Everyone has heard the story of Gerard Way. But no one was behind the scenes of his high school years. Except Mikey. And this time, it is his story to be told.
This story is a My Chem. Panic! Crossover. Be warned, that this is an entirely false tale, in which Gerard is not a good person, with violence, all sorts of Waycest, and fowl language. If any of this offends you, you know where the back button is.
Title taken from 'Pieces' by Sum 41. Hope you enjoy! :)
He lies there, hand under his head to protect his cheek from the corse fabric of his pillow, curled in on himself. Mikey feels the burn as he drags his hoodie sleeve ascross his nose to stop the mucus. He's upped the algery medication on his night stand, but it isn't even helping in the least.
And if he nearly rubs his eyes raw from frantically swiping away the unwanted moisture he tries to hold in, well, he thinks, it keeps him from feeling numb.
The sound track of Mikey Way's life, he is sure, would be filled with boring hues, and violent jagged tones to leave you raw. Sometimes, Mikey isn't even sure why he keeps dragging himself up everyday. It would be much, much easier, to just quit.
The click, click, click of the clock is the only sound in the room, which Mikey's breathing echoes. The room is dark, and cold. He likes it that way. He likes to imagine he can see his breath like a ghost spewing from his lips.
His guitar, a red, cheap bass, bought from Wal-Mart, sits in the corner with two years worth the dust on it. He knows this for a fact, because Two Years Ago, his life got turned upside down. He used to love the guitar; he used to love a lot of things though. Now, now he likes deep silences and darkness. And being alone. Being alone, is high on the list of Mikey Way's Favorite Things. He craves alone time, believes, deep down in his bones, it is a basic need to his survival.
But really, it is. It's much more important than food. He know this also, for a fact. He has gone days with out all that much to eat. Food in his refrigorator, is not a constant thing. But six hours, stuck in a school, packed to the brim with people, is enough to drive him mad. It makes his skin crawl, his palms sweat, and he wants to scream in agony when ever someone so much as merely brushes up against him.
This is what Mikey Way is reduced to. It is a sad excuse for the bubbling, dorky boy of Two Years Ago, Mikey knows.
These are the things Mikey knows as well as he knows the back of his hands, or how truly, awkward his knees are. And they are things he does not like, but is not capable of changing.
He walks in the front door of his home, a one room house in the slums, and flicks on the lamp. Only it doesn't. So, he tries again, and curses under his breath. The power has been shut off again. It's not a really a first, or a second, or even--like the twenty-somethingth time this has happened, but it's still damned frustrating. And Mikey knows Gerard will blame him. He always does. When, really, it's not Mikey's fault that their mom is kind of manic, and occasionally burns the bills to "stick it to the Them". Actually though, she's really just sticking it to her kids.
Mikey slumps down his backpack after realizing this. He considers hiding, under like, the bed or something. But just figures that would be too kindergarten, and wouldn't help him at all in the long run. A drawn out sigh passes through his lips as he runs his fingers through his dyed blonde hair, tiredly. Some of the gel has come undone and hangs limply in his face; he peeks out around his long, bony fingers, and hopes he at least has sometime.
He hasn't seen Gerard in maybe three weeks and maybe it's making him soft, or at least some sort of fucked up mellow.
He's just about to head down the stairs when Gerard barges in. Of course Gerard comes today, of course. Because the universe hates him.
At the noise he literally stops, poised at the top of the stairway, one foot about to hit the step, and freezes. His heart stops with a thud, for all of a second, or at least it that's how it feels. A loud, audible gulp, surpasses for swallowing. He might puke.
He laughs bitterly at himself because that is reaction he cannot allow himself. He refuses to have such an open weakness.
Gerard sweeps into the kitchen, in search of Mikey. His hair is getting long again, the way Frank likes it, likes to tug on it--and okay, Mikey really shouldn't know this.
There's really no escape.