[/Joy…/]Gerard thinks to himself, trying to prepare himself for him summer of hell…
“Don`t “Frankie” me.” He spits at the blackish blue haired bassist, his glare growing even more hateful if possible.
He was stood leaning against the doorway of the large, expensive tour bus, his intelligent chocolate eyes narrowed dangerously, his sweat drenched shirt slug carelessly over one bare lightly tanned shoulder. The three other musicians were stood cautiously a metre or so away from him, outside the brightly coloured vehicle. Neither one of them knew how badly the wild unruly sex obsessed man would take it; the three of them were holding their breath anxiously.
“You guys seriously want me out of the band?! Out of my band!? The band that I fucking started way back in high school!?” he yells, before taking one last drag on his lit cigarette that was hanging between his fingers, before chucking it to the floor and stomping on it, staring down at the concrete road bitterly.
“No!” they all shout at the same time in the most convincing voice they could.
Benji sighs, before glancing nervously at the two boys and begins to speak, hoping to be able to calm Frank down and explain to him that no, they didn`t want him out of the band. They did however want him to clean up his act and be less of an asshole.
“Ross called your cousin yesterday; she runs that camp for artistically minded young people, aged thirteen to nineteen, remember?” Frank winces a little at the mention of his favourite cousin, who he hadn’t spoken to in years, but quickly covers it up with his famous death glare.
“Well she said she`d be happy to have you stay there this summer, maybe help out with some of the lessons and stuff.” she explains to him, smiling as she finishes. A smile that soon fades when she sees his disbelieving, unconvinced look.
“A-and the best part is that she said the rest of us can come too, so we could all just relax and stuff for once, maybe work on some new lyrics and stuff for the next album.” Asher tries to sound as enthusiastic as possible and Ross and Benji nod excitedly.
“You see, Frank?” Ross continues. “We don`t want rid of you, we just want for you to maybe calm down a little and try and not drink do much and everything.”
Silence envelopes the four for a few minutes a dreadful nerve wracking quiet that is finally broken when the singer speaks.
“Well I ain`t going.” He spits on the dirty road, crossing him thin arms firmly.
Benji narrows her eyes dangerously. Two could play at the stubborn game. “Oh yes you bloody well are you dipshit.”
“Can`t you see that we’re worried about you Frank?” Ross asks the black and red haired boy who just snorts rudely and storms back into the bus, grabbing a few unopened bottles on his way to his bunk.
The three musicians sigh, staring blanking at the doorway where their wild stubborn but still good hearted front man had just vanished through.
“What are we going to do with him guys?”
The hated journey to the evil, even more hated camp takes forever, the boring old scenery outside the car window speeding by, unlike the time. Gerard sighs and turns the volume up on his trusty IPod up even more, closing his tired hazel green eyes, trying to block out all thoughts of the dreaded camp Aftermath he had been sentenced to for the entire summer. The pale skinned raven haired boy had no such luck.
“So Gerard, what do you think the art lessons at the camp will be like?” he glares at his mother, who still clearly hadn`t grasped that he hated her guts right about now. Staying silent, refusing to even talk to her he closes his eyes again.
“You might make some new friends there, you never know.” She carries on, much to her eldest son`s annoyance.
Like that would ever happen anywayshe thinks to himself bitterly. Gerard didn`t really have any friends, he just didn`t click with people that well. The only person the nineteen year old artist ever really spoke to was his younger brother.
“You might even meet a girl there, a nice pretty kind girl who likes music and art.”
Gerard dopes open his eyes at this, and sits up in his seat, ripping his earphones form his ears painfully.
“How many times do I have to fucking tell you?!” He yells annoyed. “I don`t want a fucking girlfriend, alright?!”
“Course you don`t Gee.” Mikey mutters under his breath, loud enough only for the other boy to hear his hushed words. “You want a boyfriend. Tits don`t really do it for you, do they?” the youngest Way giggles, before returning his attention back to his never ending, sinfully boring novel.
Giving his fourteen year old brown haired geeky brother his famous, most terrifying death glare, Gerard picks his headphones up and puts them back in his ears, cursing the hair straightener worshiping demon silently.
“I think we`re nearly there.” Donna Way says about half hour later, turning right down an empty, bumpy road in the middle of nowhere. A few metres in front there was a handwritten signs that read “Camp Aftermath two miles.” Sighing and sinking even deeper into his seat, Gerard closes his eyes, groaning mentally, wishing that he was anywhere but here.
They continue driving a little while longer passing by empty fields of green grass, spotting the occasional person or a grazing horse, driving past a beautiful deep blue lake that glittered in the last of the day’s sunlight. It had taken the entire day to get here, that was how far away from normal civilisation Aftermath was.
Joy…Gerard thinks to himself, trying to prepare himself for him summer of hell…