Dude... Are You Stalking Me?

Disclaimer: In the form of a crappy, crappy poem. I don't own My Chemical Romance. If I did...

I'd be a rich bitch with a neckerchief,
playin' my guitar all day.
But I'm not, I'm poor, don't get paid no more,
so what more can I say?

I don't own it.

Chapter Five: Artists’ Night Out

A week had passed since Gerard had returned Rita’s lost treasure, and still she felt as if it had been a day. She hadn’t seen him since that day. The weekends were usually boring around her house, but that weekend she had been forced to visit family in Pennsylvania and by the time she got home Sunday night, she was exhausted. And all of that week she had work after classes were through. She had seen Gerard in passing a few times, sometimes with someone but usually alone, and always made time to at least catch his eye and smile.

It was strange, how she felt so close to him already. By nature she wasn’t a very trusting person, and wouldn’t even call someone a friend for a considerable amount of time. But him... with him, it was different. There was just something about Gerard Way, and Rita was damned if she could say what it was.

“Mama, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger; now he’s dead. Mama, life had just begun! But now I’ve gone and thrown it all away... Mama, ooo ooo ooo-ooo....”

Rita turned up the volume on her walkman and leaned her head back against the seat as she relived the Friday of one week past.

It was sure as shit better than today, she thought with a grimace. At least work is over, and I can relax with a book and some good music when I get home.

She pulled down her shades and her eyes drifted shut as music filled everything...

***

Flashback: Last Friday

The strobe lights flashed in an insane rainbow as they danced around the darkened room. Speakers pounded with the intensity of the bass and drum beats, and the guitars blared like screams. A hauntingly beautiful, husky voice drifted out over it all in tones of violet-tinged melancholy as dozens of spectators bobbed their heads to the beat.
All in all, it was a kick-ass show.

Every time the lights cut past they hilighted the blue streaks in Rita’s hair and flashed in her eyes. Her face was lit by an elated grin as she gently bobbed her head in time with the drums, causing her unbound hair to sway behind her.

Gerard watched her curiously with a mysterious glint in his eye; he studied her as he would a piece of art. His lips quirked into a small smirk when she whistled at the bass player; he had removed his shirt to reveal a nicely toned chest and six-pack abs. He smiled down at her, winked and tossed her his shirt, which she caught and swung above her head while she laughed.

Gerard laughed and just at that moment Rita turned and caught his eye. She stuck her tongue out sideways, much the way he had the day before and linked the shirt behind her friend’s head before turning back to the stage.

Nothin like I thought she’d be, he thought as he watched her sway in time with the music, singing along every now and again. Sometimes she would turn to one of the people around her and enthusiastically shout something into their ears, where as they would agree and either high-fives or pounds would ensue. She’s so fuckin quiet around other people..., he mused. He watched as she obliviously encouraged the bassist as he flirted and showed off for her benefit; he had no idea she was simply enjoying the music. Her black jacket was tied around her waist to reveal well muscled arms. She wore a Black Sabbath t-shirt and the usual faded jeans and sneakers. Her left wrist, as always, was adorned with a plain black leather wrist band and a single silver ring decorated her index finger.

“Put a knife in my back!” the vocalist/lead guitarist screamed into the mic. “Paid in blood for all your lovin’, gone gone gone! Gone dead wrong,”

She was really enjoying herself, Gerard saw. Not that he wasn’t, he loved this kind of music; this particular band was a punk rock/screamo combination. He just liked to watch her enjoy it more.

Rita was glad she’d skipped work, she hadn’t been to a show in weeks. She glanced over at Gerard to see him bobbing his head to the music, his hair flying around his head in a silken blur. She grinned. It had been a good idea, dragging him all the way to Brooklyn (and never telling him where it was they were going the entire commute). Seeing him enjoy himself, sharing something with him, something she’d never shared with anyone else... it made it that much more enjoyable.

On a whim she grabbed Gerard’s hand and pulled him over to her. He was surprised but smiling as she started dancing with him to the last song in the set, “Acid Rain Baptism.” They laughed as Rita endeavored to guide him into the rhythm, but he was hopeless. So they danced like a couple of spazzes and had even more fun for it.

Soon the song was over, and “Wedding for My Funeral” filed off the stage to overwhelming applause. The bass player had the band sign a copy of their CD and handed it to Rita with a piece of paper Gerard knew contained his phone number. She accepted it with a smile, shook the hands of the band and hugged the vocalist. He laughed and whispered something into her ear and she looked at him with a huge grin and wide eyes.

“Really?” Gerard couldn’t hear her, but read her lips easily enough. The vocalist, a tall Asian boy dressed much the way Rita herself was, nodded. “Be right back,” she seemed to say and bounced back to where her friend stood.

“They invited us to their show next month.” she beamed. Gerard raised an eyebrow and studied the band skeptically. He frowned at them before turning back to his smiling companion.

“Where?”

“Newark,” she intoned with a wide grin. “At a club, ‘Hidden Falls.’ It’s exclusive.” She nodded. Then glanced back at the vocalist, who nodded at her. “Oh,” she leaned in and whispered into Gerard’s ear. “Sam wants to know if you’re taken.” Her eyes twinkled in merriment as his eyes widened and slowly, they traveled back to the band. Sam, the tall Asian boy smiled and waved and Rita’s giggles broke through her careful control. Gerard waved back limply.

“Tell him I have my eye on someone,” he laughed and Rita’s laughter tapered off.

“Yeah, like who?” she inquired slyly.

He brushed some hair out of his eyes and tilted his head coyly.

“Well, the bass player is pretty fuckin hot,”

Rita caught his eye and they burst into simultaneous laughter. She glanced back toward the stage to see the next band setting up. With a quick ‘be right back’ gesture she trotted over and relayed her friend’s message. Sam looked over and nodded in Gerard’s direction before hugging Rita again, kissing her cheek and leading his band backstage. She made her way back over and once again grabbed Gerard’s hand and pulled him toward the door.

“Hey, what– the next band’s about to start their set,” he protested as she dragged him out the door and into the frigid darkness of a November night.

Rita took a deep breath of the chill air before tugging at the knot formerly known as her jacket sleeves at her waist.

“Yeah, but they suck. Fuckin poser band, every song they do sounds like something by the Smashing Pumpkins.” She sneered in disgust as she shrugged her jacket into place and once again swung her satchel cross-wise over her shoulder.

“So where are we going now?” Gerard inquired as he removed the bassist’s shirt from his shoulders and stooped to put it in Rita’s bag.

She considered the question for a moment, hands in her jacket pockets. Gerard watched her from the corner of his eye as the wind blew and fluttered the ends of her hair. After a minute or so she raised her head and smiled.

“Come on,” Once again she took hold of his hand and dragged him down the street.

“What now,” The artist laughed as he allowed himself to be led.

Rita glanced back at him, oval face framed by her ebon curls. Her smile was small but genuine and her eyes sparkled with something akin to gratitude.

“I said I owed you two, stalker man,” she said simply and picked up the pace. Soon they were running down the block, oblivious of the beautiful night around them...

***

[Bay Ridge next stop]

Rita’s eyes flashed open and she looked around in slight confusion at the announcement. After a moment she noticed that the tape in her walkman had long since stopped playing, which meant... she had fallen asleep. Again.

She stretched and moved to return the tape player to her satchel as the train ground to a jerking stop. She glanced around the car before she stepped out and trotted for the stairs.

I need a new job, she thought as she bit back a yawn. It seemed she returned home every night completely exhausted, and although she got paid very well for it.. She just didn’t think it was worth the drain on her body.

“Such is life, whooptie-fuckin-doo,” she muttered tiredly and pushed through the turnstile.

***

“Gerard!” Mikey yelled down into the basement that served as his brother’s room. “Hurry up, we’re gonna be late!”

Gerard was in a fury; his brushes flew over the canvas rapidly, and each stroke was laid down in a flash. His eyes were intent, focused inward on something only he could see. Every night for a week he’d been down there, painting until his inspiration and arms were exhausted. Now, Sunday, he was finally there; just strokes from completion.

Almost there, he thought, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he worked faster and harder. Just a few more...

“GERARD!!”

He grit his teeth in frustration and pulled back from the canvas.

“Alright, I’m coming! I’ll be right there!” he shouted up the stairs in aggravation.

He rolled his eyes and went back to painting, if a bit slower. Gradually he built up his momentum again. One brush was in his mouth, another on the easel, and two in his hand. In his left hand he held a make-shift pallet, smeared with blues, violets, reds, browns and blacks. He switched brushes often not to have to take time to clean them. His face was a study in concentration; sweat beaded his brow, eyebrows knitted and eyes intensely focused.

After what seemed to Gerard an eternity he laid his brushes down and sighed heavily. His shoulders relaxed from their tense position and his head hung for a moment as he rubbed his face with his paint-stained hands.

“Done,” he sighed in apparent relief and turned to grab his jacket off the back of a chair. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, though it still managed to fall into his eyes. He wore a sleeveless black shirt and black jeans with a rip in the left knee, a studded black belt and matching wrist band on his left arm. He seemed drained yet content as he turned to leave. Halfway up the stairs he paused to look back at the painting he had just completed.

Blue-streaked black curls blew out against a blue, violet and crimson sky. In semi-profile stood a girl, eyes focused on a point none but she could see. She wore a black jacket half-zipped over a shirt with the words “ack Sabba” visible in red letters, hands buried in the pockets. Thick black lashes brushed the tan skin around her deep brown eyes, which shone with the light of the stars. Her rose-kissed lips were turned slightly upwards in a small smile, and she seemed to be in the process of turning to look at someone.

Gerard smiled as he turned to walk the rest of the way up the stairs.

“‘Night, Rita,” he whispered and turned out the light.

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