11:16pm
Seattle, Washington
East-Seattle Amphitheater
December 17th, 2004

The young girl kept running, the rain was slowing her down; usually she would’ve already lost her chasers 13 blocks prior, but these fuckers were fast, relentless, smart, and totally had it out for her.
“What in the fuck had I gotten myself into this time?” The young girl thought to herself.
Elliot Love Webster was an eighteen year old from Boston, Massachusetts. She managed to hitch hike herself all the way to Seattle, Washington within the five months since she graduated high school. And right now, some young pimps-in-training were trying to kill her.
The places we end up, huh?
Elliot turned a corner into the back parking lot of the East-Seattle Amphitheater. Tonight, as every night, there was a show, meaning the back parking lot was packed with cars.
Tonight’s show was the talk of the entire city. My Chemical Romance was playing. Elliot knew of them, listened to them, they’re from Jersey, and she from Massachusetts. They’re practically neighbors. But to Elliot, the kids at the concert tonight are spoiled rotten Washington Hipster Youth that either drove to the show in their shiny expensive cars, or had their parents drive them in their shiny expensive cars.
Elliot sprinted through the asphalt lot, on her left was the amphitheater with the back entrance, and on her right were all the cars. Elliot was running along the stretch of road that kids usually used as to get dropped off or to leave.
“Elliot! Get your ass back here!” She heard from about twenty feet behind her.
Come on feet, don’t fail on me now. She pushed herself faster. She was about half way down the road when someone came up next to her and grabbed her left arm. She looked at the person, he was short for a guy, but still taller than Elliot—everyone is taller than Elliot—and he was giving her a face that said ‘trust me’.
Fifth Rule of Street Life: Don’t trust anyone.
Third Rule of Street Life: Always trust the people who pull you out of immediate danger.
But in that split second of judgment, Elliot was faced with her life and if she was going to see her 19th birthday, or an unknown short guy that was sweaty, wearing a bullet proof vest and X’s on his eyes in make-up, with his friend that was screaming at him to drag her into to the amphitheater. The guys behind them were yelling obscenities and at this point, Elliot would’ve trusted Lucifer with her life.
Elliot let all of her insecurities about trust (and men in general) go and let the rather short guy led her into the amphitheater.
She was led into a narrow hallway that led to two different hallways at one end, and the door she was led in from, on the other. It was dim-lighted, and humid. Elliot leaned up against the wall of the hallway and tried to catch her breath. She leaned her head on the wall and gulped all the oxygen she could.
“Are you okay?” Asked a rather deep voice; it was funny because it came out a small man.
And that’s when Elliot made the connection…
They were from that band, she didn’t know their names, but she knew they were from My Chemical Romance.
Seriously, what in the fuck did I just get myself into?
“Uh, yeah,” She stutters, a thick Massachusetts accent surfacing from her lips, “Thanks for that, those guys have had it out for me for a few weeks,” She smiles at them genuinely.
Elliot’s clothes were stuck to her skin from the rain, her blond hair was a disaster and stuck to her face and neck in the most unattractive and inconvenient ways, and she could feel the bruise on her right cheek throbbing. The bruise took up nearly half of her face, from just below her eye to about her chin. And it wasn’t the only bruise either, her entire right side was black and blue, and fuck did it hurt to breathe. The beating was from earlier when she refused to live up to the services that she had promised. They were sick fucks anyway, they wanted her to do some revolting things—she was not doing any of it. So she ran, and that is how she ended up here.
“Why were they chasing you?” Gerard spoke up this time.
Elliot hesitated and diverted her eyes to look at her beat-to-hell converses. Elliot was a girl of many secrets, and she wasn’t entrusting them with anybody.
“Are you from around here? We could get you home safely,” Frank pressed instead.
She looked up to make eye contact with him. Blue met hazel-green. He has really pretty eyes…
“No,” she said simply, and pushed the thought of pretty eyes to the back of her mind—she almost just died and she was thinking about some dude’s eyes?
Elliot, focus damn it.
“You’re from the east coast,” Gerard finished for her, he knew from that damn accent of hers. It’s a curse really.
Elliot nodded and diverted her eyes once again.
“What in the hell are you doing in all the way in fucking Seattle, alone, at night?” Frank asked suddenly sounding very protective.
Once again, Elliot did not answer, there was too much to give away just from that question alone.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Frank sighed a minute later when he figured the girl wasn’t saying anything, “Gerard, go to the bus so I can figure out what to do with her,” He rolled his neck and closed his eyes. The girl had his feathers ruffled, and he didn’t even know her name.
Way to go Elliot.
“Meet us on the bus in a few then,” Gerard called back as he walked down the hallway turned left at end of it.
He turned the corner and was out earshot.
“Are you going to explain anything to me?” Frank asked the second he figured Gerard was out of earshot.
“Fifth rule of street life: Don’t trust anyone,” Elliot said cryptically with her eyes squinted.
“You cryptic little shit,” Frank laughed.
Elliot liked his laugh; it was a giggle of someone who spent way too much time smoking pot.
“Thanks,” She smiled, and as soon that was on her face it dropped…
“So you’re a street rat?”
“Fuck,” She exclaims when she realizes she gave away a huge piece of information when she was trying to be ambiguous.
Fuck me.
“Okay, spill,” Frank finally gave her a dead serious glare
The girl sighed and pushed her hair out her face, then looked him in the eye.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul; and Frank looked right into her blue orbs and saw struggle and a lot of it. However, he also saw intelligence, cleverness, and a bit of innocence. She was young, the girl that he still didn’t know the name of, she had a childish look to her even though she also looked like she had to grow way too fast. She had juvenile radiating off of her, as if she was waiting to be a kid again. As if those years were stolen from her…
“My name is Elliot Love Webster, I just turned eighteen in October, I’m from Boston, I’m homeless and I’ve been on the streets for the past 5 or so months since I graduated high school, I managed to hitch hike my way all the way to Washington and found some bad people to follow around,” Right then and there, Elliot answered every one of Frank’s questions, “And the men that were chasing me had the intentions of killing me because I promised them services, for which they paid for in advanced, and ran off with the money,” She looks down before she finishes, “I do not deem you trustworthy enough to articulate the details of such services to you, no offense, but my secrets are my secrets.”
Frank is silent for a moment. Elliot takes in his appearance again. Huge eyes that made him look like he was fifteen. His hair was bleached on the sides and he had fringe that was stuck to his forehead from sweat and rain. He was wearing a deep red oxford with a black tie, and a bullet proof vest on top of it. He had an arm band on his right arm just above his elbow. He was wearing black jeans and black converse. He had a lip ring and tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt.
An unorthodox punk get-up, but Elliot liked it.
“Alright Elliot,” His deep voice began, “I will not pester you about anything you don’t want to tell me, however you’re going to get sick if you don’t get into some dry clothes.”
He was right, she needed to get into some dry clothes, but the only ones that she had were in her backpack, and they too were probably soaked. However, though she knew who he was, she didn’t think she should trust him. Fifth Rule of Street Life: Don't Trust Anyone
She made these rules for herself the second she trekked out to the west coast. She didn’t trust those guys she took money from, and she wasn’t about to trust this guy that she didn’t even know the name of.
“What is your name?” she asks instead of acknowledging the dry clothes offer.
He blinks but answers anyway.
“Frank Iero, guitarist of My Chemical Romance.”
She nods and makes a sound of acknowledgement. Then she answers his original question.
“Uh, thanks but no thanks, I need to get going, I have a lot of Washington to cover if I want to get out their radar,” She says and begins to throw her hair up into a bun with the hair band wrapped around her left wrist.
She forces herself to not make a face as she stretches to put her hair up. Her side was throbbing, and screaming, and if it could speak, it would be screaming every curse word in the book.
“You’re going to get sick,” He repeats.
She was taken aback. Why does he care? He just fucking me her, yeah he saved her life and she was indebted to him, but why was he offering something else?
“Wait, why do you care?” She asks skeptical.
He thought for a second, contemplating why he did care. The juvenile vibe she was giving off had a lot to do with it, she was too small, too young looking to be out on the streets by herself. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let her go and not know if she was going to be safe.
“I don’t know, I mean it’s better than going back into that weather and risk getting sick, and then really getting into trouble because of your health,” he lied.
Frank, you’re such a horrible bull shitter.
To Elliot however, he made a legitimate point. She had the immune system of a teddy bear.
“Shit, that makes sense,” she says mostly to herself.
Then he just turns to follow where Gerard went. She stood there surprised. That was it; he wasn’t going to make her? He wasn’t going to say anything else? Should she follow him? Goddamnit, he was starting to irritate her.
“Wait,” Elliot calls out to him just as he was about to turn the left corner, “So that’s it, you’re not going to make me.”
He turns to face her again.
“Elliot, you’re eighteen, I can’t make you do shit, but if you follow me I can make sure that you’ll be okay,” He calls to her, “I may be wrong, but I have a small hunch that you need someone to tell you that you’ll be okay.” Fuck, he was on point; it was like he just knew.
Damn it, he was right.
Elliot always wanted to be okay; she wanted someone to tell her that she was. Even if it wasn’t going to be for a while, but just to know that ultimately she would be. She’s been on her own for so long, even before when she was living at home, that maybe just maybe she should let someone take care of her. And Frank was offering.
“Okay,” She mumbled after thinking everything over. Weighing the pros and the cons. Pros totally out-weighed the cons.
“Okay?”
“I want to be okay,” She starts to take tiny steps towards him, “I think,”
“First Rule of Being Okay:Admit that you’re not.” He says softly as she reaches him
“I’m not okay,”] Elliot nearly whispers; falteringly.
“Neither am I,” was all he said as he led her to the bus.

Notes

This is already posted on Mibba, but I thought why the hell not?
I actually like the layout a lot more on this site, I don't have to use a ton of Code, Mibba should update it's story editor...
Anyway, I hope you like it!