It's Not a Fashion Statement

I’ve been wandering the streets for weeks, months now. I’m so worn out, tired, cold, aching, hungry, and running seriously low on money. I started with a couple of hundred, which I managed to steal off my mum before she could notice, before she could kick me out for good. I knew it was going to happen, so I didn’t hesitate to take the money. She’s always taken what’s mine, treated me like shit, and never felt guilty. So the least I can do is take enough to fucking survive. So no, I don’t feel bad.

I’ve been spending it on meals, the odd dry cleaning, public washrooms. And now I’m down to $32, which won't last long at all.

My feet hurt, and my head feels empty and hollow. I sink down on the pavement against the tall building and curl up into my knees and pull my hood over my head. I’m just so fucking done.

I cup my hands over my face and let the tears slide down my skin. My eyes sting and the back of my head hurts. I can taste the salt from my wet tears that have run into my mouth, the rest of them dripping off my chin. I sob and breath in a shaky breath, wiping under my eyes with my tattered sleeve to soak up the wet droplets that remain lined up and clogging my eyesight so everything’s gone all fuzzy. I blink a few times and take in another shaky breath. Sometimes I question if my life is actually worth living. Well, now I know I no longer need to question it.

I look up from under my shading hood, watching some of the people who pass by. Hundreds of sophisticated shoppers hobble over the street in their too-tall heels, clutching onto their huge designer branded bags filled with the clothes they have probably just spent thousands of pounds on. Then there’s all the business men and woman rushing around with their briefcases and files, in tailored suits and polished shoes.

I look round to the cash machine next to where I’m crouched, and every person there withdraws at least 100$. And then there’s me, with my 32 dollars, no home, no family, no job, and no friends. Isn’t life brilliant? Fuck, I don’t want this.

When I was younger, I never understood why people with physical illnesses, like cancer, would sometimes rather give up than stay living, or when I’d hear about suicides on the news. I thought, ‘pain is better than being dead?’ but now I get it, I understand pain now. And I’m not dealing with this anymore.

Down the road, there’s a chemist shop. I saw it earlier whilst I was passing. Hopefully I can get some strong tablets from there.
I enter and scan the shelves, soon realising I have zero knowledge of any of this. I ask behind the counter for some of the strongest and cheapest tablets.

I agree with all the questions thrown at me, because, a, I don’t have a clue what these fancy words even mean, and b, I couldn’t care less for what these pills are actually meant for. The total is $29. Ouch. It would’ve mattered if I was planning on living the rest of my life, but what life do I have to live? One on the curb begging for money and only receiving dirty looks, blows to the stomach and abusive language? I’d rather be six feet underground with maggots crawling through my dirt filled skull. So that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

I hand over a $10 and a $20 bill, receiving a small bag filled with the contents, a dollar in return, and a tacky fake smile from the stuck up bitch behind the counter. Lovely.

I’m on my way to the park, putting the tablets in my pocket along with the change I have left and i dispose of the rubbish. I’m nearly at the park, when I’m stopped by a built up man in a suit. I keep quiet and try to walk past him, but he taps me on the shoulder notifying he did want my attention.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, are you currently busy sir?”
I shake my head. He gestured me to follow him, and out of curiosity and carelessness, I do. If my life was worth any value to me, I would never follow a stranger when I was asked to but, aye what ever.

He opens a large glass door leading into a huge posh building. Its at least 20 floors high. I was taken to an elevator and the suited man pressed the button numbered 19. I have no idea why I’m here.

The large metal doors opened after what felt like hours of silence, and I was led to a big open room with marble floors and white pillars in. There was a lot of plants and a little water feature in-between a black leather sofa I was told I can sit on. There’s a few busy people rushing around, pushing clothes racks about, obvious models in extravagant outfits shooting in rooms around me. I sat by myself, feeling especially awkward and self conscious, until I was beckoned to enter a the double-door room in front of me. The doors were pushed open for me and before my eyes way a huge runway, with spotlights and a desk at the end. And holy fuck, it can't be. The man himself, Gerard way, was sitting behind the desk.

He’s one of the most famous, successful, strictest fashion designers and businessmen in the whole country. Why the fuck am I here.

He’s very young for such a successful man. Like 22 or something. Everyone knows who Gerard Way is. He’s on the front of magazines, on big billboards around the city, his name on the clothes half the population wears. He has perfumes, well known models working for him, the man himself is a model. Everyone knows Gerard Way.

I know he’s very attractive, hazel eyes, fire truck red hair, prominent bone structure. But fuck, I was not expecting him to look this good in real life.

“Take your hood down boy,” I heard the suited man say. I did as told and looked at Mr Way dead in the eyes. His face lit up, as he lifted himself from his seat, walking over to me from behind his desk. He got so close in my face, I could feel his hot breath brush against my neck. He was smiling like a madman, circling me, examining me. He went to sit back down and told all the other presences in the room to leave. I didn’t even realise how much I was shaking.

I didn’t really know what was happening, I just remember being sat on a huge chair, wrapped up in a blanket and holding a steaming mug of coffee in my hands.

“I’m offering you a job as a model,” I nearly choked on my coffee.

“I know modelling isn’t for everyone and-“ I can't believe what I’m hearing.

“I think you have me mistaken, sir, I’m certainly not exactly a good looking person and i-“

“why are you so reluctant Frankie?” I don’t know how to tell him this. It’s either gonna end with him personally kicking me out the window, or me being taken away by hired assistants because the stuck up man doesn’t want to touch a homeless peasant like me.

“i-i'm homeless-“
I looked up with teary eyes, to the man before me. His face was full of sympathy and warmness, which I was not expecting. It’s probably all just an act. But something felt so genuine about it.

“Live with me,”
Hu
“Trust me Frankie,”
He’s kidding, right?

I thought about it for a minute. Wait, why am I even considering this. I should jump at the chance, fuck embarrassment.

“Are you sure?..no, i can't-”

He suddenly pulled me into a tight hug. I felt a warm tear slip down my face. Fuck, this can't be real.
He got his sleeve and wiped under my eye, smiling down on me.
How did this happen?

-

“Frankie, we're going to my house now, hop in.”
He held a limousine door open and let me slide in. I’ve never been anywhere near as close to such luxury like this. Holy fuck.

I rested my chin against the window frame, watching the scenery melt away as we sped along the private roads. We arrived outside a mid sized house, with a big garden and driveway. Honestly, I was expecting the house to be a bit bigger, but then again it’s probably a palace inside.

He unlocked the door, to a marble hallway. There were colorful lights and black walls. It was really nice. From the hallway it leads to a few rooms, but Gerard led me up the stairs first.

He opened a door to a bedroom, then opening a wardrobe. He skimmed the shelves with his eyes, until his face lit up, reaching up onto a shelf. He could only just reach, it is the very top shelf. He pulled down what looked like a pair of comfy tracksuit bottoms and a black t shirt, along with a towel.
“the bathroom is on the left, you can get yourself cleaned up,” he smiled. Maybe he was just a generally nice person, despite his strict, professional aura.
“oh, and feel free to use any cosmetics and stuff in there, also, would you like me to wash your current clothes as well?”
I felt kinda rude and awkward, but he just looked so desperate to help and was being so kind I decided I would. He left the room a moment, whilst I slipped my clothes off, and wrapped the black towel around my waist. I opened the door to find him outside, and I handed him my clothes. He smiled again and turned around, making his way downstairs. He was humming a soft tune as he plonked down each step.

I turned to the left, into a spacious bathroom. The tiles were black and there was a lot of house plants in there, with a glass enclosed shower. I slipped the towel off and hung it up, stepping into the shower. Hot water sprayed out and I stepped under, the warmth, making me feel so cosy. I let the water soak my hair out, until it was stuck to my face. I saw a razor on the shelf, and looked back down to my hairy-ish legs. I might as well.

I was half way through shaving when I remembered something. Shit. There’s about 20 pills in my jacket pocket.

Fuck, he’s going to find them isn’t he?

Notes

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