...“NO!” I bark, wincing from my pounding headache. “I’m not leaving until I fucking sign everyone!” I shout aggressively and push past them, trying to keep my balance steady. “Bring me a fucking chair and a jacket, will you?”
____________

I clench my jaw and shut my eyes, leaning back into the guard who stayed with me while the other one ran to get a chair and a jacket. He’s gripping my elbow almost painfully, but I’m too weak to pull away, and he is, after all, only trying to help.

They obey me because they are scared of me, I know it. I am a wild puma in their eyes, who’s always ready to attack and rip their intestines out in one deathly, totally unexpected blow. They expect me to suddenly reveal my weird superpowers to them, like summoning Satan, so they do just about anything to not get me upset. Well, fuck what they think. Fuck everyone and everything. I’d want to look at them if they had my lifestyle, I bet they’d already follow Kurt Cobain straight to heaven after three days.

The noisy teenagers were forced to line up one by one to meet me, and now have quieted down which I'm extremely thankful for; their screams weren’t helping me get back to my senses. Sure enough, I could just get on the bus and sleep peacefully for the next twelve hours until we get to Warsaw, but having everyone in the crew under control takes some real effort. It requires for you to expose your sometimes not-so-pleasant personality, and today I am going to demonstrate them just how stubborn I can be. They are probably going to consider this incident just another drunk Gerard Way episode, but to me, it’s going to mean so much more, and that’s all that matters. Internal knowledge of just how cool you are is more important than other people’s opinions.

Suddenly I feel a weight of a hand on my shoulder, pushing me down until I feel a chair beneath me. I quickly sit down and feel some kind of veil being wrapped around me, tucking me in. They are probably expecting me to start having a fever, and they assumed that wrapping and unwrapping me in a blanket will take less time than putting on and off a jacket. That would be a smart idea if I was actually sick enough to have a fever. I feel another pill being pushed through my dry lips and obediently part them, accepting the bitter medicine.

I open my eyes to see a huge line of wide-eyed girls, a couple of guys, too, staring at me with pure adoration. Here it comes…
__________

“The show was really great, probably the best night of my life,” a girl tells me as she passes me her ticket and a sharpie. I look up at her, smiling.

“Glad you liked it, and your city is beautiful,”

“Thank you,” the girl replies ridiculously shyly as if she’s the one who designed the whole town. “I hope you feel better, by the way,”

“Oh, I already am,” I reply quite honestly and look down at her ticket, quickly signing it. I pass it back to her and she thanks me again before leaving the line, squealing as her friends surround her in a hug. The whole group shuffles away from me and disappears behind the corner of the club.

I really do feel better now, the fresh night air has a great healing ability. I’m already capable of talking without slurring my words together as much, my signature looks almost normal and I can move my face muscles like usual, except for occasional spasms. I’m even able to make compliments, which I don’t do that often.

I’m really thankful that no one has attempted to take any pictures with me, I wouldn’t want to stumble upon forums like “GERARD WAY SICK AFTER THE CONCERT? DRUNK?” with my photos from today under the title. I can only imagine what I look like right now - short, freshly-dyed red hair all messed up, top buttons of my shirt unbuttoned and a black sweaty suit hanging around my shoulders (yes, they finally took the veil away and gave me my suit back). The headache hasn’t abandoned me and it looks like it’s not planning to any time soon, and I can still sense that I’m a bit tipsy. It’s hard to focus on what the fans are telling me, but there aren’t that many left anyways.

I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep after- my mind is buzzing as if I just had at least a litre of espresso chucked into me against my will.

The weird thing is that I don’t even know what caused all of this shit- I literally only had two beers, maybe three before the show. Usually my body just lets them pass, but it looks like today is an exception. God, do I love exceptions…

“Hey,” a weak voice rings above me and I lift my head to look up at the next fan. Rather amusingly and most definitely against all my expectations, it’s a guy. And from what I can tell, an attractive one.

Notes