Gerard P.O.V.
I hate my life. Most people will say I have it good and that type of shit, but to be honest, I hate it.

Yes, I may be in a band and all, but that doesn't mean that I'm happy every single day of my life. No, it's all wrong, I hate it.

I chugged down the last of my beer.

"Fuck," I muttered.

I knew I couldn't get any more beer until our bus stopped at a city.

It was four AM. Everyone is asleep right now while I'm in the lounge, drinking the remaining beers away.

I sighed and headed to my bunk. I open the tube of depression pills I had. The doctor said it'll make me better. Yeah, better my ass! I'm just taking these shit just so I can overdose myself. So far, I'm still alive.

I sighed. But, I soon passed out.

----------------------

"Gerard. Wake up." Mikey shook me.

"What," I said.

"Come on, we're at a gas station in Maryland." Mikey said.

I slowly got out of my bunk. I had a massive headache. "Mikey, give me some pain killers." I said.

Mikey sighed and gave me the pain killers. I swallowed them without water.

I walked along with Mikey. He told me that Frank, Ray, and Bob were already in the store.

Once in the store, I admittedly went to where the liquor was in the fridge. I couldn't help but feeling someone is following me.

I turn around. There was a woman there about my age. She had pale skin, black hair, red colored lips. When she grabbed a bag of chips and turned away, you can see she has an arm sleeve tattoo.

I shook my head and grabbed a six pack.

I went to where the cash register was. Frank, Ray, Bob, and Mikey were in line already. The woman was there too.

"You finished the beer we had in the bus?" Frank asked.

"Yeah." I said.

"Gerard, I think you have a problem." Ray said.

"I don't have a problem. So quit worrying about me," I hissed.

They all glance at each other and shook their heads. I knew they were disappointed in me, they didn't need to say it.

I paid the case of beer and went back outside and started drinking.

I looked around the gas station, the same woman with the arm sleeve tattoo was sitting on the grass, eating her bag of chips.

I feel like I've seen her before, you know, Déjà vu.

I stared at her. Where else did I see her?

The woman got up from her spot and started to walk where I was. I quickly looked away and drank my beer.

She pass me and hugged a guy that was leaning on a black Ram truck. Guess the guy is her husband or boyfriend and they're going on a trip.

Two more people come out of the truck, one girl, one boy. This girl had tan skin and brown hair. I'm pretty sure her heritage is Latina. The guy was Asian with his hair dye blue.

They all began to talk and then the woman with the arm sleeve tattoo's boyfriend or husband grabbed the gas pump and put it back and began to get ready to leave.

Group of friends going on a road trip, I guess.

I sighed and headed back inside on the tour bus since we too were preparing to leave.

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I was back stage in my dressing room. We had finish our show already.

After I had locked the door, I sat there and began to cry.

I began to cry because of how much of an idiot I really am. I mean, why the fuck am I still here?

I start to think that I should get over this and just kill myself. But then I thought how selfish I am for killing myself in the middle of tour.

I heard someone knock on the door.

"Gerard. Gerard, are you okay?" Mikey said.

"I'm fine!" I called, trying to sound like I was okay.

"You sure? Some roadie chick told me you ran in here and she said that she was worried about you." Mikey said.

"What roadie chick?" I asked.

"I haven't seen her at all, she's a pale chick. Anyways, are you okay?" Mikey asked.

"I don't know, Mikey." I said and laid down on the couch.
"Do you want to talk about it? Talking makes everything better." Mikey said.
"I just want to be alone Mikes!" I said.
"Okay." He mumbled. "If you need me, I'll be outside getting fresh air, okay?" And with that, he left.
I got up and pace around the room. If Mikey was here he would of asked me to stop because it annoyed him for some reason.
Suicidal thoughts kept going in my head, I kept fighting them away.
Dear Gerard,
Please do the world a favor and die.
Sincerely, you
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" I mumbled to myself. I am going insane.
Can't take a joke, fatty!
"Stop." I mumbled.
Well quit breathing and die!!!
"Enough!" I said and punched the wall.
At first I didn't feel anything at all. I am usually not this violent to be honest.
I felt a strong pain go through my knuckles, the effect of punching a cement wall. I wince and brought my hand to my chest.
Stupid.
"Shut up, Voice!" I said.
If you want the truth, I liked the pain. I love to make myself suffer. I'm not sure why, I can't put my finger on it.
I heard a knock come from the locked door.
"Are you okay in there?" A woman's voice asked.
"I'm fine." I said.
"Are you sure? I heard something crack in there." The woman said.
"I'm fine." I said quietly.
There was silence. I can feel the woman's presents.
"I have the first aid kit if you need it." She said.
I stood there looking at the door. How did she know I needed the first aid kit? The punch to the wall couldn't be that loud, could it?
"Come on, open the door, I know you somehow manage to hurt yourself in there." She said again.
I slowly walked to the door. I put my uninjured hand on the door nob. I thought about it for a moment. I still wonder how this girl knows I am injured.
I bit my lip and unlock the door and opened it.
The woman was the same height as me. Pale skin. I couldn't see what her hair color was since it was all hidden under a hat that said Montana on it.
Funny, we were around over there for a little vacation about two weeks ago.
Her lips were painted red. She had on a t-shirt that was one size larger than what her actual size is. Or maybe it was because it was a man's shirt that had 'Coca-Cola' written in the front of it. I saw that she had an arm sleeve tattoo on her left hand, on her right forearm was tattooed. There was a shamrock, under it was the number thirteen tattooed and then a black cat. Talk about superstitious.
I feel like I've seen that arm sleeve tattoo before. I'm not sure where...
"Way to go. Come on, let's get your knuckles clean." She said.
She came in and set the small first aid kit on the table that I had notice that she was holding it with her right had. I guess that's why I could easily see her forearm...
Stupid.
She motioned me to follow her to the small bathroom and I followed her in there.
She turned on the faucet and gently pulled my hand that I had injured.
"What did you punched? It's all bruised up." She quietly asked.
"The wall." I simply said.
"Oh, yeah that explains why the bruises are already turning purple." She said.
"How did you get here?" I asked.
"I'm a roadie. I was passing by with Bob's snare drum when I heard yelling in here." She said.
She pulled my hand under the cold water. It hurt as the water gently touched my wounds. I wince.
"You must be a tough guy to punch that cement wall and make a dent on it." She said as she gently wiped away the blood.
"How did you know?" I asked.
"I saw it when we walked in here." She said.
She then turned off the faucet and gently dried my hand off. No matter how gentle she tried to be, it hurt, but not a lot.
Like I said, I like pain.
I followed her where the first aid kit was and sat down on the couch with her. She opened the kit.
"What's your name?" I asked her.
For a second I thought she froze a little. She blinked a few times and pulled out the gauze.
"Lizzy." She said and wrapped the gauze around my hand.
"Lizzy. Nice name." I said.
"Thanks." She smiled. "All done. Be careful, okay? See you soon."
Lizzy got up with the kit and left the room.
And that was the last time I saw her. Lizzy the roadie girl. I asked every single one of the roadies if they knew where she was, but they all shake their heads and said there was never a roadie named Lizzy.
But there was one thing about this Lizzy girl, I feel like I've seen her somewhere.