FicWad

Life for Frank Iero, lead singer and guitarist for rock band A Touch Of Chaos was pretty damn good. Screaming, adoring fans, money, fame and all the drugs and booze the youngster could consume.
Yeah…he thinks to himself, sipping the bitter tasting alcoholic liquid right out of the bottle, his converse clad feet resting on the small table. It didn`t get much better than this.
Ever since the young, tender age of four Frank had known that he was destined for big things. His dreams were filled with huge stadiums and arenas, playing in front of thousands of awestruck fans, all screaming his name as the adrenaline buzzed through them, the ground shaking music washing over them. Coming from a poor family didn`t discourage the young rocker either, nor did his doting, overprotective parents pleas for him to stay home, save up and go onto a decent collage and secure a well paid executive job. Frank didn`t want to save money he wanted to blow it.
He had always known what he wanted, even as a little child. And right now all he wanted was for the tanned, blackish blue haired bassist, Benji, to shut the fuck up and pass him his drink that she had taken off of him moments before. . It had been a long hard day for him, what with the bad review of the previous night’s concert and all Frank wanted was to forget it all for a few hours and drown it all out with a few drinks.
“Frank, no!” She narrows her eyes at him, which were a uniquely intelligent shade of light hazel that shone gold whenever she was onstage performing under the ever changing bright, colourful lights.
Scowling the red and blacked haired musician reaches out to grab the large bottle of Jack Daniels from the girl, but she slaps his arm away sharply.
“Ross! Asher!” Frank turns to face the other two band mates his annoyed scowl still in place.
Ross, the spiky black haired drummer who practically lived in black skinny jeans mumbles something about frank having enough, but other than that does nothing, returning his attention back to his Batman Comic. Asher the fair skinned, brown eyed guitarist just shrugs, knowing that there was no use in saying anything about it. He and Frank got along rather well, on occasions. He didn`t want to risk the band breaking up so he always stayed quiet whenever Frank went out of control or drunk too much. It was something that they had all grown used to in the four years the band had been together. Frank was just Frank. He liked to party, and party hard. End of.
“It`s time for you guys to go on in five.” The four young rockers nod, barely paying any attention and slowly get to their feet.
After another short disagreement between Benji and Frank, who had snatched his bottle back, it was time for them to take to the stage, something they all loved with all their hearts.
Frank stumbles onto the brightly lit, Smokey stage, a mad grin on his handsome face, followed by the others, who were nervously watching the wild front man.
“Hello new Jersey!” he screams into the mike and the huge crowd goes wild, the noise almost deafening. “Are you bitches ready to fucking rock!?” he asks, and they scream even louder. The crowd was too worked up and excited, too high on sheer adrenaline to notice the slight slur to the singer`s words but his band mates were not. Ross catches the blackish blue haired girl`s eyes about halfway into their fifth song, and she nods once, barely lowering her head. They both turn to glance at Asher, who was rocking out near the far left side of the stage.
“Alright you little fuckers!” Frank curses at the fans jokingly, jumping around madly, his vision slightly blurred. “This next song is called Vengeance!” The crowd roars and the intro begins.
…
“That was the best fucking show ever!” The sweat drenched singer yells, before half throwing himself down and half collapsing onto his bunk. The others frown but this time no one says a word. They had made their decision; something had to be done about Frank. For the sake of the band`s future and for his own. He couldn`t see it, but Frank was destroying himself. He needed saving, before it was too late.
…
A raven haired, ghostly pale teenage boy was sat moodily with his bare arms crossed in the back seat of his sometimes rather ditzy mother`s car. His white, blemish free face showed no emotion, it was a blank mask. Nestled snugly in his ears that his messy,ebony hair was partially covering were his favourite headphones, blasting the raw comforting music into his skull. The young boy lived for music. And art. You couldn’t forget art. The boy would slave away at his old falling to pieces desk for hours, hunched over a piece of plain paper, until the dark, sometimes gory and quite often depressing images would stare back at you, looking so realistic that you were surprised that the drawings didn`t jump off of the page.
“Gerard Way.” his equally pale mother, who practically lived in sweatpants and was rarely seen without some kind of health magazine, speaks in a stern tone her hazel eyes locking with his in the mirror.
Gerard raises one dark, slightly mismatched eyebrow at her, staying silent.
The corners of her pale pink perfectly painted lips curl downwards a little and she sighs. “Gee, sweetie...” He narrows his eyes. The use of his old nickname form when he was a child would get her nowhere, not today. She knew how much he loathed spending time with other people, he only ever ventured outside his room unless he had to. So why she had decided that sending him to some God awful camp in the middle of nowhere would help him get over his irrational dislike and fear of others he did not know. He was still trying to figure out the reason. The only one he could come up with in his twisted mind was that she, his own mother, the woman that had given birth to him, hated him.
This was going to be the worst summer ever…
And to make matters even worse, she only had to make his younger, girl crazed, awkward younger brother, Mikey tag along to keep an eye on him.
Gerard sighs, looking out of the window bitterly watching as they speed farther and farther away from home.