Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Hazel Eyes
Hey dudes! Thank you for lovely reviews and shiz. And to scarlett_fitch2027; don’t see it as stealing, see it as INSPIRATION. Oh, and you owe me £1.50 xo.
Hazel Eyes
Chapter 4
“May the road rise up to meet you, May the wind be always at your back...”
The coffin’s surface was so finely polished she could see it twinkle in the early morning sun. Rosalie could feel her mother’s hand grip hers so tight it had gone numb but she didn’t bother draw away, too transfixed by the intricately carved tomb lowering into the pit, almost as pretty in the sunlight as the girl inside. Her teeth tore at her bottom lip nervously, feeling the metallic taste of blood on her tongue, as she looked at the grey-faced adults around the pit, heads bowed solemnly. There were no kids at the funeral, no one to talk to. Then again, she’d been used to the feeling of isolation since the accident.
“...May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your fields...”
The surface was almost completely covered in earth. She heard her mom restrain a sob and felt the grip on her hand tighten, surprising her that it was possible. She could just picture the body inside; deathly white skin, small figure fitted into that lovely black dress she’d always wanted to try on. And the ribbons in her hair; Rosalie had put them in herself. She wanted her to look as pretty as she could make her on her last day with them.
“...and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.”
Rosalie looked down. The mud was ruining her new shoes. She wrinkled her nose and gave a start as her mom let out a sudden mawkish wail and fell to the ground. She heard people fuss around her, probably Grand momma and daddy, but she didn’t care to check. All she could do was keep her eyes fixed on the ground beneath her.
“Rest in peace, Emily. God receive her soul.”
Everyone was crying now. Rosalie looked up at the clouds above their heads. It was going to rain.
*
Gerard stared at the packet of cigarettes across the room. He bit his lip and placed his hands on his hips, judging each possibility on what to do with them extremely thoroughly. He could bin them. The trash can was right there after all, and that was what Mikey wanted anyway. In fact they should have been a pool of tar at the scrap yard by now he had told him he’d quitted so long ago. But again, he’d lied and now he was facing another moral dilemma. Again.
Gerard sighed, the gust of air blowing a lock of hair up and out of his eyes. Or, he thought coyly. I keep them and Mikey would never know.
He took a large step towards them, feeling the craving burn at the pit of his stomach. He stretched his hand out to touch them, but quickly whipped it back as if they’d scorched it. The pang of guilt rose in his throat like bile as an image of Mikey grinning with pride flooded his vision. He drooped and scratched the nape of his neck.
“You, my friend,” he muttered. “Are a bad, bad person.”
His eyes lifted from the floor and rested on the cigarettes. He tried to ignore them, spinning on his heel and staring furiously at the wall opposite. But however hard he tried he found himself facing back at them until it became too much to bare.
“Screw it.”
He marched across the room and snatched one from the packet, drawing his lighter from the pocket of his jeans. He paused for a minute, calculating. Ray was known for spontaneous visits. Ray would smell the fags. Ray would tell Mikey. Gerard would be in deep shit.
Gerard observed the room, cursing himself for renting the room without a balcony just because it was a couple hundred dollars cheaper. He stepped onto the counter and unlocked the window before opening it and sticking his head out. The drop wasn’t that large. And there was a hedge to compensate for a soft landing in case he fell during his ingenious plan. And he really needed a smoke.
Gingerly he swung one leg out and leant against the frame so that he was hanging out the 3 storey window, his foot hooked round the sink tap being the only thing to stop him from plummeting to his death and ignoring the voices at the back of his head that sounded strangely like Frank telling him what a fucking moron he was. He drew out his cigarette, hastily lit it, tossed the lighter inside and took a long, appreciative drag. Gerard collapsed against the window frame and blew a plume of smoke into the air, closing his eyes and letting a small smile creep onto his lips.
The loud knock at the door almost sent Gerard toppling off the window in fright. He yelped when he slipped suddenly and grasped the window frame with one hand to stop from falling and slamming against the concrete below. The cigarette sadly didn’t have the same luxury, and he watched it float to the ground with a bizarre wrench of his heart.
The door banged loudly again and he cursed inwardly, climbing back inside and hopping off the counter. He decided to leave the window open in case some smoke had crept in and the person at the door’s nose was as sharp as Mikey’s.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Gerard called, pocketing his lighter and pushing the cigarette packet into the trash can. He hurried around the kitchen; slamming draws and cupboards open until the only thing he could find to hide the smell on his breath was a bottle of Nyquil. He frowned, pretended to read the safety instructions and then downed half the bottle. The door banged again. He skidded across the apartment and opened the door to a grinning Frank holding up a greasy bag of cheap Chinese takeout.
“Honey, I’m home,” he smirked. “And I brought calories.”
Gerard stared at him with a raised eyebrow. Frank dropped his arm and returned the glare. “What?”
“The milk I asked for?”
Frank blinked and opened and closed his mouth. “I got mugged,” he blabbed. “...By cats.”
Gerard sighed exasperatedly. “I think I might need to reconsider my choice of babysitter if he can’t do so much as remember to get milk.”
Frank scowled. “You want your dinner or what?”
Gerard stepped aside in the doorway and gestured inside. “Get in.”
Frank beamed and shoved the bag into Gerard’s arms before sauntering gratefully inside. He stopped abruptly as he passed Gerard and wrinkled his nose, eyebrows furrowed darkly. He sniffed once, then frowned and leant in closer to sniff again. “You reek of fags,” he stated.
Gerard glowered at his friend. “Yeah, well so do you. But you stopped smoking last month, so that pretty much narrows it down as to why...”
Frank stuck out his tongue followed by his middle finger. Gerard sniggered triumphantly and shut the door. When he turned round Frank had already made himself at home and was lying slumped on the couch with his shoes kicked off.
“So how are we on the crazy front?”
“Fuck you,” he growled. “I’m not crazy. Therapy is medically advised after drastic operations.”
“Oh, is that what she told you.”
“Who?”
“Your doctor-therapist-person,” Frank said. “The hot one.”
“She’s off limits.”
“Why, she a lesbian? ‘Cus y’know that’s never stopped me before.”
Gerard smacked Frank on the side of the head as he erupted into a fit of high pitched giggles. He sat down next to him and dug into the paper bag before tossing out two paper plates followed by the steaming bowls of noodles and sticky substances he didn’t care to check whether were legal in the US yet or not.
“No, seriously,” Frank continued through a mouthful of pork chow mein. “How’s therapy?”
“...It’s interesting. I’m infuriatingly vague and she’s infuriatingly blunt.” Gerard paused. “I guess it helps. If you like that sorta thing.”
“Huh. Well you’re not the only one that’s messed up round there.”
Gerard raised an eyebrow. Frank coolly took a bite of an ominously sticky ball of something from his box. “Met this kid,” he explained through munches. “Mom’s gone nuts. Sister died; got hit by a car or something...”
Gerard dropped his chopsticks and stared at Frank who was continuing to munch contently at the food. He swallowed thickly, considering the chances.
“...What did she look like?”
Frank frowned in mid chew. “Reddy-brown hair? Really pale, with freckles. Oh and her eyes were freaking scary, dude. Like ice cubes. Why?”
Gerard bit his lip and stared down at his food. There was still half left, put somehow he didn’t have the appetite anymore. Another knock at the door sent his head snapping back up and wearily he got up from his seat and stepped over to it. The room suddenly felt colder, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He took another step, placed his hand on the door handle. It was freezing. He swallowed, took a deep breath and opened the door.
The corridor outside was coated in a thick mist he was sure wasn’t there before. He heard a scuffling down the corridor. He put a hand on the wall and took a few heavy steps towards the noise, ignoring his brain screaming at him to get back inside and lock the door, but he pressed on till he saw it. ‘It’ being the small dishevelled figure of a woman kneeling on the floor. Her eyes were large and sunken, her cheeks gaunt and grey and her dress was soaked crimson with blood.
“W-who are you?”
She looked up at him. There was fear in her eyes. “I lost it,” she whispered. She gestured to the blood staining her dress which now, he noticed, covered the bulge of a formerly pregnant belly.
“Your baby?”
“I lost it,” she kept on whispering, the tears turning to drops of ice on her cheeks in the cold. “It’s all your fault.”
“What? Why?”
“You should’ve owned up. You should’ve turned yourself in, Richard,” she raised a shaking withered hand at him. He took a step back. “This is all your fault.”
Gerard was stumbling backwards now, so fast to get away from her that he almost tripped over his feet. He spun on his heel and broke into a run, twisting and turning round bends in the corridor which somehow felt miles longer than it had before. He could feel the tears on his face, mingling with the condensation in the freezing air and he muscles and lungs screamed at him but he still kept running.
He stopped at his door and thumped on hit hard. It was locked. Where the fuck was Frank? The panic fought to take a hold of his body as he thumped louder still, feeling the footsteps behind him grow louder and louder.
“FRANK!” he screamed. “FRANK, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! HELP ME! FRANK!”
The world blurred and his vision darkened, unconsciousness taking over him. He fell to his knees but couldn’t feel the pain as they hit the ground. He was too numb.
The door swung open and Frank dove to the floor, taking Gerard’s limp form in his arms. He shook him awake, thanking God under his breath as Gerard’s eyes fluttered open.
“Frank...” His lips barely moved as he spoke the word but Frank could hear them loud and clear. He bent down and held his face next to Gerard’s.
“Frank,” he said again, eyes swimming clearer. “We need...to find out...who my donor is...”
O.o
This'll pick up, I promise xo
Hazel Eyes
Chapter 4
“May the road rise up to meet you, May the wind be always at your back...”
The coffin’s surface was so finely polished she could see it twinkle in the early morning sun. Rosalie could feel her mother’s hand grip hers so tight it had gone numb but she didn’t bother draw away, too transfixed by the intricately carved tomb lowering into the pit, almost as pretty in the sunlight as the girl inside. Her teeth tore at her bottom lip nervously, feeling the metallic taste of blood on her tongue, as she looked at the grey-faced adults around the pit, heads bowed solemnly. There were no kids at the funeral, no one to talk to. Then again, she’d been used to the feeling of isolation since the accident.
“...May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your fields...”
The surface was almost completely covered in earth. She heard her mom restrain a sob and felt the grip on her hand tighten, surprising her that it was possible. She could just picture the body inside; deathly white skin, small figure fitted into that lovely black dress she’d always wanted to try on. And the ribbons in her hair; Rosalie had put them in herself. She wanted her to look as pretty as she could make her on her last day with them.
“...and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.”
Rosalie looked down. The mud was ruining her new shoes. She wrinkled her nose and gave a start as her mom let out a sudden mawkish wail and fell to the ground. She heard people fuss around her, probably Grand momma and daddy, but she didn’t care to check. All she could do was keep her eyes fixed on the ground beneath her.
“Rest in peace, Emily. God receive her soul.”
Everyone was crying now. Rosalie looked up at the clouds above their heads. It was going to rain.
*
Gerard stared at the packet of cigarettes across the room. He bit his lip and placed his hands on his hips, judging each possibility on what to do with them extremely thoroughly. He could bin them. The trash can was right there after all, and that was what Mikey wanted anyway. In fact they should have been a pool of tar at the scrap yard by now he had told him he’d quitted so long ago. But again, he’d lied and now he was facing another moral dilemma. Again.
Gerard sighed, the gust of air blowing a lock of hair up and out of his eyes. Or, he thought coyly. I keep them and Mikey would never know.
He took a large step towards them, feeling the craving burn at the pit of his stomach. He stretched his hand out to touch them, but quickly whipped it back as if they’d scorched it. The pang of guilt rose in his throat like bile as an image of Mikey grinning with pride flooded his vision. He drooped and scratched the nape of his neck.
“You, my friend,” he muttered. “Are a bad, bad person.”
His eyes lifted from the floor and rested on the cigarettes. He tried to ignore them, spinning on his heel and staring furiously at the wall opposite. But however hard he tried he found himself facing back at them until it became too much to bare.
“Screw it.”
He marched across the room and snatched one from the packet, drawing his lighter from the pocket of his jeans. He paused for a minute, calculating. Ray was known for spontaneous visits. Ray would smell the fags. Ray would tell Mikey. Gerard would be in deep shit.
Gerard observed the room, cursing himself for renting the room without a balcony just because it was a couple hundred dollars cheaper. He stepped onto the counter and unlocked the window before opening it and sticking his head out. The drop wasn’t that large. And there was a hedge to compensate for a soft landing in case he fell during his ingenious plan. And he really needed a smoke.
Gingerly he swung one leg out and leant against the frame so that he was hanging out the 3 storey window, his foot hooked round the sink tap being the only thing to stop him from plummeting to his death and ignoring the voices at the back of his head that sounded strangely like Frank telling him what a fucking moron he was. He drew out his cigarette, hastily lit it, tossed the lighter inside and took a long, appreciative drag. Gerard collapsed against the window frame and blew a plume of smoke into the air, closing his eyes and letting a small smile creep onto his lips.
The loud knock at the door almost sent Gerard toppling off the window in fright. He yelped when he slipped suddenly and grasped the window frame with one hand to stop from falling and slamming against the concrete below. The cigarette sadly didn’t have the same luxury, and he watched it float to the ground with a bizarre wrench of his heart.
The door banged loudly again and he cursed inwardly, climbing back inside and hopping off the counter. He decided to leave the window open in case some smoke had crept in and the person at the door’s nose was as sharp as Mikey’s.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Gerard called, pocketing his lighter and pushing the cigarette packet into the trash can. He hurried around the kitchen; slamming draws and cupboards open until the only thing he could find to hide the smell on his breath was a bottle of Nyquil. He frowned, pretended to read the safety instructions and then downed half the bottle. The door banged again. He skidded across the apartment and opened the door to a grinning Frank holding up a greasy bag of cheap Chinese takeout.
“Honey, I’m home,” he smirked. “And I brought calories.”
Gerard stared at him with a raised eyebrow. Frank dropped his arm and returned the glare. “What?”
“The milk I asked for?”
Frank blinked and opened and closed his mouth. “I got mugged,” he blabbed. “...By cats.”
Gerard sighed exasperatedly. “I think I might need to reconsider my choice of babysitter if he can’t do so much as remember to get milk.”
Frank scowled. “You want your dinner or what?”
Gerard stepped aside in the doorway and gestured inside. “Get in.”
Frank beamed and shoved the bag into Gerard’s arms before sauntering gratefully inside. He stopped abruptly as he passed Gerard and wrinkled his nose, eyebrows furrowed darkly. He sniffed once, then frowned and leant in closer to sniff again. “You reek of fags,” he stated.
Gerard glowered at his friend. “Yeah, well so do you. But you stopped smoking last month, so that pretty much narrows it down as to why...”
Frank stuck out his tongue followed by his middle finger. Gerard sniggered triumphantly and shut the door. When he turned round Frank had already made himself at home and was lying slumped on the couch with his shoes kicked off.
“So how are we on the crazy front?”
“Fuck you,” he growled. “I’m not crazy. Therapy is medically advised after drastic operations.”
“Oh, is that what she told you.”
“Who?”
“Your doctor-therapist-person,” Frank said. “The hot one.”
“She’s off limits.”
“Why, she a lesbian? ‘Cus y’know that’s never stopped me before.”
Gerard smacked Frank on the side of the head as he erupted into a fit of high pitched giggles. He sat down next to him and dug into the paper bag before tossing out two paper plates followed by the steaming bowls of noodles and sticky substances he didn’t care to check whether were legal in the US yet or not.
“No, seriously,” Frank continued through a mouthful of pork chow mein. “How’s therapy?”
“...It’s interesting. I’m infuriatingly vague and she’s infuriatingly blunt.” Gerard paused. “I guess it helps. If you like that sorta thing.”
“Huh. Well you’re not the only one that’s messed up round there.”
Gerard raised an eyebrow. Frank coolly took a bite of an ominously sticky ball of something from his box. “Met this kid,” he explained through munches. “Mom’s gone nuts. Sister died; got hit by a car or something...”
Gerard dropped his chopsticks and stared at Frank who was continuing to munch contently at the food. He swallowed thickly, considering the chances.
“...What did she look like?”
Frank frowned in mid chew. “Reddy-brown hair? Really pale, with freckles. Oh and her eyes were freaking scary, dude. Like ice cubes. Why?”
Gerard bit his lip and stared down at his food. There was still half left, put somehow he didn’t have the appetite anymore. Another knock at the door sent his head snapping back up and wearily he got up from his seat and stepped over to it. The room suddenly felt colder, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He took another step, placed his hand on the door handle. It was freezing. He swallowed, took a deep breath and opened the door.
The corridor outside was coated in a thick mist he was sure wasn’t there before. He heard a scuffling down the corridor. He put a hand on the wall and took a few heavy steps towards the noise, ignoring his brain screaming at him to get back inside and lock the door, but he pressed on till he saw it. ‘It’ being the small dishevelled figure of a woman kneeling on the floor. Her eyes were large and sunken, her cheeks gaunt and grey and her dress was soaked crimson with blood.
“W-who are you?”
She looked up at him. There was fear in her eyes. “I lost it,” she whispered. She gestured to the blood staining her dress which now, he noticed, covered the bulge of a formerly pregnant belly.
“Your baby?”
“I lost it,” she kept on whispering, the tears turning to drops of ice on her cheeks in the cold. “It’s all your fault.”
“What? Why?”
“You should’ve owned up. You should’ve turned yourself in, Richard,” she raised a shaking withered hand at him. He took a step back. “This is all your fault.”
Gerard was stumbling backwards now, so fast to get away from her that he almost tripped over his feet. He spun on his heel and broke into a run, twisting and turning round bends in the corridor which somehow felt miles longer than it had before. He could feel the tears on his face, mingling with the condensation in the freezing air and he muscles and lungs screamed at him but he still kept running.
He stopped at his door and thumped on hit hard. It was locked. Where the fuck was Frank? The panic fought to take a hold of his body as he thumped louder still, feeling the footsteps behind him grow louder and louder.
“FRANK!” he screamed. “FRANK, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! HELP ME! FRANK!”
The world blurred and his vision darkened, unconsciousness taking over him. He fell to his knees but couldn’t feel the pain as they hit the ground. He was too numb.
The door swung open and Frank dove to the floor, taking Gerard’s limp form in his arms. He shook him awake, thanking God under his breath as Gerard’s eyes fluttered open.
“Frank...” His lips barely moved as he spoke the word but Frank could hear them loud and clear. He bent down and held his face next to Gerard’s.
“Frank,” he said again, eyes swimming clearer. “We need...to find out...who my donor is...”
O.o
This'll pick up, I promise xo
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