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People always said it got worse before it got better, but Gerry didn't believe that for a second.
In his bed he lay, curled up and so incredibly tired. He'd slept more than any professional would recommend and he had done nothing but lie in bed, though he hadn't eaten all day so maybe it was that.
More likely, it was the clingfilm around his brain that constricted everything and kept his thoughts fuzzy.
More likely it was the week he'd spent with slit wrists and at least 4 substances in his system.
He wasn't sure if he wanted it all to end-no he did, but he wasnt sure if the cuts and the drugs were to end it all. His limbs ached under some unseen force as he stared numbly at the wall. He had no reason to feel so horrible, his life was as good as it ever had been, even though that was a low bar. He had a job and a boss who at least cared a little if he died, he had friends of sorts, he had hobbies, but most importantly, he didnt have a mum.
Ah, there it was.
He rolls over to face his door as if it was the walll psycho-analysing him and not himself.
So he was upset about his mum, again. It wasnt exactly that he missed her more he missed what she could've been.
Was it what Micheal said the other day about having such a hard week, that he just wanted to go home and be with his mum?
Was it that Gerry realised that normal people wanted to hide from the world under their mums wing?
He knew good mums exsisted, he wasn't stupid, he just didnt....conect that it could be that good?
Gerry—because he clearly hated himself—tried to think of anyone he'd want to call right now, with his everything hurting and his body sluggish and probably 10 reasons to go to a&e. He scrolled through every name he knew and discarded the feelings that kept him from dialing any number.
Not Gertrude, showing so much vulnerability to someone so....Gertrudy was a horrible idea that even his hazey mind could understand. She also wasn't likely to help, she was cynical and had no time for self loathing and self pity. Plus out of everyone Gerry would rather die than show emotions or weakness in front of, Gertrude was definitely top of the list.
He could call Micheal? Micheal was nice, he was soft and caring and would probably help or at least try. Even if he messed up him trying would be enough, even just his voice, Micheal had a lovly voice. But that would mean having to tell Micheal about everything he'd hidden from him, the drugs, the cuts, his mum and everything else. The idea of showing such weakness in front of him also scared Gerry.
Ok who else...
That cannot be it?
Gerry scanned his brian, every contact he had, every name in his life, and after filtering out the ones who want him dead.....
Yea basically it.
Sure he knew other people who didn't 100% of the time want him dead, like Jude Perry and Oliver Banks but they weren't friends and they were avatars that Gerry had faught with on several occasions.
Jude was probably the closest to him, they'd sit and have a drink if the fight wasn't nasty or personal enough. But Jude was asage, which meant asking for help for his addiction and feelings was probably the worst idea any living thing could conceptualise, he also couldn't think of a more embarrassing occurance. It was a good thing it had never crossed his mind to ask.
How was he 24 and had literally no one but his boss and his coworker? He wasn't even that close to them either, he only saw Gertrude about work which wasn't too big a deal as he was pretty sure that was all she did in life. Micheal though, Micheal had a life outside of work, a life Gerry would never be apart of. He'd asked Micheal if he wanted to get coffee once and yea he had a valid excuse—he was going to visit his mum—but what if he just actually hated the idea and didnt have the heart to tell Gerry? What if his whole persona was a lie to maniuplate Gerry, he was touched by the spiral and like it was unreasonable that Gertrude had told him nothing about the 14 so maybe she had or he knew and she just didnt care enough to interupt his little game with Ger- ok, he needed to stop that train of though.
How do people even make friends? School he guessed, or friends of friends or some unrealistic meet cute like in books.
Gerry rolled over again and hugged his pillow closer trying not to cry because it was stupid, he was acting like a child, what? He was sad because he wanted his mummy? Because he doesnt have friends? He is a grown man.
The idea to find some pills or weed or just anything hit him again but the invisible weight on his body kept him firmly pinned to the mattress.
He curls up closer and tugs the duvet a little further over himself. If he wasnt so tired he'd go to a bar and get drunk and find some pretty guy to steal a night away from home with. He'd hold Gerry close and call him Gerry not Gerard, and kiss him, and they'd fuck or whatever.
He realised for what was probably the 30th time, that he really just wanted someone to care. He just wanted someone to love him and care that he hadnt gotten up in 3 days. Someone who would make getting up worth while. Someone to make breathing til dusk not seem like an endless and pointless task, make it seem managable.. if he get to see them again.
But he had no one, he never had and probably never would.
If he killed himself who would really care? Gertrude Robinson? Obviously not, at most she'd be inconvenienced and maybe a little ticked that she had one less body to sacrifice.
Would Micheal care? They barely knew eachother and they'd only been working together like, a year? No, Micheal would get over it within a week at most.
What would his funeral even look like? Or would he not get one, is there some type of minimum amount of greivers? Gerry thought quietly about what type of music he'd like to be played, well he'd wanna be cremated so maybe he didnt get music. He'd probably want blackbird by the beetles, he had vague memorys of his dad singing it to him
....he knows it was what played at dads funeral.
He wonders who even planned dads funeral, maybe mum did it for appearances, he certainly had more greivers then Gerry would.
If he did die would he go to heaven? Would he get to see his dad? He wasn't religeous, but it was a nice thought, that after all this lay a nicer life, an easier life without all...all the pain.
Christians always said if you killed yourself you didn't get into heaven though Gerry didn't understand why. If god made your life so hard that it drove you to that, then surely it was his fault, or was that the reason they said it was a sin, cus god could do no wrong?
Does that mean he had to of seriously fucked up for god to deal him this shitty hand? He didnt even know why he cared, he wasn't religeous and even if he was he wouldn't make it to heaven.
He'd burn in hell with mum.
Maybe he deserved that...
Tears finally well up in his eyes as he stares at the ceiling.
He could do it, he could just take too many pills or slit his wrists or just something that would do it. The weights that had kept him in bed all day finally lifted and let him clumsily reach for dor the pill bottle on his bedside table. He struggles against the child lock until the bottle is open, then he fumbles to spill the pills into his hand. Then he just...stares for a second, with a lump in his throat.
He wanted to die...So why was he so damn scared..
A note. People usually left notes right..?
He drops the pills carefully back into the bottle and grabs his sketchbook and pen from the side table. Hesitantly he put the pen to paper and began a note.
What was he even meant to write? Who would even find it? Should he even leave one? The silence echoed as he tried to come up with words.
'I'm doing this because...' No thats stupid, he'd already be dead so he's not doing this, he's done it and it's just dumb, he scratches it out angerly.
'No ones going to care that im dead' then why are you writing this?? He throws the note book at the wall. Frustrated and upset and fuckihg tired, he storms into his bathroom and picks up the box cutter he'd left there last time. His hands shuck as he held it to his veins.
The pain was sharp as he sliced through skin, his fingers shaked and he felt quizzy, the room spun as he slid down the wall to sit on the cold tiled floor.
He hadn't gone deep enough for it to kill him, but he had sucessfully mutilated his wrists...again
He hears the sound of his crappy little phone chirpping to life from the next room; playing the chorus of chelsea dagger, his ringtone.
His hands stutter and he was going to let it pass but the thought crosses his mind that Micheal might need help, Gertrude always sent him out with so little information-
He lets the knife clatter against the bloodied ceramic of the ground, then he pulls himself off the floor and stumbles back into his room. He grabs his phone to see the name Gertrude on display. Silently, he curses himself, of course.
"Hello"
He answers firmly.
"Gerard, finally. I've been trying to reach you all day. I need your help on a case, Micheals gotten squimish about spiders, all you have to do is go with him to the location to investigate. if he goes alone he's going to freak out and I'll have to send you anyway or do it myself."
She states, clearly annoyed. Gerry puts the best mask he can on, trying to hide the fatigue that dripped from his voice.
"And what if I'm afraid of spiders?"
He jokes.
"Well you're surely used to the feeling"
She replies, on any other day Gerry would laugh and probably reply with dramatic terror...but today it was just a reminder of how crap everything in his life was...
The phone hung up and any feeling of joy he'd tricked himself into thinking was real faded.
He sighs and stands, bandages his wrists and throws the box cutter in the bin. Gertrude didn't give him a schedule so he take his time getting ready.
Every inch of him wanted to cry at the idea of facing the world on a day like this, so he decides to do whatever he could to make himself feel a little more ok to function.
He paints his nails black because for some reason it always helped, not the action just them being black.
He picks out a nice pair of comfy distressed black jeans and a black tank top that he'd painted some music notes on. He puts a fishnet top under the tank and puts 2 spikey braclets on, many rings and his 4 favourite necklaces.
He laces up his tall black grubby platform boots.
He doesnt want to bother with his usual makeup so he just does a white base, black lipstick and smuges some raccoon eyeliner.
He takes 2 pills to smooth over the shake hin his hands and the uneven breath, then grabs his long leather jacket and heads out.
In his headphones he blasts some franz ferdinand and tries to forget this mornings wobble.
Once on the tube to the institute he tries to think of things to talk about with Micheal, he was never good at conversations so having some topics to bring up always helped.
The walk to the institute was relativly short, though by the end of it he realises he's smoked nearly half a carten of cigarettes.
He pulls his headphones off as he walks in and waves to the receptionist, then he descends into the archives. The door as usual was ajar to let some air circulate in the dusty place.
Micheal sat at his desk on his laptop, dead focused on some research.
"Hey"
Gerry greets. Micheal looks up and smiles.
"Hi Gerry"
He says awkwardly then looks back to his computer, ok well that hurt a little, usually they'd chat a little... Gerry ignores it and goes to Gertrudes office, he knocks and doesnt wait for a response before opening the door.
Gertrude was sat behind her desk as usual, but stood in front of her was a man. The man was tall and muscular though he was old, younger the gertrude and mary but still up there especioully for someone of his physique.
"So you're Gerard Keay"
He greets with a booming voice and a hand out to shake.
"Uhm, yea?"
Gerry replies cautiously, then shakes his hand and looks to Gertrude.
"This is Adelard Dekker, you were supposed to help Micheal, but he showed up today and needs a hand with something, i said I'd lend you out as a favour."
She states plesently.
"Hey i am not yours to lend"
he argues though theres little in it.
"Double your usual?"
She raises her brow
"fine i guess i am then"
he replys, can you really blame him? Hes already up and cigarettes are getting expensive.
With no further chit chat the 2 head out, maybe on another day Gerry would of argued more or asked about the work or something, but he was already drained and craving another cigarette. To his displeasure they were driving and he at least had enough descency not to smoke in someone elses car.
Gerry was lost in thought and he only realised that this Dekker fella was talking half way though the mans explantion of what they were doing.
"Sorry, pardon? Zoned out"
he says without thinking, great first impression Gerry. The man sighs and starts over.
"Right, so we're just looking into a few disappearances. I do a sort of pi thing and someones payed me to look for their daughter, her disappearance really connects to 3 others near hers over the past 3 weeks but obviosuly we'll be focusing on hers. The police apparently arent really touching it as its paranormal. Gertrude mentioned you're specialty lies with books, they're not involed in this but I'm sure you'll be fine. The information I have already is in a notebook in the glovebox, busy yourself with that as we'll be a good hour in the car."
He instrusts. Gerry opens the glovebox and starts reading through the book. He really hated reading english, he hadn't learnt it until he was around 14 as mum said it was something he should just know how to do, his french was surprisingly much better than his english and often he'd catch himself thinking in french, it was annoying, but he kinda liked it because his dad was french, it was kinda like he'd been there.
Gerry did his best with the reading skills he had and hoped he was understanding the research correctly.
Once he'd read through it twice and committed what he could to memory, Gerry sat back in the seat and tried to breath. Everything felt so tiring and dull and too much all at the same time, he felt like even just being dressed was enough to make him cry, but he hadn't yet so that was a win- god he really wanted a cigarette.
He twirls his necklace through his fingers as he tries to think about anything but the thoughts of blades and pills and liquor that called to him like a siren.
Had Micheal found out about his past? Did he think Gerry was a murderer and thats why he hated him now? Was Gerry just overreacting? Was he being as emotional and unstable as mum? His thoughts swam, fuzzy and unkind as the car kept moving in silence. His skin itched and the soft sobs in his throat begged for something to stiffle them.
"D'you mind if I smoke?"
He asks with as little defeat in his voice as possible. Dekker gives him a look that was obviously displeased, but Gerry just tried to ignore it.
"Yes, I do mind. I have to pull in to get petrol soon, should only be 5 minutes"
Dekker states planly, if not a little cold. Gerry wasn't gonna kick up a fuss about it, but he'd be lieing if he said he weren't upset, he just really needed to take his mind off...everything.
God he felt pathetic, why'd he have to pick up the phone? He couldn't he just spend the day miserable and at home.
He grips his wrist tightly, rubbing and pulling at this cuts through the bandages, trying to focus on the sting for the next couple of minutes.
Each second was agonizingly long as Gerry counted and he just wished he wasn't so pathetically desperate. Dekker finally indicated and pulled into a petrol station.
Gerry filled up the car with petrol, and leaned against it to smoke while Dekker went and payed. His lungs filled with the comfort of ash and smoke as this anxious habit slowly blackend them, he was just glad he'd never gone to a doctor so he didnt have to deal with the reality of what this did to his body, ignorance is bliss as they say.
The break is much too short and Gerry finds himself tossing the cigarette in an ash tray much too soon. The rest of the drive was back to silence and Gerry clutching his wrist to aid the cravings and thougts (it was not working).
"Right so the place we're driving to is where a contact of mine rekons the avatar may be, we aren't certain its the right avatar or place ,but its just about all I have."
Dekker explains as he shuts off the ignition.
"Its the lonely right?"
He asks and Dekker nods.
"Lisa's mum thinks it could be due to her cancer, she siad Lisa and her were close and Lisa's been struggling with the thought of loosing her mum. I'd be inclined to agree that its probably premature greif that made her so vulnerable to whatever has taken her."
Gerry nods along and swallows the lump in his throat that wants to scream.
The air was sharp on his skin as they got out of the car. While Dekker took the few things he needed from his bag, Gerry took the opportunity to light a cigarette, scratching absentmindedly at the bandages.
"That will get you killed, you know"
Dekker comments as he slides the van door closed.
"Err! Wrong! Gertrude Robinson will get me killed. What? 1 in 3 smokers get lung cancer, well all of her assistants end up dead"
he smiles, as if he'd won, as if this wasn't his life, as if he weren't doomed.
"You are so cynical for someone so young"
Dekker chides. Gerry didnt have a snide remark for that, he reckoned anything he said would just come out small and depressed today.
They walked quietly towards the location as Gerry worked his way through the few cigarettes left in the pack. It did seem to irritate Dekker, he only had one left when dekker finally snapped.
"For the love of god can you stop smoking"
He demands frustratedly. Gerry freezes a little then nods and puts the pack and his liguter in his pocket.
"Sorry" he mumbles.
Around a minute passes of incredibly awkward silence before Dekker sighs
"sorry, I'm an ex smoker, so it can just, get on my nervs, you know. I shouldn't of snapped though, I'm sorry."
He says awkardly. Gerry nods
"No I get it"
He replies.
Eventually they get to the door to the building, it was a library which puzzled Gerry as it looked perfectly in order, it definately wasn't abandoned so would a direct confrontation be a good idea?
"Are you sure about this? What if theres other people in there?"
Gerry questions.
"There probably will be, I have a picture of Lisa, I think she should be in here along with other possible victims."
Dekker explains, passing Gerry a picture of who he assumes is Lisa. She was a couple years older than him, she had blonde hair and freckles and next her was her mum, they were laughing together. His heart sunk and suddenly he wanted nithing more than to rip the photo up and be in bed. This was all a big mistake.
"C'mon"
Dekker calls back from the automatic doors. Gerry's shoulders slump and he follows him in.
The library was cold and foggy, expected for a lonely domain. Everyone in there seemed a little out of it and were either reading or staring off into space. Gerry imdiantly felt his mind swaying and his focus splitting, he was tryihg incredibly hard not to drift away from reality.
"Ok, Lisa's over there, go convince her to leave, I'm going to find the avatar in here, there likely to be a victim themselves since the domains so safe and seems to rely on willing victims."
Dekker whispers before heading into the rows and rows of books. Gerry stands there shifting from foot to foot and fidgeting with the photo. He didnt want to mess up the plan and loose...the girl he was supposed to save-Lisa, and he didnt want to fail and piss Gertrude off, but he could bareky think and the isolation was so incredibly tempting.
He takes a breath, looks at the photo and locates Lisa, marching iver to her andgently sitting down across from her.
"Hey"
He says quietly. She looks up slowly, her eyes were dull vast pools of blue that reflected little life.
"Hi"
She says, there was no emotion in her words, she seemed completely devoid of anything that would make her seem alive...or happy.
"You're Lisa, right?"
He asks, turning the photo in his hands and trying to think through the cloud in his head.
"Probably"
She replies numbly. Gerry slides the photo to her.
"Your mum's looking for you..."
She stares at the photo for a moment, hands picking the poloroid up, the action was minimal but it seemed to taje so much energy from her.
"Hmm"
She examines the photo for another moment, as if trying to decipher whether he was lieing to her or not, then she slides it into her pocket.
"Y-you can leave, I can help you leave, and you can see her again"
He explains as softly as he can.
"Theres no point"
She sighs, sliding to rest her head on her arms on the desk. For a moment Gerry sits there and tries to dig up some words to help.
"You're scared to loose her?"
He asks, quiet and careful, not just for Lisa's sake.
"...yea...she's all I have..."
Lisa murmurs into her arm.
"...I lost my mum around a year ago..its hard...but...y-you get passed it...and you'll find new connections.."
He thinks he should of gone down a different route for helping her, but it was too late now.
"Yea, cus you seem real happy."
Lisa rolls her eyes and sits back up.
"You can barely even lie and say you're ok. Trust me....it wont get better, you know it wont, it hasnt in a year for you....its just easier to stay here and give up..."
Gerry can feel his grip on himself slipping, he wants to let go so badly, he knows she's right, a part of him knows he wont get better, he knows its a mercy to leave her here...he knows he'd feel better here.
Lisa stands and walks away into the rows of books. Gerry stares at the plain oak table, his thoughts wanderig to corners of his head he tried to ignore.
He thinks about how much he misses mum, not her, but who she could of been. He imagines a mother who sang to him when he was a scared child. A mother who made dinner and ensured the heating was paid. A mother who waa there for him when he was sad and celebrated with him when he was happy.
Then he thinks of the mither he lost. He finds himself missing the white hot sting of her hands slapping misery into him. He misses the shrill yelling he'd tip toe to avoid. He misses the hunger and the shivering. He misses the pain and the anger and the sadness she made him feel.
He misses the look in her eyes when he returned home with a lietner that was never happiness for his safe return. He misses the gut wrenching sobs he'd muffle by biting his wrist, because he jsut wants her to love. He misses the fear when she showed him what her books do. He misses the pain when he failed. He wonders whats wrong with him for missing all of that.
Was he a masochist?
Was he so severely fucked up?
Did he just miss when there was no future for him to fuck up because it was robbed by the woman who birthed him.
Because now he had to make something of himself or just fucking die. Because now he was so unprepared for the world and everything in it. Because now he couldnt go a day without wanting to shut down every thought in his damn head and slice every vein in his damn body.
He missed the anger when she failed him, because thats all she ever did to him.
A stern hand lands on his shoulder and surprisingly, Gerry doesnt jump, he realises that, surprisingly, he wasn't crying, he realises, unsurprisingly, Dekker looked mad, though he couldn't remember why that was unsurprising.
"Where has Lisa gone??"
Dekker barks a whisper. Gerry searches his mind, then looks across the table. When he looks back up to Dekker, a realisation was blooming on the mans face.
"Oh for fucks sake"
He curses quietly. He forces Gerry to his feet, a hand holding the back of his jacket tightly.
"What are you doing"
Gerry asks quietly, voice distant and echoy.
"Just walk, Keay."
Dekker orders. Gerry didnt have it in him to argue and did as the man said. The doors wer open and clised, letting a cool breeze hit them gently. The curls of fog slowly fall off Gerry and as Dekker paces and mumbles to himself, Gerry's emotions hit him like a freight train.
He fumbles for his last cigarette and the lighter, and when he only finds the lighter, he opens the thing and flicks the vlade to life, holding to his hand and revelling in the searing pain the cut through the fog like a hot knife.
The panic jn the nack of his throat and the tears simmering at just his water line sit stagnant for a second. Then the lighter is plucked from his hand. He follows the action to see Dekker looking at him with horror and yelling something.
Gerry slides down the wall, the panic finally overwhelming and the tears finally spilling. His hands entangle in his badly dyed black matted hair and tug mercilessly, as the rest of his hair cascades over his shape to hide this disguesting display of weakness.
Gerry chokes down gasps for breath as his vision blurs from the tears. It was so fucking much and at the same time nothing.
No thoughts clogged his head, no visions plagued his mind, he did not find himself ghosting his body, it was all just a silent shattering that he was completely present for.
His hand smove from his hair to his knees, one rests on his knees to let his head fall against it and the other bites down on his bandaged wrist so that he wont make too much sound, why he's worried about that, he doesnt know.
When the tears finally dry he doesnt feel any better, he wants to keep crying, and he fully would if it didnt mean humiliating himself more. He wipes his eyes clean, and registers the arm around his shoulders, he looks up to see Dekker next to him looking at the clouds. For a moment Gerry just stares in distraught confusion.
"Feeling better"
Dekker asks simply, as if Gerry hadnt just broken down into hysterics. Gerry just takes a deep shakey breath, sniffles and whipes his eyes again.
"We're not gonna get much further today, theres no avatar, they're all just so deep, I think head back and ...figure something out"
Dekker states. Gerry just nods, content to ignore his little episdoe if Dekker was. They stand and go back to Dekker's car, for the drive Gerry was distracted, itching at his wrists and bobbing his knee, feeling far away from his body and just staring out his window.
They stop at a petrol station again, Gerry gets out and gets a pack of cigarettes from the shop. He sits on the cirb and smokes until he can breath without having to muffle a whimper that threatned to get him crying again.
When he heads back to the car Dekker was sat in the drivers seat eating a sandwhich. Gerry silently slides into the passanger seat and goes back to looking out the window.
"I got you some food and bandages, just picked out whatever my dauggter would like, you 2 seem very similar. Theres a bathroom in the petrol station if you wanna change those"
Dekker points to the bled through bandages peaking out from under his coat. Gerry shamfully pulls his sleeves up and looks in the thin plastic bag, there was a boxed blt, a monster and a pack of salt and viniger crisps, a pack of mint gum and indeed some bandages.
"...thanks.."
He says quietly.
"No problem"
Dekker replies.
They eat in silence and once Gerry was finished with his food he goes to the bathroom and changes the bandages. His fidgeting had just mad them worse and he ends up jsut staring at them, trying not to think about the knife in his pocket.
Theres a pounding knock at the door.
"You ok in there kid? It's been like 10 minutes?"
Dekker calls out.
"Y-yea, I'm fine"
Gerry yells back, he turns the water on and cleans the dried blood off his wrists, wincing at the sting. He quickly wraps them up and puts his jacket back on. When he gets back to the car, Dekker was looking through a CD book. Gerry gets in quietly and Dekker puts the book down, much to Gerry's dismay, he does not start the car.
"Do you wanna talk about it? You dont have to, I wont force you to...just, you seem...you seem like you're not doing great"
Dekker says honestly, he wasn't looking at Gerry, instead looking atraight ahead as if driving. It did kinda help..it felt less judgemental...
"That's a word for it"
Gerry laughs bitterly.
"I-I'm fine, just an off day"
He adds hesitantly, he did want to talk about it, he just wanted someone to care and listen, but every bone in his body would not let him be that vulnerable, especially with someone he's only known a day.
"You sure? I don't mind if you wanna talk about it"
Gerry bites his lip and looks out his window, he really wanted to....
"...just been having a shitty day..week...life...it just...it just feels like it will never get better...you know?...and part of me kinda hopes it doesnt...isnt that fucked? Like, I'm at a stage in my life where I can get better...I'm not just doomed to live in a cycle of pain, anger and numbness, but I've no clue where to start or how to start and so much of me doesnt want to...cus of it all fails...if it all goes to shit...then why did I even bother in surviving so long, there was so many chances to give up and I didnt and now, now when lifes actually good and easy is when I'm struggling the worst..."
Gerry's hand sides down his face in stress, he hadnt meant to say all that...but it had helped a little, he felt a little lighter. When he tilted his head to the right to look at Dekker through his hair, Dekker was nods, his face not judging or angry, just light contemplation look to him.
"That, makes sense"
He says. Gerrys brow furrows in confusion.
"Huh?"
He asks.
"You're Mary’s boy, right?"
Dekker asks and Gerry nods.
"Well I can guess what type of mother she was, it's normal, what you're feeling is normal. She was all you knew, and now she's gone, it's normal to miss that and be lost with out it, even if it was painful. Often times we feel like it was easier to survive what hurts us noe, but in reality it may not of been, or maybe it was, but only because everything you should of been fighting through all the bad experiences, you didnt, so now you're dealing with all of it at once. And being scared of change and new experiences, or missing pain isnt insane when delaing with abuse, it can feel like you can't live with it or without it."
For a moment Gerry questions if Dekker is with the eye. Dekker hadn't cured him of his pain, or got rid of his upset, but he had made sense of it....which really fucking helped..
"If you want my advice, think about what you like, and do that. Even just as a hobby to start with, get yourself doing more than just thinking about the past. Get a pet, go out more, got to therapy. It's all slow going but it does get better, I can promise you that because I was the same way. We all have our problems, some are bigger some are smaller, some are given to us all at once or when we're too young to know how to get out. It gets better, it just takes alot of time and effort."
Gerry fidgets with his fishnet top.
"...thanks...I-...just, thanks.."
He says quietly.
"No problem"
Dekker smiles.
"Oh and don't work for Gertrude anymore, you were dead on about her mortality rate."
Gerry laughs.
"Yea, not mugh more dangerous than her"
He says.
"Give me your phone"
Dekker asks, Gerry confusedly pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it over. When he gets it back Dekkers contact is saved in his phone.
"If you don't go into a different feild of work, give me a call, I usually need help on jons and it would be nice to have someone who isnt dead or serving an eldritch god on my side"
"Have you not seen my tattoos?"
Gerry asks jokingly, Dekker groans into his hands.
"Fuck"
He curses, Gerry laughs mischievously.
"I'm joking, I'm joking"
He assures him with a smile. Dekker looks to him with a stern face for about a Quater of a second before smiling and rolling his eyes fondly.
"Look through that, see if theres any CD's you like, they're talking sports on the radio"
Dekker says disdainfully as he starts the car.
Things weren't fixed...but Gerry felt like they were about to begin to get better...