Bittersweet

I stepped outside, it was already a blood red sky. I just kept walking, listening to everything from The Smiths to Green Day to The Sex Pistols. I loved all those types of music. There was nothing that made me cool about any of them, nothing that makes me better than anyone else. I mean, I couldn’t really obsess over british punk with anyone I know because no one liked the same things as me.

I finally made it, almost to the bus stop before I heard the heckling I was scared of, alone, when it was almost dark, as a weak girl in sketchy New Jersey.

“Hey baby, you want some of this?” A guy hollered. I ignored him and turned up the music. Suddenly it felt a lot more like night and a bit less like a late summer evening. I suddenly was hyper aware that there was about no one in a many mile radius of me and these guys. I had to look. I needed to know what was going on. There were three of them. White guys, in white hoodies and sagging pants, clearly drinking beers. I kept walking, but tried to turn and get away from them but ended up in an alleyway. They kept shouting racist remarks until they caught up with me.

“Hey sexy, you know you want my cock.” Before pushing me into a wall and muffling my mouth with his hand, another guy trying to unbutton and pull down his shorts.

I bit his palm, trying to get him off of me, but he seemed oblivious to my actions. I was cold and shaking and angry, tired and scared. I was about to get raped by three guys in an alleyway in a country I hate, where there were no benefits for me. I planned going back to South Africa tomorrow in my head, still trying to block them out.

Until I heard a gun click.

“You. Get. Your. Fucking. Hands. Off. Her.” It was a strange voice. Definitely white, and super Jersey. There was something a bit awkward about it, a little like he was completely insane. The guys got scared, seeing as they didn’t have guns, and ran off, leaving me cold and shaking. This guy saved me and I wanted to thank him but he had a gun.

And then he started to laugh hysterically. “Fuck, you’re lucky I was here. I can’t believe that worked.”

My eyes were wide. He scared me. He had a gun. “Th-thank you.” I muttered quietly before turning away.

“Darling,” he said, walking up closer to me. “This gun has no bullets.” He said. I turned around, back towards him. He showed me, shooting at the ground. No sound. It was all blanks.

The guy started laughing again, and I guess we must have activated a censor because some outdoor light turned on, shining over us. He wasn’t a big guy, kind of skinny, with shaggy black hair, and weird red eye makeup that kind of suited him. He was wearing a black tee shirt and black jeans and a black tie hung around his neck loosely. And suddenly I was laughing as well, partially out of happiness for bad things not happening and also for his bravery. He definitely wasn’t into the whole gang scene. Just some weird guy with a fake gun who wanted to do something awesome.

“What’s your name?” I found myself asking him. He smiled at me, happy that I wasn’t being awkward anymore, I s’pose.

“Gerard. Gerard Arthur Way.” Gerard. I guess that fit. It was a cute name for a cute guy. Kind of unusual but in a good way. Good unusual. “You?”

“Are we going formal with the full names? I’m Grace. Grace Cloete.”

“Beautiful.” I think he mumbled but I wasn’t quite sure what.

I don’t know why he intrigued me so much. Maybe because I could understand him. The nerdy guy, maybe a little alternative, who wants to be a superhero. Wait. Alternative. Might like good music.

“What kind of music do you like, Gerard Arthur Way of New Jersey?” I teased, making fun of his quite formal name.

“Well, Princess Grace Cloete of South Africa, I think the best band would be... if Morrissey joined The Misfits.” He speculated, his small teeth looking adorable.

I looked at him in happiness and confusion. “How do you know I’m South African?”

“I don’t know, maybe the super strong accent?” He did that whole teasing thing, the sarcasm, the joking, the changing in paces and tones of voice to prove a point. He wanted to be a character. Something better then some guy, He wanted to be interesting.

“I need to grab dinner, I’m starved.” I said, looking at him. He looked...sad? “Do you want to come with?” I ended up asking, not even thinking about it. It’s like I subconsciously knew we needed to hang out. I didn’t even think my brain processed the words before they came out.

“Yeah, that’d be awesome. I have my car here, I’ll drive.” And no questions asked, I was in his car. I should have been scared. My brothers fucked around with all sorts of white people, doing shitty things, making people hate anyone who associated themselves with us. There was all sorts of sketchy stuff going on between races in New Jersey. But I felt like this wasn’t something Gerard was involved in.

I was so curious about him, wanting to know as much as possible so I opened the glove compartment in his car. “Can I look?” He nodded, and I started taking out the items one by one, trying to learn as much as possible.

First was a wallet, equipped with cash, a debit card, some bus tokens, and a driver’s license. He looked so serious and his hair was a lot shorter. But the real knowledge gained from this was his age. The birth date on his card was April 9, 1987, which would make him...no way.

“You’re 27?” I asked, completely shocked. Maybe it was the childlike way he acted and his cute face that made him appear a lot younger.

“Yeah...you?” He asked, and I realized the way I appeared might make me appear older.

“Nineteen.” I say quietly.

“I guessed as much. It’s not like we’re going on a date or something so I don’t really care how old you are.” Gerard smiled, and I guessed I didn’t really care either.

I pulled out a lighter and a pack of American Spirits, some Batman comics, a polaroid picture of Gerard with red hair and a pretty chubby physique and this other guy with long brown hair and glasses, and lastly a bottle of Xanax prescribed to Way, Gerard Arthur.
“I’m not ashamed.” Gerard said. “Maybe I should be, about all of it. But you know, it’s not worth it.”

I liked his openness. It was relieving in the world of hiding and secrets. He wasn’t ashamed that he smoked, or that he was an adult who still read comic books, or that he had a picture with his high school ex-boyfriend, or that he clearly had some form of depression.

“I have some questions, if you don’t mind. I’m always like that, asking questions.” I asked him.

“Go ahead.” Gerard smiled nervously at me.

“Are you gay?”

“No? Why do you ask?”

“Then who’s the guy in the picture?”

“My little brother, Mikey.”

“Oh okay. Anxiety or depression?”

“Both but the pills are for depression.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a kindergarten teacher.” That one shocked me and I wasn’t sure why. “I don’t dress like this for work, I’d scare the kids away.” He said.

“What school?”

“Bellfort. Private School a bit north of here.” Gerard said.

“Can I have a cigarette?”

“Go ahead. What do you want for dinner?”

“What’s near here?”

“Starbucks, Subway, and some pizza place.” Gerard said.

“Pizza sounds nice.”

“Pizza does sound nice.”

I light the cigarette that dangles between my lips before Gerard pulls into a parking spot outside the pizza parlour.

Notes

Okay in another fic I read a long time ago, the author made a little playlist of the songs that helped to inspire the writing of the chapter, or just songs I was listening to while I was writing. If we like the same music, feel free to comment or message me or whatever and if you don't know it, maybe check some of it out?

PLAYLIST:

My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark - Fall Out Boy
I'm Not Okay (I Promise) - My Chemical Romance
What's My Age Again - Blink-182
Alone Together - Fall Out Boy
Creep - Radiohead

-Anna