Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Poison
Chapter Two
2 reviewsIn here, surrounded by the one thing I love most, I felt better than I ever had in quite awhile.
2Original
The Poison
Chapter Two
I’ll be wide awake
And you’ll fall asleep
It was like a bullet had smashed into my lips.
The kiss was so forceful, wanting, and deadly that it seemed it was the kiss of death- when all my life force is drained in one fell swoop and I’d be left dead on the floor.
He sucked the breath out of me.
In one fluid movement, he had pulled me out of my chair and I was being carried down the hall towards his bedroom. I didn’t struggle, either. Something about the way his thin arms encased me told me I wouldn’t be able to escape- sheer willpower, on his part. Besides, I was too out of shape- I could hardly run down the block, let alone make the ten miles back to my house.
It seemed that fourteen years spent with my father still hadn’t taught me anything- if a man takes you to his bedroom, sex is imminent. No amount of praying or pleading or struggling or, adversely, not struggling, would change his mind.
A cloud of gray panic eclipsed my vision as we entered his bedroom- dark walls, dark furniture, dark everything. He threw me down on the bed and I felt the zipper of my blue jeans being pulled down.
Limp and still like a doll all the while, with eyes closed. Because I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to see him steal away my innocence.
A sharp, excruciating pain between my legs caused me to convulse violently, tears already leaking from the corners of my eyes.
Oh God, I thought. What have I done?
A throbbing sensation pulsed through my body as he pulled out, gently kissing away my tears.
“I’m sorry.” he whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”
The kiss of death.
Slowly, my energy drained as the faint, forlorn apologies were whispered into my ear.
-.-.-
When I woke up, the other side of the bed was cold. The thick gold-and-green fabric of the quilt was messed disproportionately- it seemed that I had taken all of the covers. A change of clothes was set beside me. Stretching out my fingers, I sat up, hearing Gerard’s voice.
“Good morning.”
The greeting sounded more like a threat. I tensed visibly, the skimpy muscles in my arms tightening. What made him think he had the right to even talk to me, after…
Don’t think about it.
“Get dressed. While you’re here, I thought it would be best to show you around the house.”
And why was he so sure that I would be staying for longer than I had to? The sun had just risen over the dark hills, so I guessed it to be around six or seven in the morning. A short feeling of pride that I had survived a total of four nights without a home shuddered through me.
I looked down at my body- which, strangely, was not entirely naked. I had a shirt on, and underwear. I cringed, thinking of how long he had had to stare at me in only this.
I picked up the clothes he had given me and as I pulled the hem of my shirt up, Gerard turned away.
“In another room, please.” he choked, breathing heavily.
“I thought you would’ve left.” I whispered to myself.
As I looked down, I saw what had shocked him- a long scar that stretched across the light skin of my stomach. I grimaced, remembering how it had gotten there. I pulled the shirt down.
With the clothes under my arm I opened the door to the master bathroom- it being almost as large as the bedroom itself. The walls were a light blue, and the tile a combination of that shade and white. Stripping down to my underwear, I held up the shirt he had given me- a white, long sleeved blouse with a stiff collar. Along with the drab gathered skirt, it looked like a Catholic school uniform.
It worried me where he got it.
But still, I slipped on the clothes, leaving the oversized T shirt in the laundry bin. I still had my gloves on when I timidly reopened the door into his bedroom. Gerard sat on the bed, hands curled into loose fists. When I stepped fully into the room he stood and walked to the door. As he passed, I felt his fingertips run lightly up my hand, like he was wondering whether to hold my hand or not.
I pulled away.
Back out in the hallway, I noticed another door, which was the powder room, as Gerard told me. Again we passed the great room, dining room and living room, into the laundry room, then a right turn back into the kitchen. There was a narrow opening that connected the great room to the kitchen, and beside that was a staircase. As we passed by the great room, I saw shelves stuffed with books. Ever since my father had turned into what he was, I had never been able to pick up a real book in almost two years. My brain hungered for Shakespeare, Irvine Welsh, anything at all. And here was a healthy set of just that sort of thing. I felt a light tingling in my fingertips- I wanted to read those books.
“You like books?” he said.
“Yes.” I answered quietly.
“There’s a whole library upstairs.” He continued to ascend the staircase, I a few steps behind.
At the top of the steps, there was a bird’s eye view of the great room, and to the right, were two doors. Behind me was another door. Gerard led me down the hall to the door furthest away, and, opening it, I looked inside an icy-blue bedroom with a hole in the floor, right in front of the bathroom door. Through the square-shaped hole protruded a thin, cylindrical chimney vent surrounded by a waist-high fence. The thing looked so ridiculous that I almost laughed.
“Building error.” Gerard mumbled. “They had to drill a hole in the floor for the chimney in the living room to get through to the roof.”
In one corner was a neoclassical style white bed frame, slanted diagonally. In the other corner was an austere-looking living chair. Beside the door was the only mismatching piece in the whole room- the green wood dresser with a small tapestry above it.
The walls were an ice-blue flurry of artful swirls. Beautiful pattern. I ran my hand over it, realizing that I had been painted on, instead of wallpaper.
“It’s beautiful.” I breathed, still stroking the intricate designs. “Who painted it?”
Gerard’s face hardened angrily. “That’s not important.”
I continued looking around at the walls, until I noticed a small alcove, with what looked to be more bookshelves.
“That’s where the library is.”
Beside the shelves was yet another door, this one slightly ajar, leading into a traditional-looking English library. I felt the corners of my mouth tilting upwards as I pushed the door open, revealing rows upon rows of books.
And, oh, how lovely they were. There were newer prints from the Library of America of Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Mark Twain, along with much older antiques- I had even seen a book that dated back to the 1920s. In here, surrounded by the one thing I love most, I felt better than I ever had in quite awhile.
I had planned on leaving as soon as he finished his little tour with me, but right then I decided to read at least one book.
“Go ahead and pick something out, I guess.” Gerard said, running stressed fingers through his hair. “I’ll leave you to it.”
By now the sun had risen fully, leaving checkerboard tiles spread lopsidedly across the floor, and as I stood on my toes to reach a volume of Charles Dickens, light tapping emanated from outside. I paused, arm outstretched towards the red book, waiting.
Tap. Tap tap tap tap.
I waited another full minute before whatever was making the noise fell silent. I considered moving further down the row of shelves to where the sound would be more muffled. But I was curious. I rotated slowly towards the window, to see a small brown sparrow stuck between the slightly opened windowpanes. It pecked desperately at the glass, trying to escape. I felt a rush of sympathy for it as the little creature let out a sad coo, as if it were asking me for help. Lightly pushing on the window, the two slabs of glass slid open easily, but although it was free to fly away, the sparrow stayed put, staring almost quizzically up at me.
“What, do you want something to eat, too?” I asked it, lightly chuckling.
The bird pecked at the knit fabric of my gloves and tried to snag a piece, disappointed that it wasn’t edible.
“Sorry, bird, but I have nothing.” I apologized, not wondering in the slightest why I was talking to something that couldn’t talk back.
The sparrow continued tugging weakly on my glove until one finger slipped out of the fabric. That gave it enough leverage to pull the glove off entirely and fly away with it lodged in its beak.
“...You’re welcome.” I muttered. “I guess I don’t need this anymore.”
I stripped off the other glove and left it sitting in the chill air on the window sill.
Back in the library, another book caught my eye- the original publication of Catcher in the Rye. Luckily it was on a lower shelf- around eye level- and as I pulled the book out, a scrap of yellowing paper flew out from between the pages. Landing face-up on the floor, I could see that it had a poem or something written on it. I bent over and looked more closely-
And we’ll love again, we’ll laugh again
We’ll cry again, and we’ll dance again
And it’s better off this way
One word for this excerpt would be cryptic. Another would be tragic. Without thinking, I stuffed the paper in the breast pocket of my shirt and sat down at one of the lounges, opening Catcher in the Rye to a random page and didn’t read.
-.-.-
It was a long time before the sun passed the twelve o’ clock position and I had my first taste of post traumatic stress. I sat in the same position as I had hours ago, the book still open in my hands on the same page. My hands trembled as I remembered the awful, dirty feeling from last night. The book slid out of my hands and hit the floor, sounding far louder than anything I’ve ever heard. Soon the tremors spread to my arms, then my legs. I followed the book to the floor in a convulsing heap, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Oh God!” I screamed. “Oh God!”
Oh God.
Suddenly, I saw the dark bedroom, Gerard above me, and I screamed again.
Oh God.
Lost in my own nightmare, I didn’t hear the heavy footsteps as Gerard slammed the door open, seeing my form sprawled out on the wooden floor. He kneeled over me and grabbed my shoulders roughly, forcing my face inches away from his own.
“Listen to me Atropine.”
His hands trembling as much as my own smoothed the damp strands of hair behind my ears, his face sorrowful. I wanted to look away, but his eyes. They were a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of brown and green with flecks of gold in them- hazel eyes.
He cupped my face gently, pressing his forehead against mine. “Shit. Atropine, you’re still here. Please be here, please? Please?”
I wasn’t there. I stared blankly as a lobotomy victim up into his deep eyes. As I gazed enigmatically at Gerard’s face, I realized he was good-looking, in a sort of Jack Skellington way. The all-black ensemble that he always seemed to be wearing suited him well.
But what was that lady doing there, next to him, peering over his shoulder with a quiet frown?
My eyes slid over to her, with her twin black pigtails and pursed red lips. I tilted my head to the side, drooling like a newborn. The woman leaned around Gerard’s shoulder again, this time taking a small step towards me. Her legs disappeared into Gerard’s body as she neared me, reaching out with pale arms. Cool fingers brushed against my forehead as she whispered to me.
“Be the cure.”
Chapter Two
I’ll be wide awake
And you’ll fall asleep
It was like a bullet had smashed into my lips.
The kiss was so forceful, wanting, and deadly that it seemed it was the kiss of death- when all my life force is drained in one fell swoop and I’d be left dead on the floor.
He sucked the breath out of me.
In one fluid movement, he had pulled me out of my chair and I was being carried down the hall towards his bedroom. I didn’t struggle, either. Something about the way his thin arms encased me told me I wouldn’t be able to escape- sheer willpower, on his part. Besides, I was too out of shape- I could hardly run down the block, let alone make the ten miles back to my house.
It seemed that fourteen years spent with my father still hadn’t taught me anything- if a man takes you to his bedroom, sex is imminent. No amount of praying or pleading or struggling or, adversely, not struggling, would change his mind.
A cloud of gray panic eclipsed my vision as we entered his bedroom- dark walls, dark furniture, dark everything. He threw me down on the bed and I felt the zipper of my blue jeans being pulled down.
Limp and still like a doll all the while, with eyes closed. Because I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to see him steal away my innocence.
A sharp, excruciating pain between my legs caused me to convulse violently, tears already leaking from the corners of my eyes.
Oh God, I thought. What have I done?
A throbbing sensation pulsed through my body as he pulled out, gently kissing away my tears.
“I’m sorry.” he whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”
The kiss of death.
Slowly, my energy drained as the faint, forlorn apologies were whispered into my ear.
-.-.-
When I woke up, the other side of the bed was cold. The thick gold-and-green fabric of the quilt was messed disproportionately- it seemed that I had taken all of the covers. A change of clothes was set beside me. Stretching out my fingers, I sat up, hearing Gerard’s voice.
“Good morning.”
The greeting sounded more like a threat. I tensed visibly, the skimpy muscles in my arms tightening. What made him think he had the right to even talk to me, after…
Don’t think about it.
“Get dressed. While you’re here, I thought it would be best to show you around the house.”
And why was he so sure that I would be staying for longer than I had to? The sun had just risen over the dark hills, so I guessed it to be around six or seven in the morning. A short feeling of pride that I had survived a total of four nights without a home shuddered through me.
I looked down at my body- which, strangely, was not entirely naked. I had a shirt on, and underwear. I cringed, thinking of how long he had had to stare at me in only this.
I picked up the clothes he had given me and as I pulled the hem of my shirt up, Gerard turned away.
“In another room, please.” he choked, breathing heavily.
“I thought you would’ve left.” I whispered to myself.
As I looked down, I saw what had shocked him- a long scar that stretched across the light skin of my stomach. I grimaced, remembering how it had gotten there. I pulled the shirt down.
With the clothes under my arm I opened the door to the master bathroom- it being almost as large as the bedroom itself. The walls were a light blue, and the tile a combination of that shade and white. Stripping down to my underwear, I held up the shirt he had given me- a white, long sleeved blouse with a stiff collar. Along with the drab gathered skirt, it looked like a Catholic school uniform.
It worried me where he got it.
But still, I slipped on the clothes, leaving the oversized T shirt in the laundry bin. I still had my gloves on when I timidly reopened the door into his bedroom. Gerard sat on the bed, hands curled into loose fists. When I stepped fully into the room he stood and walked to the door. As he passed, I felt his fingertips run lightly up my hand, like he was wondering whether to hold my hand or not.
I pulled away.
Back out in the hallway, I noticed another door, which was the powder room, as Gerard told me. Again we passed the great room, dining room and living room, into the laundry room, then a right turn back into the kitchen. There was a narrow opening that connected the great room to the kitchen, and beside that was a staircase. As we passed by the great room, I saw shelves stuffed with books. Ever since my father had turned into what he was, I had never been able to pick up a real book in almost two years. My brain hungered for Shakespeare, Irvine Welsh, anything at all. And here was a healthy set of just that sort of thing. I felt a light tingling in my fingertips- I wanted to read those books.
“You like books?” he said.
“Yes.” I answered quietly.
“There’s a whole library upstairs.” He continued to ascend the staircase, I a few steps behind.
At the top of the steps, there was a bird’s eye view of the great room, and to the right, were two doors. Behind me was another door. Gerard led me down the hall to the door furthest away, and, opening it, I looked inside an icy-blue bedroom with a hole in the floor, right in front of the bathroom door. Through the square-shaped hole protruded a thin, cylindrical chimney vent surrounded by a waist-high fence. The thing looked so ridiculous that I almost laughed.
“Building error.” Gerard mumbled. “They had to drill a hole in the floor for the chimney in the living room to get through to the roof.”
In one corner was a neoclassical style white bed frame, slanted diagonally. In the other corner was an austere-looking living chair. Beside the door was the only mismatching piece in the whole room- the green wood dresser with a small tapestry above it.
The walls were an ice-blue flurry of artful swirls. Beautiful pattern. I ran my hand over it, realizing that I had been painted on, instead of wallpaper.
“It’s beautiful.” I breathed, still stroking the intricate designs. “Who painted it?”
Gerard’s face hardened angrily. “That’s not important.”
I continued looking around at the walls, until I noticed a small alcove, with what looked to be more bookshelves.
“That’s where the library is.”
Beside the shelves was yet another door, this one slightly ajar, leading into a traditional-looking English library. I felt the corners of my mouth tilting upwards as I pushed the door open, revealing rows upon rows of books.
And, oh, how lovely they were. There were newer prints from the Library of America of Poe, H.P. Lovecraft, Mark Twain, along with much older antiques- I had even seen a book that dated back to the 1920s. In here, surrounded by the one thing I love most, I felt better than I ever had in quite awhile.
I had planned on leaving as soon as he finished his little tour with me, but right then I decided to read at least one book.
“Go ahead and pick something out, I guess.” Gerard said, running stressed fingers through his hair. “I’ll leave you to it.”
By now the sun had risen fully, leaving checkerboard tiles spread lopsidedly across the floor, and as I stood on my toes to reach a volume of Charles Dickens, light tapping emanated from outside. I paused, arm outstretched towards the red book, waiting.
Tap. Tap tap tap tap.
I waited another full minute before whatever was making the noise fell silent. I considered moving further down the row of shelves to where the sound would be more muffled. But I was curious. I rotated slowly towards the window, to see a small brown sparrow stuck between the slightly opened windowpanes. It pecked desperately at the glass, trying to escape. I felt a rush of sympathy for it as the little creature let out a sad coo, as if it were asking me for help. Lightly pushing on the window, the two slabs of glass slid open easily, but although it was free to fly away, the sparrow stayed put, staring almost quizzically up at me.
“What, do you want something to eat, too?” I asked it, lightly chuckling.
The bird pecked at the knit fabric of my gloves and tried to snag a piece, disappointed that it wasn’t edible.
“Sorry, bird, but I have nothing.” I apologized, not wondering in the slightest why I was talking to something that couldn’t talk back.
The sparrow continued tugging weakly on my glove until one finger slipped out of the fabric. That gave it enough leverage to pull the glove off entirely and fly away with it lodged in its beak.
“...You’re welcome.” I muttered. “I guess I don’t need this anymore.”
I stripped off the other glove and left it sitting in the chill air on the window sill.
Back in the library, another book caught my eye- the original publication of Catcher in the Rye. Luckily it was on a lower shelf- around eye level- and as I pulled the book out, a scrap of yellowing paper flew out from between the pages. Landing face-up on the floor, I could see that it had a poem or something written on it. I bent over and looked more closely-
And we’ll love again, we’ll laugh again
We’ll cry again, and we’ll dance again
And it’s better off this way
One word for this excerpt would be cryptic. Another would be tragic. Without thinking, I stuffed the paper in the breast pocket of my shirt and sat down at one of the lounges, opening Catcher in the Rye to a random page and didn’t read.
-.-.-
It was a long time before the sun passed the twelve o’ clock position and I had my first taste of post traumatic stress. I sat in the same position as I had hours ago, the book still open in my hands on the same page. My hands trembled as I remembered the awful, dirty feeling from last night. The book slid out of my hands and hit the floor, sounding far louder than anything I’ve ever heard. Soon the tremors spread to my arms, then my legs. I followed the book to the floor in a convulsing heap, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Oh God!” I screamed. “Oh God!”
Oh God.
Suddenly, I saw the dark bedroom, Gerard above me, and I screamed again.
Oh God.
Lost in my own nightmare, I didn’t hear the heavy footsteps as Gerard slammed the door open, seeing my form sprawled out on the wooden floor. He kneeled over me and grabbed my shoulders roughly, forcing my face inches away from his own.
“Listen to me Atropine.”
His hands trembling as much as my own smoothed the damp strands of hair behind my ears, his face sorrowful. I wanted to look away, but his eyes. They were a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of brown and green with flecks of gold in them- hazel eyes.
He cupped my face gently, pressing his forehead against mine. “Shit. Atropine, you’re still here. Please be here, please? Please?”
I wasn’t there. I stared blankly as a lobotomy victim up into his deep eyes. As I gazed enigmatically at Gerard’s face, I realized he was good-looking, in a sort of Jack Skellington way. The all-black ensemble that he always seemed to be wearing suited him well.
But what was that lady doing there, next to him, peering over his shoulder with a quiet frown?
My eyes slid over to her, with her twin black pigtails and pursed red lips. I tilted my head to the side, drooling like a newborn. The woman leaned around Gerard’s shoulder again, this time taking a small step towards me. Her legs disappeared into Gerard’s body as she neared me, reaching out with pale arms. Cool fingers brushed against my forehead as she whispered to me.
“Be the cure.”
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