Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Ghost of Apartment 27
How I Met Pansy
0 reviewsCHAPTER TWO "This is the story of how I killed myself." Frikey multichapter
0Unrated
Frank’s POV:
My eyes dropped to the mat under me stating “welcome”. I refused to make eye contact with the guy I had screamed at in the parking lot of a gas station. I tried to look at anything but his light brown hair and his square framed glasses. I could already tell things were going to get really, really awkward, and fast.
“Well.. Come in then,” Croaked the teen with the glasses as he stepped back, “make yourselves at home.”
I slowly stepped into the house. It smelled of burnt food and air freshener. I kept my eyes low, and followed Gerard and his girlfriend up the stairs to what I assume was Gerard’s old bedroom. Gerard flopped on the bed, pulling his girlfriend with him. He pointed towards the far left wall, covered in old paintings and chipping wall paper.
“She’s over there. I haven’t touched her since I left. My brother was suppost to play it or something, but I guess he never touched the damn thing. Little twit never did what I told him to.”
I picked up the white Les Paul that sat on it’s stand, neglected and forgotten. Fuck, Gerard was right. It was dusty as shit. I plucked the low E string, and guess it hadn’t been tuned, either, because it was now in drop D. I figured if I replaced a few strings, and cleaned her up a bit, it should sound just fine.
With his arm still draped around the female in the short skirt and pigtales, Gerard spoke up. “How much yuh want for it, kid? Nothin’ lower than $50.”
“We agreed on $75 over the phone, right?”
Gerard nodded.
“Then $75. And thanks for picking me up, man, but I can walk back.” I tried to put a smile on my face, but it failed, and turned into a sarcastic smirk.
“Alright man, if you say so. Why don’t you go have some coffee before you go? I think my mom made some or something.”
“That would be great. Thanks.” I took out what I had counted as $75, and carefully handed it to Gerard who threw it on the floor and pounced on his girlfriend. I grabbed the guitar and the gig bag and backed away to find the kitchen.
The woman who must have been in her early 50’s spotted me first.
“Hello, dear. Do you need something?” She smiled and twisted the ring on her left hand.
I had no idea what to do. I would feel bad asking for coffee, and also feel weird saying I didn’t know where I was. “Um.. Where’s the bathroom..?” I nervously bit my lower lip, hoping that I didn’t sound too desperate.
“It’s down the hall, but I don’t believe there’s a bath towel in there. Would you be willing to wait in the living room while I fetched one, hun?”
“Absolutely, Mrs...?”
“Way.” She stuck out her hand and smiled. I shook it kindly and carefully and went into the living room. Just my luck; the kid with the glasses was on the couch, playing Call of Duty. He sighed and paused the game.
“Hey. What’s up?” He had a quiet voice. His light brown hair kept falling in his face and barely missed the neck of his Radiohead tee shirt. His faded grey Converse were lazily placed on the coffee table.
I stuttered, but finally spat out “N-nothing. I just bought a guitar from your brother.” I gestured to the gig bag in my left hand and bit my lip.
“Oh, he’s selling Pansy? Shame. Good guitar, man. You’ll be happy you got it.”
I smiled, and heard Mrs. Way’s footsteps coming down the hallway. She pointed down the hall.
I waved goodbye to the guy in the glasses, and went into the bathroom. I stared into the mirror at my reflected image. My hair was wind blown, my eyeliner was slightly smudged, and my nose ring was crooked. I tidied myself up, flushed the toilet, and walked out.
I popped my head into the kitchen, “You have a very nice house, Mrs. Way.”
“Why thank you! Have a safe trip home, okay?”
“Thank you.” I waved and passed the living room, getting one last glimpse at the guy with the light brown hair and glasses. I closed the door quietly and walked down the road towards my mother’s apartment.
My eyes dropped to the mat under me stating “welcome”. I refused to make eye contact with the guy I had screamed at in the parking lot of a gas station. I tried to look at anything but his light brown hair and his square framed glasses. I could already tell things were going to get really, really awkward, and fast.
“Well.. Come in then,” Croaked the teen with the glasses as he stepped back, “make yourselves at home.”
I slowly stepped into the house. It smelled of burnt food and air freshener. I kept my eyes low, and followed Gerard and his girlfriend up the stairs to what I assume was Gerard’s old bedroom. Gerard flopped on the bed, pulling his girlfriend with him. He pointed towards the far left wall, covered in old paintings and chipping wall paper.
“She’s over there. I haven’t touched her since I left. My brother was suppost to play it or something, but I guess he never touched the damn thing. Little twit never did what I told him to.”
I picked up the white Les Paul that sat on it’s stand, neglected and forgotten. Fuck, Gerard was right. It was dusty as shit. I plucked the low E string, and guess it hadn’t been tuned, either, because it was now in drop D. I figured if I replaced a few strings, and cleaned her up a bit, it should sound just fine.
With his arm still draped around the female in the short skirt and pigtales, Gerard spoke up. “How much yuh want for it, kid? Nothin’ lower than $50.”
“We agreed on $75 over the phone, right?”
Gerard nodded.
“Then $75. And thanks for picking me up, man, but I can walk back.” I tried to put a smile on my face, but it failed, and turned into a sarcastic smirk.
“Alright man, if you say so. Why don’t you go have some coffee before you go? I think my mom made some or something.”
“That would be great. Thanks.” I took out what I had counted as $75, and carefully handed it to Gerard who threw it on the floor and pounced on his girlfriend. I grabbed the guitar and the gig bag and backed away to find the kitchen.
The woman who must have been in her early 50’s spotted me first.
“Hello, dear. Do you need something?” She smiled and twisted the ring on her left hand.
I had no idea what to do. I would feel bad asking for coffee, and also feel weird saying I didn’t know where I was. “Um.. Where’s the bathroom..?” I nervously bit my lower lip, hoping that I didn’t sound too desperate.
“It’s down the hall, but I don’t believe there’s a bath towel in there. Would you be willing to wait in the living room while I fetched one, hun?”
“Absolutely, Mrs...?”
“Way.” She stuck out her hand and smiled. I shook it kindly and carefully and went into the living room. Just my luck; the kid with the glasses was on the couch, playing Call of Duty. He sighed and paused the game.
“Hey. What’s up?” He had a quiet voice. His light brown hair kept falling in his face and barely missed the neck of his Radiohead tee shirt. His faded grey Converse were lazily placed on the coffee table.
I stuttered, but finally spat out “N-nothing. I just bought a guitar from your brother.” I gestured to the gig bag in my left hand and bit my lip.
“Oh, he’s selling Pansy? Shame. Good guitar, man. You’ll be happy you got it.”
I smiled, and heard Mrs. Way’s footsteps coming down the hallway. She pointed down the hall.
I waved goodbye to the guy in the glasses, and went into the bathroom. I stared into the mirror at my reflected image. My hair was wind blown, my eyeliner was slightly smudged, and my nose ring was crooked. I tidied myself up, flushed the toilet, and walked out.
I popped my head into the kitchen, “You have a very nice house, Mrs. Way.”
“Why thank you! Have a safe trip home, okay?”
“Thank you.” I waved and passed the living room, getting one last glimpse at the guy with the light brown hair and glasses. I closed the door quietly and walked down the road towards my mother’s apartment.
Sign up to rate and review this story