Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Red And Blue
GERARD
Desolé was a beautiful, mysterious creature to be desired and longer for. Every show I watched her from my perch on the side stage where she couldn’t see me. I loved to watch her sing and dance. The way her long blonde whipped about and how tightly her leather shorts fit her. Her gut wrenching screams that echoed through the mike and the way that she could turn it all around and be hitting perfect high notes a moment later. But one of my favorite parts in her show was when she halted in the middle of all the insanity and took at seat at the black piano they brought along on tour. She played beautifully and with so much emotion that if you looked closely you could see people crying in the audience,
She had a striking face with edgy features and a silvery blue stare that was so sharp it almost cut you. Her body was stunning. She was like a petite little porcelain doll but also somehow managed to have a very womanly shape. Her outfits complimented her shape. Sometimes she would be wearing nothing but ripped stalkings, black tape and a wet wash cloth onstage. Other times she would have an elaborate get up planned and perfected. It Didn’t really matter what she wore though because she always looked beautiful.
And her personality was a beauty to behold too. She had that sort of charisma, that glowing personality that just made everybody in the room want to talk and get to know her. She was friendly and kind to her fans and people who hosted interviews. She was bright a bubbly and you just felt good being around her. In a way Desolé was like a mirror in the sense that she could really listen to what you where saying and reflect it back to you with kindness and sympathy.
But she was also a fierce fighter with a temper to match that of a nuclear reactor. Boys would swarm her after shows and depending on her mood she would either welcome the flirting with open arms or turn them away mercilessly. Milo was right, she was in fact a man eater. One moment she’d be all smiles and batting eyelashes and the next she would be splashing her drink into his face. It was irritating to watch her behave badly in front of other guys. Not in a way that I was angry, but in a way that I was self conscious and figuring that she probably wouldn’t even give a guy like me the time of day.
We didn’t really talk much but when we did it wasn’t always a pleasant conversation. I felt a really weird paternal protectiveness over her because she was so young, despite the fact that she didn’t act like. I felt like I had to prevent her from making the same mistakes I was making at the same time. But according to Milo she had made plenty all ready. She was so new to touring and being out I felt like I should help her deal with certain stresses that go with being on tour. But she didn’t seem to need or want any of my help. She snapped at me for “bossing her around” and “treating her like a kid”. It was like she herself didn’t know how old she was.
Sometimes we would get along and joke around with each other. I would tease her and she would laugh and her little pixie nose would crinkle up in the cutest way I’d ever seen. But other times we were at each other’s throats, or she was at mine anyway. I never fought with her because I simply couldn’t. Sometimes I’d just say something and she would blow up and storm off. I learned to gauge her mood before even talking to her so that I could get a sense of what to say and when to say it.
But as I said before, we rarely spoke and this made me sad. I felt like there was a big brick wall in between us all the time and I couldn’t just go around it. She could be so warm and welcoming but I found her so intimidating that I had to force myself to talk to her. It was like I had forced myself into the “friend zone”. And let me tell you, the friend zone one shitty place to put yourself.
So in other words, I was crushing. And I was crushing hard. When she walked in the room my heart skipped a beat and my breathing faltered. She made my knees buckle and my fingers shake. I hadn’t felt like this about a girl since I had stalked Christina Ricci in high school. My heart felt heavy but my feet were light. I shook all over but I felt alright with it. It was so clichéd, so teenage-boyish but I couldn’t help myself. Desolé made me feel, and that in itself was profound because I was so numb to everything nowadays.
It was after the show and I was sitting around drinking beers with Frank despite the fact that I was already drunk. We were laughing, or he was at least. I had a hard time fining things funny recently. Bert had run off with some girl and we probably wouldn’t see him until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.
“Yo, check out what your lady love is doing!” Frank laughed, pointing over to The Moment’s tour bus.
“She isn’t my love…” I grumbled, smacking his on the arm. Everybody knew about my crush and everybody felt the need to comment on it and poke fun. I was going to ignore Frank but then I looked over and saw what he had been talking about.
There was a sleek black motorcycle and a thin, pale girl on top of it without a shirt or bra on. It was Desolé. I was shocked. Even in her most raunchy outfits she was never completely exposed. There were also some cameras around, all snapping pictures at the same time and a guy and a girl directing the photo shoot. I saw the logo on one of the cameras was a bunny…the Playboy bunny.
I felt a surge of anger shoot through me. What the fuck did they think they were doing? She was only eighteen! She was too young to be in a magazine like that! Didn’t they know how old she was? Had they even bothered to ask? Why would they take advantage of somebody like that? And what was Desolé doing allowing them to take pictures of her with no clothes on?! Why would anybody want to degrade somebody like that?!
Before I even realized what I was doing I found myself marching over to the photo shoot. A little voice in my head was squeaking “don’t do this!” but something else in my mind was roaring “end this shit!!!”. Despite the protests of those directing the photo shoot, I walked right in front of the cameras and in front of Desolé. Her blue eyes were bugging out of her head and she looked shocked at me. I took her wrist in my hand and without any explanation, yanked her away from the people with the cameras.
“Gerard! Let me go! What the fuck are you doing?!” Desolé screamed, punching my arm to try and get me to let go of her.
“What am I doing? What are you doing?!” I retorted, dropping her wrist. Desolé looked absolutely livid. She was trembling with rage. Then she slapped me across the right side of my face. The commotion around us died down as everybody stopped to stare at us. She slapped me again, only on the right side of my face.
“You can’t just burst into my life you asshole! You can’t just try to rescue me Gerard!” she yelled, crossing her arms tightly over her chest so that nobody could see her breasts.
“You were just letting them take nude photos of you!” I shouted.
“Yeah, because I wanted them to dumb ass! Its my life Gerard! You can’t tame me, nobody can!” she raged. My cheeks burned hot from where she had hit me. With the fire in her eyes I almost thought she was going to hit me again. “You aren’t my father!” she screamed.
“Yeah, well what would your father say if he saw you doing this to yourself?” I snapped back.
Desolé opened her pretty mouth to say something but then stopped in her tracks. For a second she looked like she was about to burst into tears an I instantly regretted what I said even though I didn’t know why it had such an impact on her. She blinked her watering eyes and just as I was about to try and comfort her, she reached up and slapped me again, harder than the previous two combined. I faltered and stumbled back at the force of the blow and she turned on her heels and ran into her bus, slamming the door loudly behind her.
What had I done? What had I said? I knew that I had just fucked up big time. How could I fix this? God, I just wanted to help! I hated myself because of the look in her eyes after what I had said. What if she was crying right now? I couldn’t stand myself if I had made her cry…
“You really did it this time buddy.” Milo said, coming up behind me and patting my shoulder. I scoffed pathetically.
“What just happened? Why’d she run off when I said that?” I asked, at least wanting to know what I had said wrong.
“Her father and little sister died in a car crash when she was twelve and ever since then she’s been kind of nuts.” Milo explained. He gave me one last pat on the shoulder before running after her.
I had really done it this time, hadn’t I? Why did I had to say that?! I knew for certain that I had made her cry now. Well, any slim chance of us actually being together just got blown to a thousand pieces because I didn’t know when to shut the fuck up. I wanted to smash my head into a wall. God, I was so stupid!
Desolé was a beautiful, mysterious creature to be desired and longer for. Every show I watched her from my perch on the side stage where she couldn’t see me. I loved to watch her sing and dance. The way her long blonde whipped about and how tightly her leather shorts fit her. Her gut wrenching screams that echoed through the mike and the way that she could turn it all around and be hitting perfect high notes a moment later. But one of my favorite parts in her show was when she halted in the middle of all the insanity and took at seat at the black piano they brought along on tour. She played beautifully and with so much emotion that if you looked closely you could see people crying in the audience,
She had a striking face with edgy features and a silvery blue stare that was so sharp it almost cut you. Her body was stunning. She was like a petite little porcelain doll but also somehow managed to have a very womanly shape. Her outfits complimented her shape. Sometimes she would be wearing nothing but ripped stalkings, black tape and a wet wash cloth onstage. Other times she would have an elaborate get up planned and perfected. It Didn’t really matter what she wore though because she always looked beautiful.
And her personality was a beauty to behold too. She had that sort of charisma, that glowing personality that just made everybody in the room want to talk and get to know her. She was friendly and kind to her fans and people who hosted interviews. She was bright a bubbly and you just felt good being around her. In a way Desolé was like a mirror in the sense that she could really listen to what you where saying and reflect it back to you with kindness and sympathy.
But she was also a fierce fighter with a temper to match that of a nuclear reactor. Boys would swarm her after shows and depending on her mood she would either welcome the flirting with open arms or turn them away mercilessly. Milo was right, she was in fact a man eater. One moment she’d be all smiles and batting eyelashes and the next she would be splashing her drink into his face. It was irritating to watch her behave badly in front of other guys. Not in a way that I was angry, but in a way that I was self conscious and figuring that she probably wouldn’t even give a guy like me the time of day.
We didn’t really talk much but when we did it wasn’t always a pleasant conversation. I felt a really weird paternal protectiveness over her because she was so young, despite the fact that she didn’t act like. I felt like I had to prevent her from making the same mistakes I was making at the same time. But according to Milo she had made plenty all ready. She was so new to touring and being out I felt like I should help her deal with certain stresses that go with being on tour. But she didn’t seem to need or want any of my help. She snapped at me for “bossing her around” and “treating her like a kid”. It was like she herself didn’t know how old she was.
Sometimes we would get along and joke around with each other. I would tease her and she would laugh and her little pixie nose would crinkle up in the cutest way I’d ever seen. But other times we were at each other’s throats, or she was at mine anyway. I never fought with her because I simply couldn’t. Sometimes I’d just say something and she would blow up and storm off. I learned to gauge her mood before even talking to her so that I could get a sense of what to say and when to say it.
But as I said before, we rarely spoke and this made me sad. I felt like there was a big brick wall in between us all the time and I couldn’t just go around it. She could be so warm and welcoming but I found her so intimidating that I had to force myself to talk to her. It was like I had forced myself into the “friend zone”. And let me tell you, the friend zone one shitty place to put yourself.
So in other words, I was crushing. And I was crushing hard. When she walked in the room my heart skipped a beat and my breathing faltered. She made my knees buckle and my fingers shake. I hadn’t felt like this about a girl since I had stalked Christina Ricci in high school. My heart felt heavy but my feet were light. I shook all over but I felt alright with it. It was so clichéd, so teenage-boyish but I couldn’t help myself. Desolé made me feel, and that in itself was profound because I was so numb to everything nowadays.
It was after the show and I was sitting around drinking beers with Frank despite the fact that I was already drunk. We were laughing, or he was at least. I had a hard time fining things funny recently. Bert had run off with some girl and we probably wouldn’t see him until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.
“Yo, check out what your lady love is doing!” Frank laughed, pointing over to The Moment’s tour bus.
“She isn’t my love…” I grumbled, smacking his on the arm. Everybody knew about my crush and everybody felt the need to comment on it and poke fun. I was going to ignore Frank but then I looked over and saw what he had been talking about.
There was a sleek black motorcycle and a thin, pale girl on top of it without a shirt or bra on. It was Desolé. I was shocked. Even in her most raunchy outfits she was never completely exposed. There were also some cameras around, all snapping pictures at the same time and a guy and a girl directing the photo shoot. I saw the logo on one of the cameras was a bunny…the Playboy bunny.
I felt a surge of anger shoot through me. What the fuck did they think they were doing? She was only eighteen! She was too young to be in a magazine like that! Didn’t they know how old she was? Had they even bothered to ask? Why would they take advantage of somebody like that? And what was Desolé doing allowing them to take pictures of her with no clothes on?! Why would anybody want to degrade somebody like that?!
Before I even realized what I was doing I found myself marching over to the photo shoot. A little voice in my head was squeaking “don’t do this!” but something else in my mind was roaring “end this shit!!!”. Despite the protests of those directing the photo shoot, I walked right in front of the cameras and in front of Desolé. Her blue eyes were bugging out of her head and she looked shocked at me. I took her wrist in my hand and without any explanation, yanked her away from the people with the cameras.
“Gerard! Let me go! What the fuck are you doing?!” Desolé screamed, punching my arm to try and get me to let go of her.
“What am I doing? What are you doing?!” I retorted, dropping her wrist. Desolé looked absolutely livid. She was trembling with rage. Then she slapped me across the right side of my face. The commotion around us died down as everybody stopped to stare at us. She slapped me again, only on the right side of my face.
“You can’t just burst into my life you asshole! You can’t just try to rescue me Gerard!” she yelled, crossing her arms tightly over her chest so that nobody could see her breasts.
“You were just letting them take nude photos of you!” I shouted.
“Yeah, because I wanted them to dumb ass! Its my life Gerard! You can’t tame me, nobody can!” she raged. My cheeks burned hot from where she had hit me. With the fire in her eyes I almost thought she was going to hit me again. “You aren’t my father!” she screamed.
“Yeah, well what would your father say if he saw you doing this to yourself?” I snapped back.
Desolé opened her pretty mouth to say something but then stopped in her tracks. For a second she looked like she was about to burst into tears an I instantly regretted what I said even though I didn’t know why it had such an impact on her. She blinked her watering eyes and just as I was about to try and comfort her, she reached up and slapped me again, harder than the previous two combined. I faltered and stumbled back at the force of the blow and she turned on her heels and ran into her bus, slamming the door loudly behind her.
What had I done? What had I said? I knew that I had just fucked up big time. How could I fix this? God, I just wanted to help! I hated myself because of the look in her eyes after what I had said. What if she was crying right now? I couldn’t stand myself if I had made her cry…
“You really did it this time buddy.” Milo said, coming up behind me and patting my shoulder. I scoffed pathetically.
“What just happened? Why’d she run off when I said that?” I asked, at least wanting to know what I had said wrong.
“Her father and little sister died in a car crash when she was twelve and ever since then she’s been kind of nuts.” Milo explained. He gave me one last pat on the shoulder before running after her.
I had really done it this time, hadn’t I? Why did I had to say that?! I knew for certain that I had made her cry now. Well, any slim chance of us actually being together just got blown to a thousand pieces because I didn’t know when to shut the fuck up. I wanted to smash my head into a wall. God, I was so stupid!
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