Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
[A/N: Sup, bitches. This chapter took like, 10 minutes, which is why its so shitty, but HEY I TRIED. The next chapter will be 477689786597839 times better, I promise. Constructive criticism is appreciated. And rape those R&R buttons, please.]
I've always known I was a weirdo.
Being the only sixteen year old boy in my school who walked around in band shirts and black skinny jeans, hell, it was pretty damn obvious. Not that I am glad about that. You see, if you mention the name "Frank Iero" to anybody who lives in my district, they will either have instant heart attacks or will tell you in a hissed whisper, "Are you out of your mind? Don't talk to me about that boy."
This is because I have literally offended everybody in town. I didn't mean to, I just happen to have a very cutting tongue. Even my neighbours don't like me, because of the time they tried to scold me about my choice of attire, and I gave them a half an hour speech on how it was none of their fucking business what I wore, my clothes were a form of expression, and would they rather I became like them and ditched my black skinny jeans for grandma skirts?
They haven't spoken to me since, but on the bright side, at least I made my point.
Right now, I'm walking home from work, smoking, even though I am underage. A couple of bitches from school walk by in their Prada finery, glaring at me disapprovingly. I smile mockingly at them and take my cigarette out of my mouth and blow smoke in their faces. They look at me like I've suddenly sprouted three heads, before running down the deserted street towards the shops.
Idiots.
I sigh and continue walking home, passing a couple of houses, before turning left and going down a secluded road. It's a shortcut I use a lot. It's always empty, and that's what I like about it.
Its starting to get quite dark. The streetlamps are automatically lighting up, flickering feebly. It's also getting quite cold. I nervously button up my black sweater, sauntering down the street. I should be home in about ten minutes. I am so, so tired. Work was awful. Just hours and hours of stacking things on shelves. God, when I get home, I'm going to make myself a nice hot bowl of Campbell's soup, then I'll turn on the television and watch that new horror movie I managed to borrow from Ray, then I'll.... wait.
What was that? I thought I heard footsteps.
I turn around. Nope. Nobody there, just my imagination playing tricks on me again.
Nevertheless, I start to brisk walk. Really, the last thing I want is to be kidnapped by a pedophile and sent to work in a shoe factory in China for no salary.
I hear the footsteps again.
They're definitely footsteps.
Not tired-old-woman-coming-home-from-work footsteps; they're loud, angry-gangster-with-biceps-the-size-of-Jupiter footsteps.
Oh shit.
I am never using this route again. Not bothering to look back, I break into a run. I can hear my stalker start to do the same. He (or she? you never know) is getting closer. I internally scream at myself for being such a shit runner. Whoever it is is so close now, I can hear his/her breathing right behind me.
"LEAVE ME ALONE !" I wail resignedly, before crashing to the ground, too tired to run anymore. Damn my short legs. I hear snickering.
Yep. It's definitely a dude.
"Shut up," I snarl out of habit, my eyes squeezed shut. I'll admit, I'm pretty freaked out at the moment. My heart's beating at a million miles an hour, and I am just so tired from all the running, and, oh all right, I'll say it- I'm scared.
"Look at me, Frank. You've got nothing to be afraid of." He laughs.
He has a nice laugh, I notice dumbly.
Oh Jesus Christ, did I just think that?
Defiantly, I shake my head. "No. Go away. I'm not scared of you, who said I was scared?" I can barely keep the tremble out of my voice.
He laughs again. "Frank, don't you wanna know who I am? Don't you wanna know how I know your name?"
Of course I want to fucking know! I internally scream at him.
"Piss off." I snap.
This makes him cackle even harder. "Oh Frankieboy, this is why I like you." He pats me on the head, and I flinch at his touch.
Who is this guy? How does he know my name?
The suspense is killing me, so I open my eyes, and look up at him.
All I can say is HOOOOOOOOOOOLY SHIT.
He has to be the most gorgeous boy I've ever seen!
He's wearing eyeliner.
EYELINER!
Wit the exception of myself, no dude in town wears eyeliner. Its too "gay". Plus, if any of them did, they'd instantly be considered an outcast and sent to a counsellor to get, I quote my principal, "the Gothic nonsense knocked out of his system". (Believe me, I know.)
Alarmingly, I find that my eyes are combing his body. He's wearing a leather jacket and OH MY GOD are those skinny jeans? I have never seen a boy in skinny jeans before, believe it or not.
I can't help it, my jaw drops.
"Who... who you... who are you?" I manage to stutter.
Mr Annoyingly-Gorgeous smirks and answers in that same husky voice, "My name is Gerard, and I am a vampire."
This proclamation was greeted with silence.
And more silence.
Because really, what the hell was I supposed to say to that?
"How fab! How about you come over for dinner? I think I've got some dismembered cow in the freezer!"
I don't think so.
So in the end I just stare at him.
"Frank..." he says almost happily. "I know you probably don't believe me-"
"I know I fucking don't!" I interrupt him furiously and get back on my feet, glaring at him like he's something unpleasant I've found on the bottom of my shoe. My fear towards this guy has completely evaporated.
"Who the hell chases a complete stranger down and tells them, 'oh hi by the way, I'm a vampire!' Who does that? Nobody! Now leave me alone, and quit stalking me." I mutinously start to march back down the road, happy with myself for giving him a piece of my mind, because face it, hot or not, stalkers are creepy.
Suddenly something hard hits me on the head, and I start to sway on the spot.
Oh shit. I'm in trouble now, aren't I? Before I have time to say or do anything, I collapse unceremoniously to the ground. I'm finding it quite hard to breathe.
Desperately, I try to stay conscious. Someone (I have a pretty shrewd idea who) grasps my shoulders, and whispers, mouth to my ear, "Frank..."
Bloody vampire boy! I thought I told him to leave me alone!
But nothing prepares me for what he does next.
He softly kisses my neck.
Then everything goes black.
I've always known I was a weirdo.
Being the only sixteen year old boy in my school who walked around in band shirts and black skinny jeans, hell, it was pretty damn obvious. Not that I am glad about that. You see, if you mention the name "Frank Iero" to anybody who lives in my district, they will either have instant heart attacks or will tell you in a hissed whisper, "Are you out of your mind? Don't talk to me about that boy."
This is because I have literally offended everybody in town. I didn't mean to, I just happen to have a very cutting tongue. Even my neighbours don't like me, because of the time they tried to scold me about my choice of attire, and I gave them a half an hour speech on how it was none of their fucking business what I wore, my clothes were a form of expression, and would they rather I became like them and ditched my black skinny jeans for grandma skirts?
They haven't spoken to me since, but on the bright side, at least I made my point.
Right now, I'm walking home from work, smoking, even though I am underage. A couple of bitches from school walk by in their Prada finery, glaring at me disapprovingly. I smile mockingly at them and take my cigarette out of my mouth and blow smoke in their faces. They look at me like I've suddenly sprouted three heads, before running down the deserted street towards the shops.
Idiots.
I sigh and continue walking home, passing a couple of houses, before turning left and going down a secluded road. It's a shortcut I use a lot. It's always empty, and that's what I like about it.
Its starting to get quite dark. The streetlamps are automatically lighting up, flickering feebly. It's also getting quite cold. I nervously button up my black sweater, sauntering down the street. I should be home in about ten minutes. I am so, so tired. Work was awful. Just hours and hours of stacking things on shelves. God, when I get home, I'm going to make myself a nice hot bowl of Campbell's soup, then I'll turn on the television and watch that new horror movie I managed to borrow from Ray, then I'll.... wait.
What was that? I thought I heard footsteps.
I turn around. Nope. Nobody there, just my imagination playing tricks on me again.
Nevertheless, I start to brisk walk. Really, the last thing I want is to be kidnapped by a pedophile and sent to work in a shoe factory in China for no salary.
I hear the footsteps again.
They're definitely footsteps.
Not tired-old-woman-coming-home-from-work footsteps; they're loud, angry-gangster-with-biceps-the-size-of-Jupiter footsteps.
Oh shit.
I am never using this route again. Not bothering to look back, I break into a run. I can hear my stalker start to do the same. He (or she? you never know) is getting closer. I internally scream at myself for being such a shit runner. Whoever it is is so close now, I can hear his/her breathing right behind me.
"LEAVE ME ALONE !" I wail resignedly, before crashing to the ground, too tired to run anymore. Damn my short legs. I hear snickering.
Yep. It's definitely a dude.
"Shut up," I snarl out of habit, my eyes squeezed shut. I'll admit, I'm pretty freaked out at the moment. My heart's beating at a million miles an hour, and I am just so tired from all the running, and, oh all right, I'll say it- I'm scared.
"Look at me, Frank. You've got nothing to be afraid of." He laughs.
He has a nice laugh, I notice dumbly.
Oh Jesus Christ, did I just think that?
Defiantly, I shake my head. "No. Go away. I'm not scared of you, who said I was scared?" I can barely keep the tremble out of my voice.
He laughs again. "Frank, don't you wanna know who I am? Don't you wanna know how I know your name?"
Of course I want to fucking know! I internally scream at him.
"Piss off." I snap.
This makes him cackle even harder. "Oh Frankieboy, this is why I like you." He pats me on the head, and I flinch at his touch.
Who is this guy? How does he know my name?
The suspense is killing me, so I open my eyes, and look up at him.
All I can say is HOOOOOOOOOOOLY SHIT.
He has to be the most gorgeous boy I've ever seen!
He's wearing eyeliner.
EYELINER!
Wit the exception of myself, no dude in town wears eyeliner. Its too "gay". Plus, if any of them did, they'd instantly be considered an outcast and sent to a counsellor to get, I quote my principal, "the Gothic nonsense knocked out of his system". (Believe me, I know.)
Alarmingly, I find that my eyes are combing his body. He's wearing a leather jacket and OH MY GOD are those skinny jeans? I have never seen a boy in skinny jeans before, believe it or not.
I can't help it, my jaw drops.
"Who... who you... who are you?" I manage to stutter.
Mr Annoyingly-Gorgeous smirks and answers in that same husky voice, "My name is Gerard, and I am a vampire."
This proclamation was greeted with silence.
And more silence.
Because really, what the hell was I supposed to say to that?
"How fab! How about you come over for dinner? I think I've got some dismembered cow in the freezer!"
I don't think so.
So in the end I just stare at him.
"Frank..." he says almost happily. "I know you probably don't believe me-"
"I know I fucking don't!" I interrupt him furiously and get back on my feet, glaring at him like he's something unpleasant I've found on the bottom of my shoe. My fear towards this guy has completely evaporated.
"Who the hell chases a complete stranger down and tells them, 'oh hi by the way, I'm a vampire!' Who does that? Nobody! Now leave me alone, and quit stalking me." I mutinously start to march back down the road, happy with myself for giving him a piece of my mind, because face it, hot or not, stalkers are creepy.
Suddenly something hard hits me on the head, and I start to sway on the spot.
Oh shit. I'm in trouble now, aren't I? Before I have time to say or do anything, I collapse unceremoniously to the ground. I'm finding it quite hard to breathe.
Desperately, I try to stay conscious. Someone (I have a pretty shrewd idea who) grasps my shoulders, and whispers, mouth to my ear, "Frank..."
Bloody vampire boy! I thought I told him to leave me alone!
But nothing prepares me for what he does next.
He softly kisses my neck.
Then everything goes black.
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