You can only run so far before they catch you.
His eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror.
Not yet. There was nothing there yet.
So, he looked back to the road, driving at an unreasonable speed, sand uplifting at his wheels and twirling in the air, making the red-headed man's eyes water. His hair whipped behind him, a bright tomartoe red, as he stared through the darkness to the dirt road, shoulders tense.
The stars glittered above him, scattering and all the way across the blanket of black and collecting at the horizon, where a soft indigo streak suspended in the humid air.
He glanced back at the rear-view mirror.
Still nothing. They weren't after him, they hadn't found him. Not yet, anyway.
But he knew they would. It was only a matter of time.
A minute later and the paranoid man checked again. And he didn't see anything. Again.
"Calm down," he muttered to himself. "They've probably only just found out you've escaped; it's okay."
His fingers stretched up off the wheel and landed back down, muscles of his palms flexing as he straightened his back and sat up straight, sucking at the insides of his mouth.
He was thirsty - no denying that. The hot air didn't help; it's stuffy particles made him sweat out every possible inch of water left in him. He guessed his anxiousness didn't help either - he often sweated more when he was nervous.
But he simply couldn't help it! He was an escaped convict on the run, apparently a convict that was meant to be on high-surveillance.
The man snorted. "High-surveillance my ass. My bodyguard wasn't exactly bright."
And that was too true. Raymond Toro was a husband and a gaming God who was obsessed with comics and played guitar like he owned the fucking world. But he was an eejit; a complete and utter nincompoop; an idiot; the world's biggest fool; a man made of meat.
Yes. Raymond Toro was all muscle and no brains; that's what made it so easy for the red-headed man to escape -- his stupidity.
But, now he had escaped, he wondered if it was really what he wanted. All the worry, all the lies, all the sneaking and deceit, the carefulness? It was all so stressful, and he had only been on the run for an hour!
But, he had drove off and away, completely avoiding main roads until he found this little dust one, hoping it would lead to society and civilization, perhaps a garage so he could rob a better car, rather than this old beat-up thing.
The man glanced in the mirror again and sighed heavily.
Again there was nothing, but he was truthfully just tired of everything. He wanted to sleep forever or curl up and die, then he'd be stress-free and a free man!
'A free man?' you ask? 'How could be be a free man!? He's guilty!'
Ah, but was he?
No. Gerard Way was as innocent as he was artistic, which was an excruciating amount. He was talented, funny, charming, brainy and intelligent and he had a sort of handsomeness about him - all the woman thought so back in the days before he had been accused of crime.
So, he had it all, mostly - minus fame and fortune, but still - he had it all.
He kept asking himself "Where did it go wrong?!" and "How did he get into this mess?!"
Well, he didn't. The people put him in it. Apparent 'witnesses' and 'evidence' or some complete bullshit like that was evident. It was ridiculous - not even solid! So, from then on, Gerard despised pretty much anyone and everyone.
Another minute passed of the poor man locking himself in his thoughts until he glanced, reluctantly - so reluctantly, in fact, that every time his eyes went to move he'd grip the steering wheel harder and fix his eyes back on the road - to the rear-view mirror.
And it was a good job he did.
In the distance he could see the flashing of red and blue lights. Flashing over and over and over and over, glaring at the man threateningly, though they were ages away.
The male panicked and sped up, though he was sure he was invisible in the darkness and whip of the sand, but he would take no chances.
He drove on, fiercely, off track and kept going, foot pressing down impossibly hard on the pedal, so much so that it hurt him. He toes bent backwards, the heavy boots he had nicked from the boot of the car he was currently driving feeling heavier by the moment as his tension increased, sweat beading on his forehead, knuckles white from the amount of force he clutched the steering wheel with.
And he drove faster, faster, faster, trying and trying and trying to move but feeling like he wasn't, breathing so shallow he felt faint and dizzy -- like he would pass out.
Finally, he looked back in the mirror and was relieved to see no lights. No red, no blue, no white. Just the blackness of the sky, the gloom of the horizon, and the stretch of musky sand as he loosened up his body and continued to drive, slowing himself down a reasonable amount.
Yes. Gerard Arthur Way felt tired of it all.
Hi guys! New story, I hope you like it. I'm aware this chapter is a little boring but it'll get better in the next one, and I realllllly want you to review and read because I think this story will actually be really exciting, if a little cliché, but I don't think you'll guess it.
GAH! I hope you like it. Please tell me haha.
Man, I sound desperate.
But yeah I hope you liked it. Welcome to my 2nd story! :3