The Highways I Call Home

Gerard scrambled around his room with unwanted tears dripping off his face. The pain, the memories, the nightmares-- they'll all go away when he does. Violently wiping away the salty water from his face with one hand and grabbing his belongings with the other, he's hoping he can just grab his crap and LEAVE.
After his bag was full, he walked to the doorway, taking one last glance at his room. Posters still hung on the walls and magazines and other items littered the floor. I'll be back, he thought. He didn't now how true that was, but it gave him a mild sense of comfort knowing he had a home somewhere.

He wallked into Mikey's room. A full moon illuminated his
empty bed and messy drawers. In a corner his guitar was slowly collecting dust. He walked over to it, placing a folded up letter between the strings, knowing that the words would never be read. Tears flooded his eyes. Oh Mikey...

"Shut up, Gerard!" he yelled at himself, storming away from the room and out of the house without looking back. The place was now full of bad memories. The good ones have long since been drowned out by recent events. Reminiscing only brought more pain. He couldn't handle that. Gerard threw his bag into the backseat of his car and sat himself infront of the steering wheel. There was no turning back now. He turned the key and pressed his foot to the gas, racing out of this foresaken town and hopefully soon, out the the state itself.

Hours passed in dead silence. He was on new roads, going places he had never been before. The yellow lines and black pavement were his new home. He stared at them, mind blank, going through the motions of driving like he was a zombie. His lifeless eyes were still red and swollen with trails of eyeliner running down from them, decorating his cheeks with some abstract black art. Headlights of passing cars glistened off his watery orbs. And yet he drove, racing the road itself so that his problems were squashed underneath the tires and left to die in a barren black hell. They couldn't reach him now. He was new, and untouchable. Yet his heart sagged in his chest and the demons that weighed down his soul stayed well out of reach of the tires beneath them. Every once in a while, these demons would strike. They slithered out of hiding and bit into his mind, causing terrible flashbacks to overwhelm him. Tears flowed. Pained moans escaped his lips. And soon his vision was overtaken and he'd nearly go off the road, too lost in the memories to see the road. But he was strong. The demons were always pushed back into hiding, leaving him another gap of relief before they came out again.

To make a distraction, Gerard pulled over and dug into his
bag, revealing a large collection of CDs. He opened one and popped it into the radio. Music filled his ears, bringing life back into his soul and a smile to his face. The sweet melodies overtook his thoughts, and as he continued on the road he was too absorbed in them to think of anythings else. The day passed, and another night flew by outside the windows. Gerard was unaware. All he knew was that he was home. The highways and flashing lights and the black path before him. It was home.

***


"Dad, please don't do this," Frank whined, biting his lip ring as a ton of mixed emotions flooded his brain.

"Frank, it'll be good for you. We need some change. Florida will be great!" he responded, flashing a big half-genuine smile.

"I think Taylor is enough change for one lifetime," murmered
Frank, not daring to look up at his father. His father who he thought loved him, or at least cared for his well being. Now he was happily shoving him into hell.

His dad gave a disappointed look, "That's enough out of you! We can be a family. A change of scenery will.. unite us! Just give her a chance."

" I'd rather die," Frank whispered, knowing his dad didn't have a clue how true those words were, and walked into his room.

He had always hidden the scars. Long skinny jeans and hoodies covered most of his body all the time, so he never had to worry about anyone seeing. His dad had walked in on him once in just a t-shirt and questioned him about the long gashes on his forearms. He blamed them on falling on his way to school the previous day, and his dad accepted that and carried on with his stupid, ignorant life. One day, though, he would do it for real. The pain ws enough to satisfy him temporarily, but the wanted to take it to the next step. Slit open his wrists for the final time. Have his father walk into his room and see the damage he had done. The damage everyone had done. The bullies at school, the one-sided teachers, the judgemental people at the supermarket. They all had their mark on him somewhere.

Frank leaped onto his bed and started tackling his pillow, punching in and screaming into it. Eventually he stopped and looked towards his dresser. He stood up and opened the first drawer, revealing a beautiful shining blade. He held it up to his skin, about to let it seep into his flesh...

Someone knocked on the door.

Frank hurriedly shoved the blade back into his drawer, glancing back at it with need brimming his eyes, before yelling a choked up, "Come in!"

His stemother walked into the room. Her messy blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail with bangs covering half her face, beady eyes poking out underneath them and bright red lips standing out like blood on a white cloth. Oh how he wanted to kill that woman. The list formed in his head, as it did every time he saw her. He had already completed 21 different ways of doing it, and the list kept growing.

"Hi Frank," she started, walking in and standing in the doorway and smiling sincerely."I'm sorry you have to go through all this. I really am. Is there anything I can do?"

"You've done enough, Taylor. Please leave me alone." Frank responed, glaring at her. The hurt on her face made him regret it for a second. Just a second. Then the list continued. 28..

"Okay. I'm sorry, alright? Please give me a chance. I'm always here for you, Frank." she said, exitting the room and gently shutting the door behind her. Frank could hear her run to his dad's bedroom and start crying, yelling something like, "why ya gotta be so mean?" into her pillow.

Frank then found his drawer again and pulled out his blade. He ran the blade across his arm, watching the blood drip out. Another scar for his stepmother.

Notes

Hey y'all! Sorry this is all depressing introduction stuff.. it gets better, I promise! ;) I've never done any fanfic stuff before, so i don't really know if this is at all interesting.. Pleasee comment and let me know what ya think and how I can improve! Tinks! ~Geetah