Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
My Friends, Jack and Stella
7 reviewsGo on, Society, kill the teenager. It's what you're good at. Short GERARD one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P New A/N.
4Insightful
My Friends Jack and Stella
A/N: To whoever rated this down, I don't mind it at all, buy could you please tell me why/how to make it better?
Worthless.
A sip of Dad’s beer.
Stupid. Ugly.
A half can, left unfinished in the fridge.
Fat. Faggot. Freak.
A whole can, downed in one.
Fuck-up. Loner. Loser. Weirdo.
An entire six pack in as many minutes.
Kick. Punch. Slam. Shove. Throw.
Too much vodka to remember.
And yet it still fucking hurts. All of it, going on and on and on. Like a motherfucking circle, never just fucking ending. It just keeps on coming, keeps raining down on me. Always Gerard fucking Way, always fucking me. Me, me, me.
Never them. Just me.
Me and my bottles, all of them smiling at me like Cheshire cats, begging me to caress them with my lips next. Because they fucking want me, even if the rest of the world doesn’t. They want me and I want them, my shimmering little darlings in a kaleidoscope of pain. Pain. More like fucking agony.
Not when I’m with my friends, though, not when I’m with my bestest buddy Jack Daniels and my stunning mistress Stella Artois. They make it stop. They drown it all out, make me see pretty colours and think ugly thoughts. Especially when they have a party with Jack’s cousin, Cocaine. She’s a pretty one, all icy and white. Like my own little snow queen, loving me for fucking me. Making me feel fucking special.
If I was really that special, wouldn’t someone notice? Wouldn’t someone see that I’m being bad? Wouldn’t they try to make it stop?
But I’m not special. I’m just some kid in a sea of kids. I’m just one of the few smart enough to figure out how to make it fucking stop. I’m one of the ones who isn’t afraid to die, one of the ones who’ll try everything because anything is better than this. It’s not even life; it’s just being. Being a fucking joke, more like. The one that everyone laughs at because it’s so fucking funny that I’m fucking me.
That weirdo with no friends. I do have friends, though. I have Jack and Stella and Cocaine. Mary-Jane, too.
They drown it all out, just like my headphones used too. Now it’s all just noise. Nothing but a madman’s screams from a million miles away, it all just blurs into one. The yelling, the singing, the shouting, the guitars, the teasing, the bass, the hate, the drums. All the fucking same.
I could just leave. Everything, I mean. There are so many pretty little possibilities.
Overdose.
Bleed out.
Alcohol poisoning.
Walk out in a road.
Jump off a bridge.
All of those different options in my head, twinkling like fucking stars. Jack puts the idea in my head, telling me to just do it. Stella laughs, telling me I’m too fucking cowardly to ever do anything so brave. Then pretty little Cocaine, that frost-bitten temptress, hisses at me that it’s the only way I’ll ever be happy. The only way I’ll ever be free.
They all whisper to me, egging me on to do it every fucking night. To just make it all stop.
Perhaps one day I will.
We’ll see who’s fucking laughing then.
Not Mikey. Mikey. Mikey.
Little brother. He wouldn’t be laughing, he’d be crying. I hate it when he cries; he’s too fucking nice to cry. He always looks after me even though I’m meant to be looking after him. He ignores all of his problems to help me with mine. He just doesn’t know when to give up on a fucking lost cause that doesn’t even want help anymore.
I’ve got all my friends to help me. Not some skinny little thirteen-year-old. Not some kid. I don’t need help from a fucking kid. I don’t need any fucking help. Not at all.
Jack says I don’t need help. Stella agrees. So do Cocaine and Mary-Jane. But what if I want it?
No.
It’s not like I’d get it anyway.
I’m fucking invisible.
A/N: Whoa. Not entirely sure where that came from, but I hope it’s alright and sorry for it’s shortness/crappiness. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
A/N: To whoever rated this down, I don't mind it at all, buy could you please tell me why/how to make it better?
Worthless.
A sip of Dad’s beer.
Stupid. Ugly.
A half can, left unfinished in the fridge.
Fat. Faggot. Freak.
A whole can, downed in one.
Fuck-up. Loner. Loser. Weirdo.
An entire six pack in as many minutes.
Kick. Punch. Slam. Shove. Throw.
Too much vodka to remember.
And yet it still fucking hurts. All of it, going on and on and on. Like a motherfucking circle, never just fucking ending. It just keeps on coming, keeps raining down on me. Always Gerard fucking Way, always fucking me. Me, me, me.
Never them. Just me.
Me and my bottles, all of them smiling at me like Cheshire cats, begging me to caress them with my lips next. Because they fucking want me, even if the rest of the world doesn’t. They want me and I want them, my shimmering little darlings in a kaleidoscope of pain. Pain. More like fucking agony.
Not when I’m with my friends, though, not when I’m with my bestest buddy Jack Daniels and my stunning mistress Stella Artois. They make it stop. They drown it all out, make me see pretty colours and think ugly thoughts. Especially when they have a party with Jack’s cousin, Cocaine. She’s a pretty one, all icy and white. Like my own little snow queen, loving me for fucking me. Making me feel fucking special.
If I was really that special, wouldn’t someone notice? Wouldn’t someone see that I’m being bad? Wouldn’t they try to make it stop?
But I’m not special. I’m just some kid in a sea of kids. I’m just one of the few smart enough to figure out how to make it fucking stop. I’m one of the ones who isn’t afraid to die, one of the ones who’ll try everything because anything is better than this. It’s not even life; it’s just being. Being a fucking joke, more like. The one that everyone laughs at because it’s so fucking funny that I’m fucking me.
That weirdo with no friends. I do have friends, though. I have Jack and Stella and Cocaine. Mary-Jane, too.
They drown it all out, just like my headphones used too. Now it’s all just noise. Nothing but a madman’s screams from a million miles away, it all just blurs into one. The yelling, the singing, the shouting, the guitars, the teasing, the bass, the hate, the drums. All the fucking same.
I could just leave. Everything, I mean. There are so many pretty little possibilities.
Overdose.
Bleed out.
Alcohol poisoning.
Walk out in a road.
Jump off a bridge.
All of those different options in my head, twinkling like fucking stars. Jack puts the idea in my head, telling me to just do it. Stella laughs, telling me I’m too fucking cowardly to ever do anything so brave. Then pretty little Cocaine, that frost-bitten temptress, hisses at me that it’s the only way I’ll ever be happy. The only way I’ll ever be free.
They all whisper to me, egging me on to do it every fucking night. To just make it all stop.
Perhaps one day I will.
We’ll see who’s fucking laughing then.
Not Mikey. Mikey. Mikey.
Little brother. He wouldn’t be laughing, he’d be crying. I hate it when he cries; he’s too fucking nice to cry. He always looks after me even though I’m meant to be looking after him. He ignores all of his problems to help me with mine. He just doesn’t know when to give up on a fucking lost cause that doesn’t even want help anymore.
I’ve got all my friends to help me. Not some skinny little thirteen-year-old. Not some kid. I don’t need help from a fucking kid. I don’t need any fucking help. Not at all.
Jack says I don’t need help. Stella agrees. So do Cocaine and Mary-Jane. But what if I want it?
No.
It’s not like I’d get it anyway.
I’m fucking invisible.
A/N: Whoa. Not entirely sure where that came from, but I hope it’s alright and sorry for it’s shortness/crappiness. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
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