Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > I Find It Hard To Stay
Pen bit her lower lip. They were light pink, perfectly round, and had little M’s etched on the surface. After a short internal battle, Pen reached into the sink to pull out the slightly dampened Meth tablets. Hesitating for only a second, she popped, first one, and then the other into her mouth, swallowing before she lost her nerve and spit them out.
She waited for a moment. Nothing. She shrugged her shoulders, walking around a bit to try and get something kick-started. No fuzzy feeling, no floating sensation…
A sharp pain in her stomach jutted Pen from her thoughts, making her double over, clutching her abdomen. She grimaced and moaned, a queasy-yet-sharp pain stabbing into her stomach ceaselessly. A thick layer of hot sweat broke out on her forehead, and Pen crashed to her knees, to weak to even grab the sink for support. Tingles erupted all over her body, giving her goose-bumps.
Pen screamed as she looked down at her arms. There seemed to be…something crawling under the skin. Bugs! Giant, round bugs that crawled slowly, but scuttled their little feet quickly beneath her flesh. She could just imagine how they looked: Black, shiny, oozing green goop and pus.
Pen cried out once more as she began to claw at her skin, trying to kill the bugs, squash them, whatever it took. Her nails broke the surface and drew blood, but she didn’t care. If her skin was open, she knew, the bugs would crawl out. Evaporate. She scratched harder, smashing her hands into her arms.
She got up and beat her hips against the counter, because she could feel them there, too. Everywhere, they were everywhere. Beneath her scalp, crawling between her ribs, up and down her legs. She slammed into walls, threw herself on the floor in an attempt to kill them, banish them from her body. They scaled her back, her neck, she could even feel them making their way to her face. Not her face! The thought of them crawling around her nose, mouth, eyes, made her want to vomit.
Finally, Pen spotted a sharp kitchen-knife lying on the counter, glinting in the light. Without a second thought, she grabbed it up and plunged the blade deep into her skin, trying to gouge out the insects that dominated her body. Blood spouted from her flesh, spraying crimson tides all over everything, but she ignored it.
She ignored the pain searing through her skull, and dug the razor-edge of the knife wherever she began to feel the bugs again. They were multiplying, birthing, regenerating. Dead ones became alive once more, taking vengeance on her mind and body. Long gashes and deep cuts decorated her body, and she was covered in blood, her skin dyed red and clothes stained. Pen took the knife to her head, her neck, her legs, her stomach, until she felt that the bugs were gone.
Tears flowed down her face, and sobs echoed around the empty bus as she knocked her head back against the wall she was leaning on, sliding down to the floor and moaning in pain. The blood began to pool around her, beginning to get sticky and congealed and thick. She bit her lower lip as hard as she could, drawing even more blood. Her hands shook, and her heart raced, and thoughts ran through her head at millions of miles a minute. She heard voices: her mother, telling her that she was an awful daughter, her best friend, yelling that she was worthless, and she had ruined her life, and Mikey, spitting that she wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough.
“I’m sorry!” she wailed, tossing her head back and forth. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I’ll make it right! I’ll make it right! Just don’t hurt me anymore!” Her jaw dropped and drool foamed at her mouth as she was submersed in unbelievable pain. “Ahh!” she couldn’t find a noise or sound adequate enough to manifest what she was feeling, and the frustration just added to her suffering.
After what seemed like days, months, years, an eternity, Pen tried her best to stand up, but was already feeling faint from how much blood she had lost. She stumbled forward, falling and hitting her head against the edge of the counter on the way down, fresh blood seeping from a new wound.
Mikey put his hand on his chest a wheezed a little bit. “Hey, Bob,” he said, trying to breathe deeply. “I think--[gasp]--I think my asthma’s acting up. Would you mind…getting my inhaler off the bus?”
“Sure thing, Mikes,” Bob told his friend, getting up and exiting the Green Room. The show had just finished, and the guys always liked to hang out for a bit afterwards, mingle with the crowds, meet fans. Mikey occasionally had his minor asthma attacks after a show; nothing serious. He usually had his inhaler with him, but had probably been distracted since his break-up with Pen. Bob didn’t blame him, he’d be preoccupied too.
He shook his head as he walked onto the bus, wondering how Mikey could have brought himself to break up with Pen. He saw his reasoning, but even so, Bob probably wouldn’t have done it. Then again, he didn’t even have the balls to ask Pen out in the first place.
Bob gasped and stood, transfixed, staring at the horrific scene before him. Everything, the walls, floors, furniture, everything was doused black-crimson liquid that looked suspiciously like…”Blood,” he whispered, looking around for the source. His heart plummeted, and every fiber of his being froze as he spotted the victim.
“Pen!” he yelled, sloshing through the lake of red dousing the floor. “Pen,” he repeated when he reached her, afraid to move her, lest it do more damage than good. “Pen, what happened?” he murmured, unsticking her bloody hair from her bloody forehead. Gashes and slices adorned her body, blood still seeping out of what looked like hour-old cuts. She was pale, paler than usual. Deathly white, almost blue. Her lips were pallid and her skin cold to the touch.
He lowered his head to her blood-soaked chest, just barely hearing a pulse, or perhaps it was his own heart pounding in his ears. He couldn’t see her breathing, or moving at all. Bob was completely at a loss for what to do. For the first time in years, he felt himself about to get severely unhinged.
He flew off the bus, desperate to find someone to help. “Call 911!” he yelled to anyone who would listen, spotting Gerard a few feet away. “Gerard! Call 911! Come quick! It’s Pen! She’s--call 911!” He couldn’t think completely straight and felt sick. Gerard followed him back on the bus, back to a setting that he wouldn’t soon forget, if ever.
She waited for a moment. Nothing. She shrugged her shoulders, walking around a bit to try and get something kick-started. No fuzzy feeling, no floating sensation…
A sharp pain in her stomach jutted Pen from her thoughts, making her double over, clutching her abdomen. She grimaced and moaned, a queasy-yet-sharp pain stabbing into her stomach ceaselessly. A thick layer of hot sweat broke out on her forehead, and Pen crashed to her knees, to weak to even grab the sink for support. Tingles erupted all over her body, giving her goose-bumps.
Pen screamed as she looked down at her arms. There seemed to be…something crawling under the skin. Bugs! Giant, round bugs that crawled slowly, but scuttled their little feet quickly beneath her flesh. She could just imagine how they looked: Black, shiny, oozing green goop and pus.
Pen cried out once more as she began to claw at her skin, trying to kill the bugs, squash them, whatever it took. Her nails broke the surface and drew blood, but she didn’t care. If her skin was open, she knew, the bugs would crawl out. Evaporate. She scratched harder, smashing her hands into her arms.
She got up and beat her hips against the counter, because she could feel them there, too. Everywhere, they were everywhere. Beneath her scalp, crawling between her ribs, up and down her legs. She slammed into walls, threw herself on the floor in an attempt to kill them, banish them from her body. They scaled her back, her neck, she could even feel them making their way to her face. Not her face! The thought of them crawling around her nose, mouth, eyes, made her want to vomit.
Finally, Pen spotted a sharp kitchen-knife lying on the counter, glinting in the light. Without a second thought, she grabbed it up and plunged the blade deep into her skin, trying to gouge out the insects that dominated her body. Blood spouted from her flesh, spraying crimson tides all over everything, but she ignored it.
She ignored the pain searing through her skull, and dug the razor-edge of the knife wherever she began to feel the bugs again. They were multiplying, birthing, regenerating. Dead ones became alive once more, taking vengeance on her mind and body. Long gashes and deep cuts decorated her body, and she was covered in blood, her skin dyed red and clothes stained. Pen took the knife to her head, her neck, her legs, her stomach, until she felt that the bugs were gone.
Tears flowed down her face, and sobs echoed around the empty bus as she knocked her head back against the wall she was leaning on, sliding down to the floor and moaning in pain. The blood began to pool around her, beginning to get sticky and congealed and thick. She bit her lower lip as hard as she could, drawing even more blood. Her hands shook, and her heart raced, and thoughts ran through her head at millions of miles a minute. She heard voices: her mother, telling her that she was an awful daughter, her best friend, yelling that she was worthless, and she had ruined her life, and Mikey, spitting that she wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough.
“I’m sorry!” she wailed, tossing her head back and forth. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I’ll make it right! I’ll make it right! Just don’t hurt me anymore!” Her jaw dropped and drool foamed at her mouth as she was submersed in unbelievable pain. “Ahh!” she couldn’t find a noise or sound adequate enough to manifest what she was feeling, and the frustration just added to her suffering.
After what seemed like days, months, years, an eternity, Pen tried her best to stand up, but was already feeling faint from how much blood she had lost. She stumbled forward, falling and hitting her head against the edge of the counter on the way down, fresh blood seeping from a new wound.
Mikey put his hand on his chest a wheezed a little bit. “Hey, Bob,” he said, trying to breathe deeply. “I think--[gasp]--I think my asthma’s acting up. Would you mind…getting my inhaler off the bus?”
“Sure thing, Mikes,” Bob told his friend, getting up and exiting the Green Room. The show had just finished, and the guys always liked to hang out for a bit afterwards, mingle with the crowds, meet fans. Mikey occasionally had his minor asthma attacks after a show; nothing serious. He usually had his inhaler with him, but had probably been distracted since his break-up with Pen. Bob didn’t blame him, he’d be preoccupied too.
He shook his head as he walked onto the bus, wondering how Mikey could have brought himself to break up with Pen. He saw his reasoning, but even so, Bob probably wouldn’t have done it. Then again, he didn’t even have the balls to ask Pen out in the first place.
Bob gasped and stood, transfixed, staring at the horrific scene before him. Everything, the walls, floors, furniture, everything was doused black-crimson liquid that looked suspiciously like…”Blood,” he whispered, looking around for the source. His heart plummeted, and every fiber of his being froze as he spotted the victim.
“Pen!” he yelled, sloshing through the lake of red dousing the floor. “Pen,” he repeated when he reached her, afraid to move her, lest it do more damage than good. “Pen, what happened?” he murmured, unsticking her bloody hair from her bloody forehead. Gashes and slices adorned her body, blood still seeping out of what looked like hour-old cuts. She was pale, paler than usual. Deathly white, almost blue. Her lips were pallid and her skin cold to the touch.
He lowered his head to her blood-soaked chest, just barely hearing a pulse, or perhaps it was his own heart pounding in his ears. He couldn’t see her breathing, or moving at all. Bob was completely at a loss for what to do. For the first time in years, he felt himself about to get severely unhinged.
He flew off the bus, desperate to find someone to help. “Call 911!” he yelled to anyone who would listen, spotting Gerard a few feet away. “Gerard! Call 911! Come quick! It’s Pen! She’s--call 911!” He couldn’t think completely straight and felt sick. Gerard followed him back on the bus, back to a setting that he wouldn’t soon forget, if ever.
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