Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Faring Well
As he drove to Billy’s house to pick up Mikey, Gerard couldn’t get his mind off the new kid that he’d met at the party. Well…met was a strong word; he’d only talked to him for a moment. Still, though, something about him had stuck with Gerard, and he couldn’t forget the dark-haired boy with nearly-green eyes and a ring in his lip. Frank, was his name. Frank…Frank…Frank…
Mind elsewhere, Gerard didn’t notice that the needle on his speedometer was pushing 70, and he was in a residential area, where 35 was the accepted speed-limit. He was unlucky enough to pass a speed trap, in which a police officer was just waiting to catch a drunk kid coming home from a party. The cop put on his lights and wailed his siren, causing Gerard to glance into his mirror, then at his speed.
“Fuck,” the teenager murmured, mentally smacking himself as he pulled off to the side of the road. He sighed, trying to keep his anger at himself for speeding from sparking a temper towards the cop. Deep breaths, he told himself. Just stay calm, and don’t be a typical dick-teenager. The officer approached the car, rapping the window with his knuckles and shining a bright flashlight into the boy’s face as he rolled it down. “Good evening, officer,” he said, trying to smile through his squinting in the harsh glare of the little flashlight.
“Hello, there, son,” the officer said importantly, immediately putting Gerard off. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t anyone’s son, certainly not that of a pompous policeman. “You know why I stopped you, tonight?”
“Actually, just before you pulled me over, I noticed how fast I was going.” Not exactly true, but Gerard really could not afford to pay a speeding ticket. “I’m truly sorry; I was just trying to get to my brother. See, he’s at a friend’s house, and got really sick, so I was just on my way to--”
“Step out of the vehicle, son,” the cop said, using that word again, that word that Gerard hated. The boy, however, obliged, stepping out of his car with a sigh and leaning back against the driver’s window. The light was shined directly in Gerard’s face, making him squirm away, as the police officer examined him closely .
“Been drinkin’ tonight, son?”
Gerard was struggling to keep his temper in check. “No, sir,” he said with false sincerity.
“Mind blowin’ into this for me?” From his pocket, the cop produced a breathalyzer, holding it up to Gerard’s face expectantly. The teen finally grabbed it and blew, glaring spitefully at the meddlesome officer. The cop took it from between his lips, reading the levels. “Point-oh-six percent,” the cop said, smirking triumphantly.
“If the laws are still the same, 0.08% blood-alcohol content is legal to drive. You can see that I’m completely coherent, and I’m not slurring or stumbling my words.” Gerard was feeling testy. Every moment spent here was another moment Mikey spent in some kid’s house, sick, waiting for his big brother to come rescue him.
“Don’t be smart-mouthin’ me, boy,” the cop said sharply. “Those are the legal levels for adults that are 21 years of age. What are you doing with any BAC?”
“I…” Gerard wracked his brain for reasons he’d have alcohol on his breath. “I just had…pasta. Yeah, penne a la vodka. I guess they didn’t cook it enough. So sorry about that.”
The cop narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and Gerard knew immediately that he’d been called on his bull shit. “Can anyone verify that?”
“Nope,” Gerard said quickly, beginning to get nervous at lying to a police officer. “Just went to Olive Garden for a nice, solitary meal. Sometimes, you need a night to yourself.” He swallowed thickly, praying to be let off without more interrogation.
“Hmm…” the cop hummed, peering into Gerard’s guilty face. “Well, next time, pay attention to your speed. This, here, is a neighborhood, and we don’t need some kids getting hit ’cause you’re in a hurry.”
“Yes, sir!” Gerard gasped, amazed that he had gotten out of a ticket. He jumped back into his car before the cop could change his mind and went coasting off at 30 miles per hour the rest of the way to Billy’s house.
Once he was outside, Gerard put the car in park and got out. He was in a nice neighborhood, and his shitty, old Volvo seemed very out-of-place on the newly paved street. He rubbed the back of his neck, wanting to get in and out as quickly as possible, as this upscale neighborhood made him feel very uncomfortable.
He stepped up onto the white-washed patio, knocking quickly and lightly on the door, his lower lip between his teeth in nerves. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous; maybe he was afraid that this kid’s parents might judge him, or ask questions.
The door opened, and there stood a kind-looking woman in her mid-thirties, hair pulled back into a loose bun. “Oh, hello. You must be Gerard,” she said, smiling easily. Gerard nodded, returning the smile, nerves dissipating.
“Yeah, and you must be Billy’s mom. I’m sorry, again, for what happened. I didn’t notice any signs of sick from Mikey earlier.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” the mother said, stepping aside and gesturing the teenager inside her house. “Personally, I think he just doesn’t like sleeping at other children’s houses.” She winked as she led Gerard into her living room.
“Hit the nail on the head with that one,” Gerard said, spotting Mikey laying down on the couch, looking miserable and embarrassed. He crossed to the leather sofa, crouching down and keeping his voice low as he spoke to the ill boy. “Hey, Mikes,” he said quietly. “You feelin’ okay?” He shook his head. “I didn’t think so. You wanna go home?” He nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” Gerard stood and scooped the little boy up easily into his arms, carrying him to the door. “Bye,” Gerard said as he opened the door, nodding to Billy’s mom.
“Goodbye, Gerard. Goodbye, Mikey. I hope you can come back again soon.”
She waggled her fingers at the two brothers, who departed in their beat-up Volvo to drive downtown to a run-down house on a sketchy block. After putting Mikey to bed, Gerard indulged his habit of checking all the windows in the house to make sure they were still locked, and the glass was secure. He jiggled all the door handles to test their resistance, as well, and went back to Mikey’s room to assure him that everything was safe.
“You checked the windows?”
“Yep.”
“And the doors?”
“Sure did.”
“Mommy used to let bad people in through the front doors. You won’t do that, right, Gee? You won’t let them in?” The little boy stared at his big brother, his only protection from the dingy streets outside the doors that his mother at one time had let “bad people” in through, his eyes wide and frightened. While it scared Gerard, it also made him feel strong to know that his baby brother was depending on him to keep the house safe.
“Never in a million years, Mikes. You and me gotta stick together, and that means that no bad people are getting in this house. We’re the fabulous killjoys, like in your comic book. Go to sleep, Kobra Kid Killjoy.” With that, Gerard kissed his little brother on the forehead, tucked the sheets in extra-tight around him, and left the room, pausing for just a second longer at the door to smile comfortingly at his baby brother, at his hope, at his reason for living.
Hey, guys, vassup. I made a mistake on my other website where this is posted yesterday by posting a chapter from Stockholm Syndrome to here, because I wasn't paying attention, so I whipped up this chapter as quickly as possible to make up for it. For those (most) of you that are just confused...well, here's another chapter. Read, review, subscribe (if you haven't), and make me happy. I like this chapter. As you know, I enjoy writing this story, and I love reading your comments. SO get to gettin'. OverAndOutxx
Mind elsewhere, Gerard didn’t notice that the needle on his speedometer was pushing 70, and he was in a residential area, where 35 was the accepted speed-limit. He was unlucky enough to pass a speed trap, in which a police officer was just waiting to catch a drunk kid coming home from a party. The cop put on his lights and wailed his siren, causing Gerard to glance into his mirror, then at his speed.
“Fuck,” the teenager murmured, mentally smacking himself as he pulled off to the side of the road. He sighed, trying to keep his anger at himself for speeding from sparking a temper towards the cop. Deep breaths, he told himself. Just stay calm, and don’t be a typical dick-teenager. The officer approached the car, rapping the window with his knuckles and shining a bright flashlight into the boy’s face as he rolled it down. “Good evening, officer,” he said, trying to smile through his squinting in the harsh glare of the little flashlight.
“Hello, there, son,” the officer said importantly, immediately putting Gerard off. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t anyone’s son, certainly not that of a pompous policeman. “You know why I stopped you, tonight?”
“Actually, just before you pulled me over, I noticed how fast I was going.” Not exactly true, but Gerard really could not afford to pay a speeding ticket. “I’m truly sorry; I was just trying to get to my brother. See, he’s at a friend’s house, and got really sick, so I was just on my way to--”
“Step out of the vehicle, son,” the cop said, using that word again, that word that Gerard hated. The boy, however, obliged, stepping out of his car with a sigh and leaning back against the driver’s window. The light was shined directly in Gerard’s face, making him squirm away, as the police officer examined him closely .
“Been drinkin’ tonight, son?”
Gerard was struggling to keep his temper in check. “No, sir,” he said with false sincerity.
“Mind blowin’ into this for me?” From his pocket, the cop produced a breathalyzer, holding it up to Gerard’s face expectantly. The teen finally grabbed it and blew, glaring spitefully at the meddlesome officer. The cop took it from between his lips, reading the levels. “Point-oh-six percent,” the cop said, smirking triumphantly.
“If the laws are still the same, 0.08% blood-alcohol content is legal to drive. You can see that I’m completely coherent, and I’m not slurring or stumbling my words.” Gerard was feeling testy. Every moment spent here was another moment Mikey spent in some kid’s house, sick, waiting for his big brother to come rescue him.
“Don’t be smart-mouthin’ me, boy,” the cop said sharply. “Those are the legal levels for adults that are 21 years of age. What are you doing with any BAC?”
“I…” Gerard wracked his brain for reasons he’d have alcohol on his breath. “I just had…pasta. Yeah, penne a la vodka. I guess they didn’t cook it enough. So sorry about that.”
The cop narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and Gerard knew immediately that he’d been called on his bull shit. “Can anyone verify that?”
“Nope,” Gerard said quickly, beginning to get nervous at lying to a police officer. “Just went to Olive Garden for a nice, solitary meal. Sometimes, you need a night to yourself.” He swallowed thickly, praying to be let off without more interrogation.
“Hmm…” the cop hummed, peering into Gerard’s guilty face. “Well, next time, pay attention to your speed. This, here, is a neighborhood, and we don’t need some kids getting hit ’cause you’re in a hurry.”
“Yes, sir!” Gerard gasped, amazed that he had gotten out of a ticket. He jumped back into his car before the cop could change his mind and went coasting off at 30 miles per hour the rest of the way to Billy’s house.
Once he was outside, Gerard put the car in park and got out. He was in a nice neighborhood, and his shitty, old Volvo seemed very out-of-place on the newly paved street. He rubbed the back of his neck, wanting to get in and out as quickly as possible, as this upscale neighborhood made him feel very uncomfortable.
He stepped up onto the white-washed patio, knocking quickly and lightly on the door, his lower lip between his teeth in nerves. He wasn’t sure why he was nervous; maybe he was afraid that this kid’s parents might judge him, or ask questions.
The door opened, and there stood a kind-looking woman in her mid-thirties, hair pulled back into a loose bun. “Oh, hello. You must be Gerard,” she said, smiling easily. Gerard nodded, returning the smile, nerves dissipating.
“Yeah, and you must be Billy’s mom. I’m sorry, again, for what happened. I didn’t notice any signs of sick from Mikey earlier.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” the mother said, stepping aside and gesturing the teenager inside her house. “Personally, I think he just doesn’t like sleeping at other children’s houses.” She winked as she led Gerard into her living room.
“Hit the nail on the head with that one,” Gerard said, spotting Mikey laying down on the couch, looking miserable and embarrassed. He crossed to the leather sofa, crouching down and keeping his voice low as he spoke to the ill boy. “Hey, Mikes,” he said quietly. “You feelin’ okay?” He shook his head. “I didn’t think so. You wanna go home?” He nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” Gerard stood and scooped the little boy up easily into his arms, carrying him to the door. “Bye,” Gerard said as he opened the door, nodding to Billy’s mom.
“Goodbye, Gerard. Goodbye, Mikey. I hope you can come back again soon.”
She waggled her fingers at the two brothers, who departed in their beat-up Volvo to drive downtown to a run-down house on a sketchy block. After putting Mikey to bed, Gerard indulged his habit of checking all the windows in the house to make sure they were still locked, and the glass was secure. He jiggled all the door handles to test their resistance, as well, and went back to Mikey’s room to assure him that everything was safe.
“You checked the windows?”
“Yep.”
“And the doors?”
“Sure did.”
“Mommy used to let bad people in through the front doors. You won’t do that, right, Gee? You won’t let them in?” The little boy stared at his big brother, his only protection from the dingy streets outside the doors that his mother at one time had let “bad people” in through, his eyes wide and frightened. While it scared Gerard, it also made him feel strong to know that his baby brother was depending on him to keep the house safe.
“Never in a million years, Mikes. You and me gotta stick together, and that means that no bad people are getting in this house. We’re the fabulous killjoys, like in your comic book. Go to sleep, Kobra Kid Killjoy.” With that, Gerard kissed his little brother on the forehead, tucked the sheets in extra-tight around him, and left the room, pausing for just a second longer at the door to smile comfortingly at his baby brother, at his hope, at his reason for living.
Hey, guys, vassup. I made a mistake on my other website where this is posted yesterday by posting a chapter from Stockholm Syndrome to here, because I wasn't paying attention, so I whipped up this chapter as quickly as possible to make up for it. For those (most) of you that are just confused...well, here's another chapter. Read, review, subscribe (if you haven't), and make me happy. I like this chapter. As you know, I enjoy writing this story, and I love reading your comments. SO get to gettin'. OverAndOutxx
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