Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
I Have Your Heart, He Has Your Body
3 reviewsFrerard. Well I may have your heart, he has your body...
1Original
Drink up beautiful;
I spiked your cup with angst, and a heart attack.
I've got so much trapped and it's all because of you.
So I figured you might like some back.
.o1
Pyromaniac
Frank’s P.O.V
Another set of strangled moans seeped from beneath the rugged bathroom door as I packed my scarlet blanket more securely to my ears, attempting to focus on the same line in the magazine my brain had been struggling to read for the last 15 minutes. However, the line refused to become legible to my frail little brain, the entire magazine itself had been this way for I can’t even recall the name of the magazine or even the title of the article I’ve been trying to read. But then again, how exactly does one focus on such meaningless things when the man they love is being fucked into oblivion a few yards away. He knows how much I resent him for it, the enormous amount of ache it sends bombarding through my chest to hear him moaning another mans name, yet he refuses to take even a bit of my feelings into consideration. Countless, often bloody, confrontations had come between the two of us and all he ever did was stare vacantly into my eyes, the only bit of empathy surfacing his toxin coated gaze being much like the way a rich man looks down upon a beggar.
Pity, not empathy, paralyzing his stone cold eyes as he blew a puff of smoke in my face, the retched stench of alcohol and weed staining his breath as he grinned upon my shaking form. “At least I don’t fuck him in my bunk with you lying a few feet away. Did you ever consider that, because I have absolutely no problem with making it that way you pathetic little twit. Did you actually believe I ever cared about you? All you were to me was a fuck toy, a filthy little whore that had no problem jumping in bed with me whenever I pretended to give a shit about you. You were as good as dead,” he had hissed, a rather maniacal smirk dousing those once beautiful lips that at one point of time never held anything more than remarks of care. However, two years of alcohol, drugs, lust, and body parts had tainted their beautiful structure, painting them in a toxic layer of defiance toward anything he used to be. And that was the day I first inflicted any form of injury upon the once beautiful man, punching him in the face with every ounce of rage in me. The disgusting little fiend was towed away to a hospital with a broken nose and a cracked cheekbone.
Do I regret it? Hell no. Has he ever regretted a damn thing he’s ever done to me? Never has he even thought of it. So why should I ever take even a hint of compassion toward his so called “troubles”?The only true troubles he even seemed to deal with were coping with his inescapable drug lust, a guilty pleasure that he had not once tried to escape. He had allowed himself to be swept away within the corrosive wave of chemical highs, dissolving his brains within the various toxic fixes that Bert pushed his way. Not once had he ever paused to question if maybe Bert had somehow tainted his supply of drugs with something a bit more lethal, acid laced perhaps. No, the second the substance was placed in Gerard’s hands it’s materials were digested, inhaled, or injected into his inky blue blood stream, sending him into a disgustingly euphoric paradise in which I will never understand.
A ragged sigh escape my lips as my eyes pathetically made another attempt to interpret the sentence before me, but all that could be deciphered wasn’t even the actual contents of the sentence. All that could be registered within my mind was their general outline, the neatly engraved charcoal color of the words that scrolled across it, and the basic acknowledgement that there were in fact words on this sheet of paper. However, these words were in an entirely different language than what my mind had suddenly and unintentionally converted to. For at the moment the only language I could interpret was the lingo of Gerard, his muttering and groaning from the next room turning itself into taunting sentences that only my mind could comprehend.
Oh, what I would give to be suddenly deaf. No longer did I wish to hear his strained moans, nor did I want to hear his bitter disapproval and snide remarks as he drunkenly staggers into the room, leaving me to cower in the corner in pure disgust of what I’ve allowed him to do to me. Years ago such a wish would have been detested because to lose this sense would be to lose the ability of hearing his beautiful voice echoing within the chasms of my mind as he eagerly poured his heart out for the fans. Once upon a time he would soberly waltz across the worn down stage in a fluid motion, clutching the microphone as if it were his lovers hand as his glowing hazel eyes would gingerly search out each face in the audience. Always it could be seen upon his features that he was craftily sketching a picture of each of their faces in his mind, storing their memories in a compartment for a rainy day. The adoration always seemed to be seeping from his irises, spinning in their October colors as if they were a marry-go-round of his love for them, his plump pink lips molding themselves around various “I love you’s” as he pallid hand waved toward the audience.
This was a time when he still held all the beauty in the world, his veins still tingling with electric inspiration as his porcelain eyes would drift in my direction, a grin spreading across his face as he continued singing into the mic. These memories are ones I choose to remember him by, for they were in fact the last moments of the real “Gerard Way” before he transformed into some vile fiend that I dare not even associate names with. It’s so much easier to just pretend that the once beautiful being passed away years ago than to look at who he is now, a disintegrating beast stumbling around with his vagrant swagger and chemical persuasions which have crushed him down to the lowest levels of his lifetime. Peering into his bruised, blackened eyes will show not an ounce of the person we once knew, and accepting such realizations was far more painful than just pretending he had died.
As strange as it may sound I wish he would have died rather than pacing around like a lifeless carcass, gutted of all humanistic characteristics as his interior pulsed with its toxic black grime. At least if he died he wouldn’t have turned into a melting pot of toxins, a walking pharmacy with illegal prescriptions continuously pulsing through his veins. We wouldn’t have to drag him around like a ball and chain in which we were ashamed of, we wouldn’t have to count down the seconds until his inevitable demise, and I wouldn’t be in this situation, tucked in a corner pretending not to hear him in the next room. A crash evaded my fabricated silence as the metallic blue door swung on it’s hinges, a drunken Gerard staggering from the inferno of lust and drugs he had just created.
Instantly the putrid scent of perspiration and sloppy sex violated my nostrils, bringing forth revolting images in my mind that no one could ever wish to see. Images of the man I love stripping Bert bare with a vicious type of desperation, coats of red lust painting his gaze as that whore writhed below him, tainting flesh that only I had ever come into contact with. But such purity and beauty had been destroyed, the label of loyalty stripped clean from his clammy flesh as that bastard ascended on him deeming what was once mine as a no mans land. And since that very moment Gerard belonged no one, not a single person claimed him more than a few hours, hours which consisted of his body entangling in their bed sheets, murmuring lucid lies in their ears simply so that he could obtain a fraction of their drugs. For this is the method Bert had taught him, when money doesn’t work seduction does because none of them could turn down a creature like Gerard, no matter how repulsive and vain. He had become the whore of his little group of rogues, each and every one finding themselves tasting the bitter sin that was Gerard.
A content sigh escaped his lips, the retched stench of alcohol swelling from them as he collapsed atop his mangled bed sheets, nuzzling his face into the gritty gray fabric. Damp raven locks of hair swept across his hazy eyes, his bruised purple lips molding themselves around involuntary gasps for breath still unable to regain the required amount of oxygen after such an event. Sequins of tarnished sweat bled across his shimmering skin, delicately seeping within the contours of his back in an attempt to wash away the impurities. My eyes subconsciously traced the small hints of his rib cage, their bony, wiry lines seeming to become more and more pronounced with each day he spent with Bert.
“What the fuck are you looking at, Iero? Reminiscing of a time when you thought this actually belonged to you?” he questioned, a devilish smirk snaking across his thinning blue lips as he peeked through his bangs at me.
“Actually, I was noting how much of a skeleton you’ve become. Have you even bothered to look at yourself in a mirror?” I asked quietly, and though deep down it truly was a statement of concern, it still managed to come up in a rather snide, cocky way. He cut his eyes at me, fumbling for his cigarette carton as if it were a weapon, the filthy tar in them being a type of revenge against my rude comment.
“I don’t need a fucking mirror, I’ve got all I need. Besides, Bert obviously doesn’t seem to mind, not one bit. I still get fucked out of my mind regardless, so in the end it honestly doesn’t even matter,” he muttered coldly, placing a cigarette between his thin lips as he lit the anorexic line, temporarily shielding his flickering flame with his cupped hand. That shaking cupped palm, that greasy black lighter, these were the true offenders in the scenario, the two objects who set a link between man and destruction. For yes, the cigarettes were dangerous, but until they were lit they held no ominous threat, they were equivalent to a gun lying on the counter without a hand to pull the trigger. He took the cigarette between his middle and index finger, taking a long drag before reclining against the pillows, watching me expectantly.
“Well of course Bert doesn’t mind, because he’s got everything he needs. A fuck toy and a little tool he manipulates to retrieve all the drugs he could ever dream of,” I sang nonchalantly, relaxing against the wall to await the multiple reactions that could soon follow. He scoffed in both disgust and disbelief, his mouth hanging agape as remnants of spoke swirled from his chapped lips. Once again he masked his obvious anger in a bitter scowl, flicking the ashes of his cigarette in my direction.
“Well what have you got, hmm? A bunch of empty words that I left you hanging on every time I fucked your stupid brains out? At least I live in a realistic world, I can touch the things I desire, but all you’ve got is a bunch of fucking intangible fantasies that are never going to exist for you ever again,” he snarled, his blazing hazel eyes swimming in a new type of fire, one of resentment and regret that possibly stood for every second he ever wasted on me. It’s funny that before all this all the time we dedicated to one another seemed sincere and well spent, time that we could never imagine putting into anything else. However, all if took was a run in with Bert and the discovery of a new obsession to purge him of that theory.
“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a damn thing about what I want or own,” I spat, my fingers curling around the clammy, saturated pages of the magazine, the thin fibers tearing beneath my fingernails as I attempted to control the monstrosity of rage that had been developing over the past year and a half. For what this stupid bastard failed to understand was that the anger wasn’t equivalent to that of a teenage hissy fit, my initial outburst would be nowhere near a sentence of a few angsty words and a pathetic little shove. No, whenever this time bomb strikes it’s final seconds the incident that follows will be far from anything he’s ever seen, there won’t be any trips to the hospital to x-ray a broken nose, the only trip he’ll be making is a personal delivery to the morgue. And the very thought of such capabilities scared [i]me[/i] beyond belief, but he just didn’t get it. A crude smirk slithered across his lips as he tapped his cigarette against the side of the bed, flaky particles of grey and glowing orange fluttering to the tarnished, grey carpet.
“What was that? Did I hit a sore spot? Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I forgot you have issues with getting over your pathetic little cliché fantasies,” he cackled, grinning as he deliberately fed my collections of explosives with sprinkles of gunpowder and buckets of gasoline. It was almost as if my combustion was what he truly wanted, some sort of deranged pyromaniac wanting nothing more than to endanger his life just to see me burst into flames. And he was doing a damn good job at it.
“Don’t fuck with me, asshole,” I growled, still firmly clutching the magazine in my hands as my piercing stare turned unblinking against his unfazed gaze. Was it the drugs that had so badly impaired his judgment skills? Had he no actual comprehension of the world around him and the damage he was setting himself up for? Or was it that he honestly just didn’t care, thinking the drugs turned him into some sort of invincible creature? Either way there was no denying that there was a fine line of gunpowder trailing from his feet to mine and all he could do was mockingly twirl a match at the end.
“Why? Give me one good reason why I should and don’t say that you’ll break my nose again, because if anything that was more like a gift to me. All you did was set me up with more [i]legal[/i] medication that I could abuse. So if that’s threat then please, be my guest, by all means, break every bone in my body,” he mumbled coolly, leaning forward on the bed as he took another drag on his cigarette. “I’m waiting,” he spoke with a grin, strains of smoke slithering through his teeth and seeping from his nostrils.
“You know… you’re really lining yourself up for a wave of pure hell, Gerard…”
“Am I? I’m not the one who’s pathetically in love with a sadistic drug addict,” he muttered mockingly, lolling the cigarette between his lips as he looked upon my expression with more amusement than he should have. The irony of his statement nearly made me laugh, the very fact that he had the nerve to call me out on such a thing when he himself was tangled around Bert and if he’s not a drug addict then I don’t know who is.
“What about your love for Bert? What exactly do you consider him?” I questioned smugly, monitoring his expression as he leaned forward with a smirk, blowing a puff of smoke into my face.
“I believe the correct term is ‘in lust’. I’m not dumb enough to fall for that stupid love shit like you. You’d think you of all people would have figured out how worthless it is by now, obviously I fucked you over with it more than once and if you weren’t such a clingy, emotional bitch, I’d do it again,” he hissed manically, a dry chuckle escaping his lips as his murky hazel eyes bore into my skin. His stare seemed to be tunneling beneath the flesh, devouring every product of reason from my bewildered mind like some sort of termite and it went straight for my thin line of control… Slowly my body rose from the bed, slinking toward him in a violent wave as I snatched the collar of his shirt into my clammy palms. His icy hands instantly found themselves wrapped around my fist, attempting to free his collar from my grasp as yanked his body from the bed. What moments ago were iris’s swimming in a cocky, arrogant haze were now nothing but massive black pools of fear, his cigarette still idly dangling from the corner his lips as he peered up at my shaking form.
“You…stupid…bi-”
“The fuck’s going on in here?” a ragged voice slurred from my left, my gaze flickering to the horrific sight of a stoned Bert tripping out of the bathroom. Mats of sticky black hair clung to his face, gobs of drool dribbling down his chin as he struggled to tug up his mud green shorts. I nearly cringed at the sight of the disgusting fiend, whatever preexisting features that had attracted Gerard to him was clearly no longer existent, somehow evaporating along with the puffs of smoke from his weed. For now all he did was shuffle around, babbling incoherently, oblivious to things such as the drool bubbling from the corners of his mouth or the piss running down his legs. He had the motor skills of a brain dead child and the side effects of a lobotomy gone wrong. Definitely sounds like a winner to me.
His vacant blue eyes fell on mine, though they never appeared to come into focus at all. It felt similar to meeting the gaze of a blind man, a gaze that makes you question your existence as they seem to me staring straight through you. His right eyelid drooped lazily, the other wide open exposing the mangled system of pulsing red veins that clotted in the corner of his eyes causing him to resemble someone who was about to have a stroke. He weakly flailed his arm upward before attempting to steady it in my direction, his index finger jabbing toward me accusingly. “T-Tha- fuck you doin to my bitch? Let ‘em go, faggot.”
A smirk threaded across my lips as I released Gerard from my grip, watching as he tumbled backward and smacked his head against the black metal bar of the top bunk. A disgruntled groan fell from his lips as he cradled the back of his skull gently, wincing slightly as his eyes traveled toward my own. However, my momentary triumph was but a sweet pang of glory before being cut short by the grin that fell across his twisted face. His cocky self had been quickly restored with the knowledge that me fighting him in the presence of Bert was something that simply would not happen. Though I was feeling rather audacious, persuasively trying to convince myself that Bert would be too stoned to notice if anything happened to Gerard, and when he came back to reality he would be too much of a dick to care. However, it was a risk that could not be taken for obvious reasons, if Bert fled to his gang of friends and brought up the incident then you can grantee that by the next morning my disfigured, mangled body would be plastered to the front of the local newspaper. And that was a trophy of arrogance that I could never let Gerard win.
Bert clumsily staggered over to Gerard, tugging him from the bunk and nearly falling backward in the process. His arms messily entangled around Gerard’s waist for support as Gerard slid a hand into Bert’s back pocket. The scene seemed to be far from anything romantic as the incapacitated dolt clung to Gerard, his head lolling side-to-side as random spurs of words dribbled from his lips followed by pointless laughter. However, not even this would wipe the smirk from Gerard’s face as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and stepped in front of me. He jabbed the cigarette against my arm, grinding it into my flesh as if I were a human ashtray, however, I refused to show any form of pain toward his actions.
“Adieu, my love,” he sang cheerily, flicking his cigarette stub into my face as they clumsily stumbled out of the room.
___________________________________________
So there is probably some grammatical errors because I've yet to read over this as a whole, so if you catch any IM them to me at decimatedthoughts@yahoo.com
Sorry to those who like Bert, btw, I've just never really liked him. But that's my personal opinion so I decided to use him as a character. Hope you guys won't hate me for it xD.
Comments on what you think would be greatly appriciated :D
If anyone cares to make me a banner, that would be wonderful ^_^
I spiked your cup with angst, and a heart attack.
I've got so much trapped and it's all because of you.
So I figured you might like some back.
.o1
Pyromaniac
Frank’s P.O.V
Another set of strangled moans seeped from beneath the rugged bathroom door as I packed my scarlet blanket more securely to my ears, attempting to focus on the same line in the magazine my brain had been struggling to read for the last 15 minutes. However, the line refused to become legible to my frail little brain, the entire magazine itself had been this way for I can’t even recall the name of the magazine or even the title of the article I’ve been trying to read. But then again, how exactly does one focus on such meaningless things when the man they love is being fucked into oblivion a few yards away. He knows how much I resent him for it, the enormous amount of ache it sends bombarding through my chest to hear him moaning another mans name, yet he refuses to take even a bit of my feelings into consideration. Countless, often bloody, confrontations had come between the two of us and all he ever did was stare vacantly into my eyes, the only bit of empathy surfacing his toxin coated gaze being much like the way a rich man looks down upon a beggar.
Pity, not empathy, paralyzing his stone cold eyes as he blew a puff of smoke in my face, the retched stench of alcohol and weed staining his breath as he grinned upon my shaking form. “At least I don’t fuck him in my bunk with you lying a few feet away. Did you ever consider that, because I have absolutely no problem with making it that way you pathetic little twit. Did you actually believe I ever cared about you? All you were to me was a fuck toy, a filthy little whore that had no problem jumping in bed with me whenever I pretended to give a shit about you. You were as good as dead,” he had hissed, a rather maniacal smirk dousing those once beautiful lips that at one point of time never held anything more than remarks of care. However, two years of alcohol, drugs, lust, and body parts had tainted their beautiful structure, painting them in a toxic layer of defiance toward anything he used to be. And that was the day I first inflicted any form of injury upon the once beautiful man, punching him in the face with every ounce of rage in me. The disgusting little fiend was towed away to a hospital with a broken nose and a cracked cheekbone.
Do I regret it? Hell no. Has he ever regretted a damn thing he’s ever done to me? Never has he even thought of it. So why should I ever take even a hint of compassion toward his so called “troubles”?The only true troubles he even seemed to deal with were coping with his inescapable drug lust, a guilty pleasure that he had not once tried to escape. He had allowed himself to be swept away within the corrosive wave of chemical highs, dissolving his brains within the various toxic fixes that Bert pushed his way. Not once had he ever paused to question if maybe Bert had somehow tainted his supply of drugs with something a bit more lethal, acid laced perhaps. No, the second the substance was placed in Gerard’s hands it’s materials were digested, inhaled, or injected into his inky blue blood stream, sending him into a disgustingly euphoric paradise in which I will never understand.
A ragged sigh escape my lips as my eyes pathetically made another attempt to interpret the sentence before me, but all that could be deciphered wasn’t even the actual contents of the sentence. All that could be registered within my mind was their general outline, the neatly engraved charcoal color of the words that scrolled across it, and the basic acknowledgement that there were in fact words on this sheet of paper. However, these words were in an entirely different language than what my mind had suddenly and unintentionally converted to. For at the moment the only language I could interpret was the lingo of Gerard, his muttering and groaning from the next room turning itself into taunting sentences that only my mind could comprehend.
Oh, what I would give to be suddenly deaf. No longer did I wish to hear his strained moans, nor did I want to hear his bitter disapproval and snide remarks as he drunkenly staggers into the room, leaving me to cower in the corner in pure disgust of what I’ve allowed him to do to me. Years ago such a wish would have been detested because to lose this sense would be to lose the ability of hearing his beautiful voice echoing within the chasms of my mind as he eagerly poured his heart out for the fans. Once upon a time he would soberly waltz across the worn down stage in a fluid motion, clutching the microphone as if it were his lovers hand as his glowing hazel eyes would gingerly search out each face in the audience. Always it could be seen upon his features that he was craftily sketching a picture of each of their faces in his mind, storing their memories in a compartment for a rainy day. The adoration always seemed to be seeping from his irises, spinning in their October colors as if they were a marry-go-round of his love for them, his plump pink lips molding themselves around various “I love you’s” as he pallid hand waved toward the audience.
This was a time when he still held all the beauty in the world, his veins still tingling with electric inspiration as his porcelain eyes would drift in my direction, a grin spreading across his face as he continued singing into the mic. These memories are ones I choose to remember him by, for they were in fact the last moments of the real “Gerard Way” before he transformed into some vile fiend that I dare not even associate names with. It’s so much easier to just pretend that the once beautiful being passed away years ago than to look at who he is now, a disintegrating beast stumbling around with his vagrant swagger and chemical persuasions which have crushed him down to the lowest levels of his lifetime. Peering into his bruised, blackened eyes will show not an ounce of the person we once knew, and accepting such realizations was far more painful than just pretending he had died.
As strange as it may sound I wish he would have died rather than pacing around like a lifeless carcass, gutted of all humanistic characteristics as his interior pulsed with its toxic black grime. At least if he died he wouldn’t have turned into a melting pot of toxins, a walking pharmacy with illegal prescriptions continuously pulsing through his veins. We wouldn’t have to drag him around like a ball and chain in which we were ashamed of, we wouldn’t have to count down the seconds until his inevitable demise, and I wouldn’t be in this situation, tucked in a corner pretending not to hear him in the next room. A crash evaded my fabricated silence as the metallic blue door swung on it’s hinges, a drunken Gerard staggering from the inferno of lust and drugs he had just created.
Instantly the putrid scent of perspiration and sloppy sex violated my nostrils, bringing forth revolting images in my mind that no one could ever wish to see. Images of the man I love stripping Bert bare with a vicious type of desperation, coats of red lust painting his gaze as that whore writhed below him, tainting flesh that only I had ever come into contact with. But such purity and beauty had been destroyed, the label of loyalty stripped clean from his clammy flesh as that bastard ascended on him deeming what was once mine as a no mans land. And since that very moment Gerard belonged no one, not a single person claimed him more than a few hours, hours which consisted of his body entangling in their bed sheets, murmuring lucid lies in their ears simply so that he could obtain a fraction of their drugs. For this is the method Bert had taught him, when money doesn’t work seduction does because none of them could turn down a creature like Gerard, no matter how repulsive and vain. He had become the whore of his little group of rogues, each and every one finding themselves tasting the bitter sin that was Gerard.
A content sigh escaped his lips, the retched stench of alcohol swelling from them as he collapsed atop his mangled bed sheets, nuzzling his face into the gritty gray fabric. Damp raven locks of hair swept across his hazy eyes, his bruised purple lips molding themselves around involuntary gasps for breath still unable to regain the required amount of oxygen after such an event. Sequins of tarnished sweat bled across his shimmering skin, delicately seeping within the contours of his back in an attempt to wash away the impurities. My eyes subconsciously traced the small hints of his rib cage, their bony, wiry lines seeming to become more and more pronounced with each day he spent with Bert.
“What the fuck are you looking at, Iero? Reminiscing of a time when you thought this actually belonged to you?” he questioned, a devilish smirk snaking across his thinning blue lips as he peeked through his bangs at me.
“Actually, I was noting how much of a skeleton you’ve become. Have you even bothered to look at yourself in a mirror?” I asked quietly, and though deep down it truly was a statement of concern, it still managed to come up in a rather snide, cocky way. He cut his eyes at me, fumbling for his cigarette carton as if it were a weapon, the filthy tar in them being a type of revenge against my rude comment.
“I don’t need a fucking mirror, I’ve got all I need. Besides, Bert obviously doesn’t seem to mind, not one bit. I still get fucked out of my mind regardless, so in the end it honestly doesn’t even matter,” he muttered coldly, placing a cigarette between his thin lips as he lit the anorexic line, temporarily shielding his flickering flame with his cupped hand. That shaking cupped palm, that greasy black lighter, these were the true offenders in the scenario, the two objects who set a link between man and destruction. For yes, the cigarettes were dangerous, but until they were lit they held no ominous threat, they were equivalent to a gun lying on the counter without a hand to pull the trigger. He took the cigarette between his middle and index finger, taking a long drag before reclining against the pillows, watching me expectantly.
“Well of course Bert doesn’t mind, because he’s got everything he needs. A fuck toy and a little tool he manipulates to retrieve all the drugs he could ever dream of,” I sang nonchalantly, relaxing against the wall to await the multiple reactions that could soon follow. He scoffed in both disgust and disbelief, his mouth hanging agape as remnants of spoke swirled from his chapped lips. Once again he masked his obvious anger in a bitter scowl, flicking the ashes of his cigarette in my direction.
“Well what have you got, hmm? A bunch of empty words that I left you hanging on every time I fucked your stupid brains out? At least I live in a realistic world, I can touch the things I desire, but all you’ve got is a bunch of fucking intangible fantasies that are never going to exist for you ever again,” he snarled, his blazing hazel eyes swimming in a new type of fire, one of resentment and regret that possibly stood for every second he ever wasted on me. It’s funny that before all this all the time we dedicated to one another seemed sincere and well spent, time that we could never imagine putting into anything else. However, all if took was a run in with Bert and the discovery of a new obsession to purge him of that theory.
“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a damn thing about what I want or own,” I spat, my fingers curling around the clammy, saturated pages of the magazine, the thin fibers tearing beneath my fingernails as I attempted to control the monstrosity of rage that had been developing over the past year and a half. For what this stupid bastard failed to understand was that the anger wasn’t equivalent to that of a teenage hissy fit, my initial outburst would be nowhere near a sentence of a few angsty words and a pathetic little shove. No, whenever this time bomb strikes it’s final seconds the incident that follows will be far from anything he’s ever seen, there won’t be any trips to the hospital to x-ray a broken nose, the only trip he’ll be making is a personal delivery to the morgue. And the very thought of such capabilities scared [i]me[/i] beyond belief, but he just didn’t get it. A crude smirk slithered across his lips as he tapped his cigarette against the side of the bed, flaky particles of grey and glowing orange fluttering to the tarnished, grey carpet.
“What was that? Did I hit a sore spot? Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I forgot you have issues with getting over your pathetic little cliché fantasies,” he cackled, grinning as he deliberately fed my collections of explosives with sprinkles of gunpowder and buckets of gasoline. It was almost as if my combustion was what he truly wanted, some sort of deranged pyromaniac wanting nothing more than to endanger his life just to see me burst into flames. And he was doing a damn good job at it.
“Don’t fuck with me, asshole,” I growled, still firmly clutching the magazine in my hands as my piercing stare turned unblinking against his unfazed gaze. Was it the drugs that had so badly impaired his judgment skills? Had he no actual comprehension of the world around him and the damage he was setting himself up for? Or was it that he honestly just didn’t care, thinking the drugs turned him into some sort of invincible creature? Either way there was no denying that there was a fine line of gunpowder trailing from his feet to mine and all he could do was mockingly twirl a match at the end.
“Why? Give me one good reason why I should and don’t say that you’ll break my nose again, because if anything that was more like a gift to me. All you did was set me up with more [i]legal[/i] medication that I could abuse. So if that’s threat then please, be my guest, by all means, break every bone in my body,” he mumbled coolly, leaning forward on the bed as he took another drag on his cigarette. “I’m waiting,” he spoke with a grin, strains of smoke slithering through his teeth and seeping from his nostrils.
“You know… you’re really lining yourself up for a wave of pure hell, Gerard…”
“Am I? I’m not the one who’s pathetically in love with a sadistic drug addict,” he muttered mockingly, lolling the cigarette between his lips as he looked upon my expression with more amusement than he should have. The irony of his statement nearly made me laugh, the very fact that he had the nerve to call me out on such a thing when he himself was tangled around Bert and if he’s not a drug addict then I don’t know who is.
“What about your love for Bert? What exactly do you consider him?” I questioned smugly, monitoring his expression as he leaned forward with a smirk, blowing a puff of smoke into my face.
“I believe the correct term is ‘in lust’. I’m not dumb enough to fall for that stupid love shit like you. You’d think you of all people would have figured out how worthless it is by now, obviously I fucked you over with it more than once and if you weren’t such a clingy, emotional bitch, I’d do it again,” he hissed manically, a dry chuckle escaping his lips as his murky hazel eyes bore into my skin. His stare seemed to be tunneling beneath the flesh, devouring every product of reason from my bewildered mind like some sort of termite and it went straight for my thin line of control… Slowly my body rose from the bed, slinking toward him in a violent wave as I snatched the collar of his shirt into my clammy palms. His icy hands instantly found themselves wrapped around my fist, attempting to free his collar from my grasp as yanked his body from the bed. What moments ago were iris’s swimming in a cocky, arrogant haze were now nothing but massive black pools of fear, his cigarette still idly dangling from the corner his lips as he peered up at my shaking form.
“You…stupid…bi-”
“The fuck’s going on in here?” a ragged voice slurred from my left, my gaze flickering to the horrific sight of a stoned Bert tripping out of the bathroom. Mats of sticky black hair clung to his face, gobs of drool dribbling down his chin as he struggled to tug up his mud green shorts. I nearly cringed at the sight of the disgusting fiend, whatever preexisting features that had attracted Gerard to him was clearly no longer existent, somehow evaporating along with the puffs of smoke from his weed. For now all he did was shuffle around, babbling incoherently, oblivious to things such as the drool bubbling from the corners of his mouth or the piss running down his legs. He had the motor skills of a brain dead child and the side effects of a lobotomy gone wrong. Definitely sounds like a winner to me.
His vacant blue eyes fell on mine, though they never appeared to come into focus at all. It felt similar to meeting the gaze of a blind man, a gaze that makes you question your existence as they seem to me staring straight through you. His right eyelid drooped lazily, the other wide open exposing the mangled system of pulsing red veins that clotted in the corner of his eyes causing him to resemble someone who was about to have a stroke. He weakly flailed his arm upward before attempting to steady it in my direction, his index finger jabbing toward me accusingly. “T-Tha- fuck you doin to my bitch? Let ‘em go, faggot.”
A smirk threaded across my lips as I released Gerard from my grip, watching as he tumbled backward and smacked his head against the black metal bar of the top bunk. A disgruntled groan fell from his lips as he cradled the back of his skull gently, wincing slightly as his eyes traveled toward my own. However, my momentary triumph was but a sweet pang of glory before being cut short by the grin that fell across his twisted face. His cocky self had been quickly restored with the knowledge that me fighting him in the presence of Bert was something that simply would not happen. Though I was feeling rather audacious, persuasively trying to convince myself that Bert would be too stoned to notice if anything happened to Gerard, and when he came back to reality he would be too much of a dick to care. However, it was a risk that could not be taken for obvious reasons, if Bert fled to his gang of friends and brought up the incident then you can grantee that by the next morning my disfigured, mangled body would be plastered to the front of the local newspaper. And that was a trophy of arrogance that I could never let Gerard win.
Bert clumsily staggered over to Gerard, tugging him from the bunk and nearly falling backward in the process. His arms messily entangled around Gerard’s waist for support as Gerard slid a hand into Bert’s back pocket. The scene seemed to be far from anything romantic as the incapacitated dolt clung to Gerard, his head lolling side-to-side as random spurs of words dribbled from his lips followed by pointless laughter. However, not even this would wipe the smirk from Gerard’s face as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and stepped in front of me. He jabbed the cigarette against my arm, grinding it into my flesh as if I were a human ashtray, however, I refused to show any form of pain toward his actions.
“Adieu, my love,” he sang cheerily, flicking his cigarette stub into my face as they clumsily stumbled out of the room.
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So there is probably some grammatical errors because I've yet to read over this as a whole, so if you catch any IM them to me at decimatedthoughts@yahoo.com
Sorry to those who like Bert, btw, I've just never really liked him. But that's my personal opinion so I decided to use him as a character. Hope you guys won't hate me for it xD.
Comments on what you think would be greatly appriciated :D
If anyone cares to make me a banner, that would be wonderful ^_^
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