The Black Parade

"I can't do this anymore, Jane."

"Do what?" I asked, my voice a harsh whisper, diluted by the wind cutting through the cold stone building. Gerard sighed exasperatedly, grasping my face in between his smooth hands; I wasn't ready for what he did next.

"Tell me more about high school."

He backed away, taking a seat on the stone bench, I sat next to him.

"You didn't answer my question."

He looked at me; he obviously didn't want to talk about it. The wind still moved fiercely, making me shiver, Gerard took notice, wrapping his warm jacket about my shoulders; I looked at him with gratitude then started.

"Um, well, it sucked for one. I had to endure the taunts of every girl and guy in school, I was the perfect student, but my teachers hated me because of what they thought I was. Every which way I turned, whispers followed me, they only saw what they wanted to see, they didn't see the scars, and they didn't see the bruises. I never had anyone smile at me, just dirty looks, right before they knocked my books out of my hands, flushed them down the toilet, and pushed me down the stairs."

I snuggled deeper into his jacket letting a few tears make their way down my face. Gerard put his arm around my shoulders, letting my tiny body take shelter within the side of his slightly larger one.

"No guy ever looked at me with anything but hatred, I definitely didn't have a first kiss, nor any kiss. One particular bastard said that I was a waste of a girl, that I should just kill myself. Oh wait, that was my father, but no matter how many times I tried, I couldn't get the pills or the booze to work, I couldn't get the knife sharp enough, no matter how little I ate, I never died. It was like I had a perverse guardian angel watching over me, trying to make it worse, making me live. I couldn't tell the police, because I lived in a small town, where everyone thought I was out of my mind."

"When did you finally get out?"

I remembered that day with great joy, the first I had ever felt in my life.

"The day I turned eighteen, four years ago, more like the minute I turned eighteen, I grabbed a bag and ran, as far as I could, I had nothing to say goodbye to."

"You’re only twenty-two, but you've gone through this much?"

"I’m 22, my not so lucky number, what about you?"

"Um, I've been in here for too long to tell, but I'm either thirty or thirty-one.'

"Stupid time-weirdo dimension continuum."

He looked down at me and smiled, I loved that someone was smiling at me, I could get used to it.

"You're beautiful; your father had no clue, none at all."

"Wow, almost sounds like the truth, but isn't, very convincing argument though."

I stood up to walk away, I was about to freeze anyway, and it would make a nice dramatic exit. But Gerard grabbed my hand, warming it with one simple touch, lighting metaphorical fire to it by holding on.

"You are, I can't lie to you, and even if I could I wouldn't dare."

"Why wouldn't you?"

He paused, perhaps what he was about to say had some affect on our standing, he looked as if he was about to say one thing, but then changed his mind.

"Because you were what you were, and I can't change that."

I remained silent and we walked to the rooms we shared, me feeling guilty about the crimes I have committed, and Gerard with a confusing dilemma ahead of him.