Fighting for the End -Chapter Two-
Chapter Two
-
I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone
I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone
-Boulevard of Broken Dreams, Green Day
__
We drove away from that house that I hated. We drove past the park where Haven had pushed me on the swings. He drove me past our school and the children playing on the playground.
Way drove past Haven’s house. His eyes grew distracted and he looked towards the house where I almost died.
Way shook himself and turned his eyes back on the road, speeding up.
I wiped away the tear that had slipped down my cheek and stared at his home until we couldn’t see it anymore.
We drove past the town that Haven and I grew up in, the town that we hated, and the town we wanted to get out of. Bridgeport, Connecticut. And here I was, getting out. Getting out with Haven’s favourite person in the entire world, his idol. The idol that kept me away from him. Gerard Way.
I pushed a thought out of my mind. It was what Haven would think if I was doing this to the ‘amazing Gerard Way’.
"So where’s Lindsey?" I asked, and he let out a small grin against his will.
"You’re pretty clever you know," he said, and I shrugged. I pulled my backpack out of the floorboard and opened it, pulling out the sketch pad that Haven bought for me. Along with a piece of charcoal, I laid the pad on the armrest in the middle, making Way move his elbow. He didn’t say anything, though, and just moved it. Mother would have yelled.
I closed the backpack and put it back on the floor. Picking up the pad, I flipped past the drawings I drew to settle on a page that was blank.
I sketched for a while as the drive headed to a destination. We were on I-95 now, headed to New York, but I didn’t now if that was where we were going or not.
"Where are we going?" I asked in my hoarse voice, and he replied in his soft, mellow voice, "New York."
I almost choked. "Why are we going there?"
"We have a plane to catch."
"Where are we going?"
He looked sideways at me and the corner of his mouth twitched.
"You’ve already asked that question."
"Where in the fucking hell are we going, Way?!" I yelled, and he turned back to the road. He outmaneuvered a couple of cars going sixty-five by going an even faster ninety-five miles per hour before answering, "We’re going to the JFK. I really don’t want to go there, because when I go to public airports I get mauled, but we have to. The plane departs at 6:30, which is in about two hours, and we have to be in L.A. by ten. Why we have to be in L.A. at ten today completely blows my mind, because our first show doesn’t start until tomorrow at seven, so I have no idea. And look at me, I’m rambling."
I almost smiled. Almost. This was the sort of Gerard Way that Haven would laugh with on YouTube.
After trying to make sure I didn’t smile, I said, "Well, that would suck if you got mauled, considering you don’t have your bug-guy to be your bodyguard. I won’t help you, you know."
He smiled, looking at me again. "It’s okay, Joelle. We’re going to have, like, two of those airport dudes. And his name’s Worn, not bug-guy, even though I think I’ll call him that one day. That would be fucking hilarious." He laughed and increased his speed to over a hundred, passing two more slow people.
"I would ask you to put your seatbelt on, but somehow, I don’t think a girl with a death wish will do it. But please, please put on a seatbelt. I’m not slowing down. I want a Peppermint Mocha before we fly."
This time I couldn’t help but smile. It was completely involuntary. This bloke wanted a coffee, not to keep me safe. Well, he did want to keep me safe, but he wouldn’t tell me that, because it would make me angry, probably.
I shook my head to show that he got me as I pulled the seatbelt down and clicked it in. I saw him smile and pass another car.
"I thought that was an exaggeration, the whole coffee thing. Haven was a fan, he loved you guys. He told me that if it hadn’t had been for me and My Chemical Romance, he would have killed himself along time ago."
His smile seemed to widen. "It’s what we try to do. We try to help people, to tell them that they are still okay no matter what anyone says to them. We tell them that it’s okay to live, and that dying is not the answer."
His eyes flicked to me. I had had a feeling that this would come up in his little explanation.
So, more like myself before Haven died, I debated it.
"Imagine if your brother died. He died of cancer. Imagine Lindsey died too, by getting raped in Jersey and her throat slit. Imagine all of your friends died in an explosion. Imagine that the world banned art and music like they did books in Fahrenheit 451. Imagine that all happening on the day your Grandmother Elena died, Mr. Way, and right before they died, you were screamed at for being a liar by these people and your fans, because you took one beer or swallowed one painkiller. What would you do?"
He was silent. His mouth opened slightly and he avoided my green eyes that were piercing him. I could practically hear his brain whirling a mile a minute.
"I-I...yes. I get that. I would kill myself."
"Haven is like your music, your art, your friends and your family to me. He was my air and my soul, my conscious. Do you understand me a little bit better?"
He finally looked at me. His eyes were almost bright green like mine were, and they had tears in them. "I didn’t lie to you, Joelle. I won’t let you die, and neither will Lyn. There are still people who care. Lyn cares."
"Cares? She left us when we were only seven in a place that killed us. She left because she couldn’t take it anymore. But I get that. I really do. It’s the fact that she didn’t call us when she knew our number. It’s the fact that she didn’t try to see us while we were walking home from school. And bullshit, don’t you dare tell me that she was too goddam busy!" I said when his mouth opened to retort. "And don’t you dare say that she was successful and ‘Why can’t you be happy for her Joelle?’! I know! I’m proud of her, but she could have contacted us to tell us that hey! don’t worry! I’ll get you out of there just like we planned before I just disappeared without telling you. The second you turn eighteen, Haven Thomas, I will have you out of there!
"And you know what the funny thing is, Mr. Way? It’s the fact that I hated her so much, and yet Haven looked at me and said, almost everyday when we found out about MSI and your marriage to her, ‘Don’t worry, my dearest Joelle. When we turn eighteen, we’ll run away and find Lindsey. We’ll go find her and her husband. Maybe we can work for them! You can design sets and do the sound systems; you’re always good at that kind of stuff. And me? Well, we’ll get married and Lindsey can be your Maid of Honour and Gee can be my Best Man, if he’ll agree. How amazing would that be?! I could help them write lyrics, I’ve always felt what the amazing Gerard Way writes down. I could do that, and the three-four, if Gerard likes us-can be happy forever!’"
I bit down on my lip because he let out a little noise as a tear fell down his right cheek. His skin had went pale and his eyes were wide. He had slowed down during my little vent of words, and was now going about eighty.
I felt really guilty all the sudden. I fought it back, but I heard a voice, Haven’s voice, echo in my brain, It’s not his fault Joelle. Just leave him alone. He’s suffered enough to just make sure you’re okay, don’t make this harder on him. You know you have to be nice to my idol, Joey. Be nice; he’s pretty! I could hear his laugh. God, the tears went to my eyes immediately, and I turned to Way, who was holding the steering wheel in a death grip.
"I’m sorry. Truly I am," I whispered.
The rest of the ride was in silence.
Two tolls and an hour and a half later, we were crossing the intersection of I-678 South and Belt Parkway. I could see the airport in the distance. With the traffic, we’d probably be there in about ten to fifteen minutes.
Our plane was in forty-five minutes, definitely not enough time to get coffee and try to get through the mountains of security and fans most likely going to throw themselves at the singer.
Wait, we probably wouldn’t have to go through security. I was with Gerard Way; surely they would let us go through the front of the line to get past all of the psycho people just waiting for the chance to tell Way that they wanted to have his babies. So we probably might have time, but there was no telling.
After eleven minutes of driving, we were being ushered out by a uniformed valet and flanked by two security guards with lethal looking sidearms and a shiny metal stick. Everyone who was being held back to allow us to get in the terminal safely noticed that they were being held back from Gerard Arthur Way, who now had large sunglasses on, and they began their escapade of screaming for autographs and telling him that he looked hot.
Oh yes, and to ask him who in the hell I was.
Way made sure that his little bag was slung over one shoulder and that a hopper had my bag before following the guards who covered us from the people surrounding. The second we arrived in the terminal doors, the people (more specifically, the teen-agers) began surrounding us, taking pictures and asking the same questions. I stalled at all of the flashing, and Way took my arm without hesitation, his hands quite cold, leading me to where we would be escorted through security.
They led us past the lines of people looking at the little group of five leading us into an enclosure that was private and the long rush of fans following behind. The teens knew who was walking past them and screamed while searching desperately for their cell phones or cameras so they could take pictures and videos.
Four more guards came in between the mob and the five of us, and held them back from the glass doors that were going to lead us into the main terminal.
A man in a suit was waiting with an expression that was surely meant to greet with welcome, but looked more forced than a bloke telling his psycho wife that he didn’t cheat on her and that he loved her very much.
"Hello, Mr. Way. I have your tickets registered at American Airlines. Is this Miss Anderson?"
"Obviously," I muttered under my breath. Way’s grip tightened on my arm and he said, "Yeah. This is her."
"Very good sir. Now, you’re in the First Class section of the plane. It will just be you and two other people with you. I hope this is okay."
"Yeah," said Way.
"Well, lets get you to your plane, shall we?"
Gerard Way groaned. I grinned. The manager looked confused.
"He wants a Peppermint Mocha from Starbucks," I explained, and Way shuffled his feet, trying to acknowledge it without sounding rude.
The man nodded, and motioned for one of the guards to go get it. He took off immediately while Way said, "Wait! I’ll be okay! Seriously! And I haven’t given you any money-"
The manager shook his head with a (fake) smile and said, "Oh, no, Mr. Way. Don’t worry about it. It will be courtesy of the JFK International Airport and American Airlines."
"But-"
"Don’t worry about it. You need to catch a flight, so lets get moving, shall we?"
Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and strode through a detector of some sort and out of the room. Way looked at me with an incredulous look on his face, rolled his eyes, and shook his head with disbelief, letting go of my arm and beckoning me to walk through.
I took off my bag and gave it to the woman standing by the scanner. I stood in the little detector and felt air blow around me.
"Okay, next," said the woman, looking bored, and I walked over to get my bag and waited for the thirty-one-year-old to follow me.
After he had his bag collected and he had caught up with me, we followed the manager, who was talking quickly someone. When we came out, he instantly quieted and led the way to our plane. The two guards and the bellboy with my bag kept Way and I really close together, and when I stalled at the cameras and fans who began yelling and asking for autographs, he took my shoulders and helped me move. His hands were still cold.
In Terminal 8-American Airlines, we reached our plane. AA 201, heading to Los Angeles. The line waiting to board was automatically riled as they seen the famous singer with his dark sunglasses on.
We boarded automatically and was lead to the front of the plane, where deep blue seats sat in waiting. The whole place was empty except for two lone people on the left side. One was really tall, easily over six feet, and the other was barely five feet. It was one male and one female, but I didn’t get to see their face, for they were having a hushed conversation.
Way gave me the window seat while sitting to the aisle.
"Well, here it is, front right. I hope you have a pleasant flight on American Airlines. We thank you for choosing this terminal for your flying needs."
The man walked out with the guards, leaving just the four of us and the bellhop, who loaded my bag in a compartment and left with a ‘goodbye!’
When it was just us four, I said loudly, "Fuck, that manager dude needs to get laid!"
The singer and the other two passengers began laughing, and I saw them for the first time.
"Hello Edward, Bella. It’s nice to see you!"
I was referring to Bella Swan and Edward Cullen from the Twilight books, but I knew that the two people in front of me were not really playing the parts.
Emily Browning frowned. "What? How did you know that?!" she said in that heavily American-influenced Australian accent.
"You were who I thought of. I almost cried when Kristen Stewart got it."
"You don’t like her? She is a very good actress, you know."
"Oh, I know! I liked her in Speak and Panic Room. But Bella Swan is you, Miss Browning."
She blushed. Henry Cavill grinned and said, "That’s why we’re going to L.A. Apparently they want us to audition for the parts because Kristen and Robert are getting so much shiet from fans. They’re saying that Kristen’s’s gone and quit."
I fought a grin but didn’t succeed. "She’s a lovely actress, but not Bella. And Edward Cullen... You and Hayden Christensen were the first people I thought of when I read Twilight, but you’re perfect Mr. Cavill. I want you two all the way. I do hope you get it, even though I feel sort of sorry for the other two." I grinned at them and they grinned back, until the manager bloke came back in and gave the singer his Peppermint Mocha.
After the guy with a pole the size of Russia shoved up his arse left, I heard the plane begin boarding. We began talking to drown out the cries of Emily you’re amazing!, Gerard, I love you!, and You’re MY Edward Cullen, Henry! Eventually, I got bored with the conversation of music that the three famous people were carrying on, and I pulled out my sketch book again. I returned to the page that I had drawn on in the rented Navigator and began making bolder lines and adding more detail.
I held it away from the thirty-one-year-old so he wouldn’t see it. I stalled when the plane began to take off from the terminal and continued drawing when we were at 30,000 feet, ignoring all of the announcements and the talking on the plane.
The plane ride went rather smoothly for two hours before a security guard who was watching the entrance to First Class went to the restroom and didn’t get a replacement. Two fans came in, screaming and asking for autographs, trying to take pictures and look sexy at the same time. Way and Henry had to keep them back, and they ended up getting two teen-agers all over them in the process. Thankfully, the replacement heard the ruckus and came to our rescue.
About another hour in, I excused myself to the restroom, but Way followed me, even though I swore that I would be okay. I came out of the restroom to the singer signing autographs, and he looked relieved that I came out in one piece and he could finally get rid of the teen-agers.
After another hour, I felt a bit less aggravated with the thirty-one-year-old and I gave him one of my earbuds so he could listen to Haven’s iPod with me. He sung along softly when a My Chemical Romance song, among others like Green Day and The Misfits, came on, and I closed my eyes and listened to his voice.
We listened to it until the battery went dead, and by this time, Henry was listening to his own, sleeping against the headrest. Emily was sleeping soundly on his shoulder, a smile on her face. Her nose glittered, for she had her nose pierced. I hadn't known that...
Gerard Way gave me back my earbud and rubbed his now yellow-brown hazel eyes.
"You need another coffee," I remarked, and he looked at me, nodding.
"Yeah, no kidding. I’d love one." He glanced at his hand and blinked slowly.
"Ask," I said, and he snorted. "Airplane coffee? I’d rather go sign autographs. Wait." He looked thoughtful for a minute. "Actually, I take that back, but it’s close."
"I thought you liked fans."
"I do!" he said quickly, looking at me again. At the look on my face that betrayed my skepticism, he smiled widely at me, showing his small teeth. "It’s just...it gets annoying after a while, you know. And I think my hands going to develop some sort of anti-autographing disease soon."
I laughed and rolled my eyes. "What, like arthritis?"
"No. Arthritis would suck. No, like carpal tunnel or something."
I laughed harder, hiding my face. "You think that’s...better?" I asked, my voice breaking because I was laughing so damn hard.
He looked at the ceiling, trying to fake a sheepish look but failing miserably.
"Besides, if you get carpal tunnel or arthritis, you won’t be able to draw anymore."
His eyes widened and he nodded vigorously. "Yeah, that would suck too. I love to draw! I would be miserable."
While I fought down my laughter, he looked at the two other passengers and then back to me.
"So, speaking of art..."
"No," I told him.
"I can’t even peek?"
"No."
He rolled his eyes. "Why draw if you don’t show anyone?"
"I showed Haven."
He looked at me. The laughter was gone from both of us. "You know what I mean," he said, and I stared back, refusing to break eye contact.
He finally got uneasy and broke first. "Please?"
I sighed. "No way, Mr. Way."
"Gee."
"No. Mr. Way."
"At least call me Gerard. Jesus."
I stared at him with narrowed eyes. Gerard? Like I could ever get used to that. I never called him that, unless it was combined with his last name. I even classified him as his last name in my own mind, for God’s sake.
"How ‘bout Uncle Jiggy?"
I couldn’t help but ease up on my look that I was giving him.
"I’d sooner call you the first one, Gerard."
He cocked his head, looking innocent, and then said, "Fuck, I need a cigarette."
I rolled my eyes and said, "Aren’t you supposed to be quitting that?"
He didn’t fake his sheepish look this time. It was goddam real. "Yes..." he said, his voice carrying out the word.
"So why aren’t you?"
"It’s harder to quit going cold turkey, you know. I’m down to one or two a day now, which is an accomplishment."
I scoffed. "An accomplishment? That’s bullshit. An accomplishment is looking at me. I’ve never even had one, let alone craved one."
He raised his eyebrows but eventually nodded. "Yes. I should’ve never started. But it’s so hard to stop now."
"Just stop. Easy as cake."
"No. My friends smoke, besides Frankie, and a lot of people in the crew do too. My bodyguard smokes. My manager smokes. Even Lyn-Z smokes on occasion. I’m pretty much fucked."
"Oh, shut up. Just because someone close to you dyes their hair compulsively doesn’t mean you have to."
"Dyeing your hair purple or whatever is easier to resist than an addictive object."
"Well, you’ve been around people who drink and take a Vicodin or OxyContin for pain. Have you started drinking again or popping painkillers in result?"
He stared at me for along time, completely silent except for his breathing. After a while of his mind going, he said, "Have you ever thought about joining a debate team or going into politics?"
I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time that day and said, "I get that a lot, you know."
"I bet! You’re like Larry King, the President, and my manager rolled into one scary fucking person!"
"Why, thanks," I said sarcastically.
"Dude, that was an exaggeration, you know."
"I knew that. And I was being sarcastic, not surprised."
"I knew that."
"Then why bring it up?"
"Why not? It won’t kill you."
This time, I stared at him for a long time before taking a deep breath in frustration and looking over to the two sleeping celebrities. I watched them for a while before the singer’s eyes on me finally creeped me out.
"What?"
"Just thinking. You know, I might try to draw you in cartoon form. That would be fun."
"Oh hell no."
"You two bicker like brother and sister," mentioned the accent of Emily Browning.
We both snapped our eyes to her. She still had her eyes closed, but she was smiling.
"Brother and sister," the thirty-one-year-old finally said with a snort and laughed. I stared at him like he was an idiot for a few moments before telling her, "Only child. Besides, if he was my brother, I’d have strangled him by now. Did you have a nice nap then?"
She laughed, her pitch much lower than Way’s high laugh that sounded more like a chuckle really.
Emily got off of Henry’s shoulder, stretched like a cat, and stood up. She began walking up and down the aisle of the our private section to stretch her legs, all while asking, "So, where are we? Wait. Dumb question. How long have we been flying?"
The singer and I both said simultaneously, "Almost five hours."
We looked at each other for a second before returning to the beautiful girl now standing in front of us. "Great. One hour to go. I can’t wait to get off this plane."
"Me too," the singer said, and I nodded in reluctant agreement. She looked at us with a smirk on her face, and then said, "You really are like brother and sister."
I felt my nose scrunch up. "You’re forced to love your brother or sister. I couldn’t be forced to love this jackass even if you paid me a million dollars."
One dark eyebrow raised up on both of their faces. I could barely see the thirty-one-year-old’s, though, because his long, coloured black hair was hanging in his face, making him look paler in this dark and dreary lighting.
"Why?" she asked and he looked at me, silently asking me the same question.
"Because," I said in a low voice, "I’d be with my love, my Haven now if it wasn’t for Gerard Way."
Emily looked at Way like he was an animal until his next words came out:
"Yeah, you’d be dead. I saved your life!"
"I wanted to die," I said back, my voice getting higher out of anger.
"I’m sorry, but like I said, I’m not going to watch anyone die, especially in a bed while you bleed to death."
"You have no right!"
"I had every right! Dying won’t bring your boyfriend back!"
"I’ll be with him!"
"With him where?! In Heaven? In a new reincarnated form? Please, save me the agony of listening to that bullshit!"
"IT’S NOT BULLSHIT!"
"Like HELL it isn’t! You seriously think that a good person like Haven will see a suicidal seventeen-year-old again?!"
"Stop it!" cried out Emily, and I bit back my retort. We both looked at her angrily and she shook her head, her eyes wide.
"Everyone can here you two, you know," said Henry, who was now awake. All of the little sounds of children crying and the talking of other passengers had hushed. The only sound in the whole airplane was the hum of the motors and our heavy breathing.
"Fuck this," I finally said, standing up. "I’m leaving."
"You’re not going anywhere, Joelle Anderson."
"Watch me! I’m not a child!"
"You are a child, Joelle! I’m an adult, a thirty-one-year-old adult; you’re only seventeen. And leave where? To the bathroom so you can put another ugly scar on your arm? I don’t think so."
"I wouldn’t have this ugly scar here if it wouldn’t have been for you."
"No, you’d be six feet under, food for the worms and rotting."
My mouth fell open. I had never heard so much venom in his pleasant, intelligent voice before. Not even in his music.
Slowly, I sat back down, at a loss for words. I tried to keep myself as far away from him as I could, wrapping my arms around me in a defensive posture, and at these two reactions, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"I’m sorry. That was harsh. I hope you can forgive me for that. It was completely uncalled for. I’m sorry, Joelle.
"But don’t you understand? That’s where you will be if you do what you’re planning on doing. You’re ending everything just because of the love of your life died. I understand that everything hurts, but there are still people who love you and want you to live. They want you to get out of Bridgeport, not die consumed by it! And I don’t think Haven would want the love of his live to take her life for a slim-to-nothing chance that she’ll see him again. He would want you to live, Joelle! He would want you to design sets and do sound projects! He would want you to go to college and make friends and make something of yourself, regardless of the fact that he’s gone or not! You don’t have to go out there and fall in love, betray him if that what it feels like, but you haven’t experienced enough of the world to know that you want to die! Live a little, then decide that there is nothing to live for and jump of a cliff or blow your head off if you want to. But not while you’ve got the world ahead of you, Joelle!"
He took a deep breath, his eyes pleading with me to listen, and I was listening. Sure as hell I was listening. I was listening to every word that came out of his mouth, because he was saying it with so much emotion and pain. He was shaking with emotion, and his eyes were swimming in it.
This wasn’t his job. This was my mother’s job, Mrs. Thomas’ job, maybe even Lindsey’s job.
But not Gerard Way’s. He barely knew me. He didn’t know Haven at all.
And yet while he spoke, I could hear Haven’s voice in my head, saying the same things as he was.
Please, Joelle, my sweetheart. Listen to him. He’s right, you know. He’s right about everything he’s said. You don’t know what it’s like to live, and you need to know before you come with me. Don’t worry about me; I’m watching you, and I won’t leave you. I’ll never abandon you. But live, Joelle. Live before you make a decision. And besides, it’s Gerard! Haven was the only thing that I had been living for, and there was no way that I could ever see myself betray him, but for the first time since meeting this famous man, I could see Haven in him. The hair, while black, matched Haven’s length. Gerard had the same emotion in his eyes, and I saw that they thought and felt the same. After all, Haven idolised this thirty-one-year-old. This singer was everything that Haven stood up for.
And while I could never see myself betraying Haven, Gerard Way was almost Haven in his soul, and I could see a pinprick of light resembling hope that was still very far away but growing every second.
I walked a lonely road, but perhaps this singer could walk beside me, a good friend to help me along the way. With Haven’s idol and personality walking with me, I had a reason to survive and live. I could fulfil the dream that Haven had for us and I could live it for the two of us.
I turned to the window, away from him, and just stared at the night sky.
Title: Fighting for the End (Chapter Two)
Author: AlexandraxJean
Pairing: Gerard/female, Frank/female (Gerard/Lyn-Z hinted)
Rating: R to be safe
POV: First, female
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue. That would suck. Really bad.
Summary: Gerard Way and Lyn-Z take a young woman out of her home to take away her pain of losing a loved one. None of them expect what happens to the three of them, especially Gerard's relationship with the the girl Joelle.