Gives You Hell
Common Ground
Brendon’s P.O.V.
I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t nervous about going to Mikey’s place. Mikey was a total pushover, that was true, but his big brother, as Pete told me, was a force to be reckoned with. I had never been more terrified in my life than those brief moments with Gerard, so it was going to make working with Mikey… well… awkward.
I was about fifteen minutes early, but I didn’t think it would be a big deal. I knocked on the door, expecting Mikey to answer. Unfortunately, not a soul came to answer the door. Finally, I grew impatient, and just as I was about to go for the lock picking kit that I, um, found, something told me to just try opening it.
The door was fucking unlocked.
I walked into the house, which was pretty much dead. For a moment, I wondered if I was given the right address. I then heard the shower running upstairs and concluded that Mikey was obviously in there.
I checked the clock on the wall, which read 6:47. A grin the rivaled the Cheshire Cat appeared on my face- why don’t I give the little brat a heart attack before we’re forced to do the project?
I walked up the stairs and moved towards what I assumed to be the bathroom. I would hear music blasting through, as well as Mikey’s singing (which, actually, wasn’t that bad). I opened the door silently and was now able to actually hear the song playing. I recognized it immediately and, without a second thought, sang, “Can you be my whore?”
The look on Mikey’s face was priceless. He screamed and shut the curtain all the way before poking his head out.
“What the actual fuck?!” he asked, “Do you not fucking grasp the concept of privacy?” His face was bright red from embarrassment. For some reason, though, I thought it was… cute. The thought lasted only mere moments, though, since I remembered why I did this.
“It’s not like you were masturbating or some shit, Way,” I laughed, “Dude, do you have any idea how many times I’ve seen the football team naked? This, in no way, freaks me out.”
“If I weren’t naked right now, I’d fucking grab a shotgun-”
“Whoa, calm down, dude! If we’re gonna do this project, we might as well not argue, right?” I sighed and said, “Look, I’ll stop torturing you like this for as long as we’re partners on this project. I’m probably still gonna call you names, but no hitting, I promise.”
“First of all,” Mikey deadpanned, “You never did hit me… at least, y’know, not like Kellin or Johnny or Matt. And second, I don’t trust you. I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. I don’t want to do this, and neither do you. As long as you just do your goddamn half of the project, we’re good.” Mikey gave a tiny sigh and muttered, “Um… h-how did you get in here, anyway?”
“Door was unlocked.”
“Of course it was.” An awkward silence set upon us for a minute before Mikey added, “Could you, uh, wait downstairs for another few minutes so I can, uh, finish up here and dress?”
Deciding that it was awkward enough already in here, I agreed.
After Mikey had finished showering and was now fully clothed, I was led up to his room. I’m not quite sure what I was expecting, but it definitely was something completely different.
The walls of Mikey’s room were painted red, with posters of various bands decorating them. Misfits, Queen, Joy Division, Anthrax, Morrissey, and several Smashing Pumpkins posters nearly covered the red paint. On a decent-sized cork board next to one of the Smashing Pumpkins posters, I saw a number of ticket stubs from various concerts tacked up, proudly showcasing the large number of concerts that Mikey had been to. In the corner, I saw two large cases decorated with bumper stickers and decals.
“I feel like Alice in a musical Wonderland,” I said, “Jesus Christ, Way, how many concerts have you been to?”
“That’s a good question,” Mikey chuckled, “Too many, I guess. Most of them are from Smashing Pumpkins concerts, though.”
I took a closer look at the stubs and noted that, yes, a majority of them were, in fact, Smashing Pumpkins tickets. “Ever got a chance to meet any of them?”
“Uh… no. But I’ve been so close, Billy Corgan practically spat on me.”
“Ew.”
“Yeah, a little.” Mikey grabbed his school bag and sat down on the bed, grabbing his notebook and a pencil. “We should probably get started.”
“Yeah.” I joined him on the bed and opened my bag, searching for my composition book for Sociology. Once I found it, I opened it to the next blank page. “So… what exactly are we doing for this project. I, uh, I wasn’t exactly listening.”
“We’re supposed to create a society with some sort of theme. It has to have norms, languages, religions, exports, et cetera.” Mikey ran a hand through his brown locks and asked, “So… any ideas?”
“How about something musical? Y’know, a society that warships Freddie Mercury and Henry Rollins,” I suggested.
Mikey gave me a stunned look. “You’re not wanting to do a football-themed society? You’re not going to threaten me for not wanting to have Eli Manning as the god of awesome or some shit like that?”
“Do you think all jocks are like that?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Mikey, you’ve got quite a bit to learn about the world of high school athletics…”
Over the next few days, I started learning more and more about Mikey. The kid played bass (like me), guitar, and clarinet, wrote horror stories in his spare time, and couldn’t live without his music. Slowly, we grew more and more comfortable with each other… we could’ve been friends, actually.
Unfortunately, my pride refused to have it. I think that, deep down, Mikey understood, but I could see the hurt in his eyes when I’d continue acting like he was the bane of my existence. I had a hard time ignoring the feeling of self-loathing that I’d get when I saw that look, and I wanted nothing more than to reassure him that I really did like him, that I wanted to be friends.
“Brendon… why do you hate me?”
I was taken out of my thoughts by Mikey’s rather blunt question. He avoided eye contact with me, preventing me from seeing his true emotions.
“I… I don’t hate you, Mikey,” I finally said, “I… I wasn’t fair to you. I was never fair to you, and for that, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that hate. I just… the team-”
“You were pressured into hating me.”
“No! N… well… yeah. I guess I was.”
“Brendon,” Mikey said, “I know peer pressure is a hard thing to fight. You don’t want to lose your friends, and I understand that.”
“Tha-”
“But,” Mikey added, “That doesn’t mean you have to become a bully.” He sighed and finally looked up at me. For the first time ever, he smiled at me. “I can see that this isn’t you, and that there’s actually a really nice person hiding behind the façade you’ve put up. If your friends can’t accept you for who you are, then… they’re not really your friends.”
Mikey paused, biting his lip. “I… I need you to promise that the thing I’m about to tell you will stay between the two of us.” I nodded, prompting him to continue. Mikey rolled up his sleeve and showed me a scar on his wrist. “I… I made this scar about a year ago, before I moved here. The bullying became too much for me to handle, and I just… I cut a little too deep, and-”
Without thinking, I pulled Mikey into a tight hug. He went stiff, obviously surprised by the sudden contact. “B-Brendon?”
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured, “If… If I knew that you did this-”
“I don’t do it anymore,” Mikey said, tearing up. “I stopped, because… because I know that I’m better than that. That’s why I moved- I wanted a new beginning, Brendon.”
I wiped at a few tears that began to fall down his delicate face, murmuring quiet apologies to him.
I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t nervous about going to Mikey’s place. Mikey was a total pushover, that was true, but his big brother, as Pete told me, was a force to be reckoned with. I had never been more terrified in my life than those brief moments with Gerard, so it was going to make working with Mikey… well… awkward.
I was about fifteen minutes early, but I didn’t think it would be a big deal. I knocked on the door, expecting Mikey to answer. Unfortunately, not a soul came to answer the door. Finally, I grew impatient, and just as I was about to go for the lock picking kit that I, um, found, something told me to just try opening it.
The door was fucking unlocked.
I walked into the house, which was pretty much dead. For a moment, I wondered if I was given the right address. I then heard the shower running upstairs and concluded that Mikey was obviously in there.
I checked the clock on the wall, which read 6:47. A grin the rivaled the Cheshire Cat appeared on my face- why don’t I give the little brat a heart attack before we’re forced to do the project?
I walked up the stairs and moved towards what I assumed to be the bathroom. I would hear music blasting through, as well as Mikey’s singing (which, actually, wasn’t that bad). I opened the door silently and was now able to actually hear the song playing. I recognized it immediately and, without a second thought, sang, “Can you be my whore?”
The look on Mikey’s face was priceless. He screamed and shut the curtain all the way before poking his head out.
“What the actual fuck?!” he asked, “Do you not fucking grasp the concept of privacy?” His face was bright red from embarrassment. For some reason, though, I thought it was… cute. The thought lasted only mere moments, though, since I remembered why I did this.
“It’s not like you were masturbating or some shit, Way,” I laughed, “Dude, do you have any idea how many times I’ve seen the football team naked? This, in no way, freaks me out.”
“If I weren’t naked right now, I’d fucking grab a shotgun-”
“Whoa, calm down, dude! If we’re gonna do this project, we might as well not argue, right?” I sighed and said, “Look, I’ll stop torturing you like this for as long as we’re partners on this project. I’m probably still gonna call you names, but no hitting, I promise.”
“First of all,” Mikey deadpanned, “You never did hit me… at least, y’know, not like Kellin or Johnny or Matt. And second, I don’t trust you. I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. I don’t want to do this, and neither do you. As long as you just do your goddamn half of the project, we’re good.” Mikey gave a tiny sigh and muttered, “Um… h-how did you get in here, anyway?”
“Door was unlocked.”
“Of course it was.” An awkward silence set upon us for a minute before Mikey added, “Could you, uh, wait downstairs for another few minutes so I can, uh, finish up here and dress?”
Deciding that it was awkward enough already in here, I agreed.
After Mikey had finished showering and was now fully clothed, I was led up to his room. I’m not quite sure what I was expecting, but it definitely was something completely different.
The walls of Mikey’s room were painted red, with posters of various bands decorating them. Misfits, Queen, Joy Division, Anthrax, Morrissey, and several Smashing Pumpkins posters nearly covered the red paint. On a decent-sized cork board next to one of the Smashing Pumpkins posters, I saw a number of ticket stubs from various concerts tacked up, proudly showcasing the large number of concerts that Mikey had been to. In the corner, I saw two large cases decorated with bumper stickers and decals.
“I feel like Alice in a musical Wonderland,” I said, “Jesus Christ, Way, how many concerts have you been to?”
“That’s a good question,” Mikey chuckled, “Too many, I guess. Most of them are from Smashing Pumpkins concerts, though.”
I took a closer look at the stubs and noted that, yes, a majority of them were, in fact, Smashing Pumpkins tickets. “Ever got a chance to meet any of them?”
“Uh… no. But I’ve been so close, Billy Corgan practically spat on me.”
“Ew.”
“Yeah, a little.” Mikey grabbed his school bag and sat down on the bed, grabbing his notebook and a pencil. “We should probably get started.”
“Yeah.” I joined him on the bed and opened my bag, searching for my composition book for Sociology. Once I found it, I opened it to the next blank page. “So… what exactly are we doing for this project. I, uh, I wasn’t exactly listening.”
“We’re supposed to create a society with some sort of theme. It has to have norms, languages, religions, exports, et cetera.” Mikey ran a hand through his brown locks and asked, “So… any ideas?”
“How about something musical? Y’know, a society that warships Freddie Mercury and Henry Rollins,” I suggested.
Mikey gave me a stunned look. “You’re not wanting to do a football-themed society? You’re not going to threaten me for not wanting to have Eli Manning as the god of awesome or some shit like that?”
“Do you think all jocks are like that?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Mikey, you’ve got quite a bit to learn about the world of high school athletics…”
Over the next few days, I started learning more and more about Mikey. The kid played bass (like me), guitar, and clarinet, wrote horror stories in his spare time, and couldn’t live without his music. Slowly, we grew more and more comfortable with each other… we could’ve been friends, actually.
Unfortunately, my pride refused to have it. I think that, deep down, Mikey understood, but I could see the hurt in his eyes when I’d continue acting like he was the bane of my existence. I had a hard time ignoring the feeling of self-loathing that I’d get when I saw that look, and I wanted nothing more than to reassure him that I really did like him, that I wanted to be friends.
“Brendon… why do you hate me?”
I was taken out of my thoughts by Mikey’s rather blunt question. He avoided eye contact with me, preventing me from seeing his true emotions.
“I… I don’t hate you, Mikey,” I finally said, “I… I wasn’t fair to you. I was never fair to you, and for that, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that hate. I just… the team-”
“You were pressured into hating me.”
“No! N… well… yeah. I guess I was.”
“Brendon,” Mikey said, “I know peer pressure is a hard thing to fight. You don’t want to lose your friends, and I understand that.”
“Tha-”
“But,” Mikey added, “That doesn’t mean you have to become a bully.” He sighed and finally looked up at me. For the first time ever, he smiled at me. “I can see that this isn’t you, and that there’s actually a really nice person hiding behind the façade you’ve put up. If your friends can’t accept you for who you are, then… they’re not really your friends.”
Mikey paused, biting his lip. “I… I need you to promise that the thing I’m about to tell you will stay between the two of us.” I nodded, prompting him to continue. Mikey rolled up his sleeve and showed me a scar on his wrist. “I… I made this scar about a year ago, before I moved here. The bullying became too much for me to handle, and I just… I cut a little too deep, and-”
Without thinking, I pulled Mikey into a tight hug. He went stiff, obviously surprised by the sudden contact. “B-Brendon?”
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured, “If… If I knew that you did this-”
“I don’t do it anymore,” Mikey said, tearing up. “I stopped, because… because I know that I’m better than that. That’s why I moved- I wanted a new beginning, Brendon.”
I wiped at a few tears that began to fall down his delicate face, murmuring quiet apologies to him.
@trini47
Not to sound rude or anything, but we've been incredibly busy lately and fan fiction takes a backseat to the real world. I'm not sure when it will be updated, but it will (eventually) be updated.
6/20/14