Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > I Think I'll Blow My Brains Against The Ceiling

Turn Up The Stereo

by AlteredStateOfMind 3 reviews

I don't have time to be annoyed by that fact, however, as my stomach suddenly drops to the ground, melting into the littered floor boards underneath my feet, when I lay eyes on the band's guitarist.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way - Published: 2012-09-06 - Updated: 2012-09-06 - 2739 words

This chapter took way too long for me to post, and I apologize :(
I have been beyond busy lately, what with school starting again and all that jazz.
Good news is though, that I already have half of the next chapter written, so it should be up soon.
It was actually supposed to be part of this chapter but it would have been way too long so I broke it up into 2 chapters instead.
Enjoy, and don't forget to let me know what you think!


Gerard's POV

"Gerard! Hurry the fuck up or we're leaving without you!" Jepha yells from the kitchen of Bert's apartment.

I have been stood in front of the full body mirror in the bathroom for the past hour, trying to piece together a decent enough costume. Bert, like the jerk he is, only informed me that this gig we are going to tonight has a mandatory halloween costume dress code this morning. I could have just thrown on some ripped clothing and called myself a "zombie" like the rest of the guys, but dressing up has always been one of my favorite parts of halloween and seeing as this may be my last chance, I decided to go all out.

After some wandering down the now vaguely familiar streets of London, I found a thrift store in which I bought a pair of clip-on fangs, black combat boots, silver chains to hook on to the pair of unbelievably tight, black jeans I brought with me from Jersey, black nail polish, a two toned cape--black on the outside, velvety burgundy on the inside, and costume make up. After snatching a silky, long sleeved button down shirt from Bert's closet— why he owns that is beyond me — I managed to make myself a pretty impressive gothic vampire costume.

The make up and hair is what has taken me an eternity. It took me a good twenty minutes to evenly spread the white foundation over my already pale skin and another twenty to create a smoky outline over each of my emerald eyes with black eye shadow. The remaining of the time I spent fussing over my untamable hair. No matter how many times I run my brush through it and try to style it with some hair gel, it remains a messy mass of dark waves.

"I'm not kidding, princess! Let's go!"

Jeph's voice travels through the crack in the bathroom door once again. I take one last hesitant look at myself in the mirror before turning off the light and walking out into the hall way.

"I'm coming!" I groan in annoyance.

Someone, presumably Bert, moans obscenely in response as I near the kitchen.

"Oh, not that kind of coming? Never mind." says Bert, snickering to himself.

As soon as I come into view, Jepha, Bert, and Quinn all shout out cat calls and whistles. I roll my eyes at their stupidity.

"Shut the fuck up, assholes. It's just a vampire costume."

"Don't act like you don't know how sexy you look. You may be dressed as a vampire but I think people are gonna be the ones trying to suck you. And I'm not talking about blood, either."

Bert winks and giggles at his own innuendo. At this rate, my eyes are going to pop right out of their sockets by the end of the night thanks to all this eye-rolling.

"Whatever. Weren't you guys in a hurry? Let's get the fuck outta here." I say, attempting to change the subject.

Regardless of what Bert believes, I don't think I look sexy by any means. Sure, I guess I look decent enough for a halloween party, but never sexy. That word doesn't belong anywhere near my name. I'm not self conscience, just realistic.

Luckily, it works and we're out of the door and on our way to the club in seconds.


I'm not sure what I expected when I agreed to tag along to this party. A couple of half assed decorations, badly dressed party-goers, cheap drinks, some good music, maybe, if I was lucky. The usual. But as I walk through the door way of the club, dimly lit with a hue of orange light — they changed the light bulbs for this? — I am caught completely off guard.

The usually grimy space has been transformed into a halloween wonderland. The bar is covered in orange and black confetti, banners are hung in each door way, the tables are adorned in halloween themed table cloth, jack-o-lanterns are lined up at the edge of the stage at the back; there are even balloons in the shape of ghosts and witch hats floating around the crowded room. If Bert hadn't told me where the party was taking place, I would have thought this was a completely different club to the one we frequent. Who ever is responsible for all this deserves an award.

Quinn bumps his hip lightly against mine, shaking me out of my stupor.

"Sick, huh?"

"Hell yeah, man. Who did all this?"

Quinn shrugs, eyes scanning the bar in search of his first drink of the night as he responds.

"I dunno. I think I heard it's one of the guys' birthdays from the band that's headlining tonight. His bandmates must've went all out."

"No shit." I say, still amazed at my surroundings.

I can't help but feel a bit jealous that this guy's friends care about him so much that they'd go to such lengths to make his birthday special. Quinn, Bert, and Jepha are cool guys, sure, but I doubt they'd bat an eyelash if they found me face down in a ditch one day. I wasn't looking for life-long friendships when I met these guys, just a couple people to party with, but the realization that no one truly cares about me here makes me feel so alone.

Quinn nudges my side, tipping his chin towards the bar, nonverbally questioning if I wanted to go get a drink with him. I shake my head and wave him off, deciding to head out the side door into the alley to have a smoke instead.

It takes me longer than usual to get outside, now that the club has filled considerably with half-drunk teenagers. I make my way through the crowd of unimpressive pirates and slutty nurses, clutching my cape protectively against my body as I try to avoid unnecessary human contact as much as possible.

I spot a few familiar faces, regulars at the bar, but most are complete strangers. Must be fans of the bands performing tonight. This is the fullest I've ever seen the place, so I'm hoping the music will be as great as the scenery.

After what seems like ages, I reach the side door and find a spot against the wall in the alley, dodging stage crew as the enter and exit the venue with equipment in tow. I quickly grab a cigarette from the pack in my back pocket, or as quickly as these tight pants will allow, and light up, inhaling deeply as the stick sparks to life.

I continue to take slow drags, trying to calm my nerves and distract myself from the depression lacing my every thought . Alcohol would do a better job, but I don't want to resort to that so early in the night. I know I will eventually fall victim to my vices, but before that happens, I want to enjoy myself as much as possible. Sadly, I'm not sure that's possible for me to do anymore without the help of a case of beer or some illegal substances.

Lost in thought, I had begun to close my eyes, enjoying the last of the nicotine. If I had kept them open, I probably would have avoided accidentally tripping the short guy carrying a bass amp.

"Mother fucker!" the guy yells.

I open my eyes just in time to see a black haired figure flail around in attempt to keep the heavy amp from falling to the ground, falling down himself in the process.

I immediately stomp out my cigarette, rushing to help him.

"Oh, shit. I'm so sorry, I didn't see you ther-"

"Do you have any idea how much this amp costs?" the guy says, slapping away my outstretched hand and lifting himself off the moist ground himself.

"No, but-"

Once again, he cuts me off, eyes shooting daggers.

"More than your life, idiot. So why don't you piss off and stay the fuck out of my way."

He is more than angry, he's practically steaming at this point. I don't know what bit him in the ass, but the unfair attack at my simple mistake has my short temper heating up just as quickly as his.

I take a step forward, feeling a boost of confidence when I tower a good couple of inches over the asshole.

"It's not my fault you're too short to carry your own equipment. You should let the big boys take care of the heavy lifting. Wouldn't want you to brake a nail, doll."

The guy's breath hitches, fists clenching in preparation for confrontation. His mouth is open, ready to answer with what is sure to be another vulgar attack, when a taller guy rushes down the alley, drum sticks tucked into his back pocket.

"Pete? What's going on?" he says, placing a calming hand on the guy's shoulder.

He shrugs it off furiously, pointing a thumb in my direction.

"This faggot almost busted my bass amp."

The newcomer raises an eyebrow at me, questioning how valid his friend's acquisition is.

"Oh please, it was a fucking accident. I would have apologized if this midget hadn't thrown a pissy fit."

The guy, Pete, lunges forward, but his friend grabs hold of his arm before he can reach me.

"Cool it." he says, trying to calm Pete.

"Whatever," Pete replies, walking inside the club, giving me a threatening glare as he passes by, "I'm gonna go find Gabe."

Pete struggles to fit the large amp through the door way, bumping a corner of it against the side, the sound of metal colliding with metal echoing through the now empty alley. I make no attempt to hide the devilish grin that spreads across my face, feeling a great sense of satisfaction in this instant karma.

Pete growls under his breath, but I don't miss the blush as he rushes away angrily.

The other guy rolls his eyes, turning to face me with an apologetic look, which is very surprising considering he's friends with that asshole.

"Sorry about that. Pete can be…difficult sometimes."

I scoff at his choice of wording, and instead of smashing my face in, the guy grins and holds out a hand.

"James." he says, introducing himself.

"Gerard." I say, shaking his hand, glad to see that this guy is decent enough, "And don't worry about it. S'not your fault."

James nods his head, taking out the drum sticks I had spotted earlier and warming up by tapping out patterns against the concrete wall beside the door.

"You staying around for the show?" he asks.

"Yeah. Which band are you in?"

"Mad Gear. We go on last, so make sure you stick around 'till the end."

I briefly wonder if this is the guy who's birthday inspired this whole party, but asking would just be creepy, so I shove the question to the back of my mind for later inquiring. Bert's a grade A creep, he'll probably know.

"Definitely," I say, "I've heard good things. I'm sure it'll be a great set."

"Thanks" says James, giving me the first genuine smile I've seen all night.

"I gotta go set up, but I'll see you around."

"Later." I say, waving a hand as James makes his way inside.

After indulging in another cigarette, I take James' lead and re-enter the venue. As soon as I step inside, the opening band picks up with their first song. It's raw and slightly off tempo, but enjoyable all the same. By the time I reach the bar and find Bert and Jepha sat on some stools, I'm bobbing my head along to the music.

I eye the cup in Bert's hand, taking a seat beside him. He rolls his eyes, amused at my obvious craving, and calls the bartender over to order me a drink.

Soon, I am just the right amount of buzzed, and have somehow snuck my way to the front of the crowd, Bert close behind. The second band had just finished their last song, thanking their fans for coming out, and introducing the last band.

At this point, the sea of teenagers edge closer toward the stage, eager to get a better look of the main event. The band takes the stage, the first being a familiar face. James smiles in my direction, spotting me in the crowd, before taking his place behind the drum set. Sadly, the second is also a familiar face who notices me, too.

Pete glares at where I'm stood, kicking a half empty water bottle the previous band had left on stage at my head as he passes. I dodge it easily, but am still furious when I see his cocky grin.

"What was that about?" Bert questions, yelling into my ear to be heard over the noise.

"Nothing." I say, not wanting to re-tell my encounter with the hot headed bassist.

Bert gives me a sideways glance, and there's no doubt in my mind that he'll press for information later on.

I don't have time to be annoyed by that fact, however, as my stomach suddenly drops to the ground, melting into the littered floor boards underneath my feet, when I lay eyes on the band's guitarist.

A tall, dark haired guy is the last to enter, taking the mic and greeting the crowd, causing an eruption of cheers to fill the venue, but my eyes are still glued to the figure that has taken his place at the side of the stage I am stood in front of. He is staring determinedly down at his guitar, experienced hands adjusting the tuning keys, foot fiddling with the pedal below him, trying to get the distortion coming from the amp just right.

The lead singer announces the name of their first song, which I don't catch, and the guitarist immediately strums out a fast-paced rhythm, flooding the room with intense, attention-grabbing melodies.

Bert tries to get my attention by shaking my shoulder roughly. I turn my chin in his direction, acknowledging the shaking, but my eyes never leave the ball of energy that is the guitarist of Mad Gear. He is thrashing and head banging along to the music he is making with his own calloused fingers, completely losing himself in the notes and chords. They are only half way through the first song of the set and the boy is already building up an impressive layer of sweat underneath the top of his Frankenstein costume.

"That's the new guitarist everyone's been talking about. He's fucking hot, right?" Bert says.

Finally tearing my eyes away from the stage, I look over at Bert who is very obviously checking out the boy in the most perverted way possible. I feel something resembling territorial anger bubbling under my skin as I watch Bert eye-rape the guitarist, which doesn't make any sense because he's not mine. He was never mine, as much as I wished he was.

"Yeah," I eventually agree once the song is over, looking towards the stage once again as the boy takes a generous sip from a water bottle, stray drops of liquid dripping down the sides of his mouth as he chugs, smearing the face make-up he has on.

"He's beautiful."

I can't begin to tell you guys how much I appreciate all the feedback you have given me, and the encouragement I've received to continue this story from some of you.
It really means a lot that you take the time to read my writing and give your opinion.
It's one of the only things that gets me through the day when I'm feeling so down I don't even wanna get out of bed.
You are all beautiful and amazing. I wish I had more people like you in my life.
I'm not usually this mushy, I just really wanted to thank you all :)
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