Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Natural Born Killers

It's Not Strange to Hate Your Fiance, is it?

by mychemicalbitchbot 1 review

Gerard hates her.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: G - Genres:  - Published: 2012-04-06 - Updated: 2012-04-07 - 1816 words - Complete

(A/N: Let's make something clear. I don't have ANYTHING against Lindsey Way, she's a literary device right now and in real life this in no way reflects the Ways or the Ieros. I'm sure they're all nice enough people, but I wouldn't know so whatever.)

I'm out with Lindsey, at some Cafe for wealthy patrons. I suppose I do have reasonable wealth and my Fiance has much more, but it still feels strange to drink an eight dollar coffee when I could buy a better brew for only four dollars down the street. I swear these places will be the end of me, or at least the end of my bank account. Good thing Lindsey isn't lacking in that department in any way, shape or form.

Lindsey is talking, going on and on about some topic. I'm not really paying attention to what she's saying, and I could care less. I don't hang on her every word, I find the notion of such a thing simply ludicrous. Her words are a hum in my mind, I just easily nod along with what she's saying. Of course, I comprehend every word because it may be important information regarding her upcoming untimely demise but spacing out of what she says is what every man does occasionally, and I'm just a normal guy right now. I'm not a criminal with a mammoth bloodlust, certainly not.

Lindsey takes my hand in hers, so I flash her a smile. She looks nervous, her own smile wavering slightly. She's going to say something important, I just know it.

"Gerard… I need to tell you something important."

I nod. "Are you alright? You're not sick, are you?" I ask. She's been throwing up lately, and that can''t be good. If she's sick, will she cancel our marriage? It's only a week away.

Lindsey shakes her head. "No, I'm not sick… I'm… Well, I'm pregnant."

My eyes widen. I'm genuinely shocked at the news. I didn't plan for her to be expecting, though we have had unprotected sex quite a few times. Ugh, I hate having sex with Lindsey. She seems to like it, but to me it feels wrong, something I could most definitely live without. Even touching myself is better than rolling around with her.

I smile, despite my inner disgust. My smile turns into a false grin from a false smile, a false pretense of happiness. She's fooled by it, I can tell by the ways her eyes light up and seem to sparkle with joy. God, that look just makes me want to cause her blood to pool up in crimson on the floor, flowing away in rivers of life. I want to laugh as the life drips out of her, and I want it to happen soon.

"For how long?" I ask, trying my best to sound excited. But i'm not, I'm really not. I don't particularly want Lindsey to be pregnant; there is always more fuss when a pregnant woman dies. Fuss means getting caught, and I don't want to be caught. Thus, I could really care less how long it's been since I knocked her up.

"Six weeks." She says excitedly. I keep up my grin, I keep on pretending that I love her. "The baby will be born in December!"

My grin widens as I slide out of my chair to hug my fiance and unborn child. I'm happy about it. Or at least I can pretend I am, but my mind is in bedlam. Despite myself, I'm curios as to what path of parenthood Lindsey would choose if she were to live long enough. "When your'e at sixteen weeks, do you want them to use an ultrasound to predict the sex?I know they can be wrong, but do you want them to try?"

Lindsey grins. "I don't know! I'm so curios, but I'm not sure if I want it to be a surprise! "

I nod, pretending to understand what she means as I break away from her, and sit back down in my seat. "We'll have to come up with names. Something unusual. I don't want a common name, if we can avoid it."

Lindsey nods happily. She's obviously relieved I didn't get upset or angry over her pregnancy. I'm supposed to be in love with her; of course I'm not upset. It would be strange if I was upset, it could ruin my perfectly crafted mask.

"Hm… So you're going to say no to Sam and Isabella?" She asks. Sam and Isabella… Classics. I don't want my baby to have a common name, even if it will never leave the womb. I don't really have anything against the names themselves-- there are reasons they're classic, after all.

I grunt. "I'd prefer not to name my kid Sam or Isabella, if that's alright." But if I ever were to have a child with someone I love, though it's not likely considering I'm gay, their name wouldn't be Isabella or Rex. No, I'd give my kid a name they'd absolutely hate me for giving, like Calder or Siobhan. Call me crazy, but those names are always the best to hide behind. If I could bring my child to the center stage with their name and draw myself to the back, I'd be happy. But there are so many names…

Lindsye smiles. "Good. It's one of those things i love about you; you can't stand to copy everyone else. You're so original."

Keep saying that, Lindsey. Keep saying that. Keep saying that when my hands are around your throat, squeezing out your life. When I'm lapping up blood from the wound I inflicted on your throat, when I'm laughing as I hold your head underwater and you lash out, trying to stop me. I'll be original then, won't I? No, I'll just be another killer from every horror film you've ever seen.

I smile, doing my best to ignore my inner rant. "I do try, honey. I just ant you to be happy, and have the best of everything."

Lindsey grins. "Aw. I'm so glad we're getting married next week."

That makes one of us.

I smile. "What do we still need tot do for the wedding?"

"Oh, everything! We still need to pick up the flowers at the florist, get the mini bar set up…"

And it goes on and on and on. It's amazing what the simple phrase, 'I just want you to be happy', can do to a person. It can bring one back from the edge of death, make them come back to life and breathe in new air with a new attitude. Somehow those words make people happy. I don't quite understand it; no person has ever made me happy like that with such simple words, disclosing my partner Frank. The only thing that ever makes me happy (discluding Frank), is killing. It's what I live for, what I breathe.

Maybe that's why i like Frank so much. Maybe he isn't as enthusiastic as me, but he does crave the kill like I do. He gets the desire, the longing. He enjoys watching people struggle for air when the noose is around their neck just as much as I do.

It's how we met, after all.

It was quite an accident, meeting Frank's dark side.

We went to the same high school, and in junior year I 'accidentally' dropped a potted plant off a third-story ledge. It was after school, and that pot just happened to land on a student's head. I called the ambulance quickly, faking my most panicked voice as I ran down the flights of stairs to her.

Her dark hair was fanned over the pavement, her sharp, blue eyes glazed over. There was blood dripping off her, flowing off her body like she was toxic. I was entranced, I was smiling so wide.

"Well, aren't you a sick little bastard." came a voice from off to my left. I turned quickly to see a teen with a cocky grin and black skinnies. As soon as I saw the grin, though, I knew I was safe. It wasn't an I-Caught-You-Ha-Ha-Ha grin, it was a grin showing the exact same evil pleasures as mine.

I grinned at him. "The ambulance should be here soon."

He snorted. "We got a couple minutes."

I shrugged. "Sometimes they're quick. Hey, will you help cover for me?"

"Sure. What do you want me to do?" He asked.

"Seem somewhat shell-shocked and try half-heartedly to comfort me as I go into hysterics."

He nodded. "Cool. I'm Frank. You?"

"Gerard." I grinned again, I couldn't help it. I finally found someone like me! It had to be the best day ever.

I heard the sirens, and burst into false tears. Frank was shocked that I could so easily cry, and I'd been doing it for so long it was almost second nature. I was happy inside, and a bit smug. Frank was wrong; the paramedics were quick that day.

I'm glad I met Frank, though. He taught me that I wasn't, that I'm not, the only person who lusted and still lusts after blood. He got me to stop thinking I was the only one who smiled when a heart stopped beating. He taught me to hide, yet show everything in a twisted way.

Taught me new ways to hide my tracks, helped me get close and kill with little suspicion. It meant the world to me, it really did. He meant the world to me.

so when my wedding comes in seven days time, Frank will be my best man. Even if i don't love Lindsey in any form of the word, I want Frank to be with me for the supposed happiest moments of my life. I won't be bored if Frank's there, how could I be? Frank means more to me than my fiance.

I suppose he might have to attend to his own fiance.

Jamai. I'll be the best man at his wedding, an event only two weeks after mine. I was with Frank for the duration of his three year relationship, and I'll be there,a s always to laugh with him, to drink with him, to kill with him.

I've never really talked with Frank about killing Jamai, but I know it's going to happen. When a killer marries, the partner is no doubt going to die. It's an unwritten rule, it's simple as that. Isn't it?

It's strange, though. That even though Jamia's going to die, I can't help but feel this peculiar feeling in my chest. It's a desire to destroy Jamai, yet a desire to be Jamai. If I didn't know better, I would say I'm jealous of the future Mrs. Frank Iero.

Yup. I'm killing Bandit. Again. But this time she was never born, so it doesn't really matter... Drop me a review please!
Sign up to rate and review this story