Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
Nothing like a few drinks to get your mind offa shit, am I right? Just a few rounds and you're not thinking about who your ex is currently fucking, why your heart is barely beating, your latest life tragedy, and why your best friend is so fucking hot, yet won't date you. Alcohol takes life and turns it into the biggest fucking party, a great laugh. It gives you friends you never knew you had, gorgeous babes, and the satisfaction of knowing that you matter. It's a magic ice-breaker, liquid courage, and the elixir of life. It causes life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It's a cure-all. It's amazing.
So why the fuck isn't it doing any of those things now?
Wandering the streets at this time is the exact opposite of the right thing to do on a Thursday night slash Friday morning--and being fucking drunk just puts you in the shit of life. But here I am, bottle in hand, walking aimlessly. I could try to be poetic about it, but it's just not happening, thank you very much. This isn't all about you, you know.
…It’s about her.
I sit my ass on the sidewalk. I don’t even feel drunk. Just tired and sick. Reminds me of when she gets faint at school and makes me talk to her so she can hold on to consciousness.
Pay phone nearby. Hmm.
"You okay?" her borderline-masculine voice drawls with slight urgency, because she knows I don't call in the middle of the night to discuss comic books.
I press the handset to my ear a bit harder, caress it a bit. "No," I admit.
"What can I do?" That's so like her: always willing to help, but powerless to do any good.
I struggle to form words coming up with "Talk."
"About what?"
"Anythin."
"Uh, okay. Well, um... It's three in the morning and I haven't taken my meds, so I'm not tired."
"Stupid," I mutter.
"Yes, I'm well aware. I have to pull an all-nighter. I've got a report due in four hours."
"Lazy."
"I know, man. But it has to get done."
She's busy. I call and she's busy. This is a major first. "Don' lemme shtop you. I'mma hang up."
"Are you alright? Don't hang up! Talk to me. I'm all yours."
I want to laugh at that last part, because that will never truly be the case. I force words out of my mouth.
"'m okay."
"Don't do that shit. You’re supposed to talk to me," she snaps, seemingly upset with me. "You make me talk to you."
Hurt and rage fill up my emotions. Without thinking, I retort, "'m not the hero you portray me as in your lil fuckin stories. 'm fuckin human, too, y'know!"
She coolly lets me throw my tantrum—I don’t know why; she’s never normally this patient—and after I’m done, says, "I write you how I see you. You're like an older brother to me. I strive to be as cool, as smart, as talented, and as strong as you. However you see yourself, I see you differently."
Because I'm upset, "Ya hardly fuckin know me."
A pause. "I know that you're a good person, and I give a shit about you, and you're one of the few people who really gives a shit about me."
Hot tears well up in my eyes. "I love you."
"I-I love you, too, man."
"No--" What am I doing? "--I fuckin love you."
The silence is so thick it could be cut with a knife.
"I know you do," she finally whispers. There’s something in her voice I can’t identify. "I'm sorry, Mikey."
I rest my head on the side of the plastic phone barricade, trying to hold back the threat of spilled emotion. "Need ya, Lila."
"Mikes, you know that I can't--"
"I fuckin know, okay?!" The dam has burst. Tears flow freely.
She sighs. "Where are you? Do you want me to pick you up?"
A sob escapes before I can catch it.
"Shh. It's alright. I'm getting in the car, okay? Where are you? Let me look after you until you're sober."
"If I was a girl, wouldja?"
"Mikey, we've talked about this. Where are--"
Sudden rage. "No, we haven't! Y’never give me a straight answer! Y’always dance round it!"
"Tell me where you are. I'm not discussing this over the phone."
Fiercely, I bark the name of the street and hang up. I fall back into the icy snow. I'm not dressed for the cold. Jeans and a tee aren't gonna protect me. But that's just as well. My eyes shut. Maybe I should just freeze to death. It would certainly be better than hearing that rejection one more time, albeit excruciating. Each organ shutting down, one by one. Slowed heart rate. Shallow breathing. Internal temperature dropping rapidly. It wouldn't be the best way to die.
I've thought about death a lot lately. I've gotten this bad before, but she wasn't around for that. She only catches glimpses of my weakness, usually. Except tonight. Tonight, she witnesses me at my very worst, unable to do anything.
Just when I'm drifting off, the screech of brakes makes my eyelids open a bit. It's enough to see that banged-up old Buick and a glimpse of her long chocolate hair.
"Mikey? Can you hear me?" I can feel Lila shaking me. "Mikey, open your eyes. Talk to me."
I lamely lift my eyelids. Even with being clad in sweats and a winter coat, her hair all messy, she’s still so beautiful. I get the feeling of wanting to cry again.
The short girl fights with my hand to loosen its grip on the bottle, tossing the booze aside once the battle is won.
"Talk to me," she demands. She’s trying to remain in control of the situation. "Talk to me, Mikey."
Because it's all I can say, "Love ya, Lila."
"I know, man. Keep talking." She slings my arm around her neck, grabs hold of my waist, pulls me up as best as she can. A grunt emits from the brunette as she struggles to keep me upright. I try to contribute to the walking process.
"You're not talking. I need to know you're okay." She yanks passenger side door open, gets me inside.
"Lila, lemme die," I plead softly.
After turning the car on, Lila cranks up the heat. She reaches into the backseat for something--blankets.
"I'm not letting you die. Don't fucking say that, Mikey."
"Please."
"No! You're not gonna kill yourself over me!"
Lila has me sit forward and slips my shirt over my head. Her fingers on my skin give me a little hope. I jump at the opportunity, catching her by the mouth with my own. She doesn't pull away. She’s frozen to the spot. Not because she’s enjoying it; I've frightened her.
When I pull away, I whisper, "I love you."
"You're fucking drunk." Acting as if nothing happened, she covers me up with the blankets. Once I'm safely in, she slams the door shut and goes round the car to the driver's seat.
While she drives, Lila doesn't ask me to talk. She doesn't even look at me.
"So where y'takin me?" I dare to ask.
Silence. She’s giving me the coldest of shoulders. Yeah, definitely pissed her off.
A bit put off by the quiet, I uncover an arm from the bundle of blankets and reach for the radio. I tune it in and out until a familiar song starts up.
Every breath you take
Every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I'll be watching you
Every single day
Every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay
I'll be watching you
Oh can't you see
You belong to me
How my poor heart aches
With every--
The radio suddenly goes dead. Lila swears. The trance I was in breaks. I stare at her blankly as she cusses at the car. The Buick's only response is its slowing to a stop.
Off she goes, CSI of old American cars. Pops the hood, huge cloud of smoke greets her face. A bit of coughing. Slamming down the hood. Sitting back next to me.
“'m sorry," I whisper.
Lila either ignores it or doesn’t hear me. "Blankets helping?”
I frankly haven’t noticed the change in temperature; I don’t even know if I’m hot or cold. So I just shrug.
An exhale, a bit like she’s a little bit annoyed. But she takes one of the blankets from me and wraps it around herself.
“So, what the hell you going out and getting pissed for?” She’s not as severe as she had sounded a bit earlier. “I thought you didn’t wanna turn out like your brother or your dad?”
My breath catches in my throat, resulting in a choking noise. Lila looks at me, trying to read my face.
“What happened?”
Shaking my head, “Nuh. Don’ wanna.”
“Mikey, please fucking talk to me. You’re worrying me.”
I can feel the tears on their way again. Fuck, I’m such a pussy.
“Hey.” Lila tilts my chin up to look me in the face. “You let me vent to you. I’m here for you. You’re safe with me.”
A sniffle. “Nuh.”
Her arms wrap around me. “Talk to me, man.”
“Gone” is all I can get out.
“What? What’s gone?”
“Gee.”
“Gerard? Where did he go?”
“Gone.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
Another shake of the head. My eyes and nose are both absolutely streaming.
Lila shudders. It’s fucking freezing out, and we’re just sitting here in the broken down car.
“Y’cold?” I ask her. “Car broke?”
“Yes and yes.”
“What we gonna do?”
She gives a shrug, still holding onto me. “Mikes, what happened before Gerard left?”
I pull away from her and wipe my nose on the blanket covering me, as I can’t get to my sleeve or locate a tissue. “He left me, Lila. He’s gone f’rever.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, man. He’ll come back. How can you think that he won’t? He loves you, don’t he?”
At this, I cry much harder, actually sobbing. She rubs my back.
“He’ll come back, Mikey. He’ll come back, I promise.”
It’s not just the fact that Gerard is gone. She should get this. She’s supposed to be able to read my mind. If she were truly my best of friends, she should get it.
When I open my eyes again, Lila is opening the door on her side.
“Let’s get walking. Don’t think freezing to death would be a very cool way to die.”
I say nothing, following her lead.
We walk in silence for the longest time. I’m still so dizzy. She lets me lean on her for support, which I definitely appreciate. Though, I’m not quite sure how she’s doing it, since she’s a bit smaller than me. Last I checked, though, we weigh almost the same. Makes sense, I suppose.
We must be a bit of a sight; two teenagers swaddled in blankets walking very close together on a nearly-deserted road.
“Where we goin?” I ask for the second time tonight.
“Another block down’s where my cousin Kelly lives. Figure we could warm up there, perhaps get some food.”
At the solitary mention of food, my stomach churns and I’m soon tossing my cookies all over the snow-covered ground. My dearest friend pats my back and comforts me until I stop.
“Lila?” I say when we start walking again.
“Yeah?”
“Never let me drink.”
A smile creeps onto her lips. “Of course, Mikey.”
Shortly after my vomiting, we arrive at her Cousin Kelly’s apartment.
Cousin Kelly, I must mention, turns out to be a burly guy of Irish heritage, who’s about twenty-six.
“Who’s this pretty little thing?” Kelly asks Lila, looking me up and down. “A bit boyish for your taste, isn’t she, Li?”
She stifles a laugh. “Uh, this is Mikey. Mikes, this is Kelly.”
The guy tilts my chin up, inspects my face. “Yep. You’re a cutie.”
“’m a guy!” I protest.
“Sure you are,” he chuckles. “Too bad you pitch for the other team, eh? I’d be twice as gentle as ole Lila there.” A wink.
I frown, looking down at myself. How could he possibly—Well, I suppose the tight women’s jeans and gender-neutral flat chest paired with my straightened hair and glasses could cause me to look a bit like a female.
“We’re not having sex, Kelly. Mikey’s a straight friend of mine.”
Standing in the middle of the room awkwardly, I take in that she didn’t defend my manhood.
Fuck me.
“Sit down, girly, I’m not gonna bite ya.” Kelly leans forward, drops his voice to husky. “Unless you want me to.”
“No!” I manage to squeak, sounding very girl-ish. Way to go, Mikey.
“Mikey, relax,” Lila hisses, stripping off her sweatshirt to reveal a white wifebeater. I try to keep from ogling.
Reluctantly, I drop onto the couch opposite Kelly. He tosses another wink my way. I physically gag.
Lila gathers pillows and a few extra blankets together. “Hop up so I can make up the bed,” she says to me.
Back to standing.
“You can sit next to me, sugar pop,” Kelly offers.
“’m not y’sugar pop!” I cry shrilly, again, not helping my case at all.
“Stop being so damn defensive, Mikey. He’s fucking with you.” Lila pops out the bed contained in the couch.
Once more, Kelly winks. “I always enjoy a good fucking, Mikey.”
A shudder shoots through my spine. “Lila, make ‘im stop,” I hiss.
When she’s done making the bed, my friend crawls into it. “Mind letting hitting the light, Kelly?” she asks in a tired voice.
“I gotcha, Li.” He flicks the switch on the wall and the entire apartment goes dark, save a light over the stove. “You girls have a nice night. Food’s in the fridge if you need anything. And my door’s never locked, Mikey.” I can feel another of his pervy winks being thrown my way. “Just sayin’.”
I sort of whine and he cackles, bumbling off to his room, presumably.
"Where do I sleep?" I whisper to Lila.
"Next to me, dork."
"Oh. You sure?"
"It's either me or Kelly."
Into the pullout I go.
"Hey Lila?"
"Yeah?"
"Your cousin scares me. He is like, the Michelangelo of creepy winks."
A soft laugh. "He knows you're a guy. He just likes to make you squirm."
"He succeeds at that."
"Mikey?"
"Yeah?"
"I--"
BOOM! The entire place floods with light.
"Get on the ground! Show me your hands!"
"You take the back rooms!"
"Cover me!"
"I said GET ON THE GROUND!"
It's happening so fast I can hardly think. Lila kicks me out of the bed and falls onto the floor beside me, hands up. I copy her.
"What's your name?!" a heavily-armed man barks at me.
"M-Mikey!"
"Full name!"
"Michael James Way!"
"What are you doing in this apartment?!"
"Trying to sleep!" the squeakiness is back in my voice.
Behind me, Lila is getting the same drill.
"Well, Michael James Way, you're gonna spend the rest of your sleepy-time on a cot at the station! Cuff him up!"
"What?!" I shriek.
"Somebody get this whore, too!" the uniformed person talking to Lila screams.
I'm cuffed, led out the door and down the stairs to an awaiting squad car, confused as all fuck.
"What am I being charged with?!" I squeal at the officers. "Why aren't you reading me my rights?!"
A dark-skinned cop shoves me into the car. "Kid, this is Jersey."
Yeah, I should've expected as much.
At the station, Lila and I--Kelly magically disappeared before the whole whatever-it-was went down--are fingerprinted, photographed, and tossed into separate holding cells.
Mine contains drag queens.
“Oh hell naw!” the black one with bright fuchsia hair snaps. She—he? I don’t know drag queen pronoun etiquette—stands up, a little tipsy on her—his?—giant-ass high heels, does this weird trotting slash prancing thing up to the bars of the cell. “Officer! Ahhhhhhhhh-ficer! There’s a mousy little shemale in our room! This ain’t what I paid for, honey! Me and mah GALS ordered this eight by eight to ourselves, if I do recall!”
Shemale? It’s calling me a shemale?
“Hold up, yo!” I say to Pinkie. “I am not a—“
“Oh honey,” the green-clad queen retorts, snapping its fingers and neck, “you are the most gender-confused little kid I’ve ever seen. Amiright, Gee-Gee?”
The third queen covers its face with its jacket. “Uh, yeah. Right, Beth.” A cough.
Wait a second.
“Gerard?!” I scoff in disbelief. “Gerard Arthur Way?!”
Greenie shakes a lime-nailed finger at me, voice dropping to a more manly tone. “Alright, bub, you obviously don’t know the rules that go with being a diva. No calling out Christian names when a diva is in your presence. Apologize to Gee-Gee.”
Sure enough, the blonde queen is my brother in a wig.
“If you tell Mom, I swear to god, Mikey—“ he starts to threaten in a low tone, looking at me over his hands.
“LILA!” I scream, throwing myself into the bars of the cell. “LILA, GERARD’S IN DRAG IN MY CELL!”
From far away, I hear, “Mikey, you’re drunk. Go to sleep.”
Gerard tackles me, pinning me to the floor. He’s wearing some sort of plastic blue dress and knee-high boots, as well as his leather jacket, a wig, and a fuckton of our mother’s make up. His right hand covers my mouth.
”I swear to god, you little shit, you better keep your mouth shut, or so help me Satan, I will personally post pictures of you and your plush unicorn all over the school.”
“You don’t even go to my school anymore,” I try to say, though it comes out muffled.
”NOT A SOOOOOOOOOUL,” he breathes in a yelly-whisper.
I nod vigorously.
He lets me go, muttering, “Nobody.”
“I got it, Princess, don’t get your panties in a wad.”
Back to the floor I go, my brother socking me in the cheek. I giggle deviously, unable to stop grinning.
“OffiCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!” Pinkie howls again. “These bitches are fighting!”
But the officers are nowhere to be found. As our end of the building falls silent, the sounds of groaning and grunting and screams of passion become louder and louder and louder. On the ground, I cover my ears.
“What the fuck?”
So why the fuck isn't it doing any of those things now?
Wandering the streets at this time is the exact opposite of the right thing to do on a Thursday night slash Friday morning--and being fucking drunk just puts you in the shit of life. But here I am, bottle in hand, walking aimlessly. I could try to be poetic about it, but it's just not happening, thank you very much. This isn't all about you, you know.
…It’s about her.
I sit my ass on the sidewalk. I don’t even feel drunk. Just tired and sick. Reminds me of when she gets faint at school and makes me talk to her so she can hold on to consciousness.
Pay phone nearby. Hmm.
"You okay?" her borderline-masculine voice drawls with slight urgency, because she knows I don't call in the middle of the night to discuss comic books.
I press the handset to my ear a bit harder, caress it a bit. "No," I admit.
"What can I do?" That's so like her: always willing to help, but powerless to do any good.
I struggle to form words coming up with "Talk."
"About what?"
"Anythin."
"Uh, okay. Well, um... It's three in the morning and I haven't taken my meds, so I'm not tired."
"Stupid," I mutter.
"Yes, I'm well aware. I have to pull an all-nighter. I've got a report due in four hours."
"Lazy."
"I know, man. But it has to get done."
She's busy. I call and she's busy. This is a major first. "Don' lemme shtop you. I'mma hang up."
"Are you alright? Don't hang up! Talk to me. I'm all yours."
I want to laugh at that last part, because that will never truly be the case. I force words out of my mouth.
"'m okay."
"Don't do that shit. You’re supposed to talk to me," she snaps, seemingly upset with me. "You make me talk to you."
Hurt and rage fill up my emotions. Without thinking, I retort, "'m not the hero you portray me as in your lil fuckin stories. 'm fuckin human, too, y'know!"
She coolly lets me throw my tantrum—I don’t know why; she’s never normally this patient—and after I’m done, says, "I write you how I see you. You're like an older brother to me. I strive to be as cool, as smart, as talented, and as strong as you. However you see yourself, I see you differently."
Because I'm upset, "Ya hardly fuckin know me."
A pause. "I know that you're a good person, and I give a shit about you, and you're one of the few people who really gives a shit about me."
Hot tears well up in my eyes. "I love you."
"I-I love you, too, man."
"No--" What am I doing? "--I fuckin love you."
The silence is so thick it could be cut with a knife.
"I know you do," she finally whispers. There’s something in her voice I can’t identify. "I'm sorry, Mikey."
I rest my head on the side of the plastic phone barricade, trying to hold back the threat of spilled emotion. "Need ya, Lila."
"Mikes, you know that I can't--"
"I fuckin know, okay?!" The dam has burst. Tears flow freely.
She sighs. "Where are you? Do you want me to pick you up?"
A sob escapes before I can catch it.
"Shh. It's alright. I'm getting in the car, okay? Where are you? Let me look after you until you're sober."
"If I was a girl, wouldja?"
"Mikey, we've talked about this. Where are--"
Sudden rage. "No, we haven't! Y’never give me a straight answer! Y’always dance round it!"
"Tell me where you are. I'm not discussing this over the phone."
Fiercely, I bark the name of the street and hang up. I fall back into the icy snow. I'm not dressed for the cold. Jeans and a tee aren't gonna protect me. But that's just as well. My eyes shut. Maybe I should just freeze to death. It would certainly be better than hearing that rejection one more time, albeit excruciating. Each organ shutting down, one by one. Slowed heart rate. Shallow breathing. Internal temperature dropping rapidly. It wouldn't be the best way to die.
I've thought about death a lot lately. I've gotten this bad before, but she wasn't around for that. She only catches glimpses of my weakness, usually. Except tonight. Tonight, she witnesses me at my very worst, unable to do anything.
Just when I'm drifting off, the screech of brakes makes my eyelids open a bit. It's enough to see that banged-up old Buick and a glimpse of her long chocolate hair.
"Mikey? Can you hear me?" I can feel Lila shaking me. "Mikey, open your eyes. Talk to me."
I lamely lift my eyelids. Even with being clad in sweats and a winter coat, her hair all messy, she’s still so beautiful. I get the feeling of wanting to cry again.
The short girl fights with my hand to loosen its grip on the bottle, tossing the booze aside once the battle is won.
"Talk to me," she demands. She’s trying to remain in control of the situation. "Talk to me, Mikey."
Because it's all I can say, "Love ya, Lila."
"I know, man. Keep talking." She slings my arm around her neck, grabs hold of my waist, pulls me up as best as she can. A grunt emits from the brunette as she struggles to keep me upright. I try to contribute to the walking process.
"You're not talking. I need to know you're okay." She yanks passenger side door open, gets me inside.
"Lila, lemme die," I plead softly.
After turning the car on, Lila cranks up the heat. She reaches into the backseat for something--blankets.
"I'm not letting you die. Don't fucking say that, Mikey."
"Please."
"No! You're not gonna kill yourself over me!"
Lila has me sit forward and slips my shirt over my head. Her fingers on my skin give me a little hope. I jump at the opportunity, catching her by the mouth with my own. She doesn't pull away. She’s frozen to the spot. Not because she’s enjoying it; I've frightened her.
When I pull away, I whisper, "I love you."
"You're fucking drunk." Acting as if nothing happened, she covers me up with the blankets. Once I'm safely in, she slams the door shut and goes round the car to the driver's seat.
While she drives, Lila doesn't ask me to talk. She doesn't even look at me.
"So where y'takin me?" I dare to ask.
Silence. She’s giving me the coldest of shoulders. Yeah, definitely pissed her off.
A bit put off by the quiet, I uncover an arm from the bundle of blankets and reach for the radio. I tune it in and out until a familiar song starts up.
Every breath you take
Every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I'll be watching you
Every single day
Every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay
I'll be watching you
Oh can't you see
You belong to me
How my poor heart aches
With every--
The radio suddenly goes dead. Lila swears. The trance I was in breaks. I stare at her blankly as she cusses at the car. The Buick's only response is its slowing to a stop.
Off she goes, CSI of old American cars. Pops the hood, huge cloud of smoke greets her face. A bit of coughing. Slamming down the hood. Sitting back next to me.
“'m sorry," I whisper.
Lila either ignores it or doesn’t hear me. "Blankets helping?”
I frankly haven’t noticed the change in temperature; I don’t even know if I’m hot or cold. So I just shrug.
An exhale, a bit like she’s a little bit annoyed. But she takes one of the blankets from me and wraps it around herself.
“So, what the hell you going out and getting pissed for?” She’s not as severe as she had sounded a bit earlier. “I thought you didn’t wanna turn out like your brother or your dad?”
My breath catches in my throat, resulting in a choking noise. Lila looks at me, trying to read my face.
“What happened?”
Shaking my head, “Nuh. Don’ wanna.”
“Mikey, please fucking talk to me. You’re worrying me.”
I can feel the tears on their way again. Fuck, I’m such a pussy.
“Hey.” Lila tilts my chin up to look me in the face. “You let me vent to you. I’m here for you. You’re safe with me.”
A sniffle. “Nuh.”
Her arms wrap around me. “Talk to me, man.”
“Gone” is all I can get out.
“What? What’s gone?”
“Gee.”
“Gerard? Where did he go?”
“Gone.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
Another shake of the head. My eyes and nose are both absolutely streaming.
Lila shudders. It’s fucking freezing out, and we’re just sitting here in the broken down car.
“Y’cold?” I ask her. “Car broke?”
“Yes and yes.”
“What we gonna do?”
She gives a shrug, still holding onto me. “Mikes, what happened before Gerard left?”
I pull away from her and wipe my nose on the blanket covering me, as I can’t get to my sleeve or locate a tissue. “He left me, Lila. He’s gone f’rever.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, man. He’ll come back. How can you think that he won’t? He loves you, don’t he?”
At this, I cry much harder, actually sobbing. She rubs my back.
“He’ll come back, Mikey. He’ll come back, I promise.”
It’s not just the fact that Gerard is gone. She should get this. She’s supposed to be able to read my mind. If she were truly my best of friends, she should get it.
When I open my eyes again, Lila is opening the door on her side.
“Let’s get walking. Don’t think freezing to death would be a very cool way to die.”
I say nothing, following her lead.
We walk in silence for the longest time. I’m still so dizzy. She lets me lean on her for support, which I definitely appreciate. Though, I’m not quite sure how she’s doing it, since she’s a bit smaller than me. Last I checked, though, we weigh almost the same. Makes sense, I suppose.
We must be a bit of a sight; two teenagers swaddled in blankets walking very close together on a nearly-deserted road.
“Where we goin?” I ask for the second time tonight.
“Another block down’s where my cousin Kelly lives. Figure we could warm up there, perhaps get some food.”
At the solitary mention of food, my stomach churns and I’m soon tossing my cookies all over the snow-covered ground. My dearest friend pats my back and comforts me until I stop.
“Lila?” I say when we start walking again.
“Yeah?”
“Never let me drink.”
A smile creeps onto her lips. “Of course, Mikey.”
Shortly after my vomiting, we arrive at her Cousin Kelly’s apartment.
Cousin Kelly, I must mention, turns out to be a burly guy of Irish heritage, who’s about twenty-six.
“Who’s this pretty little thing?” Kelly asks Lila, looking me up and down. “A bit boyish for your taste, isn’t she, Li?”
She stifles a laugh. “Uh, this is Mikey. Mikes, this is Kelly.”
The guy tilts my chin up, inspects my face. “Yep. You’re a cutie.”
“’m a guy!” I protest.
“Sure you are,” he chuckles. “Too bad you pitch for the other team, eh? I’d be twice as gentle as ole Lila there.” A wink.
I frown, looking down at myself. How could he possibly—Well, I suppose the tight women’s jeans and gender-neutral flat chest paired with my straightened hair and glasses could cause me to look a bit like a female.
“We’re not having sex, Kelly. Mikey’s a straight friend of mine.”
Standing in the middle of the room awkwardly, I take in that she didn’t defend my manhood.
Fuck me.
“Sit down, girly, I’m not gonna bite ya.” Kelly leans forward, drops his voice to husky. “Unless you want me to.”
“No!” I manage to squeak, sounding very girl-ish. Way to go, Mikey.
“Mikey, relax,” Lila hisses, stripping off her sweatshirt to reveal a white wifebeater. I try to keep from ogling.
Reluctantly, I drop onto the couch opposite Kelly. He tosses another wink my way. I physically gag.
Lila gathers pillows and a few extra blankets together. “Hop up so I can make up the bed,” she says to me.
Back to standing.
“You can sit next to me, sugar pop,” Kelly offers.
“’m not y’sugar pop!” I cry shrilly, again, not helping my case at all.
“Stop being so damn defensive, Mikey. He’s fucking with you.” Lila pops out the bed contained in the couch.
Once more, Kelly winks. “I always enjoy a good fucking, Mikey.”
A shudder shoots through my spine. “Lila, make ‘im stop,” I hiss.
When she’s done making the bed, my friend crawls into it. “Mind letting hitting the light, Kelly?” she asks in a tired voice.
“I gotcha, Li.” He flicks the switch on the wall and the entire apartment goes dark, save a light over the stove. “You girls have a nice night. Food’s in the fridge if you need anything. And my door’s never locked, Mikey.” I can feel another of his pervy winks being thrown my way. “Just sayin’.”
I sort of whine and he cackles, bumbling off to his room, presumably.
"Where do I sleep?" I whisper to Lila.
"Next to me, dork."
"Oh. You sure?"
"It's either me or Kelly."
Into the pullout I go.
"Hey Lila?"
"Yeah?"
"Your cousin scares me. He is like, the Michelangelo of creepy winks."
A soft laugh. "He knows you're a guy. He just likes to make you squirm."
"He succeeds at that."
"Mikey?"
"Yeah?"
"I--"
BOOM! The entire place floods with light.
"Get on the ground! Show me your hands!"
"You take the back rooms!"
"Cover me!"
"I said GET ON THE GROUND!"
It's happening so fast I can hardly think. Lila kicks me out of the bed and falls onto the floor beside me, hands up. I copy her.
"What's your name?!" a heavily-armed man barks at me.
"M-Mikey!"
"Full name!"
"Michael James Way!"
"What are you doing in this apartment?!"
"Trying to sleep!" the squeakiness is back in my voice.
Behind me, Lila is getting the same drill.
"Well, Michael James Way, you're gonna spend the rest of your sleepy-time on a cot at the station! Cuff him up!"
"What?!" I shriek.
"Somebody get this whore, too!" the uniformed person talking to Lila screams.
I'm cuffed, led out the door and down the stairs to an awaiting squad car, confused as all fuck.
"What am I being charged with?!" I squeal at the officers. "Why aren't you reading me my rights?!"
A dark-skinned cop shoves me into the car. "Kid, this is Jersey."
Yeah, I should've expected as much.
At the station, Lila and I--Kelly magically disappeared before the whole whatever-it-was went down--are fingerprinted, photographed, and tossed into separate holding cells.
Mine contains drag queens.
“Oh hell naw!” the black one with bright fuchsia hair snaps. She—he? I don’t know drag queen pronoun etiquette—stands up, a little tipsy on her—his?—giant-ass high heels, does this weird trotting slash prancing thing up to the bars of the cell. “Officer! Ahhhhhhhhh-ficer! There’s a mousy little shemale in our room! This ain’t what I paid for, honey! Me and mah GALS ordered this eight by eight to ourselves, if I do recall!”
Shemale? It’s calling me a shemale?
“Hold up, yo!” I say to Pinkie. “I am not a—“
“Oh honey,” the green-clad queen retorts, snapping its fingers and neck, “you are the most gender-confused little kid I’ve ever seen. Amiright, Gee-Gee?”
The third queen covers its face with its jacket. “Uh, yeah. Right, Beth.” A cough.
Wait a second.
“Gerard?!” I scoff in disbelief. “Gerard Arthur Way?!”
Greenie shakes a lime-nailed finger at me, voice dropping to a more manly tone. “Alright, bub, you obviously don’t know the rules that go with being a diva. No calling out Christian names when a diva is in your presence. Apologize to Gee-Gee.”
Sure enough, the blonde queen is my brother in a wig.
“If you tell Mom, I swear to god, Mikey—“ he starts to threaten in a low tone, looking at me over his hands.
“LILA!” I scream, throwing myself into the bars of the cell. “LILA, GERARD’S IN DRAG IN MY CELL!”
From far away, I hear, “Mikey, you’re drunk. Go to sleep.”
Gerard tackles me, pinning me to the floor. He’s wearing some sort of plastic blue dress and knee-high boots, as well as his leather jacket, a wig, and a fuckton of our mother’s make up. His right hand covers my mouth.
”I swear to god, you little shit, you better keep your mouth shut, or so help me Satan, I will personally post pictures of you and your plush unicorn all over the school.”
“You don’t even go to my school anymore,” I try to say, though it comes out muffled.
”NOT A SOOOOOOOOOUL,” he breathes in a yelly-whisper.
I nod vigorously.
He lets me go, muttering, “Nobody.”
“I got it, Princess, don’t get your panties in a wad.”
Back to the floor I go, my brother socking me in the cheek. I giggle deviously, unable to stop grinning.
“OffiCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!” Pinkie howls again. “These bitches are fighting!”
But the officers are nowhere to be found. As our end of the building falls silent, the sounds of groaning and grunting and screams of passion become louder and louder and louder. On the ground, I cover my ears.
“What the fuck?”
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