Manage me, I'm a mess.
Can you hear me cry out to you?
Whoo, second chapter. I am really enjoying this story, and I hope you will too. Now things in this get kinda mean, so be prepared, also I have NOTHING I mean NOTHING against Kristin or Mikey, this is all just for the plot of the story. Okay, enjoy.
I am lying on my bed face down, glasses dangling in my hand. I fucking hate my dad for giving me this shit eyesight. It’s all his fault.
I have been up here for around thirty minutes, and am starting to feel my stomach slowly start to rumble. I am really hungry, but I can’t go downstairs for food. If I do my dad will just tell me I can either eat the dinner (Which mind you is all over the floor) or stay hungry, as I won’t be allowed any snacks. I’ll just have to wait till the go to bed.
I sigh as my stereo starts to play the opening chords to The Black Parade album. It has finished the Guns ‘N’ Roses CD, and now has moved on to MCR. I don’t even know why I listen to this. It just makes me mad.
I sit up, ready to turn it off, when I stop. I slip my glasses on, and push them up my nose. I walk over to where I keep my guitars, and sit down on my stool. I place my black and red Stratocaster electric guitar on my leg, plug it in, and turn it on, then begin to strum along to the song, The End. It was the first song Frank taught me to play. I don’t know why I chose this one, but I just did. I know how to play the whole Black Parade album, but that one just stood out to me the most. Most people would think it would be Famous Last Words, as Uncle Gee wrote that during the time of my dad’s depression, but that is actually my least favourite. I love the songs Welcome to the Black Parade, The sharpest Lives, The End, and Sleep. Not just for the cool guitar structure, but for the lyrics. Those songs, the lyrics really stand out to me.
I quickly change over chords, and begin to strum the notes for Dead. I don’t know why I am doing this, but I just am. Dead isn’t one of my favourites, but it is still good. Out of all the songs by the band, my favourite would be Drowning Lessons from their first album, I brought you my bullets, you brought me your love. I have never known why, but it just is.
I continue to strum along to the song, softly humming the tune under my breath. My lips curve up slowly, as I sigh through my nose. I forgot how relaxing it is to just forget your worries, and play some music.
Soon the song ends, and yet again, I am starting on a new one. My humming turns to soft singing as my fingers jump from fret to fret, my foot tapping to count the beats, and my head bobbing up and down, in time to the music.
“And without you is how I disappear,” I sing under my breath, my voice slowly rising as the song progresses, “And live my life alone forever now. And without you is how I disappear, and live my life alone forever now.”
*Knock, Knock*
I jump, and turn of the amp, place the guitar back on the stand, and run to turn of the music.
“Hello?” I open the door to reveal the face of my dad, Mikey.
“Kobra,” He says in that voice, the voice that makes me feel guilty, “Can I come in?”
I nod, and step aside, letting him in. He sits down on my bed and pats the spot next to him.
“Sit,” He commands, and I oblige.
I sit down next to him, eyes still on the ground.
He pulls me into a hug, and I feel tears burn in my eyes, but I refuse to cry. I am not a fucking cry-baby, I won’t cry.
“Look, I’m sorry I am not always there for you, but I am here now, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
I do not return the hug, nor do I respond. Does he think he can just apologise and then everything will be okay? FUCK NO!
He lets go of me, and looks down at me, expectantly. I don’t meet his eyes. If I do, he’ll see the tears and be annoying about it.
“Kobie?” Great, the old nickname, “Talk to me kid. Is it school troubles?”
I snap.
“OH WHAT SO SINCE I AM SLIGHTLY GRUMPY I AM AUTOMATICALLY HAVING SCHOOL TROUBLES?!” He sits there shocked, but I am not finished, “YOU DON’T THINK I MIGHT ACTUALLY BE COOL AT SCHOOL?! I AM NOT YOU! I AM NOT A LOSER IN SCHOOL! I DON’T PLAY BASS, I DON’T LIKE CATS, I AM NOT A FUCKING NERD, AND I AM NOT A FUCKING SUICIDAL, DEPRESSED DRUG ADDICT! I, AM, NOT, YOU! GET THAT THROUGH YOUR FUCKING THICK SKULL ALREADY! WE ARE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, SO NEXT TIME DON’T JUMP TO CONLUSIONS!”
My dad doesn’t say anything. He just sits there shocked.
I feel wetness on my face and realise, I am crying.
“Did, did I do something Kobie?” He whispers, eyes glistening.
“DID I DO SOMETHING HE SAYS?!” I snap, glaring at him through my tears, “FOR ONE WHEN IT WAS FATHER’S DAY AT SCHOOL YOU DIDN’T SHOW UP! YOU MISSED MY FIRST SCHOOL CONCERT, MY FIRST DAY OF MIDDLE SCHOOL! YOU LEFT MUM AND I FOR ABOUT THREE MONTHS WHEN I WAS SIX CAUSE YOU DECIDED TO FALL BACK INTO YOU DEPRESSIVE STATE AND WERE PUT IN REHAB, AGAIN! YOU’VE NEVER BEEN HAPPY THAT I DON’T LIKE BASS AND PREFER GUITAR! WHEN EVER YOU COME HOME FROM A TOUR YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME, ONLY THAT BITCH THAT IS MY MOTHER AND LAST OFF, FUCK YOU!”
He doesn’t respond. He gets up, tears in the corners of his eyes, and leaves the room, slamming the door.
I get up and start to trash my room. I throw my desk chair across the room, then push all the things off my desk. I throw all the pillows and blankets off the bed, then chuck the mattress to the ground. With all the strength I have, I push my bookshelf down. I hear a shattering of glass.
I calm down from my rage, and flip the item of furniture back up, and look to see what smashed. It was a photo frame.
I pick up the photo and look at it. It was a photo of me when I was four years old, asleep on the couch, wrapped up in my dad’s old Black parade jacket. I sink to the floor and let the tears fall from my eyes.
Flash back
“Mummy?” I ask my mummy, “When’s dada getting home?”
“Soon sweetie,” She smiles, picking me up, “Why don’t we get you to bed?”
My face pulls into a frowny face.
“But dada said he would tuck me in,” I say.
“Yes but dada isn’t home,” Mummy tells me, hugging me.
“I WANT DADA!” I really want my dada.
“He’ll be home later.”
“NO! DADA, DADA, DADA!”
“Hey, how about this?”
I am carried upstairs, but I don’t wanna go to bed without dada.
“You can have a nap on the couch, so when dada comes home he can still tuck you in, and you can wear this,” Mummy gives me a black jacket with white strips on the front, with a shiny thing.
“IT’S DADA’S JACKET!”
“Yep angel. You can wear this when you have a nap on the couch, as you wait for dada to come home and tuck you in.”
“Okay Mummy! I love you!”
End of flashback.
I wipe the tears from my eyes, remembering that my dad didn’t come home that night, or the night after. He didn’t come home for ages, leading my four year old brain to believe he wouldn’t come home at all.
I sob softly, and stand up with the photograph still in hand. I stumble over to my cupboard, and pull out the box inside it. Inside were various items of my father’s that I used to make myself feel better when my dad was away, when I was younger.
Inside were various items, such as the plastic gun of Kobra Kid, the character I was named after, a unicorn toy someone gave my dad, and empty bottle of his cologne. I pushed all that stuff aside, and grabbed out the item I was looking for, his Black Parade jacket.
I wipe away the fresh tears, and pull it on. I then grab out my old black shoulder strap schoolbag. I grab the gun, the unicorn and cologne bottle, and put them in. I go over to my desk, and shuffle through the things on the ground. I grab my favourite sketch kit, one of my smaller sketch books, and a few other stationary items. I put them all in the bag. Next I go back to my bookshelf. I pick up my copy of Irvine Welsh Three tales of a Chemical Romance, and tuck that in, along with a photo of my parents and me at the zoo, a picture of Bandit Way, my cousin, Cherry, Lily and Miles Iero, my best friend Jackson Toro, and I hanging at the park, and shove them into the bag. I then go back and sit the bag on the bed, and place the final photo in. The one of me in the jacket.
I put the back under my bed, and slowly begin to pick up my mattress, and fix everything up.
I now have that bag ready for if I need a quick getaway, or if I can take it anymore.
I finish fixing my bed, and jump in. I don’t bother about turning off the light, I just close my eyes, and let the sleep over take me. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
I am lying on my bed face down, glasses dangling in my hand. I fucking hate my dad for giving me this shit eyesight. It’s all his fault.
I have been up here for around thirty minutes, and am starting to feel my stomach slowly start to rumble. I am really hungry, but I can’t go downstairs for food. If I do my dad will just tell me I can either eat the dinner (Which mind you is all over the floor) or stay hungry, as I won’t be allowed any snacks. I’ll just have to wait till the go to bed.
I sigh as my stereo starts to play the opening chords to The Black Parade album. It has finished the Guns ‘N’ Roses CD, and now has moved on to MCR. I don’t even know why I listen to this. It just makes me mad.
I sit up, ready to turn it off, when I stop. I slip my glasses on, and push them up my nose. I walk over to where I keep my guitars, and sit down on my stool. I place my black and red Stratocaster electric guitar on my leg, plug it in, and turn it on, then begin to strum along to the song, The End. It was the first song Frank taught me to play. I don’t know why I chose this one, but I just did. I know how to play the whole Black Parade album, but that one just stood out to me the most. Most people would think it would be Famous Last Words, as Uncle Gee wrote that during the time of my dad’s depression, but that is actually my least favourite. I love the songs Welcome to the Black Parade, The sharpest Lives, The End, and Sleep. Not just for the cool guitar structure, but for the lyrics. Those songs, the lyrics really stand out to me.
I quickly change over chords, and begin to strum the notes for Dead. I don’t know why I am doing this, but I just am. Dead isn’t one of my favourites, but it is still good. Out of all the songs by the band, my favourite would be Drowning Lessons from their first album, I brought you my bullets, you brought me your love. I have never known why, but it just is.
I continue to strum along to the song, softly humming the tune under my breath. My lips curve up slowly, as I sigh through my nose. I forgot how relaxing it is to just forget your worries, and play some music.
Soon the song ends, and yet again, I am starting on a new one. My humming turns to soft singing as my fingers jump from fret to fret, my foot tapping to count the beats, and my head bobbing up and down, in time to the music.
“And without you is how I disappear,” I sing under my breath, my voice slowly rising as the song progresses, “And live my life alone forever now. And without you is how I disappear, and live my life alone forever now.”
*Knock, Knock*
I jump, and turn of the amp, place the guitar back on the stand, and run to turn of the music.
“Hello?” I open the door to reveal the face of my dad, Mikey.
“Kobra,” He says in that voice, the voice that makes me feel guilty, “Can I come in?”
I nod, and step aside, letting him in. He sits down on my bed and pats the spot next to him.
“Sit,” He commands, and I oblige.
I sit down next to him, eyes still on the ground.
He pulls me into a hug, and I feel tears burn in my eyes, but I refuse to cry. I am not a fucking cry-baby, I won’t cry.
“Look, I’m sorry I am not always there for you, but I am here now, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
I do not return the hug, nor do I respond. Does he think he can just apologise and then everything will be okay? FUCK NO!
He lets go of me, and looks down at me, expectantly. I don’t meet his eyes. If I do, he’ll see the tears and be annoying about it.
“Kobie?” Great, the old nickname, “Talk to me kid. Is it school troubles?”
I snap.
“OH WHAT SO SINCE I AM SLIGHTLY GRUMPY I AM AUTOMATICALLY HAVING SCHOOL TROUBLES?!” He sits there shocked, but I am not finished, “YOU DON’T THINK I MIGHT ACTUALLY BE COOL AT SCHOOL?! I AM NOT YOU! I AM NOT A LOSER IN SCHOOL! I DON’T PLAY BASS, I DON’T LIKE CATS, I AM NOT A FUCKING NERD, AND I AM NOT A FUCKING SUICIDAL, DEPRESSED DRUG ADDICT! I, AM, NOT, YOU! GET THAT THROUGH YOUR FUCKING THICK SKULL ALREADY! WE ARE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, SO NEXT TIME DON’T JUMP TO CONLUSIONS!”
My dad doesn’t say anything. He just sits there shocked.
I feel wetness on my face and realise, I am crying.
“Did, did I do something Kobie?” He whispers, eyes glistening.
“DID I DO SOMETHING HE SAYS?!” I snap, glaring at him through my tears, “FOR ONE WHEN IT WAS FATHER’S DAY AT SCHOOL YOU DIDN’T SHOW UP! YOU MISSED MY FIRST SCHOOL CONCERT, MY FIRST DAY OF MIDDLE SCHOOL! YOU LEFT MUM AND I FOR ABOUT THREE MONTHS WHEN I WAS SIX CAUSE YOU DECIDED TO FALL BACK INTO YOU DEPRESSIVE STATE AND WERE PUT IN REHAB, AGAIN! YOU’VE NEVER BEEN HAPPY THAT I DON’T LIKE BASS AND PREFER GUITAR! WHEN EVER YOU COME HOME FROM A TOUR YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME, ONLY THAT BITCH THAT IS MY MOTHER AND LAST OFF, FUCK YOU!”
He doesn’t respond. He gets up, tears in the corners of his eyes, and leaves the room, slamming the door.
I get up and start to trash my room. I throw my desk chair across the room, then push all the things off my desk. I throw all the pillows and blankets off the bed, then chuck the mattress to the ground. With all the strength I have, I push my bookshelf down. I hear a shattering of glass.
I calm down from my rage, and flip the item of furniture back up, and look to see what smashed. It was a photo frame.
I pick up the photo and look at it. It was a photo of me when I was four years old, asleep on the couch, wrapped up in my dad’s old Black parade jacket. I sink to the floor and let the tears fall from my eyes.
Flash back
“Mummy?” I ask my mummy, “When’s dada getting home?”
“Soon sweetie,” She smiles, picking me up, “Why don’t we get you to bed?”
My face pulls into a frowny face.
“But dada said he would tuck me in,” I say.
“Yes but dada isn’t home,” Mummy tells me, hugging me.
“I WANT DADA!” I really want my dada.
“He’ll be home later.”
“NO! DADA, DADA, DADA!”
“Hey, how about this?”
I am carried upstairs, but I don’t wanna go to bed without dada.
“You can have a nap on the couch, so when dada comes home he can still tuck you in, and you can wear this,” Mummy gives me a black jacket with white strips on the front, with a shiny thing.
“IT’S DADA’S JACKET!”
“Yep angel. You can wear this when you have a nap on the couch, as you wait for dada to come home and tuck you in.”
“Okay Mummy! I love you!”
End of flashback.
I wipe the tears from my eyes, remembering that my dad didn’t come home that night, or the night after. He didn’t come home for ages, leading my four year old brain to believe he wouldn’t come home at all.
I sob softly, and stand up with the photograph still in hand. I stumble over to my cupboard, and pull out the box inside it. Inside were various items of my father’s that I used to make myself feel better when my dad was away, when I was younger.
Inside were various items, such as the plastic gun of Kobra Kid, the character I was named after, a unicorn toy someone gave my dad, and empty bottle of his cologne. I pushed all that stuff aside, and grabbed out the item I was looking for, his Black Parade jacket.
I wipe away the fresh tears, and pull it on. I then grab out my old black shoulder strap schoolbag. I grab the gun, the unicorn and cologne bottle, and put them in. I go over to my desk, and shuffle through the things on the ground. I grab my favourite sketch kit, one of my smaller sketch books, and a few other stationary items. I put them all in the bag. Next I go back to my bookshelf. I pick up my copy of Irvine Welsh Three tales of a Chemical Romance, and tuck that in, along with a photo of my parents and me at the zoo, a picture of Bandit Way, my cousin, Cherry, Lily and Miles Iero, my best friend Jackson Toro, and I hanging at the park, and shove them into the bag. I then go back and sit the bag on the bed, and place the final photo in. The one of me in the jacket.
I put the back under my bed, and slowly begin to pick up my mattress, and fix everything up.
I now have that bag ready for if I need a quick getaway, or if I can take it anymore.
I finish fixing my bed, and jump in. I don’t bother about turning off the light, I just close my eyes, and let the sleep over take me. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
Ooh this is interesting! Update soon please!
(And about the BFF video, I'm pretty sure it's Miles. I don't know anything for sure but it would make sense if it was.)
10/16/16