Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Another Pretty Number

Dead On Arrival

by Lithium 1 Reviews

There's too many pieces for Dante to pick up herself, but maybe with a little help from a friend...

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Characters: Gerard Way - Published: 2007/12/23 - Updated: 2007/12/23 - 747 words

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Sometime during November, 2007

"Dante?"

The lyrical voice broke through my shell of unconsciousness, ricocheting within the murky shallows of my mind. Gentle hands rocked my body too and fro on the hard surface that I was sleeping. My body ached, rejecting the wake up call.

"Dante, you have to get up," the voice insisted, as the hands became rougher. The blankets covering my feeble body were torn away, followed by an onslaught of coldness.

"Fuck off," I growled, my tongue think and unwilling within my mouth, as I groped laboriously for the absent blankets.

I could almost hear my waker roll her eyes as I curled into foetal position facing away from her. "Suit yourself," she muttered, shoving away and leaving the room with a slam of the door.

For a few more minutes I laid still in the cold as my mind begun to comprehend its consciousness. Eventually I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes to stare at the pristine white of the ceiling, my head throbbed and I felt guilty for my actions toward the other girl. I coughed and attempted to sit upright. The first time my vision blurred and wavered until I slumped back to the floor, but the second was more successful.

A knock came at the door.

"Dante! Visitor!" The familiar voice from before called through the polished white wood; my house mate.

My mind struggled comprehend as I wondered who would be visiting me; most of the people I knew didn't even know where I lived, the rest wouldn't come anyway. I groaned, and sat in my spot. Surely, if they wanted to see me, they'd come in, right? Dark coils of hair fell into my face and I brushed them back, heaving a yawn and crossing my legs.

"Dante, get your fucking ass out here!" the girl bellowed once more. At least it wasn't media, I thought dully; she'd be more discrete if it were.

"Tell them to fuck off or come here!" I yelled back, flinching as my head throbbed at the volume of my own voice.

"Whatever," I heard her mumble from the hallway. After a moment her steps faded away.

Thank god, I thought, leaning back against my bed for support. One of my notebooks was lying beside me, its cover decorated in dark hypnotic swirls. I picked up and started to flick through as another knock came.

"I thought I told you to fuck off?!" I growled.

"Actually you said fuck off or come in," a familiar amused voice said as the door opened. I looked up sharply; when she said visitors, she didn't say him.

I stared blankly, letting my notebook slip from me hand; there was no way I was in a state to see him. "Fuck," I breathed, almost silently, my electric eyes wide.

"Dante..." He started slowly, looking around the squaller of my room, before studying me. I wondered briefly when the last time I had cleaned myself up properly was. My skin felt waxy, my hair lank. There were probably smears of eyeliner mingling with the blossoms sleepless purple beneath my eyes.

"Gerard..." I replied, struggling to gulp enough air into my lungs as my throat tightened. I sat still where I was; all I wanted to do was run.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his clean features creasing into a frown. "You look awful."

"Thanks," I muttered ducking my head before looking back up at my adoptive brother. "I've been sick."

A snort came from the doorway. I looked to find Abigail -my house mate- leaning against the frame, looking completely unconvinced. "Is that what they're calling it these days?" She asked me, her pale eye brown raised, staring between me and Gerard for a moment before flouncing off- she'd put up with a lot of my shit.

Gerard watched her leave then turned his gaze back at me. We stared at one another for what seem like a minute and a half before he finally stepped towards me. My head spun again as he pulled me to my feet, and I had to continue clutching his hand until my vision finally righted itself; the whole while he stared, worried but unjudgmental.

"I need a shower," I mumbled dully to my socked feet; although I doubt they were listening.

Gerard let go of me and I let go of him. I looked up and he nodded; I wasn't sure if that meant he agreed or he didn't mind.
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