Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Lost Music Inside

Everyone Needs A Friend.

by shehadtheworld12 6 Reviews

Desirae meets someone special.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Romance - Characters: Bob Bryar,Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way,Ray Toro - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2009/08/28 - Updated: 2009/08/29 - 1915 words

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Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Desirae woke to the morning cry of the Roosters down the way. Their cries would be always be unmistakable as they called to a new day. Her knees were still sore, but the overnight chill from the wind was relief to her aching sores. She slowly got up and made her way to the bathroom to splash water on her face to fully wake her up and she patted her face on the old rag. It was a weekend rule to make breakfast, which she didn’t mind handling. Cooking was one of the things her mother liked to do. It was her vice.

Flashback

“You say yes, and I say no. You say stop and I say go go go, oh no.
You say goodbye and I say hello. Hello hello.
I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello.
Hello hello. I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello.”

Desirae giggled as she watched her mama swift around the kitchen in a graceful way. Almost as if she was a ballerina on ice. Her dark brown oak hair shined in the sun, as she finished her famous Apple Crumb pie. Desirae inhaled the sweet scent as she patiently waited for her small tummy to eat the delicious desert. Once a week her mother made apple crumb pie, and that was her favorite day. No one could beat the pies of Beverly Amato. Desirae giggled with laughter as her mother picked up and took her hand spinning her around the kitchen as the soft melody played through the radio. Her mother put her down gently and kissed her on the cheek.

“Music will always be apart of the world. I just know it.” She smiled and returned to serving her pie.


End.

“You’re right mama.” She smiled for a faint second and reached for her items for making a well made breakfast. By the time she was putting the eggs and bacon on a plate, her father awoke and yawned as he sat down at the table. She steadily walked over and handed him his plate, where he gave an approving look.

“I’m heading into work early, I can use the overtime while Bill is gone. I need you to drop off my tool box to Mrs. Beatty’s husband. You take care of it understand?”

“Yes sir.” She nodded. He finished with his meal before forcing her a kiss. Her body went numb for a second and as soon as he walked out, she spit into the kitchen sink and wiped her mouth before washing the dishes and went to go get dressed. The heat continued to hover over the rural area. The heat wave would eventually subside by the end of September. Even though you would be glad to see it go, she knew she would miss it and wait for it to come back.

She put on her pink sheer dress that went to an inch past her knees, and put on her white flats. Her hair was brushed, and her room was clean. Thankful her father went in early, she was able to let her mind wander without getting in trouble for it. She loved the moments when she could forget everything for just one second, she did so as she grabbed her father’s tool box. It was already 11 o’clock and she made her way on down to Mrs. Beatty’s house. She lived down the street that was in a wedge between the dirt roads and the city limits. Her knees were much better than had been, walking was easier and the burning subsided after a while. She sighed in the heat, as it was much too early for a breeze to stream on through. The trees didn’t even move and the grass was forced to defend itself from the blaring rays of the sun, making her push her back behind her ears. Saturdays weren’t the best days for her, as much as most people would enjoy. Her favorite day was Sunday. It was her day to talk to the person above, and even if she wasn’t allowed to tend church, she still felt in heart God would be listening as she spoke to him. She always hoped he did.

She walked up the cement steps to the wonderful house of Mrs. Beatty. A nice old lady who loves to dote on her guests. Her husband was a farmer and it showed, as the house was perfectly landscaped. Not a single dry patch of grass anywhere. She knocked on the door softly and waiting for a response. A moment later the door opened to reveal an average old lady with gray hair and glasses. Her lavender clothes were wrinkle free and her perfume filled Desirae’s nostrils.

“Little Miss Desirae what a pleasure seeing you today.” She welcomed.

“Hello Mrs. Beatty I was sent by my father to give Mr. Beatty his tool box.”

“Ah yes, come in, come in.” She opened the door more for Desirae to step through. She smiled as Mrs. Beatty led her to the kitchen where she carefully set the tool box on the table. She turned to leave but Mrs. Beatty motioned her to stay.

“Missy, its too hot there, I made lemonade and I think you should have some. I don’t want you walking around this heat dehydrated.” She handed a cold glass with a straw.

“Yes Ma’am and thank you.” She laughed.

“Take a seat.” Desirae nodded and sat down on the table where Mrs. Beatty dropped a couple scoops of sugar in both their glasses and sat down as well.

“You hear about Ms. Marilyn Monroe? Poor thing accidentally overdosed. Such a shame.” Desirae frowned a little, she had know little about her, but knew who she was.

“I’m sad to hear that.” Desirae put in.

“Fame only lasts for so long.” She shook her head. Desirae nodded back and listened to the wonderful tales Mrs. Beatty had told many times before. She wondered when she reached her age she would be just like her. Sweet, chatty, and always willing to help someone out if they really needed. It was something to think about.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Beatty but I best be on my way, my father doesn’t like it when I’m gone to long.” She said softly, knowing it was the complete truth. Mrs. Beatty smiled and showed her to the door.

“Come on back now when you get a chance.” She said sweetly.

“Yes ma’am.” She smiled and waved before making her way back into the city, not wanting to go home just yet. She killed sometime by looking through shops and admiring the jewelry that sparkled when it hit the perfect angle of light. It was all too expensive, but one look couldn’t hurt. It would take a while of bottle collecting to pay for such unique piece. She sighed and walked back figuring it was best to head back home.

Desirae walked a long the sidewalk and right when she looked up from the ground see saw a small little girl carrying heavy school books with blood drying at the corner of her lips, she was the girl from the other day. Desirae frowned when the girl had collapsed and her books fell to the floor as she huffed in tiredness. Desirae dropped to the floor and helped her with her books. The girl eyed her suspiciously but Desirae didn’t notice she had now seen the purple bruise that was beginning to show under her small blue eyes.

“Are you okay?” She asked softly.

“I’m fine.” The meek voice responded back to her, clearly full of sadness.

“I saw you yesterday, did those girls hurt you again?” The girl shrugged, giving away the obvious.

“I remember you. I’m sorry I ran off.”

“Why did you run off?” The girl frowned back at her.
“I was too embarrassed and Erica, Michelle, and Katy pick on me all the time.”

“Why for? Its not right to tease a person, much less hurt them.”

“Its because I have no friends.”

“Don’t say that.” Desirae added softly.

“Why are you talking to me anyways? Everyone usually ignores me.”

“Well I’m not everybody now am I, and that’s what friends do.”

“You’re my friend?” The little girl asked confused.

“Only if you want me to be. What’s your name?”

“Shanna.” She said meekly. “What’s yours?”

“Desirae.”

“That’s pretty.” She smiled.

“Thank you, your's is pretty as well.” She giggled.

“Well do you need help with those books, they look awfully heavy. You’re too young to be carrying that kind of weight on your own.”

“I’m in 6th grade! But yes, I do need help.” Desirae laughed as she grabbed most of the books, that weren’t as heavy for her as it was for Shanna. They began walking down the way Desirae would when she went home.

“I live on Baker St, its not too far.” Shanna said.

“Baker? I live on Honey, you’re a road behind me.”

“Really?!” Shanna smiled. Desirae nodded.

As they walked home, Desirae learned a lot about Shanna, as she directed most of the conversation, not that Desirae minded. She was cute in her own way, and she had no idea why this lovely girl was picked on the way she was. She explained her love for puppies and what makes her sick, also more on why she’s a target to those awful girls.

“Don’t you think you should tell someone like your parents? Older brother or sister?”

“I only have a brother and I don’t like him sometimes.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s always mad or sad all the time. He never wants to play with me like he used to. He ignores me sometimes, but once in a while he’s really nice. I think you would like him.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm. He likes pretty girls. You’re pretty.”

“Thank you, but I’m not.”

“Yes you are.” Desirae smiled at her stubborness. In a way she was like a little sister, full of imagination. She had only met her today, but she had taking a liking to her. She had someone else to talk to now.

“You should come over! I have tea parties on Saturdays.”

“I’ll see if I can make it.”

“Okay!” She cried. They reached a normal house on the corner of the road. It had flowers in most places and the grass looked like it went up to your knees. The roof was neatly done and all in all the house had a charm to it. It was a nice cream color.

“Thank you for walking me home. I’m glad we’re friends.” She smiled.

“You’re welcome and me too. If those girls bother you anymore, you tell them to talk to me.” She pretended to glare. Shanna nodded. She looked back at the house and admired it some more, when looked back she swore she haw him walking towards a shed. His blonde hair mixing with the light. He was carrying wood and she couldn’t tell if she was seeing things.

“Shanna who’s that?” She said motioning towards him, knowing the answer.

“Oh that’s my brother Bob!” Desirae raised her eyebrow at the irony. It just figures…
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