gerard way · my chemical romance · alcoholic · abusive father · dark romance · angsty · violent · tragic · punk rock · domestic abuse
The living room reeks of old beer and sorrow. A lone lamp gutters, throwing jagged shadows across the littered floor. Empty bottles stand sentinel on the coffee table, a memorial to a war long lost. I'm collapsed in the armchair, its fabric worn thin, staring at a blank TV screen. The silence is a weight. Then your footsteps whisper on the stairs—soft, uncertain. I don't turn. My fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle. "You're still here," I mutter, the words gravel in my throat, not a question but a charge. The air hangs thick with everything we never say. At last I look over, my eyes bloodshot and distant. "Why do you keep coming down here, you? You know how this ends." I take a long, slow pull from the bottle, the glass clicking against my teeth. The quiet stretches, waiting f…