"I’m kissing an angel, after all." Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
Disclaimer: Everything in the following story is a complete work of fiction; it never happened, never will happen and never even came close to happening. I made it up. I, regrettably, own none of the famous people mentioned in this, if I did I would not have enough time to be simply writing about them…
Prologue – Too Angelic to be an Angel
“Mikey! Hey, Mikes, are you in here?”
I quickly scan the grotty, cell-like bathroom of Belleville High, my vision blurred with the panic that was quite clearly mirrored by my yelled speech; yelled speech that really shouldn’t have been any more than a calm call, no matter how petrified I might be feeling right now.
Petrified because my broken-winged angel has just had his halo smashed, or at least that’s what I’ve heard from Bob. And Bob doesn’t lie, if anything he tries to sugar-coat bad news to lessen the blow so for him to say something along the line of Mikes being beaten to a bloody pulp means that my poor baby really is hurt; that my burning star has become a tumbling comet in the harsh night sky of hate that the bullies blind my boyfriend’s eyes with on a weekly basis.
Because they know that Mikey won’t fight back, that he’s too shy to try to talk them out of hurting him because it’s all that he’s used to.
But what those bastards don’t know is what my Mikey has been dragged through during his meagre sixteen years; that he comes from the sort of background that has taught to just lay there and take whatever anybody wants to inflict upon his fragile, glasslike form. I sometimes wish that I hadn’t found out, that I didn’t have to be the one that he opened up to about what his parents used to do to him until he moved in with his big brother. I wish that I didn’t know the cause of every discrete little bunny rabbit whimper and mole-like flinch that he always tries to hide whenever someone, including myself, so much as raises their voice at my shattered ornament of innocence. I wish that I didn’t have to know that his parents used to hit him, beat the living shit out of him for the three years of Gerard’s absence, absence which they caused by forcing the older Way brother out onto the streets and straight into the arms of Bert McCracken.
It’s not that I have any issues with Bert, I personally think that he and Gerard make a cute couple, it’s just that he insists on drinking all the time; even though he knows that the sort of behaviour that drunkenness can cause inflicts every shade of panic onto my broken boyfriend’s sorrow-stained soul, he still willingly gets wasted given half of the chance. Which wouldn’t be a problem if Mikey’s parents weren’t the raging alcoholics that they are, the raging alcoholics who only stopped beating their naïve little son last summer; when I finally persuaded Mikes to take his shirt off, only to be greeted by the sight of a brimstone rash smothering his milky skin. A brimstone rash that was where my hands should have been washing over his skin like some sort of torrent of moonlight, but no; because of his parents, two people who should have been stripped of that blessed title the second that they so much as yelled at my Mikey, I still have to be cautious when I touch him even now. I still have to ask him for permission, still have to double the usual feathery softness of my fingers just to reassure him that my caress won’t turn into a chastise. The kind of chastise that would leave him broken and bloody and bruised, the kind of chastise that someone as genuinely good, for lack of a more accurate adjective, as Mikey Way should never be subjected to.
The kind that he’ll never have to deal with again.
I simply won’t allow it. And neither will Gerard.
For a twenty-one-year-old rock fanatic and artist, Gee really does have an amazingly selfless sense of responsibility; the kind that earned me an intense interrogation the first time that Mikes took me home with him, an interrogation that made me feel very much like a wooden scarecrow in the presence of a fire-breathing dragon trying to guard it’s damsel in distress. But we’re past that now, past the whole ‘how-dare-you-date-my-baby-brother-I’m-gonna-kill-you’ thing; if anything me and Gee are like best friends. Purely because we have a mutual respect for one another.
Respect and an unspoken agreement. An agreement that quite clearly states that the second either one of us lets Mikey down is the split second that the other has a licence to slit the throat of the traitor.
Which is partly why I feel like my heart is about to firework up out of my fear-constricted throat right now; because Mikes has gotten himself hurt due to me not being around to protect him like I always should be and now he’s hiding, burrowing away like a rabbit through his longing to never be a let-down to me. Something which he could never be and it agonizes me to think that I’ve allowed him to believe that he ever can.
I guess that just makes it all the more important that I find him. Find him and fast; Gerard will start wondering where Mikes is if I don’t get him home pretty soon.
“Mikes, it’s just me; just plain old Ray. Are you in here?” I call out once more, making a conscious effort to sound like the soothing warmth that he’s come to associate me with being, that he needs me to be as much as I want me to be. It’s the very least that my world-battered boy deserves.
When I receive nothing but the stench of overflowing toilets, a stench that strangely fits everything that I’m feeling inside right now, I turn briskly to leave this hellhole; a hellhole that’s all the more hellish for not containing Mikes, a sweet little angel who can make even high school seem like the greatest place to be purely because it means seeing his enchantingly ghostly Mona Lisa-esque features.
Just as I reach out for the door handle, however, I hear a sound that I’ve become all too familiar with over the past year and a half. I hear a sniffle.
But not just any sniffle; a sniffle that is in unmistakably being emitted by Mikes. A sniffle that is easily identifiable with regards to it’s origin solely because it sounds kind of sorrowfully beautiful, like a broken music box chiming out it’s last stunning symphony ever to pass through it’s system. If only each sniffle would be his last; I know him well enough to know that sorrow and misery and anguish are more intimately connected to him than even I am, than even Gerard is. Something which I am constantly battling to change, something which I will change even if it kills me. Because Mikes is a guy worth dying for; a perfect saint worth the life of any worthless sinner.
Another sniffle rattles around the piteous excuse of a restroom, but this time from behind me as opposed to from the direction of the stalls. So I turn around with the speed of racing bullet.
To be met with something I would rather gouge out my eyes with blunt needles than ever have to witness again even though I know that I will; I see Mikey stood, back hunched over a little, looking at me with those adorable baby bunny eyes of his as though I can take all of the pain away. Pain that is currently being caused by the black eye and bruised nose that are fast swelling like some sort of gargoyles on his holy features. My heart breaks for the kid, really it does; he only ever tries to fade away, to go unnoticed in this violent storm of harsh hatred that his life has hurricaned into, and yet he only ever gets hurt.
He’s shaking as though there is lava bubbling underneath his thin layer of snowy skin, his swan-neck-like arms wrapped tightly around his chest and his glasses are dangling off of his nose in such a way that makes it perfectly clear to me, in a harsh brutality, that some bastard’s fist connected directly with them. And the most horrendous part of this is I know that this isn’t the worst he’s ever looked, that his own family has done a million times worse to him than a group of mindless teenagers.
My pained sigh dilutes the atmosphere like condensation falling from a steamy window, in just the right tone to make him fall towards me and straight into my welcoming arms; me not caring one little bit that his tears are creating huge damp patches on my favourite Anthrax t-shirt, a t-shirt that’s only my favourite because I know that Mikes likes it, that the fabric is of the perfect softness to cushion his delicate little head. A head that is currently sheltered so deeply within my chest that it feels as though he’s eating straight into my heart.
Because he is. Every time I see him like this, so helpless and hopeless in his torn-away innocence, a part of what’s left of my belief in the goodness of the world gets dissolved by the bleach of his tears.
But that’s okay because just having him in my arms is more than enough to replace whatever part of my heart that I lose with his endless adulation.
It frightens me a little, if I’m going to be perfectly honest, how much he idolizes me; how much faith he puts in my eighteen-year-old self. Because I know that if I’m ever stupid enough to let him down that it will truly crush him, that not even Gerard will be able to pick up what’s left of the pieces of the puzzle that my sweet little boyfriend has become. But I know that it will never come to that. Because I never will let him down, I will never leave his side as long as he needs me here; I just hope to whatever controls this world that he’ll never not need me by his side.
No, that’s not right; I just hope with everything that I have that he’ll always want me by his side. After all, without him I am just as broken as he has become. As broken as the sobs that are escaping his lips sound.
So I just let my fingers trickle up and down his back, savouring the fact that he’s safe now; that he’s in my arms where nothing bad can ever happen to him because I’m right here and I’ve got him, something that is his passport to unmistakable safety. And he knows it, knows that as long as he’s in my line of sight that I’ll never let anything hurt him. Apart from the memories. Those are something that even Gerard can’t protect the poor kid from.
But he is getting better, slowly but surely he is learning to get over what his parents used to inflict upon him.
“Ray?” He mewls up at me, taking a few deep breathes to calm his pain-slurred speech, before looking up from having his head cradled to my warm chest. “I’m sor-“
“No, Mikes. No. You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, ‘kay?” I feel him nod against my aching heart; who could honestly want to hurt such a sweet kid? “Let’s get you home before Gee sends out a search party.”
I look down to see that his eyes are still full of fear, wavering like moonlight on rippling water, and so I do the one thing that always makes my baby smile. I swoop my lips down onto his, surprising an adorable little gasp from his satin lips, lips that feel like they were created solely to be a dance partner to my own. And they were; because I sure as hell know that they’ll never need another partner to waltz with as splendorously as they are now, pressed urgently onto mine as though I’m sucking the venom out of a snake bite. Well, I know that I’d certainly take on any venom if it would somehow guarantee to his happiness. He tastes mildly of blood, something which taints the kiss with my fury at the motherfuckers who had the sheer heartlessness to hurt someone like my baby, but it’s more than made up for by the fact that I can feel his lips reaching for heaven against my own; something that makes me feel like I’m in my own personal heaven. I must be.
I’m kissing an angel, after all.
I give him a soft smirk as I reluctantly pull away, my heartbeat fading to a pace more suitable to the pure contentment that is sailing through my veins as we lace our hands together and gaze into each other’s eyes as though we’re drowning in awe at the other’s beauty. But, like I said before, Gee really will start sending out a search party if I don’t get Mikes home in time and, what with all that the poor kid has been through, I can’t say that I blame him for being so overprotective of my baby. If anything I’m glad of it.
“C’mon, Mikes. We gotta get you home and start explaining to Gerard why you’re all bruised up. Could take all night, so we best start ASAP, huh?” I smile gently at him, only half-joking, as I start guiding him out of the bathroom and down the clinical corridor of school, his hand clutched tightly in mine the entire time as though we’re chemically bonded.
He’s leaning heavily against me, cherishing the way that our body heat mingles just by being close to one another as though it’s some sort of cocktail; some sort of intoxication that’s making him cuddle into me as we walk out of the school doors and into the cool late-afternoon air of beautiful New Jersey. Ask anyone else if they think that New Jersey is beautiful and the odds are that they’ll tell you no, but ask me and I’ll tell you that heaven is hideous in comparison to good ol’ NJ.
Why? Because heaven doesn’t have Mikey Way; I do. Right here with me, in New Jersey. Right now I have him in my embrace as we walk across the parking lot, the two of us intertwined like seaweed.
But then he stops dead still, a frown painting over his gorgeous almost-smile.
“Shit. I left my iPod in my locker. I’m real sorry, Ray. Do you mind if I run back and get it?”
Coming from anyone else it might seem like a normal thing to say, but the way that Mikes says it makes it painfully obvious that he’s an abused child; just the way that there’s fear lingering at the back of his eyes as though he’s done something deathly wrong and practically expects punishment. Punishment that I replace with a reassuring hand-squeeze and, judging by the melting-ice look in his eyes, he understands me completely.
“Of course I don’t mind, Honey. I love you.” I press my lips quickly to his forehead, feeling it heat with the blush that is burning at his cheeks. “Now go get Poddy, I’ll wait for you at the car.”
I release his hand and smile, in a sort of melancholy way, as he jogs off back in the direction of that hellhole which holds his one lifeline that will never fail him; his blessed iPod, or ‘Poddy’ as we have named it. He really is just like a little kid when it comes to pleasing others, he has that same eagerness to please in him that children do, that same fear that all kids do with regards to punishment.
Apart from most kids have never been punished by the way of being slammed into walls or thrown against tables like my poor baby has. Like Gerard and I, and perhaps even Bert to a lesser extent, will never let happen again. We love him way too much for that.
My thoughts of Mikes are obliterated by the sound of a frightened squeal.
A squeal that is soon being mirrored by that of some school bus’ brakes.
A school bus that is heading straight for my Mikey, for my baby.
My baby who is just staring in helpless shock at the thundering bus.
A bus that just isn’t stopping.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading; I hope that this was alright! This is the start to a fic that I’ve been contemplating since way before I even started ‘Fate’s Cruel if Life’s Great’, so it feels kinda strange to finally be writing it up. Frank will be cropping up in a few chapters time, as will Bob be. Anyways, sorry if this was really crappy and please let me know what you think! :)