Notable Occasions on the Calendar of Dread

Two more days passed, and I was nearing the end of the week, hoping to anything that I could leave soon, but something inside of me wanted to stay.

I sat back stage writing away about scenery of another location where people were happy, carefree and content, far different from where I was realistically. Before I knew it, I felt a presence in front of me and looked up to see Mikey.

“How are you doing?” He asked.

“Fine,” I said taking my eyes off of him and placing them back on my writing.

“What are you doing?” He asked, having me pull the notebook up to my chest. He saw the movement I was attempting again and this time beat me to it, snatching the note book out of my hand, reviewing what I had written.

“You have talent, and I really mean that. You might even be better at writing than Gerard,” he said.

“I doubt that,” I sighed.

“You two should collaborate on something; I would love to see what your minds could produce,” he added.

He handed me back the notebook and noticed that I had taken the bandage off of my wrist, allowing it to catch a breath of fresh air. The wound itself still looked pretty rough, jagged and dried with residual blood. Mikey lured me back of a more secluded part of the venue and handed me the black wristband he always sported, leaving his tattoo bare.

“Take this,” he said, grabbing my wrist and placing the band around it, I attempted to pull it back but something in me protested against it. It stung for a moment as the cotton adjusted to my skin.

“I don't want you to be triggered when you look at your wrist,” he said, sounding unconvincing—I wanted to know the real reason he was doing it.

“Old scars don't trigger me,” I said back. I looked down at the band, once where my wound was; and the sick satisfaction it gave me was eliminated. I no longer felt abnormal. I felt ready to allow change into my life. Sheepishly, I look up at Mikey and he looks down at me like we're about to kiss.

And we do.

He leans in to kiss me and I allow my body to react. Our lips parting and tongues dancing, his one hand over my wound and his other in my hair. I could feel the brim of his damn sunglasses against my face. Suddenly, our lips having as much as our minds would allow, we stopped.

“Sorry,” Mikey whispers, harshly while he refused to look at me.

“Don't be” I said back, still looking up at him.

An arm waved between us and Mark's voice came out to say “Mikey you're on shortly. Is everything okay between you two?”

“Yes, we were talking.” Mikey spat back at Mark. He just rolled his eyes and walked away, Mikey following suit.

“Mikey!” I suddenly said more loudly that I intended. He turned back around and raised his eyebrows.

“Promise not to tell?” I asked.

He nodded.

What a great lie.

For me, things go right, and burn like hell at the same time.

Notes

Ending of Part One; potential trigger warning.