Who's willing to advertise one chapter of their story on my fb page?

I've started a page on Facebook. It's called My Chemical Romance Fan Fiction Stories. Everyone is welcome to advertise their stories. Set-up is: Title, Site or sites published on, writer, then either chapter number or description. Let me know what you think. xxx

alright, sounds cool

Does it have to be finished? I can post my fic The Light Behind His Eyes on there, since that one's done. I also started a new fic called 18th Floor Balcony, but I only have one chapter for that one so far.

@PartyPoisonlives4ever
The Light Behind His Eyes by asotmGee

Wattpad, mychemicalromancefanfticion.com, ao3

Summary:
Frank Iero is a runaway that was forced out of the closet by his bigoted parents, and had no place to call home...until he met up with some familiar faces from high school, Ray (a drag queen), Bob (a stoner), and Mikey (a comic book merchant). They all take Frank under their wing out of sympathy, reminding him he's not alone. Then, in his new home, Frank meets Mikey's older brother...a known murderer that's named Gerard Way. Infatuated with revenge, he claims that he will not rest until he hunts down the people that have "ruined" him and robbed him of his innocence: bullies from school, abusive foster parents, and the two men that brutally murdered his and Mikey's parents. As Frank begins to settle down with his new but peculiar life, he soon realizes that he's falling in love with the cold-blooded killer. To Frank's surprise, Gerard is doing the same exact thing in return...at least, that's what it seems to him...

Chatper 1: Drugstore Perfume

I never thought in all my mere twenty-three years on this planet that I’d ever say this to myself: I have become used to living out on the streets of New York City.I have come to terms with the fact that I haven’t had a shower in days...no, weeks. Damn it, months (and yes, it is just as bad as it really sounds, smelling like the armpit of NYC and all). I have learned over a course of time to swallow my pride and go dumpster diving just to find scraps of food that will be my dinner. I have come to accept the fact that sometimes a pile of newspapers or a cardboard box is the best I can get my hands on when it comes to finding a place to sleep for the night. I really hate to sound like a Debbie Downer, but when you’re a jobless twenty-three year old college dropout whose parents have kicked out of the house for his sexual orientation, things obviously aren’t gonna be all sunshine and roses. And no-I did have a job, and I did go to a community college part-time prior to being thrown out, so I wasn’t thrown out for being a complete loser who just sucked his parents dry of human resources like a leech. I was thrown out because my secret was revealed to them, and it was a secret that their conservative Catholic asses didn’t take too well-I’m gay.
Now that I look back at that dreadful day, I really wish that there could have been a better way I could have come out to my parents, rather than being forced out of the closet because one of your “friends” from college couldn’t keep his mouth shut. But, does it really matter now? It doesn’t. What’s happened has happened. Mom and dad found out that I’m gay, they got pissed, and told me to get the hell out of the house, and to never come back. There’s no way I can go back in time and stop Derek from opening his big mouth and revealing my true self. All I can do is move on and live in the present, I suppose. If I sit here and mope about how I’ve been mistreated, I’ll end up becoming a human icicle in this freezing weather. A hoodie, jeans, and a pair of Converse shoes definitely aren’t the appropriate attire for the winter, let alone in NYC in the middle of November. I am fucking cold and I need a place to get warm before I have to venture out again to find a passable place to sleep for tonight. I sit up from the bench I’ve been laying on in fetal position for the last hour or so and briefly stretch before setting out for my next designated location of warmth.
As I walk down the sidewalk, something just dawns on me-I feel like complete shit. I am tired. I am hungry. I am filthy. And, obviously, I am freezing. I realize what I need right now. Other than a warmer jacket, some food in my stomach, a hot shower, and a place to sleep, I need a drink. Yes, I know-Alcohol is the last thing to be thinking of consuming when you’re homeless. But you know what? It really hurts knowing you’re in a really bad place in your life, and I think it’s acceptable to be able to escape from that reality temporarily with the help of a drink or two. It doesn’t even matter if I end up getting shitfaced and arrested for public intoxication; at least I’d have a place to stay. Sure, it’s jail, but it’s something. I’d have a place to sleep, food to eat, and clothes on my back. Bottom line, sometimes you’re just better off in jail. It may sound morbid, and even completely ludicrous to some people, but it’s true. I’m gonna be careful, though. I don’t wanna blow what little money I have left all on booze. I need money for other stuff, for bare necessities. I’m not sure what I’ll get yet. I’ll figure it out when I get my freezing ass in a bar.
I step inside a bar that, surprisingly, isn’t as packed as I feared it would be for a Saturday night. The seats at the bar table are only half-full, and there’s only maybe a few tables that are taken either by drunken sports nuts watching some football game on the big flatscreen or some lonesome women looking for a one-thirty dirty for the night (trust me, it’s obvious they’re desperately looking for a screw. I can tell by their skimpy attire and makeup-caked faces. I’m one to catch on to things rather quickly). I instantly feel a rush of relief as my body became consumed by the warmth of the indoors, but then, I begin to feel something else-a rush of nostalgia. My nose is greeted by the scent of cheap drugstore perfume, very sweet yet so overpowering. What’s strange is that, somehow, I know this smell. I’ve been in contact with this aroma before...but when? Where? Maybe my mind is just playing games with me. You’d be surprised what your mind can do to you when you’ve been living out on the streets for God knows how long. I honestly can’t remember how long I’ve lived out on the streets. Obviously more than just a month or so; hell, even more than a few months. Maybe half a year? No...more than that. A part of me wants to know, but another part doesn’t.
I look back at the bar, finding a place to sit. But, as I do, my eyes suddenly lay upon someone who stood out amongst the group of common-folk within the bar. It appears to be a woman, her back facing me. She has a mass of large, curly brown hair, like an afro. She’s wearing a long, baby-pink dress and a pair of pearl-colored high heels. As I look at this woman, that previous surge of nostalgia and deja-vu hits me again, harder than before. Have I really met this woman before? This feeling within me becomes so profound that it almost frustrates me.
“Stop it, Frank” I tell myself. “Stop standing there like an idiot and sit your ass-”
“Frank?” a voice emerged. “Frank Iero? Is that really you?”
I look to see who’s calling me. To my surprise, it’s coming from the woman in the pink dress. She’s facing me, looking at me straight in the eye…
Wait a minute...she’s not a woman...it’s a man, clearly in drag. His face is made up, just not as heavy as the lonely sleazes. His brown eyes were wide with joy, glimmering within the darkness of the bar.
Holy shit...I definitely know this person! It’s Ray Toro!
“Ray? Hey, man! Good to see you!” I smile. I may have just walked in the right place at the right time. I don’t know if I should consider myself lucky or if this was the work of fate itself…
Ray stands up and walks...no, struts towards me and embraces me in a bear hug, the scent of the cheap perfume stronger than ever. His grasp binds me tightly, nearly crushing the bones in my frail and borderline malnourished body.
“Oh my god, Frank! I’m so happy see you! It’s been forever!” Ray exclaims, releasing me from his nearly lethal bear hug.
“It’s good to see you too, Ray. It has been a while. Didn’t think I’d be running into you here!”
“Tell me about it!” Ray crossed his arms. “By the way, what are you doing here anyway? You’ve never really been one to drink, Frank!”
Oh, god...how am I gonna explain my situation to an old friend from high school? This isn’t gonna be easy…
“Oh, it’s...kinda a long story, actually. What about you, Ray?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“I actually just got back from a drag convention. It was fantastic! The conventions here downtown are always one hell of an experience,”
“I bet they are,” I laugh a little. Why am I not surprised that Ray would be at a drag convention, let alone one in New York City? It’s been years since Ray and I actually last saw each other, but he clearly hasn’t changed one bit. He’s still the same flamboyant, good-spirited, afro-sporting drag queen I remember from high school.
“Anyway, what’s been happening with you, Frank?” Ray asked, his eyes scanning me from top to bottom. “You look like you really...changed…”
I couldn’t help but notice the way he looked at me, like something was wrong with me. It wasn’t a look of disgust or anything like that, but rather of concern. I felt my chest tighten a bit. Do I really have to tell Ray what’s happened to me? That I’m left with no place to go because my parents kicked me out for being gay? I’m not worried about him judging me for my sexual preference, of course not. I’m worried about bringing him into my drama, which I really don’t want to do. I hate inviting others into my personal issues. All it does is cause more problems, more drama, more bullshit. The last time I did that, it resulted in me being disowned by my own mother and father, and left to rot out in the streets.
“Yeah...I guess so,” I began. “Hey, how about if we go and get a table?”
“Sure!” Ray replied. “My feet are getting sore in these damn heels, anyway.”
Ray and I make our way to a table away from all the other people in the bar and sit down. As I do, so many thoughts begin to race through my mind. I know Ray is gonna wanna know what’s going on, but how was I gonna tell him? Should I lie to him and tell him everything’s alright? It’s not that I don’t trust Ray; we were both bullied a lot in high school for various reasons, like the rumors of me being gay due to my looks and such, and Ray was always one of the few people to stick up for me. It’s just that I feel like if I open up my mouth and say too much...something bad will happen. I also hate being pitied. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had people tell me they feel sorry me for whatever reason, especially ever since I became homeless. It just annoys the living hell out of me. Nobody should feel sorry for me. They had nothing to do with any of the bad things that happen to me, so why should they even care? I’m no one special. I’m just another queer with an emo haircut and parents that hate him.
“Hey, Frank...how old are you now?” Ray asked.
“Turned twenty-three last month,” I replied.
“That’s what I thought! I was a senior and you were a little freshman when we met back in high school. Good times, man,”
“Yep. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering if you want something to drink...now that you’re legal,” Ray sang.
“Damn it, Ray” I laughed. “I dunno...maybe just a rum n’ Coke?”
“Alright, rum n’ Coke it is!” Ray reached in his wallet and pulled out some cash.
“Wait, Ray” I say, stopping him. “I’ll pay. It’s my drink,” I reach in my pocket for my wallet, rummaging for money. I don’t want to have my friend pay for my daily dose of poison for the night. I always feel kinda bad when others pay for my stuff. I know, kinda strange coming from a homeless man, right? Truthfully, having others wanting to pay for my stuff, whether it be a drink, food, whatever, I always decline. There have been a handful of times I’ve had people offer to buy me food or give me a couple bucks, but I always told them to not even bother. Why? It’s just another example of pitying me, which as previously stated, I absolutely hate. Nobody should have to worry about me. Nobody should worry about trying to look like a good person for helping some homeless loser like me out. I can take care of myself. I’ve managed to not die in all the x amount of months I’ve lived out on the streets.
“Nah, Frank. Don’t worry about it. It’s on me,”
“You sure? I don’t want to be a mooch,”
“You’re not being a mooch, Frank. Friends help each other out, right?”
“I suppose. Alright. Thanks,” I smile a little, giving in to Ray’s offer. I put my wallet back in my pocket. I’ll let it slide this time, I suppose. Why the hell not? It’s actually someone I know, and not some random stranger, after all.
“Hey, no problem. You look like you need a drink anyway. Just trying to help out,” Ray smiled. He got up from his seat and walked over to the bartender. A few moments later, Ray returned to our table with a glass of rum n’ Coke in his hand. He sat down and handed the drink to me.
“Thanks,” I say, bringing the drink to my lips. I take a sip, satisfied with the just about perfect mixture of the liquor and soda. Not too much rum, but not too much Coke either. Just right. I can’t even remember the last time I had a drink. It doesn’t matter, though. It feels good to be able to self-indulge for the night.
“No problem, man,” Ray grins briefly. He looks up at me again, with that same dreadfully concerned look on his face from earlier. Oh, no…
“So, Frank...I’m sorry if this sounds too abrupt, but…” Ray sighs. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, why?” I reply, playing dumb.
“I dunno, Frank...not to be mean, but something about you just doesn’t seem right. I don’t mean to pry, but I’m just...a little worried. I know it’s been years since we last saw each other, which was when you graduated from high school, but...you’ve changed so much,”
“You said that before,”
“I know, but...I can’t help but notice such a change in you. It’s so...profound,”
“How so?” I ask, still playing dumb.
“Like...in high school, I remember you always being so concerned with how you look. You always did your hair nice and dressed nice, too. You also look like you lost so much weight...not saying you were fat or anything, but...you look so freaking thin now. Too thin, in fact,”
“Well...maybe I went on a diet?” I say, trying to change the topic. He is right, though. I have changed. It’s clear as day. I smell like shit because I obviously haven’t had a shower in months, and I remember being a little bit of a hygiene freak in high school, showering every day before school and washing my hands thousands of times a day. My clothes may as well be rags at this point, because the last time I changed my clothes was probably weeks ago, and said clothes were salvaged from the dumpster. My once neatly kept black hair is now tangled and so greasy it makes me cringe. And, there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m indeed skinny. I remember having self-image issues throughout high school, especially with my weight. I never was even close to fat, yet for some reason I kept lying to myself that I needed to be skinnier. However, I never imagined I’d ever let myself get so skinny to the point that my ribs would become visible. Saying that I’m skinny at this point would be an understatement.
“Frank...I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s the case,” Ray sighed. “I think you’re hiding something from me,”
“So you’re calling me a liar?” I reply defensively. Ray needs to stop. Now.
“No, it’s just that…” Ray looked down at his drink and rubbed his forehead, looking defeated. He sighed again, closing his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them up again, looking at me again straight in the eye.
“Alright, I’ll be honest with you. Something is clearly not right with you, Frank. Something happened, but I don’t know what it is. You were nowhere like this, Frank. You are definitely not the same person I remember from high school. I know people change, but...this just seems too dramatic. Too contrasting. Too much unlike your usual self. Something’s definitely gone wrong,”
I stood there frozen, unsure of what to say. Ray’s clearly not that dumb; he never was. I remember Ray being very intelligent, in fact. He was always in Honors classes and exceeded at a ton of things. Of course he’s not gonna believe my lies and excuses. Who am I really fooling? I feel like such a dumbass…
Defeated, I bury my hands in my face and exhale. I look back up at Ray, looking and feeling like a complete idiot. What the hell was I gonna say?
“Frank, don’t be upset,” Ray put a hand on my shoulder, his touch gentle. “There’s no need to feel any shame. Everyone at some point is at a bad place in their time, and the best we can do is rise from our ashes. And sometimes, the best way to do that is to seek help...and that’s exactly what friends are for. You can tell me anything, Frank. I won’t judge you. I won’t think of you any lesser than I do now. You’re my friend, and all I wanna do is help,”
Fuck it. I gotta tell him. There’s no backing out now. Now that I think about it, what’s so bad about telling Ray? He already knows about me being gay. He already knows how my parents have been. Ray was one of the very few people I’ve confided my issues to throughout high school, and never judged me. He never stabbed me in the back either, unlike my other “friend” Derek did. What’s the point of hiding everything now? What’s the worst that could happen? I have to tell him.
“Ray...you’re right,” I began. “There is something wrong with me,”
“Would you mind telling me?” Ray asked.
“I’ll tell you, as long as you promise me something?”
“What?”
“Don’t pity me. Please?” I ask. That’s the one thing I don’t want him to ever do.
“I won’t,”
“You promise?”
“Promise,”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then exhaled, preparing myself. We sat there in complete silence. It was only for like a few minutes or so, but to me, it felt like hours.
“Ray...you remember how my parents have been, right?” I began.
“Yeah, I do. They were pretty strict on you,”
“Yeah, no shit,” I reply, laughing a little. “Anyway...you remember that time I confessed to you about...me being gay?”
“Definitely,”
“Yeah, well...my mom and dad found out...and they obviously didn’t take that too well,”
“How did that happen?”
“Long story short, some person I used to think was a friend of mine turned out to be a backstabber, and told them,”
“Who?” Ray asked. “Because I never said I thing to anyone,”
“Oh, no. It wasn’t you. Hell, no. It was someone else I met while I was going to college,”
“Oh, I see. So what happened after your parents found out?”
I paused. This was definitely gonna be the hardest part. I can already feel it; butterflies fluttering in my stomach, chest tightening, head throbbing. Fuck me…
“They... they kicked me out of the house…” I began, nearly faltering on my own words. “...and told me to never come back…”
Ray’s mouth dropped open, eyes full of devastation.
“Are you serious?”
“Why would I lie, Ray?”
“No, I’m not saying you’re lying, but...my god…” Ray covered his mouth with both his hands, eyes still brimming with utter shock. He looked like he just saw a ghost.
“How long have you...been like this?” he asked.
“Honestly...I’ve lost track of time,” I took another sip of my drink, trying to relieve myself of the anxiety and pressure I brought upon myself. It was futile. I was shaking. My stomach hurts. My chest hurts. My head hurts. What the hell have I done?
Ray was clearly at a loss of words. I feel like such an asshole now for making my friend feel this way. I no longer care if he pities me now. I just regret telling him everything because not only did I force myself to retell the tale of my downfall, but I also made Ray upset. Goddamnit, Frank...who the hell do you think you are?
“Frank...I have something to ask you,” Ray spoke after what felt like hours of silence.
“What?” I reply reluctantly.
“How about if…” Ray paused. “You come stay at my place for a while?”
What? Is he serious. No. He can’t be…
“What do you mean?” I ask dumbly.
“You know, come stay with me for a while,” Ray replied.
“Like...live with you?”
“Yeah. With me, and some others…” He smiled.
I can’t believe it. Ray is willing to let me move in with him? Is he really that courteous? Then again, Ray’s always had a huge heart for others, which was likely why him and I were good friends in high school. I just cannot help the fact he’s so willing to let me move in. And there’s other people living with him? I’m kinda curious who, come to think of it…“Who else is living with you?” I ask.
“Well, first there’s Bob. Remember him?”
“Bob Bryar? Of course,”
Bob is one of Ray’s good friends from high school. I knew him a little bit, but I wasn’t as close to him as I was with Ray. From what I remember about him, he was always a complete slacker...and a stoner. If he wasn’t at school, which was rare for him since he ditched a lot, he was at his house high as a kite, eating Doritos and watching either Cheech and Chong movies or rerun episodes of Mr. Bean. I also remember him being a pretty decent drummer. If he wasn’t getting stoned (which was almost every day) he was playing drums in his mom and dad’s garage. Him and Ray (whose guitar skills I deeply envied) did a lot of local gigs at teen clubs and hookah lounges.
“Yep, he lives with me. I get a little worried sometimes, because...well, this shouldn’t come as a surprise, but...he’s a pot grower, and that’s his source of income. I’m stunned he hasn’t managed to get caught once,”
“I’m not surprised at all,” I laughed. If there’s one thing that Bob’s always been good at besides drums, it was never getting caught. If he could have a dollar for every time he brought weed to school and never got caught, he’d be filthy rich.
“Yeah, so there’s him, and also Mikey. Not sure if you’ve met him, or…”
“Oh, I have. A few times,” I reply, remembering the vague memories of Mikey. Mikey was a scrawny shy kid that I’ve only had contact with a few times, mainly because other than him being shy, he went to a different high school. There used to be this local comic book store me and Ray would go to after school, where we would sometimes find Mikey. According to Ray, there have been a few times he’s actually joined in on his and Bob’s gigs as the bass player. I’ve never heard him play, but from what Ray and Bob have told me, he sounds pretty good.
“Yeah, he moved in with us some time after me and Bob settled in. He works two jobs, actually; one at a comic book store and another at a music store,”
“Oh, wow. Must be busy,”
“Definitely. It’s kinda a bummer he barely gets any time to rest and hang with the rest of us. At least he’s working jobs he likes though,”
“That’s true,” I take another sip from my rum n’ Coke, taking Ray’s offer in deep consideration. I certainly didn’t want to be living out on the streets anymore, but...what would it be like living with Ray, Bob, and Mikey? I’ve never been in a roommate situation before. It would definitely be a whole new experience for me. I still need to know more, though. I need to know full and well what kind of offer I’m dealing with here…
“Is there anyone else that lives with you guys?” I ask.
The expression on Ray’s face changed almost dramatically. He went from smiles to a morbidly blank stare. He looked down, as if deeply thinking of what to say.
“Yes, actually…” he said in a whispered tone.
“Who?”
“His name’s Gerard,”
Gerard? Never heard of him. I’ve never heard of that name from anyone, actually. There’s something about his name that’s kinda got a nice ring to it, but I can’t quite describe how…
“What’s he like?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.
“Well...it’s kinda hard to explain,” Ray replied.
“How so?”
Ray sat there again, giving me the silent treatment. He took one last sip of his drink, emptying his glass.
“I’ll explain later. It’s kinda complicated right now,”
“Oh...alright…” I sigh, feeling kinda disappointed. There’s just a part of me that’s dying of curiosity to know what this Gerard guy is like. Why is Ray so reluctant to tell me about him? Ray made me confess why I’m in the state I am in now, yet he won’t tell me anything about one of his roommates? What the hell, man?
“So, Frank...what do you think?” Ray asked, smile back on his face.
There’s no way I can turn him down. I cannot stand another day living out on the streets. I’m sick of not being able to shower. I’m sick of being hungry every day. I’m sick of wearing the same pair of clothes every day. I’m sick of sleeping on the hard concrete floor every night. Chances are I’d have to find a job to help pitch in for rent or something like that, but I’d much rather do that than have absolutely no money and be homeless. That’s obvious. I’d be fucking crazy to say no.
“Ray...I’m in,” I said.
“Really? Great!” Ray exclaimed. He reached across the table and wrapped me in another bear hug.
“Not so tight!” I yell, fearing Ray will crush my whole body.
“Oh, sorry!” Ray laughed, releasing me. “I’m so happy! You made the right choice. Oh, this is just fantastic! I gotta call Bob about this!” Ray nearly started dancing at our table right there in front of everyone. I wanted to curl up in a ball and shun myself out of pure embarrassment.
“I will come and stay with you guys…” I said, stifling an ecstatic Ray.
“What?” he asked.
“...If you tell me more about this Gerard guy,” I smiled. The look on Ray’s face was absolutely priceless.
“Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll tell you when we get to my car. Deal?”
“Deal,” I chuckled, finishing up my drink.
This is it. The days of me living in the hell that is the streets of NYC are soon to be over. Today embarks a new journey for me. I will be living in a probably crappy apartment home with a drag queen, a stoner, a shy bass player, and a man named Gerard that’s a complete mystery. It may be pretty awkward at first, but hey, it beats being homeless. I know what the first thing I’ll do when I get to Ray’s house: take a fucking shower.