Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Des Hommes Comme Nous

Chapter 1

by Theoneonandonly 4 reviews

Prison isn't just for punishment. Frerard.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: R - Genres: Drama,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way - Warnings: [!] [V] [X] [?] - Published: 2011-10-29 - Updated: 2011-11-08 - 1770 words

Hello again! I have decided to grace you all with a second story! Just so you know, I don't actually live in America, so I don't really know how the prison system works. Therefore some of the things in this story are probably not true. Don't hate... it's a story.
I don't own MCR. At all. Enjoy...

Gerard's POV.

I groaned as the harsh morning light beckoned my lazy eyes open. Another day. I pulled myself up from beneath the thick black covers and stared intently at the glowing alarm clock on the small bedside table; nine a.m. What the hell? I never wake up this early.

I found the source of my current awake state as I felt a violent vibration on the pillow beside my head. I moaned sheepishly, how can I forget to turn off my phone before I went to sleep? I slapped my face in frustration and rubbed my nose gingerly; seems like I have more strength in the morning than I do at night. Figures.

I grabbed my phone and noted that I had a missed call from my current boss, Will from the Phone Hut in the mall, and a text message from the same person. I opened the message and bit back a heap of profanities that are bound to escape my worthless mouth.

"You're fired," it read.

Fourth job in two months, pissed away. Mikey is gonna be furious! I can almost hear his lecture; "Oh Gerard... can't you be more responsible Gerard... I can't have my 30 year old brother living with me and my wife, Gerard... Get a life Gerard." I felt like punching my dear, sweet, successful little brother in the face when he began critisizing me.

It's not my fault I can't keep a job, my bosses are always dicks. Mikey was a very powerful bank manager, and together with his lawyer wife, Alicia, they were the pride and joy of the Way family. I was the hermit that lives with his little brother and still reads comic books in the dark like a hormonal 14 year old. Lifting the phone from my pillow, I swallow my insecurities and call my ex-boss. I can't tell Mikey I've been fired again, he'll probably kick me out.

The phone rings for a while and I am about to hang up when I hear the line click, signalling that Will has in fact picked up the phone.

"What, Gerard? Can't you read? I said you're fired." Will's monotone voice confirmed the seriousness of the conversation we were having.

I sighed loudly into the speaker. "Please Will! Give me another shot. Why did you fire me anyway? I was the perfect employee; and like the only one who actually bothered to show up to work! Why have you never fired Joe? He only comes in for an hour a day! I'm in that shit hole for 7 hours... 7!"

Will groaned into the phone and I could almost imagine him rolling his eyes. It was a lie, I know I'm not the perfect employee. I do work for 7 hours though, when I bother coming in at all. That's more than what Joe does anyway.

"Fuck man. You don't get it, do you? You hardly come in to work most days, and when you do you're always so hungover you have to take a fucking nap in the store room or you'll hurl all over the customers! And Joe works there part-time. He's only supposed to do an hour a day. You're a liability to Phone Hut and I can't have you working here anymore. Goodbye Gerard."

He hung up.

What just happened? I can't believe he would fire me over being slightly hungover... it's not my fault my awesome party lifestyle is too much for him to handle. Well, there is no point in hanging around in bed and moping over this, I don't have to tell Mikey. It's not like he asks to see my paycheck, he knows I'll drink it anyway. I elevated myself off the mattress that is my bed and sighed once more. This is going to be a long day.

I didn't bother getting out of my thin make-shift pyjamas, since it's not like I'll be doing anything today. I went downstairs to the kitchen and looked through all of the cupboards, finally setting sights on the prize. The mother-load. My stash of booze. I pulled out a aged bottle of whiskey and hugged it to my chest. This was my source of comfort. Still holding the bottle tightly, I made my way back to my room in silence. The stairs creaked under my weight, echoing in my sensitive ears and in the stagnant air of the undisturbed house. I cringed. When Mikey or Alicia aren't home everything is so silent and disconsolate. Closing my bedroom door roughly, I hunched over to catch my breath. Those stairs are going to be the death of me, I swear. I straightened up and fell back onto my bed. I opened the precious bottle and took a large mouthful of the sweet nectar.

The whiskey burnt as it traveled down my parched throat, but I soon got used to the feeling and welcomed it like a man on the cusp of dehydration would welcome a bottle of sacred water.

I continued taking small sips of the whiskey for approximately two hours; until Mikey came home. By then, I was totally wasted. I could hear the keys jingling ferociously in lock, and then feet shuffling across the expensive hallway.

"Gerard, I'm home!" Mikey bellowed up the stairs.

I stirred involuntarily and stood up off of the bed, grunting the entire time. It seems that I am very unfit, according to the strain I get under while walking up the stairs. I stumbled unfashionably right past the tiny mirror adjacent to the door and dared to take a peek at my bedraggled appearance. My shoulder-lenght tufts of black hair hung unceremoniously around my pallid face and my dull green eyes were shadowed by dark bags that came about due to the lack of sleep I have been suffering these past few days. The loose Slipknot t-shirt I was wearing gave the impression that I weighed more as it did a good job of hiding my oddly feminine body. I sighed in dissapointment and looked away from the mirror, opening the door casually and taking to the stairs once more; this time carefully, as I did not trust my balance when I am drunk.

Mikey was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of steaming coffee and a newspaper when I found him. He looked up at me and scowled, seeing my disheveled look.

"Damn Gee, you look like shit." He said curtly, gazing back down to the news article that had caught his attention. I gave him my best evil glare, even though he did not look back up to see it.

"Well hello to you too brother." I slurred. Mikey scoffed.

"Drunk again I see," He looked up to the clock that hung above the state-of-the-art fridge, "And it's only 4:30. What's that, a new personal best?" He sighed and looked once more upon the newspaper. It was true, this was the earliest I had been drunk in a while. However, this time I had a reason to drink.

"Don't judge, little bro. I have an excuse; I just got fired. See? There's a reason." I mumbled and began making my way to the coffee machine slowly. Mikey set aside his newpaper in a flash and gaped at me, open mouthed.

"What... again? Seriously Gerard? It's like you lose jobs more regularly than you wash yourself!" His eyes were accusing beneath his designer glasses. He stood up quickly and leaned forward to grab me by the arm. His crisp white shirt fit snuggly around his toned upper arm. I bore my gaze into his and struggled away from his tight grasp.

"Leave me alone Michael. You know I'm terrible at keeping jobs." I looked away as he blinked stupidly at me.

"Of course you fucking are, you dickface." I raised an eyebrow at his choice of words. "I'm so dissapointed in you bro. I actually thought you managed to clean up your act and get your life together. Mom and dad would hate to see you like this; they'd be dissapointed too. They wouldn't believe that they raised a son who still lives off his younger brother. Get a life Gerard." He shook his head and let go of his hold on my arm.

I was livid; Mikey had touched on a raw wound. How dare he mention our parents like that? Doesn't he remember that their deaths were the very things that begun my downspiral of shame? He knew better than to guilt me like that. I glared once more into his angry eyes and pulled my fist back, ready to pummel his pretty little face in. I swung forward with my right arm and missed, horribly. The alcohol had inhibited my power of aim, so I ended up punching thin air.

Mikey chuckled at my pathetic fighting skills and stepped back.

"Nice try Chuck Norris." He smirked smugly and walked out of the kitchen into the adjoining living room. I began following him to the next room but I was stopped in my tracks by a pounding headache burying itself deep into my skull. I grabbed my head fiercely and thanked the blackness that overwhelmed my senses and forced me to collapse into unconciousness.


I woke up at a ungodly hour once more; two a.m. I opened my eyes lazily and took in the familiar surroundings. I was pleased to see that Mikey had carried me back to my room and not left me in the kitchen like I would have done if the roles had been reversed. I scrunched up my face and gasped slightly. There was something stuck to my forehead. I grabbed blindly at it and stared at the hand written post-it note that had some of my hair attached to it. Mikey's handwriting is easily recognisable yet almost impossible to decipher in my hungover state.

In an incomprehensible font, Mikey had written: "Got you a job interview at NJ Prison as a guard. Its tomorrow at 9. Ask for Butch at main gate. You better land that job or your sorry ass is out of my house." How charming.

I sighed in agitation at Mikey's obviously desperate attempt at finding me a job and I fell back down on the pillow, letting sleep wash over me.
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