Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Sing Like A Girl!
Ray followed Gerard out the door, leaving Frank and Bob. Frank washed his hands, whistling, while Bob shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
Frank dried his hands.
Bob continued, his shifting getting faster until he was practically jumping. Frank turned.
"What?!" he finally burst out. Bob flushed. He hadn't thought that Frank noticed.
"I gotta'...piss." he mumbled.
"So fuckin' piss!"
"I can't!"
"Th' fuck, are you constipated?!" Frank asked. Bob shook his head, blushing deeper.
"I dun'...I dun' want you...to see me." he muttered, ducking his head and letting his fringe cover his bright red face. Frank raised an eyebrow.
"Dude, just...oh brother." he groaned. "Why not? Are you a fuckin' five-incher or something?"
Once again Bob shook his head.
"Yah got the herpily-erpilys?"
"No!"
"Then what?"
"I just--just--" Frank waited for several minutes as Bob sputtered unintelligibly, finally giving up.
"Fuck it Bob, your explanations take too long; Ray's tuning up. Later." With that, he left. Bob slammed his fist into the wall, letting out an exasperated growl.
"Fuck!" Tears started to plip, plop on the floor.
&&&*&
They recorded late into the night, and Rayne was swaying where she stood as Ray packed up his guitar.
"Hey, are you good to drive? Er, ride?" Ray asked awkwardly. Rayne gave him a look.
"Are you any better?" she asked, pointing to his hands. They were starting to shake again.
"Good point." Ray said wryly, seeking out Frank for more of the muscle relaxants.
&&&*&
"N-No more?" Ray asked weakly. Frank shook his head, an expression of extreme regret on his face.
"No! I totally forgot and took the last two...I'm so fuckin' sorry!" he said unhappily as Ray started rocking back and forth, trying to hide his shaking...and fear. He had done horrible things to his bandmates while he was drunk...how much worse would it be if he was in withdrawal?
"I-Is there like a--a Walgreen's around here o-or something?" Ray said desperately.
"One down the street. Frank, you're with John; he'll give you a ride to the pharmacy. Ray, you're stuck with me." Rayne said quietly, coming and sitting beside Ray on the couch.
John smiled, standing outside the bus with his hands in his pockets. Frank grinned. "Whoot! I get to ride in the sicknasty pickup!" he shrieked, dashing down the bus stairs and leaping on a surprised John. "In the immortal words of Steven Tyler, 'to the car!'"
John rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I'm just a sound tech who is slave to his twin's wishes." he grumbled, putting Frank down and starting over to his truck. The short guitarist loped along happily at his heels, looking like a Chihuahua next to the lanky tech.
Rayne smiled for an instant, and then it was gone. Ray drew his knees into his chest, beginning to sniffle. His legs started to jerk feverishly.
"Damn, I really f-f-fucked myself..." he said tearfully, remembering his fiancée with an ache in his heart. Rayne sighed, but Ray cut her off.
"Pl-please don't h-h-hate me! I know w-w-what I d-did was d-dumb, I j-j-just want it t-to end..." he whispered, rubbing his eyes.
"I wasn't gonna' yell at you." Rayne replied. "And you don't want it to end."
Ray looked at her, wide-eyed. Stay addicted?
Rayne noticed his confusion. "No no dumbass. Not staying plastered. I mean, the only way it will all end is, naturally, if you die. And you can't die." she shrugged. "I mean, I don't know shit about your band, no offense, but I can tell there'd be at least a couple of people who would miss you bad. You have no idea how lucky you are, having parents that support you, and true friends."
"And an ex-fiancée who thinks I spend all my time on tour fucking everything else but her..." Ray wept. He hadn't cried, not even when she had called him. He had just grabbed the nearest thing, a Miller Light bottle, and smashed it to pieces. And as the amber liquid dribbled down his arms, he had feverishly licked at it, needing something, anything to distract him. Even the tiny cuts on his hands that hurt like fuck were better than crying, better than showing how deeply she had really hurt him.
Much better...but no less painful.
Oh he could feign indifference for all he wanted, but the truth remained the truth. He had loved her, so much that being away from her was constant agony. And she threw it in his face.
"I know tour life is rough, and I know you've taken some groupie to release your sexual frustration, probably making her day as well. I'm tired of the lies Raymond."
"I d-didn’t!" Ray said aloud. "I didn't cheat--I c-c-couldn't!" he sobbed.
"On who? Your fiancée?" Rayne asked curiously. Ray nodded, choking on his tears as his body shook with sadness and withdrawal.
"I felt i-it! Li-like I need-needed to g-get off, o-or g-g-give something a q-quick sc-screw, b-b-but I never did! I st-stayed f-f-faithful, ev-even when it h-h-hurt!" Ray spat out the last part, roughly wiping his eyes. "Sh-she d-didn't tr-trust me though!"
"Why not?" Rayne asked cautiously. Ray let out another choked sob.
"I-It's the whole r-r-rockstar thing..." he muttered. Rayne "ahh"-ed in understanding.
The rather cliché portrayal of rockstars, with their endless flow of fuck buds, girls (and guys) begging to be knocked up by their idol. Rayne snorted in disgust.
"Chicks who throw themselves at people should be cunt-punted." she said sternly, earning a watery laugh.
"Cunt-punted?" Ray asked. Rayne nodded.
"Cunt-punted. As in kicked in the--"
"Don't! I know, the babymaker." Ray cut her off, uncurling slightly as the shaking passed, or at least weakened. Rayne yawned, settling back on the couch.
"You, my good man, are an interesting person." she said softly, crossing her hands behind her head and staring at the ceiling.
"How so?" Ray asked curiously.
"You actually want to help yourself; you don't have the rockstar cliché. I have no idea what what's-er-name, your fiancée there, thought you were doing...and with whom." Rayne remarked thoughtfully.
"Same here. I don't have the screaming teenie masses that Gerard and Frankie garnered, nor the glasses/asthmatic fanatics of Michael Way." Ray sighed. "Not even the rustic appeal of Bob. I got a whole lot of fuckin' nothin'. I got shit."
"Now that, I don't need to hear." Rayne said curtly, still staring at the ceiling. "No way in hell you feel sorry for yourself buckaroo."
"Well th' fuck do I have then?!" Ray asked exasperatedly. "I mean, I know you hate me n' shit, but I must have some good selling feature!"
"I don't hate you. I hate the thing that you become when you're drunk. I've only seen you drunk twice. The first time, you nearly broke your guitar. The second, you pounded Frank in the stomach." Rayne said blandly.
Ray winced. "This morning...fuck. I still gotta' really apologize." he said sadly as a motor roared in the distance.
"Ah, that'll be your dear Franklin back with your drugs. Only take them when you get shaky though." Rayne warned, standing and stretching. Ray watched as a bare section of skin showed on her stomach, exposing again the bruises.
"You still didn't say who did that to you...and who gave you your black eye." he said quietly as the door started to open.
Rayne fixed him with a level stare. "Once you're completely clean, as in haven't been drunk in three days, then I'll tell you. We'll make a bet of it Toro; you win, I tell, I win, you...hmm." Rayne pondered it for several seconds.
"Let her videotape you running around naked!!" Frank said excitedly, passing Ray a small bottle.
"Yeah, okay." Rayne agreed. "Even though it strikes me as equally painful, considering he's probably a chub ball or something just as unpleasant."
"Hey!" Ray protested. "I go for runs every morning, and I bench-press five ten when I get back!"
"Well then you have nothing to worry about. Your body will be just fine working this crap out of its system. Do we have an agreement?" Rayne asked, sticking out her hand.
"Deal!" Ray eagerly shook, vowing to win. "See you tomorrow?"
"Until tomorrow, Mr. Toro."
Frank dried his hands.
Bob continued, his shifting getting faster until he was practically jumping. Frank turned.
"What?!" he finally burst out. Bob flushed. He hadn't thought that Frank noticed.
"I gotta'...piss." he mumbled.
"So fuckin' piss!"
"I can't!"
"Th' fuck, are you constipated?!" Frank asked. Bob shook his head, blushing deeper.
"I dun'...I dun' want you...to see me." he muttered, ducking his head and letting his fringe cover his bright red face. Frank raised an eyebrow.
"Dude, just...oh brother." he groaned. "Why not? Are you a fuckin' five-incher or something?"
Once again Bob shook his head.
"Yah got the herpily-erpilys?"
"No!"
"Then what?"
"I just--just--" Frank waited for several minutes as Bob sputtered unintelligibly, finally giving up.
"Fuck it Bob, your explanations take too long; Ray's tuning up. Later." With that, he left. Bob slammed his fist into the wall, letting out an exasperated growl.
"Fuck!" Tears started to plip, plop on the floor.
&&&*&
They recorded late into the night, and Rayne was swaying where she stood as Ray packed up his guitar.
"Hey, are you good to drive? Er, ride?" Ray asked awkwardly. Rayne gave him a look.
"Are you any better?" she asked, pointing to his hands. They were starting to shake again.
"Good point." Ray said wryly, seeking out Frank for more of the muscle relaxants.
&&&*&
"N-No more?" Ray asked weakly. Frank shook his head, an expression of extreme regret on his face.
"No! I totally forgot and took the last two...I'm so fuckin' sorry!" he said unhappily as Ray started rocking back and forth, trying to hide his shaking...and fear. He had done horrible things to his bandmates while he was drunk...how much worse would it be if he was in withdrawal?
"I-Is there like a--a Walgreen's around here o-or something?" Ray said desperately.
"One down the street. Frank, you're with John; he'll give you a ride to the pharmacy. Ray, you're stuck with me." Rayne said quietly, coming and sitting beside Ray on the couch.
John smiled, standing outside the bus with his hands in his pockets. Frank grinned. "Whoot! I get to ride in the sicknasty pickup!" he shrieked, dashing down the bus stairs and leaping on a surprised John. "In the immortal words of Steven Tyler, 'to the car!'"
John rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I'm just a sound tech who is slave to his twin's wishes." he grumbled, putting Frank down and starting over to his truck. The short guitarist loped along happily at his heels, looking like a Chihuahua next to the lanky tech.
Rayne smiled for an instant, and then it was gone. Ray drew his knees into his chest, beginning to sniffle. His legs started to jerk feverishly.
"Damn, I really f-f-fucked myself..." he said tearfully, remembering his fiancée with an ache in his heart. Rayne sighed, but Ray cut her off.
"Pl-please don't h-h-hate me! I know w-w-what I d-did was d-dumb, I j-j-just want it t-to end..." he whispered, rubbing his eyes.
"I wasn't gonna' yell at you." Rayne replied. "And you don't want it to end."
Ray looked at her, wide-eyed. Stay addicted?
Rayne noticed his confusion. "No no dumbass. Not staying plastered. I mean, the only way it will all end is, naturally, if you die. And you can't die." she shrugged. "I mean, I don't know shit about your band, no offense, but I can tell there'd be at least a couple of people who would miss you bad. You have no idea how lucky you are, having parents that support you, and true friends."
"And an ex-fiancée who thinks I spend all my time on tour fucking everything else but her..." Ray wept. He hadn't cried, not even when she had called him. He had just grabbed the nearest thing, a Miller Light bottle, and smashed it to pieces. And as the amber liquid dribbled down his arms, he had feverishly licked at it, needing something, anything to distract him. Even the tiny cuts on his hands that hurt like fuck were better than crying, better than showing how deeply she had really hurt him.
Much better...but no less painful.
Oh he could feign indifference for all he wanted, but the truth remained the truth. He had loved her, so much that being away from her was constant agony. And she threw it in his face.
"I know tour life is rough, and I know you've taken some groupie to release your sexual frustration, probably making her day as well. I'm tired of the lies Raymond."
"I d-didn’t!" Ray said aloud. "I didn't cheat--I c-c-couldn't!" he sobbed.
"On who? Your fiancée?" Rayne asked curiously. Ray nodded, choking on his tears as his body shook with sadness and withdrawal.
"I felt i-it! Li-like I need-needed to g-get off, o-or g-g-give something a q-quick sc-screw, b-b-but I never did! I st-stayed f-f-faithful, ev-even when it h-h-hurt!" Ray spat out the last part, roughly wiping his eyes. "Sh-she d-didn't tr-trust me though!"
"Why not?" Rayne asked cautiously. Ray let out another choked sob.
"I-It's the whole r-r-rockstar thing..." he muttered. Rayne "ahh"-ed in understanding.
The rather cliché portrayal of rockstars, with their endless flow of fuck buds, girls (and guys) begging to be knocked up by their idol. Rayne snorted in disgust.
"Chicks who throw themselves at people should be cunt-punted." she said sternly, earning a watery laugh.
"Cunt-punted?" Ray asked. Rayne nodded.
"Cunt-punted. As in kicked in the--"
"Don't! I know, the babymaker." Ray cut her off, uncurling slightly as the shaking passed, or at least weakened. Rayne yawned, settling back on the couch.
"You, my good man, are an interesting person." she said softly, crossing her hands behind her head and staring at the ceiling.
"How so?" Ray asked curiously.
"You actually want to help yourself; you don't have the rockstar cliché. I have no idea what what's-er-name, your fiancée there, thought you were doing...and with whom." Rayne remarked thoughtfully.
"Same here. I don't have the screaming teenie masses that Gerard and Frankie garnered, nor the glasses/asthmatic fanatics of Michael Way." Ray sighed. "Not even the rustic appeal of Bob. I got a whole lot of fuckin' nothin'. I got shit."
"Now that, I don't need to hear." Rayne said curtly, still staring at the ceiling. "No way in hell you feel sorry for yourself buckaroo."
"Well th' fuck do I have then?!" Ray asked exasperatedly. "I mean, I know you hate me n' shit, but I must have some good selling feature!"
"I don't hate you. I hate the thing that you become when you're drunk. I've only seen you drunk twice. The first time, you nearly broke your guitar. The second, you pounded Frank in the stomach." Rayne said blandly.
Ray winced. "This morning...fuck. I still gotta' really apologize." he said sadly as a motor roared in the distance.
"Ah, that'll be your dear Franklin back with your drugs. Only take them when you get shaky though." Rayne warned, standing and stretching. Ray watched as a bare section of skin showed on her stomach, exposing again the bruises.
"You still didn't say who did that to you...and who gave you your black eye." he said quietly as the door started to open.
Rayne fixed him with a level stare. "Once you're completely clean, as in haven't been drunk in three days, then I'll tell you. We'll make a bet of it Toro; you win, I tell, I win, you...hmm." Rayne pondered it for several seconds.
"Let her videotape you running around naked!!" Frank said excitedly, passing Ray a small bottle.
"Yeah, okay." Rayne agreed. "Even though it strikes me as equally painful, considering he's probably a chub ball or something just as unpleasant."
"Hey!" Ray protested. "I go for runs every morning, and I bench-press five ten when I get back!"
"Well then you have nothing to worry about. Your body will be just fine working this crap out of its system. Do we have an agreement?" Rayne asked, sticking out her hand.
"Deal!" Ray eagerly shook, vowing to win. "See you tomorrow?"
"Until tomorrow, Mr. Toro."
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