on one of the metal black chair that surrounded the dining table. It wasn't until then that he noticed me.
"Oh, morning Gerard!" he greeted with a smile that flashed his pearly white teeth. I nodded in reply. Do I really float?
"Ray! Where's the 3 in 1?" Mikey barged in the scene suddenly. Without even getting an answer, he scurried through the paper bags like a hamster going through a pile of mixed nuts to find the one it wants. Five minutes later, every single item in the bags were scattered all over the counter. "There!" he squealed. How can he be my biological brother? Mikey ripped open the green packet of Nescafe 3 in 1 and took out one of the smaller packets before opening it and pouring the fine powder into a yellow mug.
"Mikey! Make me a cup too," I ordered. Mikey spun around in surprise. "I didn't know you were here, Gerard," he muttered and proceeded to make another cup of coffee. He waited for the water to boil. During the time, I had managed to swallow down a blueberry muffin whilst Ray had joined whoever that was in the living room watching the television. Mikey was drumming his fingers on the counter impatiently. He was staring outside the window, across the street, passed the suburb houses, and into a world of his own.
I was proud of the fact that I didn't actually ran for the bathroom after digesting down the muffin. It was tasteless, as usual. My taste buds had failed to do its job. Why? Because I love to get wasted. Because I love to smoke. Because I love to get high. As simple as that. I studied the palm of both of my hands. Lines after lines etched all over it due to years of sculpting in art school and hard labour stacking up books in a shop.
I recalled there was once someone told me that I will have a great life, a fantastic future. Look at where I am now?! Stuck in my parents old house. Jobless. Dreamless. Lost as a stray dog in the streets. No, actually worst than a stray dog. At least, they know the streets. I don't even know where I'm heading with this state of mine.
A mug of steaming hot strong coffee was placed on the coaster in front of me. I looked up to Mikey who seem disappointed. I nodded my thank you unenthusiastically and pulled the coaster towards me. My fingers curled around the handle and lifted the somewhat heavy mug. I sniffed the supposedly nice aroma, but smelt nothing. I sighed and placed it down.
Mikey sat in front of me and scanned todays newspaper. I saw the front page headline. BUSH TO SETTLE THE FEUD BETWEEN IRAQ AND PAKISTAN! Bush is an idiot!
Shit! I sprang from the chair and rushed through the hall, up the stairs and right into the bathroom. I slammed it behind me and knelt down in front of the toilet bowl. I felt my mouth opened. I felt the horrible bits and pieces made its way up my esophagus through my throat and out of my mouth. I closed my eyes as tears streamed down my cheeks and fell onto the toilet bowl. I couldn't control myself. I couldn't stop it. It just kept on coming. This continued for the next few minutes. My previous pride had dissolved into a hopeless dream.
When the awful daily routine was done, I reached for the plastic handle and flushed away all the food that was suppose to be converted to nutrients for my body. There was also blood and bile. I stared at the brownish red colour being sucked down the drain. This is getting worse each day. I pushed my wobbly body to stand and I went to the sink.
My right hand turned the cold chromium coated tap. Clear clean water gushed out. I placed both of my hands under it. I was hoping that it could clean my hands. I watched in silence as the water splashed all over my pair of hands. "Clean it!" I waited. It still weren't clean. "Clean it!" I shouted aloud this time. It's still there. The stains. The chemicals. The poison. It stubbornly remained. It wouldnt leave my hands. It wouldnt go.
Frustrated, I began rubbing it with soap. The bubbles covered my hands for a while. I thought I got rid of it but once I put it under the water. There it is again. "CLEAN IT!!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, frustrated. I could feel the Fury rising. The stains. The chemicals. The poison. My breathing was turning ragged. Beads of perspiration fell from forehead and flowed down my temple, the left side of my cheek and down my chin. "Why wouldn't it just be clean?" I yelled in anger.
"Gerard?"
I looked at the mirror. Mikey was standing by the doorway. The word concern was written all across his face. Behind him stood Ray and Frank. "Go away!!!" I screamed in anguish. They wouldn't listen. Why don't they just listen to me?
"Gerard, you need help," Mikey uttered in fear. With that he left, he walked away. Ray gave me a look that signified 'listen-to-your-brother' and he too left. I gazed at Frank's reflection in the mirror. Frank shook his head in defeat and just like that he disappeared from the mirror.
I turned back my attention to the reflection of myself. My hair seem like it had been soaked in a pail of oil then wrung dry. My lips were chapped, full of cracks and it was bloody red. There was a cut on the right side of my nose. How did a cut end up there? Who the hell knows?
As my eyes crawled its way up the reflection, it avoided the next sight and switched its view to the running tap. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. I couldn't look into my eyes. I didn't dare to look straight into my own pair of eyes. I cupped my hands over the tap and splashed the cooling water across my face. I repeated this couple of times. I held onto the sides of the white sink. My eyes shut. The image of Mikey flashed in front of my eyes. I saw him. I saw his pain. I saw his sorrow. I heard his soft voice echoed inside my head. 'You need help.' I tried to shake it out but it still rung ever so loudly in my ears.
"I give up!" I declared to myself, aloud. "I give up! I admit it! I need help!" I finally answered my own question. I opened my eyes. My hands; they were spotless, stainless. I closed the tap. The last drop of water dripped onto the sink. I dried my face with my own towel. I left the bathroom.
The sun was still shining through the window. I ignored it and marched down the stairs. I inhaled a deep breath and went inside the living room, facing everyone; Mikey, Ray and Frank. They stared at me upon my entrance.
"I need help guys."
Later on the day...
I stared at the hungry white doors that stood silently in front of me, ready to eat anything that goes 50 cm close to it. This is it. I took one step forward but a hand held onto my left shoulder. I froze on the spot. He stood in front of me. His eyes glistened with tears that were welled up inside. His glasses which was acting as his shield did not do its job. His straightened brown hair was plastered onto his face. As predicted, he flung his arms around my neck and pulled me into a tight hug. The aura of longing hung in the air between us. I just stood there, motionless.
"We'll all wait for you, Gerard," he whispered and released me from the group. I nodded and continued towards the famished doors. With each step I took my heart raced faster and faster. Thoughts of fear, hope, anger, regret bounced against my skull. The doors opened and waited patiently for its prey to enter.
My head turned to catch a final glimpse of my friends. Mikey, my brother stood in the middle; he waved and smiled weakly at me. On his left was Frank. Frank just smiled. On Mikey's right was Ray. Ray only stared at me. I read the message from his eyes. He told me that I'm going to be okay, that I'm going to make it. I nodded to all of them and stepped into the white building.
"Mr. Way, follow me." A man probably in his 40s dressed in a white doctor's robe directed me through a hallway. Even the hallway is white! I wonder is there anything in here that is actually NOT white, probably not! It's a freaking rehab, for God's sakes! We arrived at a room that seems like a living room where all the other patients were relaxing. There were at least ten of them; short, tall, thin, chubby, punk, Goth, bright, you name it. They are all on the list. All of them stared at me and the man for a few seconds before returning to whatever they were doing.
"This is your ward, Mr. Way," the man said and gestured at the room with his left hand.
"Call me Gerard," I muttered monotonously and glanced at the gold name tag that was pinned on the left side of his robe. "Dr. Duncan," I added. He smiled at me warmly. "Your room is just right there." He pointed ahead. "You go through that corridor. Turn right. The first room on the right is yours. You will also be sharing it with another patient. All your belongings had already been brought in," he explained. I nodded to indicate that I understood. "Every single patient here is assigned to do a chore every morning. It will shift each week. Since you are new, you would be starting from the beginning that means you would be cleaning the male toilets, okay?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
As if I had a choice. I nodded again.
"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me. I have some matters to attend to." With that he disappeared through the hallway that we just came through. I sighed and made my way to my so-called room. And guess what? More white walls inside the room! Urgh! I spotted my black suitcase immediately; it was on my bedside table. I plopped myself on the bed. It was hard but at least it was clean. There was another bed in the room. Mine was by the window. I lied on the bed and closed my eyes. How long do I have to be here? Could I really be cured? There is no way I'm going to fall for that 12 steps crap and the AA shit.
After a long time of contemplating, I came to decision that I will try my best and I will get out of here, no matter what. I just need to hold on. Hold on even when it seems impossible. Hold on when everything seems dark and bleak. Hold on when this seems crazy. I will get out of here, sober and back on the road with the band.
I leaned against the wall and watched the scene outside the window. Blistering wind blew across the park, snow fell heavily from above, covering the benches and the green grass The trees were bald. There was no sign of life. The world's dead. Im dead. Who can I blame for causing all these pain? Nobody. It was my own choice in the first place. I am not going to blame someone. I am going to take full responsibility for what I did, thats going to be my first step in helping myself.
I looked at the clock that was hung on the wall. The hands inside were ticking away; 5.50. This is going to be long! I lied down and slowly drifted off to a dreamless sleep.
I woke up and darkness consumed me. What time is it? Where the heck am I? I looked out the window. The snow had stopped but it still blanketed everything outside. The gears inside my head began its work. Rehab was the first word in my head. I groaned and took out some clean clothes from my suitcase before heading for a shower.
The hot water hit my bare body. A sense of serenity came over my mind. I am going to do this! I am going to defeat my addiction! After the nice clean shower, I left the room and into the living room. The lights were still switched on. It was only six in the morning. I observed the room. A 32" television, four couches, two tables with two chairs, books filled a shelf that was placed in the far corner of the room. There was also a coffee machine. I saw a notice board and decided to read it. Besides the duty roster, there were also some announcements about some programs and shit.
"Got to clean the toilet," I told myself. I searched for the male toilet and thankfully it was only nearby. I took out the cleaning appliances and began cleaning the fucked up toilet. Though it stunk, though I hated it, but I got to do it! I scrubbed the tiled floor with all the energy that was left in me until the place was spotless and sparkling clean. Contented with myself, I admired the job that I had done. I grinned. For once in a very long time, I felt that I can actually do something, that I am not a useless piece of shit. So, if I can wash a fucked up rehab toilet, I can get through this and I am sure of it!
Two hard months later...
I walked out of Dr. Duncan's room with my suitcase in one hand and a huge smile on my face. I shook his hand, said my thanks and began my way through the white hallway. I walked out the once hungry white doors with pride, not looking back. Once I was out in the real world, I was greeted by none other than the proud faces of my brother and friends.
"GERARD!" they all cheered at the sight of me. Mikey immediately tackled me and gave me a bone crushing hug. "Okay. Okay." I laughed at his behaviour. "I miss you too, Mikey," I confessed. He released me. Frank and Ray came over and we hugged for a while. "It's great to be back again!" I breathed out.
Birds chirped. Butterflies flew over the white daisies. The trees were all covered in luscious green. The grass danced under the slight spring breeze. I put my arms over Mikey's shoulders and Frank's. Frank and Mikey in turn put theirs over my shoulders. Ray was linked through Frank. So, we were now walking in a line, as friends, as brothers, as a band, united once again. Nothing could stop us.
Over these few months, I had gone through endless boring lectures that I never paid any attention to, countless therapy sessions, and meaningless group sessions. Now, I'm out in the real world, free, away from the white walls. Ninety five percent of me tells me that I'm not going to relapse and the other five is left for me to test out later on. So, here I am with my friends, hanging onto each other. Life sprung around us, singing its song with me singing with them.
The EndHope you guys enjoyed it!
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Subject: A Stain That Never Comes Off (One Shot) Gerard Way 
