Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Soul Purpose

Peter Pan

by asherschick 3 reviews

Thoughts and more thoughts...

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG - Genres: Drama,Humor,Romance - Characters: Bob Bryar,Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way,Ray Toro - Published: 2008-02-16 - Updated: 2008-02-17 - 1870 words

14. Peter Pan

He was bending over the sink, his eyes closed. He splashed cold water on his pale face.


He could feel the droplets of liquid making their way from the dark of his hairline to the bend of his jaw.


He opened his eyes and stared at the running water. It flew so… fast. And he was just thinking the way it moved on his skin was fast. He was wrong. This was faster.

He straightened, grabbing a fluffy white hotel towel. He caught his reflection on the mirror before he was able to dry off his face. His dark bangs had gotten wet in the process, too. And water was still dripping down his visage – almost marking the path of the distance it covered.

Just like time.

He stood still for a moment, transfixed by the flow of the transparent liquid, like the proverbial rabbit caught in the headlights.

Just like time, he thought, water marked its path. Just like time did.

He buried his face in the soft white fabric for a while, taking care to catch every single drop of water. Losing the towel, he looked at the mirror once again.

Unconsciously, his hand came up to lightly touch the sensitive skin under his right eye, right over his perfectly shaped cheekbone. The eternal whiteness of his skin was a touch spoilt there. There lay a tiny round shadow of a scar – only the slightest darkening of skin.

He remembered the painful pimple once resided there and the tiny ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. He hadn’t had to deal much with acne problems when he was a teenager. Neither had Mikey, for that matter. Must have something to do with lucky genes, he thought. But still, he had woken up with that ugly thing on his cheek one morning. He had been mad. It was embarrassing – he was too old to have pimples! Not as old as he was now, but still he thought pimples were high-school material…

He hadn’t been able to prevent his evil fingers from playing with the thing – just like he couldn’t keep those same evil fingers away from his wicked mouth and so, having to walk around with bitten nails. He had toyed with that pimple continuously. Walking, talking, eating, drawing… One finger would always scratch it, not giving a fuck about the pain it caused. So, there he was now, standing in front of a bathroom mirror of a nice hotel, inspecting a pimple scar at the age of 30.

That scar was easy to conceal – with a touch of powder.

But some others were not so easy to hide. Countless physical and emotional scars of thirty solid years.

So, this is what the big 3 – 0 feels like, he thought bitterly.

He leaned in towards the mirror and examined his face closely. No matter what the calendar said, it didn’t feel different. The fact that it was April 9 didn’t make his reflection change into something else. Hah, he was almost surprised. What was he thinking, anyway? That he’d turn into some old guy with wrinkles or worse: a suit-wearing-suburban-dad?

He shook his head at the thoughts that chased each other, playing around in his twisted mind. He had been exhausted last night and although it had been past midnight, he hadn’t been able to stay awake for the whole mid-life crisis thing.

He had been so glad to learn that they were staying at a nice hotel for a couple of days – and he secretly thanked Brian for taking his birthday into consideration while scheduling their hotel nights, the guy totally rocked (at times, of course).

And now, he was awake after such a goodnight’s sleep on a bed that wasn’t actually moving. He liked the bus, he really did, but sometimes you wanted your feet on solid ground that didn’t have the tendency to shake or tremble – usually anyway.

It was 11 o’clock and he was alone in the room when he woke up. Frank had probably gone out to retrieve his late-morning coffee. He had silently wished his friend would return to the room soon with two paper cups instead of just one.

And back to his mid-life crisis. Yes. He continued to stare at the mirror as he gripped the sides of the sink loosely. He was expecting to see something different there. He was so desperate to see that something that he was actually on the verge of asking the mirror politely if it could show it to him, maybe.

He didn’t look old. No, really, even he had to admit that he didn’t look 30. Well, he hadn’t looked 18 when he was 18, either. Nor did he look 21 when he was actually of legal age to drink. People always said that to him. That he looked young and almost boyish. He also knew that most of the fans liked that particular boyish thing he had. He didn’t mind it. Maybe it was the whole clean-shaven look he had. Yeah, that must be it, he thought. Frank was younger than him and even more boyish-looking than him but when he let his beard grow some, it gave a more mature kind of air to him.

Nope. He wasn’t gonna grow a beard or anything, anytime soon. He was the same Gerard he had always been. Sure, his hair had survived some hard changes but he had never stopped being Gerard: The little boy who helped his grandmother cook Thanksgiving dinner along with his brother. Peter Pan in green tights. That little kid who (still) held a grudge against the song Sweet Home Alabama because he couldn’t play it on his guitar. The big brother who comforted his little Mikey the first time he had to wear glasses and mean kids picked on him. The boy who lived in the basement and dreamt of being an artist some day. The weird loner kid that got drunk by himself all the time. The singer. The front-man. The drug-addict. The shattered. The recovered. The redeemed. The reborn. The man. Just. Himself. Gerard.

If this was what mid-life crisis felt like, it wasn’t bad at all. He wasn’t depressed or anything. He only felt a little weird. Maybe a little tense, too. But still not in a bad mood. Because… last night the crowd had screamed for him – for them, for what they do – and it wasn’t a big crowd. But it was cozy. And it was almost like he was able to hear every single fluttering heartbeat. He was able to feel every bit of emotion that leaked. Everything was so raw and it was amazing. He had felt the connection there – just the way it had always been there, but somehow at some point it had grown weak, but that was over now. He was able to feel… warm and cherished and admired and… loved. So close it was. He was. What he felt was. So private. Special. Personal.

He blinked up at his reflection once more. He had tons of regrets during those thirty years. But one thing he didn’t regret. One thing. And it was what – or who – he had become, finally. The man he was, now. With the flaws, mistakes, misunderstandings, traumas and achievements, all together.

He was his own man, now. He had finally accepted himself wholly. And he liked it.

Though he regretted being alone in this hotel room, now. Not just physically alone. But he had no one with him, no one that he could imagine to come and be with him – like he was sure Mikey was doing in the next room. Or like countless other nameless and faceless people he didn’t know. It just hurt worse to be alone when you knew that most people like you have found the one they’re looking for. The feeling left a bitter taste in his mouth, clinging to his tongue.

His eyes stared at the mirror for the last time. They hesitated on his long black hair. In a flash, her face, with similar dark hair framing it, appeared in front of his mind’s eye. The bright smile she gave him last night after the show. Her dark orbs had shone with praise, adoration and maybe… more?

Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Gerard stepped away from the mirror. He knew he didn’t want to move so fast. But going slow hadn’t really worked well for him in the past, had it? Six years he’d given, one-fifth of his life, to a single girl. And he’d loved her. But now it was all history. Like the others after her. They were history, too. Hell, he was 30 – basically, he was history, too!

He laughed out loud. He was finally starting to get it all, now. His mind had started to clear and all those years of experience were kicking in. Falling and standing back up, trying again and again… It was all there was to life itself. No one had everything they wanted. No one. What would be the point of living, then?

There must be nothing worse then all of your dreams coming true, he thought.

How much he needed a cigarette now.

His eyes searched the room for the jeans he was wearing yesterday. He found them at the foot of his bed and quickly retrieved his pack of smokes from the back pocket.

The room was a non-smoking one. But he didn’t care. Why had Brian booked them up non-smoking rooms, anyway? He knew Frank and Gerard smoked like mad-men – well, not all the time, but still…

He opened a window and inhaled the cool air to get the necessary oxygen supply as he was going to pleasurably poison himself soon. After a while, he lit up a cigarette and slowly started making his way through it, feeling better instantly.

And that was how Frank found him – clad only in his boxers and a loose fitting t-shirt, leaning against the window frame, blinking lazily at the city before him and puffing up gray smoke into the smooth, clear spring air.

The guitarist smiled and walked up to his friend nudging him on the shoulder. When Gerard turned around slightly to face him, he was holding out the coffee-filled paper-cup up to him.

The lead singer gave a bright, boyish smile to him and accepted the yummy-brown-liquid.

“Thanks.” he murmured gratefully.

Frank took a cigarette from Gerard’s pack and lit it up using the other man’s cigarette. He spoke in that deep, serious tone, throwing puffs of smoke everywhere.

“Don’t thank me. That’s the only birthday present you’re getting from me this year.”

A/N: Wow… I hadn’t planned it this way, at all. This chapter really got out of hand. No, actually, once they touched the keyboard, my fingers got out of hand. That’s weird. I’m thinking they might be possessed or something… Anyway, I’m actually a little pleased with the output.

So, what do you say? Let me know… Pretty. Please.
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