Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Cold-Blooded Murderer
Frantic knocking was coming from the front door. I peered through the spy hole, afraid of what could be lurking behind the door. To my relief, there was only a very angry Mikey on the other side. As soon as I unlocked it, the door flung open, bounced off the wall, and slammed shut again. “GERARD! WHAT THE FUCK! HOW COULD YOU KIDNAP SOMEONE! EXPECIALLY MY OLD BESTFRIEND!” Mikey’s face went bright red as he screamed at me, waving his arms about to exaggerate his point.
“Okay, for one, I didn’t kidnap him. Secondly, I didn’t know he was your friend.” I sighed at my fuming brother.
“THE TV DOESN’T LIE GERARD! YOU OBVIOUSLY DID IT!” by now, Mikey was a deep purple and was breathing heavily.
“What about that time they promised snow in July?” I smirked as my brother gawked at me. The colour of his face slowly returned back to his usual white.
“… Enough of your smart arse answers, Gerard. Now where is he? You haven’t killed him have you?!” he never did like admitting he was wrong; he’s too much like me. I watched in amusement as Mikey ran around the house looking for frank. “Frank! Fraaaaaank! Where are you Frankie? FRANK!!” Mikey screamed as he ran into the kitchen, knocking a very confused Frankie off the kitchen counter, causing him to spill his coffee everywhere. I walked past the mass of limbs and over to the coffee machine, making myself a cup of the bitter liquid.
“Hi Mikey…” frank said, a little out of breath of having another person jump on him.
“Did he hurt you? Has Gerard hurt you? Tell me Frankie! OHMYGOD. What the fuck happened to your forehead?! GERARD WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!” why does he always assume that, when someone is hurt and in my presence, that I did it?
“Gerard didn’t do it… uh, my dad hit me…” I took a sip of my bitter coffee, mentally thanking Frank for saving his ass.
“Again?!” Mikey sighed. Again? What does he mean again? He’s hit Frankie before?
“Your dad’s hit you before?” I asked, resting my coffee cup on the counter, and putting my hands on my hips.
“Errm… yeah... he hits me all the- Gerard, what are you doing?” By now, I was fucking furious. Who the fuck did his dad think he is? hitting Frankie and expecting to get away with it. I searched through all the draws in the kitchen, looking for the only gun I keep out here. I quickly found it and checked it was loaded before putting it into my pocket.
“Where do you live?”
“Gerard don-“I cut him off again, I didn’t have time for him to protest, I was doing this, and I was doing it now.
“I said, where do you live?” hate laced my every word, causing Mikey and frank to cringe away from me. Frank, eventually, managed to stutter out his address, warning me to be careful as his dad was probably drunk. I scoffed; no one would go against me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I pounded on the wooden door, my anger damaging the surface of the nicely engraved wood. “OPEN UP!” I shouted, still beating the door.
“What?!” the man in front of me slurred. He had the same features as frank, so I was guessing this was his dad. The man had stubble across his face, but other than that he was as bald as a coot. “O-oohh. I know yooou!” the man tried to speak, swaying around on the spot. “You kidnapped my faggot of a son. I thank you.” I pulled the gun out of my pocket and pressed it onto his chest, right on his heart.
“Now tell me, Mr. Iero. What makes you think you can beat your son, hmm?” I asked, staring him straight in the eye. He laughed, a dry, flat, humourless laugh, breathing his foul breath in my face.
“The queer deserved it. I raised him better than to be prancing around asking for cocks up his-“I cut him off, slapping him hard across his face
“Don’t talk about him like that” I said through gritted teeth. He will not get the better of me. I will not let him.
“Aww! Does the widdle sewial killer have a soft spot for fwankie-boo?” he cooed, pinching my cheek, before punching my jaw.
“I’m going to kill you so fucking slowly you’ll be begging for it” I whispered in his ear, before moving the gun to his shoulder and pulling the trigger. A blood curling scream emitted from the man's mouth as blood poured down his forearm. Three bullets left.
“You bitch!” The intoxicated man threw an angry punch at me, which I dodged easily before shooting him in the other shoulder. Two. Another punch flew my way; a bullet to the stomach. One. “Stop fucking shooting me! I’ve done nothing wrong!” the alcohol began to wear off the man, disappearing with his blood. I trailed the gun up from his stomach to his chest, smearing blood over his dirty shirt. I looked into his horror stricken eyes, smiled, and pulled the trigger again; embedding the bullet deep into his chest. I stepped over the corpse, and walked into the house. I walked up the creaking stairs and kicked open all the doors. The final door I came to was filled with band posters, comic books and action figures. Frankie has more style than I thought! I pulled a duffle bag out of his closet and stuffed it full of clothes and a few other things. I put his makeup and smaller things into my pockets and looked around for anything else he would need. I picked up a picture of Frankie and his mum, carefully folded it and stuffed it into my jacket. Now where was that guitar he was on about? I tore the room apart looking for any trace of his instrument, before finding it in a case under the bed. I slung the bag and case over my shoulder, jumped down the stairs, stepped over the bloody mess in the door way and headed home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I carefully placed the bags down in the living room before I was tackled by frank. He pulled at my shirt and cried hard into my chest. “Sugar what’s wrong?” I asked, fiddling with his hair and stroking his back
“Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you for getting rid of him. But now I don’t have anywhere to go!” his voice cracked on the last word. I placed a soft kiss in his hair, whispering comforting words in his ear.
“I got your stuff, you can stay here Frankie”
“Okay, for one, I didn’t kidnap him. Secondly, I didn’t know he was your friend.” I sighed at my fuming brother.
“THE TV DOESN’T LIE GERARD! YOU OBVIOUSLY DID IT!” by now, Mikey was a deep purple and was breathing heavily.
“What about that time they promised snow in July?” I smirked as my brother gawked at me. The colour of his face slowly returned back to his usual white.
“… Enough of your smart arse answers, Gerard. Now where is he? You haven’t killed him have you?!” he never did like admitting he was wrong; he’s too much like me. I watched in amusement as Mikey ran around the house looking for frank. “Frank! Fraaaaaank! Where are you Frankie? FRANK!!” Mikey screamed as he ran into the kitchen, knocking a very confused Frankie off the kitchen counter, causing him to spill his coffee everywhere. I walked past the mass of limbs and over to the coffee machine, making myself a cup of the bitter liquid.
“Hi Mikey…” frank said, a little out of breath of having another person jump on him.
“Did he hurt you? Has Gerard hurt you? Tell me Frankie! OHMYGOD. What the fuck happened to your forehead?! GERARD WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!” why does he always assume that, when someone is hurt and in my presence, that I did it?
“Gerard didn’t do it… uh, my dad hit me…” I took a sip of my bitter coffee, mentally thanking Frank for saving his ass.
“Again?!” Mikey sighed. Again? What does he mean again? He’s hit Frankie before?
“Your dad’s hit you before?” I asked, resting my coffee cup on the counter, and putting my hands on my hips.
“Errm… yeah... he hits me all the- Gerard, what are you doing?” By now, I was fucking furious. Who the fuck did his dad think he is? hitting Frankie and expecting to get away with it. I searched through all the draws in the kitchen, looking for the only gun I keep out here. I quickly found it and checked it was loaded before putting it into my pocket.
“Where do you live?”
“Gerard don-“I cut him off again, I didn’t have time for him to protest, I was doing this, and I was doing it now.
“I said, where do you live?” hate laced my every word, causing Mikey and frank to cringe away from me. Frank, eventually, managed to stutter out his address, warning me to be careful as his dad was probably drunk. I scoffed; no one would go against me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I pounded on the wooden door, my anger damaging the surface of the nicely engraved wood. “OPEN UP!” I shouted, still beating the door.
“What?!” the man in front of me slurred. He had the same features as frank, so I was guessing this was his dad. The man had stubble across his face, but other than that he was as bald as a coot. “O-oohh. I know yooou!” the man tried to speak, swaying around on the spot. “You kidnapped my faggot of a son. I thank you.” I pulled the gun out of my pocket and pressed it onto his chest, right on his heart.
“Now tell me, Mr. Iero. What makes you think you can beat your son, hmm?” I asked, staring him straight in the eye. He laughed, a dry, flat, humourless laugh, breathing his foul breath in my face.
“The queer deserved it. I raised him better than to be prancing around asking for cocks up his-“I cut him off, slapping him hard across his face
“Don’t talk about him like that” I said through gritted teeth. He will not get the better of me. I will not let him.
“Aww! Does the widdle sewial killer have a soft spot for fwankie-boo?” he cooed, pinching my cheek, before punching my jaw.
“I’m going to kill you so fucking slowly you’ll be begging for it” I whispered in his ear, before moving the gun to his shoulder and pulling the trigger. A blood curling scream emitted from the man's mouth as blood poured down his forearm. Three bullets left.
“You bitch!” The intoxicated man threw an angry punch at me, which I dodged easily before shooting him in the other shoulder. Two. Another punch flew my way; a bullet to the stomach. One. “Stop fucking shooting me! I’ve done nothing wrong!” the alcohol began to wear off the man, disappearing with his blood. I trailed the gun up from his stomach to his chest, smearing blood over his dirty shirt. I looked into his horror stricken eyes, smiled, and pulled the trigger again; embedding the bullet deep into his chest. I stepped over the corpse, and walked into the house. I walked up the creaking stairs and kicked open all the doors. The final door I came to was filled with band posters, comic books and action figures. Frankie has more style than I thought! I pulled a duffle bag out of his closet and stuffed it full of clothes and a few other things. I put his makeup and smaller things into my pockets and looked around for anything else he would need. I picked up a picture of Frankie and his mum, carefully folded it and stuffed it into my jacket. Now where was that guitar he was on about? I tore the room apart looking for any trace of his instrument, before finding it in a case under the bed. I slung the bag and case over my shoulder, jumped down the stairs, stepped over the bloody mess in the door way and headed home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I carefully placed the bags down in the living room before I was tackled by frank. He pulled at my shirt and cried hard into my chest. “Sugar what’s wrong?” I asked, fiddling with his hair and stroking his back
“Thank you. Thank you so much. Thank you for getting rid of him. But now I don’t have anywhere to go!” his voice cracked on the last word. I placed a soft kiss in his hair, whispering comforting words in his ear.
“I got your stuff, you can stay here Frankie”
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