"Gerard, for chrissake, get out of that bed!" Donna Way, the lethargic teen's loving mother, exclaimed. "You're going to be late!"

"I WILL NOT GIVE IN TO THE MACHINE!" Gerard shouted as he was torn abruptly from his odd nightmare. He was so disoriented from his sleep that he was under the impression that he had slept the whole way through the weekend, and this was the ever-dreaded Monday morning wake-up call. Gerard groaned as he opened his eyes slowly, fearing any sudden and intense light. Realization that he had, in fact, slept the appropriate amount of time came to him by way of his mother's choppy, smoke-ridden laughter. His gaze searched quickly for the clock that wasn't in it's rightful spot on his darkly splatter-painted bedside stand. He shot out of bed, realizing that no clock meant no alarm and that meant he could have overslept his weekly rendezvous - not that he minded too much, the obligatory meetings didn't mean shit to the two older participants. Way figure the only one who genuinely cared if these breakfasts took place or not was Mikey, the poor kid.

"Seriously, Gerd, GET UP!" Speak of the devil, Gerard thought as Mikey tossed an unnecessarily rigid object at his head with perfect accuracy. Donna chuckled and aided Mikey, but with a pillow.

"Come on Gee!" "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!" Gerard groaned once more, having yet to move from his horizontal position that was getting more comfortable as his two immediate family members taunted him enticingly. Gerard knew that Mikey was more serious than his mother was, and couldn't stand the thought of seeing - let alone causing - the sad, defeated expression that Mikey wore too often in regards to their father. Not long after Donna had originally roused the black-haired boy from an avant-garde nightmare that somehow involved animated tapestries and Austin Pollock painting with Picasso's ear blood, Gerard rose to his feet, begrudgingly and shuddered infinitesimally at the knowledge that his subconscious - and even sometimes conscious - imagination was the synonym of a five-year-old sociopath's. Gerard decided that he didn't feel like even attempting to look nice this week, so he lathered his underarms with deodorant, sprayed a couplet of cologne puffs on his clothes, that he had so conveniently spent the night in, dabbed a bit of make-up on as he imagined any other respectable self-titled outcast would do, and turned to face his amused mother and irate brother.

"You're not even going to change your motherfucking clothes?" Mikey asked pointedly, enraged at his jaded brother, for a reason that Gerard was oblivious to. "You fucking dick." Gerard felt a twinge of guilt for disappointing his brother when he had made a conscious effort not to, but soon recalled the simple fact that Donald Way would not even put forth enough effort to put deodorant on; Donald would have no problem showing up at the inconspicuous coffeehouse in the same ruffled clothing that he had left the house in the previous night, either neglectful of his boozey smell, or his brash unconcern for his personal hygiene and, subsequently, the respect of himself as well as his sons. Gerard continued to feel guilty as he met Mikey's dejected gaze with his own dismal glower, but the guilt had morphed from one of self-loathing to one that collided with pity for his brothers caustic naivety.

"I'm just dressing for the occasion, Mikes." Gerard sighed bitterly before he walked past his family toward the entrance to their modest house where his bedraggled sneakers faithfully awaited him on a squalid mat that sat to the immediate left of the door (that is if you were entering).

The frigid breeze that was uncharacteristic of Sand Diego whipped through the warm spring air, prompting Gerard to pull the collar of his black double-buttoned leather jacket up to cover at least the bottom of his ears. He was walking along a less-populated street's sidewalk with a preconceived conviction; he took this route with his younger brother every Saturday at the same time - seven A.M. Most seventeen year old kids would scoff at the idea of waking up before noon on a Saturday, either because of pungent hangovers or pure laziness - they were one in the same to Gerard. Gerard obviously wasn't you average Joe teenager, though, of course he wasn't. He was a painfully artistic and cynically stained, and that was exactly how he liked it. The not-so-dynamic duo fell into a familiar step as they neared the small, homey coffee shop that was unknown to the masses. With each step they condemned themselves to seeing the pale, stubble-ridden face of their tragic father who had walked out on them several years ago. Gerard became conscious of the fact that, if his math was correct, his father had only resumed contact with his estranged sons three months ago; far too late as Gerard saw it. With each footfall, Gerard could feel his disheartened mood worsen while his brothers simultaneously improved exponentially. It was as though the emotionally vulnerable jock was an adolescent counting down the days left until his birthday, hopeful of getting the miniature mustang that he had begged his mommy for so he could impress the other little girls in the neighborhood. Gerard was waiting for the day to come where Mikey didn't get the mustang, but rather the push-able plastic toy that his father would "accidentally" step on and break the day after he received it. Gerard wasn't waiting out of spite or contempt for his brother's inspiring optimism, because it was just that - inspiring. No, Gerard was waiting in the corner of their room for Mikey so that he could offer him is Tonka trucks in penance.

Gerard reached out for the cool silver handle of the door and pulled it out, allowing his precious brother to enter before him. Not surprisingly, Mikey spotted Donald straightaway and rushed to embrace him, barely scrunching his nose in response to his malodorous odor. Gerard went straight for the short line at the counter, already aware of what sort of drink Mikey would order, and disinterested in what his father might want.

The jaded boy meandered rancorously aloof over toward the dingy table that Donald and his brother were seated at, already seemingly lost in a conversation. The middle Way sat down wordlessly and slid Mikey his White Mocha (extra hot) going almost unnoticed. Almost.

"Gerard m'boy!" Donald exclaimed patting Gerard firmly on his back, causing the teen to lose some of his coffee on his dirty black jeans.

"Asshole." Gerard cussed, unapologetic. Donald looked furious with his son's language, but Gerard was too preoccupied with drying his pants to notice or care.

"Come one, Gerd!" Mikey chided, and Gerard felt himself get even more annoyed with the fact that he was being chided over something that wasn't technically wrong, just widely unaccepted. "Be nice!"

"No, Mikey. I won't be nice. He doesn't deserve nice. It isn't warranted; he ripped that shit up when he ripped himself out of our life all those years ago. Or did you forget?" Gerard was simply boiling like plastic over a Bunsen Burner at this point. He hadn't intended to be harsh toward Mikey, but Gerard really wasn't in the mood to put up with some fuckwad that only agreed to inflict himself upon the siblings' lives to reconcile his guilty conscious. Donald didn't give a shit about his sons. Hell, Gerard thought, the kid needed to wake up sometime. He didn't dare look Mikey in the eyes as he stood up, fully prepared to leave, but a hauntingly familiar voice stopped him dead in his irate tracks.

"Mikey? Is that you?" The milky female tone wafted though the little shop stronger than the coffee's aroma. Gerard didn't turn as his kid brother greeted the mysterious girl with an inevitable hug, he just sort of stood there, angered that he had run into this girl around every corner since the fateful day that he had scared her from his seventh period are class. He was almost beginning to think that they were destined to make each other miserable.

"You're new around here and yet you already know about this off-the-map place. How are you so fuh-reaking cool?" Mikey was gawking at Lilith excitedly.

"I just know my way around most places I guess." Lilith allowed with a silky chuckle. Mikey's own giggle, usually secret to Gerard and Donna, accompanied Lilith's own sounds of amusement.

"Shay, this is my dad." Mikey announced proudly. Gerard bit back ashamed tears that were threatening to spill onto his hot cheeked. He could picture it in his head, Lilith was holding her hand out politely toward his still drunk father. His still drunk father was eyeing her for her immense beauty.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Way." She offered courteously. The girl was blinking expectantly, mimicking the drunkard's son.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" The pitiful aged man said sincerely, to Gerard's shock.

"I - uh - no. I - I don't think so." Gerard couldn't figure it out? What was in the girl's tone - fright? confusion? shock? Whatever it was, it definitely was an added layer of mystery to the already tiered beauty.

"Well I should." The absent father amended his thoughts sickeningly, and Gerard could guess that, by the shuffling noises, he had embraced her with "friendly" intentions.

"Mr. Way!" Lilith exclaimed shocked. Gerard could visualize the girl forcing herself out of his arm. The drunkard would look disappointed. The optimistic would look betrayed. It was all too much for Gerard to take, and he found his gait again, leading him quickly out the glass doors.

Gerard decided to wait just outside the shop for Mikey, who would, undoubtedly be exiting the venue soon. The skinny, pale boy leaned against the reed brick wall that was supporting the left side of the building; the closer Gerard was to home, the better he liked it, even f it was only a few paces. His angular face looked north as he heard the sounds of the anonymous coffeehouse's doors being shoved open forcibly. Instead of observing his brother storming out with a White Mocha in hand, he found himself looking at a model-skinny girl with pale features and daring jade eyes lighting a cigarette with ease, and cherishing the first drag as she turned his way. Lilith stopped squarely in front of him and rested her baby-soft, yet scabbed and bloody (dried blood, of course) hand on his cheek. Gerard opened his mouth prepped to spill an apologetic monologue to the girl who was shocking him with contact, but she spoke before him.

"Don't you dare worry about it." She swiftly replaced her thin, white cigarette in her mouth and turned away from him, heading right, to Gerard's obscure dismay. It was then that Gerard caught sight of Mikey storming out the door.

"I wish I had dressed for the occasion too, Gerard."

Notes

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