My Nicotine Romance.

I stared back at myself in the mirror, hating the way I looked. I had dyed my hair black a month earlier, and my hazel eyes were lightly lined in black eyeliner.

I was in the ‘unpopular’ crowd at school – not that you can call a crowd with one person a crowd. Everyone seemed to have a clique – be it the ‘geeks’, the ‘losers’, the ‘goths’ – but I never fitted in.

I’d tried to join cliques, to fit in and be accepted. I really had tried my best. But, it seemed, I was too stupid for the geeks, too clever for the bimbos, too punk for the Goths, and too Goth for the punks. It seemed that I simply would not fit in – like trying to force a square through a circular hole in one of those baby’s cubes where you have to match the shape to the hole.

So instead, I wandered around, alone, not even bothering to speak. I sat alone at lunch, outside, even in the rain. My favourite table was under shelter anyway, so what did I care? I sat alone, in the back corner in lessons, in the table that’s usually occupied by the people who are or were suicidal. It was just another law of the playground, that the suicidal ‘freak’ (or in my case, ex-suicidal) of the class sat alone at the back, doing nothing much to participate in the lesson, unless the subject caught their fancy for whatever reason.

I got bored of staring at the mirror, as if it were going to tell me that everything was okay, so I went downstairs to watch Wake Up America on the TV. I know I shouldn’t skip breakfast – that it’s the most important meal of the day and all, but I really can’t face eating early in the morning. Today, some blonde, over done woman on Wake Up America was talking about the increasing rate of teenage pregnancies. She looked about twenty-four-ish, I guess. Next to her, sat a girl with a baby on her lap. The girl looked about fifteen, sixteen maybe, and the baby looked at least a few months old. The girl had a really pretty, creamy caramel coloured plait on each shoulder, and the baby had blonde hair in a tiny pink bobble with a bow.

As the caramel-haired girl started to speak, a blue banner darted across the screen, saying her name was Aimee, and her baby’s name was Honey. Underneath, in italic writing it said, ‘Teenage mother and daughter’. Any fool could see that, Wake Up America.

I finished my muttered rant at the TV set when my brother walked through the door into the hall, where the stairs were.

Mikey was the thinnest kid I have ever met, even if he does eat like a pig. He had sandy brown hair, and he wore black, thick framed glasses. I thought they suited him, but he didn’t. He said that when he could, he was going to get his eyes fixed. Fat chance; where’s he gonna get money for some expensive operation? I’m certainly not helping him in his funds.

Mikey wandered to the kitchen, to finish his homework, probably. Benny, our dog, scrambled across the kitchen to greet him. Mikey smiled slightly as the Golden Retriever licked his leg.

Then, my ever-immaculate mother tottered through the door, already in her work-high-heels – black stilettos, with a white pattern across the side.

“Oh, Gerard, sweet, what are you doing watching Channel Seven, it’s awful rubbish, put the news on,” she jabbered as I flicked a button on the remote control.

She straightened out her white work blouse, with a crumple-effect material, and looked down at her black just-shorter-than-knee-length skirt. She fixed a fold in her 15-denier tights, and pulled on her black jacket.

“Mom, are you going early today?” I asked, puzzled. Mom never had her jacket on until she was just about to leave.
“Yes, yes, sweetie, I’ve got to get to New York by nine,” she said, fixing a stray curl in her hair in the mirror that hung by the front door.
“How long are you gonna be there?” Mikey called from the kitchen.
“Oh, I’m not sure, baby, but I ‘spect I’ll be back by four or five,” she called back she grabbed her bag, checked it’s contents, and left.

The news anchor, some bloke called Harry White, rambled on and on about some new government legislation. I wasn’t very up to date on current news affairs, so I had no idea on what was going on.

Mikey had evidently finished his homework, as he was now reheating last night’s pizza to eat on the way to school. I made myself a coffee, opened the back door, and lit a cigarette. I took a long soothing drag. My first drag of many today.

“Ew, Mikey, you can’t eat that for breakfast,” I said, slightly louder than usual, as I was hanging out the door.
“Why not? Mom’s just left.” He said, shrugging and taking a first bite.
“Because it’s pepperoni pizza, and the law of sanity says you can’t eat it for breakfast,” I said, rolling my eyes. He just shrugged, grabbed his backpack and Iron Maiden hoodie, and left.

Seeing as that meant I was in the house alone, as dad was working in Britain, I decided to leave. There was no fun in listening to Harry White ramble, his hair getting whiter every second, and by time I turned back to Channel Seven, Aimee and Honey were gone, and so was the blonde girl, and it was back to Janet and Tom, the regular presenters, now talking about the weather forecast.

I picked up my blotchy blue biro pen and stuffed it in my hoodie pocket. I wasn’t going to bother taking a bag today – I never did – because all my school books sat in my locker all night, waiting for the moment I’d pick them up and do my homework – the moment that never came.

I walked to school, with my head down and my hair hanging down in my face. I ignored the comments about how I was gay, a Goth, a freak, and all. It didn’t matter what they said, especially if it was true. I am what you’d call “loner”, “gothic”. I am a fucking freak. And I am a fucking gay man.

I’m gay. Homosexual. A ponce. A poof. A poofter. A faggot.

I can’t even speak to half the guys at school. They might be heartless bastards, but it doesn’t stop them from being hot. They might be cruel, and have fists of steel, and like punching me repeatedly every day, but it doesn’t stop me from staring at their crotch and wondering, what on earth will sex be like.

I’m a virgin. I’ve never even kissed someone. I want to experience being a horny teenager while I can. My hormones aren’t going to last forever. I wish they would, because then I wouldn’t have to worry that I’d never meet the one in time. I want to meet my special guy. I want to feel loved.

I want to feel like someone needs me, wants me, enjoys my presence. I want to feel like there is someone for me, not just everyone else. It’s like being in a PE lesson when you need a partner and there’s an odd number in the class, and you’re the one left out. I need to feel loved.

I walked to school alone, ignoring everyone, just humming a tune. Not a song, because if it’s a song, you have to get it right, or it sounds bad – if you’re making it up, no one can say it’s wrong. No one can say you’re too fucked up to remember the way the song goes.

When I got to school, the bell still hadn’t gone off, because there were hundreds of teenagers milling around the entrance to the tall building. They were all stood in groups, in circles, in cliques. Some were stood taking, others were stood staring down at cell phones, and some were sat on the outdoor lunch tables, doing their own thing. One little group was sat on the grass, each kid with their legs crossed, Indian style, some talking like Yoda, and some reading books.

I didn’t bother waiting outside with the rest of them, because there was no one to talk to anyway, and nothing to do, apart from get beaten up, and watch the rest of the kids quickly form a circle around me, and watch them gaze on, and cheer on the fight, if you could call it that.

So, instead, I walked straight past them all, and in through the doors. I wandered along the deserted corridors, until I found my homeroom. The light was off inside it, so I guessed I must be early, because my teacher wasn’t there, and neither was Laura Baxter, a girl who sometimes came from her clique to keep me company in my homeroom. I think her mom told her to, but still, she went about it pleasantly.

I decided to give the sporty guys an easy shot, should they come down here, and I sat down on the tiled floor, my back resting against the cold painted wall.

Laura was the closest person in school I had to a friend in school. Every day, she would talk to me, without fail. Sometimes, she would even call me after school to check I got home okay, and sometimes, she even emailed me, to tell me, that if I ever wanted to vent, or talk to anyone, she was always there for me. She would only bother on really bad days, but still, I found her really nice. Laura’s the only person in school, apart from Mikey, to know I’m gay. The big, tough, sporty guys call me gay every day, and make random stabs and guys I’ve “eyed up”, but I’ve never told them I was gay, and I’d never eyed up anyone in school. Not properly. Not like the way they stare after girls with flawless figures.

She had the same caramel hair as Aimee from Wake Up America, but paler skin. She had violet-blue eyes, and she didn’t need to wear make up to be excruciatingly beautiful. She didn’t dress slutty, either, but she didn’t dress “Goth” or whatever. She simply dressed in what she liked, which was usually a t-shirt and skinny jeans with dolly shoes. She always looked stunning.

My homeroom teacher started walking down the corridors, towards me. He was holding a black leather briefcase, and a folder full of paper.

“What are you going down here so early, Way?” he said, with a voice full of menace.
“Nothing, Sir. I’m just waiting for the bell.” I said, trying to sound honest. I knew it was the truth, but maybe he didn’t.
“Whatever. Get up, and get in.” he said, unlocking the door.

I got up, and went into the pale blue classroom. I sat at my usual seat, at the back, in the right hand corner, by the window. I read the notes etched on with blue and black ink.

“Nothing matters anymore.”

“No one will ever love me. Add an X if you feel the same way.”

Underneath the last message, there was at least twenty-five X’s. I looked up, to see my homeroom teacher buried in a newspaper, muttering to himself. I pulled my pen out of my pocket, and etched another X.

Then, the door opened, and in walked Laura, smiling as usual. She said hello to the teacher, who smiled warmly at her – the opposite reaction to what I got.

“Hey, Gee. How you doing this morning?”
“I’m fine.” I lied slightly. I haven’t been fine since I started high school.
“That’s good.”

Then, Mr Keith, the homeroom teacher interrupted our conversation. He looked up from his paper, and turned his attention to Laura.

“Laura, we have a new student today, he’s at the principal’s office. He should be ready to come down here by now. We don’t want him getting lost on his first day, go and fetch him and bring him down.”

She stood up, leaving her white jacket and her blue messenger bag, and walked to the door. Before she could leave, he stopped her.

“Actually, Laura, I’ll send Way instead. I need a private conversation with you, and I think now’s a perfect opportunity. We’ve ten minutes to the bell.”

I glared at him, for using only my last name. I hated how he called her ‘Laura’, all the time, caringly, and he called me ‘Way’. I thought it was illegal for teachers to bully pupils! Laura only nodded, then returned to her seat, next to mine. I hadn’t taken off my hoodie, so I didn’t have to bother putting it back on. I picked up my biro pen, and walked out.

I made my way over to the principal’s office, on the other side of the first floor. Everyone was still outside, to my relief. There weren’t even any kids who’d got sent here by other teachers, as far as I could tell. I walked into the secretary’s office, which lead through to the head’s office.

“Excuse me, Mr Keith sent me over here to fetch the new kid in our homeroom.” I said, politely.

Miss Porter knew who I was, of course. She had often had to phone my mom, to tell her that she needed to pick me up, because I got beat up so bad. I hated it when she did, because my mom would always question me heaps, and ask if it was totally unconnected to anything – and I had to lie so she wouldn’t phone the school and dig too deep.

“Okay, Gerard, go on through.” She smiled, her curly blonde hair bouncing around her face.

I walked through, feeling awkward as I opened the door. The boy was sat in a leather chair, and I could see him cringing at touching the animal hide, poor boy. The principal, Mr Johnson, was seated behind a mahogany desk, talking to another secretary, Miss Chevart, who he didn’t really need to work for him, but he liked the look of. Who wouldn’t? Miss Porter might be blonde and pretty, but she didn’t have a body to match. She looked out of proportion, compared to the feminine shape of Miss Chevart.

“Judith,” he was saying, in a low mutter. “I can’t. I’ve got to be home buy five, or she’ll worry. I can’t. Oh, Mr. Way. What can I do for you?”
“Sir, Mr Keith sent me to fetch the new kid in our homeroom.”
“Oh, very well. Take him down there now, I don’t need him here any more. Make sure Mr Keith collects him to bring him back here at the end of the day.”

The new kid stood up, grabbing his bag, and looking glad to get off the leather chair he’d been forced to sit on. He followed me out of Mr Johnson’s office, and out of Miss Porter and Miss Chevart’s office, then sped up a little in the corridor, so he could walk by the side of me.

“So, who are you, kid?” I said, eyeing his Misfits pin badge, which was attached to his black messenger bag.
“Frank Iero.” He said, sounding like he was scared I was going to bite him. “You?”
“Gerard Way.” I paused, to give the full effect of my stupid name. “So you’re going my class, huh?”
“Yeah. Look, Gerard, is it, well, normal, to feel this nervous – like, I know I should be a bit nervous, but, really, I feel really panicky.”
“Yeah, dude, don’t worry about it. I sometimes take anti-anxiety pills, and I’ve been coming here for forever.”
“Oh, okay.”

We didn’t speak for a while, but it wasn’t like, an awkward silence or anything. I figured he must be years younger than me, and I know I got held back a year, but, shouldn’t he be in, like, Mikey’s class?

“So you’re a vegetarian, huh?” I said, breaking the thoughtful silence we had lapsed into.
“How’d you know?”
“You were squirming on the leather chair. You really hated it.”
“I know.” He smiled – he was more comfortable now, which was good to know.
“So you skipped a few years?”
“Got moved up, yeah.”

We arrived at the corridor, which our homeroom was on. He looked down the long row of almost empty classrooms and sighed. I didn’t ask what was wrong, but I could guess. He was thinking, ‘I’m never going to be able to find my way around this place.’ Well, he has me as a guide all day, and probably all week, so he’s not going get lost. Plus there’s a map in the planner they’ll have given him. Although, it does look kinda dumb holding a planner in front of your face all day.

We arrived at the actual room, like, three quarters of the way down. I opened the door for him, and he walked through. Mr Keith looked up from his newspaper, and Laura was sat at the back again in her seat. She was talking to another girl – Sam. Sam was pretty, but not nearly as pretty as Laura. She was more tanned than Laura, and it didn’t really suit her. She had dark hair, so she could pass as Spanish or something, but when you’ve known her all your life, like when she was like, 10, before she was spending hours in tanning beds every year. Sam had one of those feminine figures, but in a more, motherly, way than Laura.

“Oh, back again, are we, Way?” Mr Keith said, cruelly. “I thought it’d take longer. Thought you might meet one of your friends, and you might stop and talk.”

Fucking dickhead. He knows I have no friends. Except, maybe this Frank kid. Unless of course, I freaked him out, or some sporty guy told him that I was gay. They like to keep everyone away from me, don’t they? Just perfect.

“No, sir.” I replied, trying to keep the menace and sarcasm out of my voice.
“Hello, Frank.” He said, ignoring me, yet again. “Oh, yes, Way, back to your seat.”

I sat back down, slouching in my seat. Laura and Sam were discussing boyfriends now. How I wish that I could also discuss my boyfriend. How I wish that I even had a boyfriend to discuss. How I wish that there was no such thing as homophobia in the school. How I wish….

“So, Frank, do you mind Way taking you to all your lessons, until you know where everything is?”
“That’s fine, Sir.”
“Good lad. If you want to change guides, just tell me.”
“Okay, Sir.”
“Go and sit next to Way. Laura, Sam, move over one, let our new student sit next to his guide.”

The girls obliged, and Frank sat in the seat Laura vacated. He pulled a biro pen out of his bag, and started writing “HALLOWEEN” on his knuckles. Silly boy, he’ll get ink poisoning if he carries on like that. Plus all the sporty guys, who must be anywhere from four to ten inches taller than him will kill him, calling him a baby, and stuff. Apparently only ten year olds do that. I learned that when I wrote “GAME OVER” on my knuckles. That was a twisted ankle and a bruise on my side, that alone.

He looked up. “Gerard,” he whispered, “Why does Mr Keith always call you ‘Way’? Like, instead of Gerard?”
“Because he hates me.” I smiled.

I could deal with people hating me as a laughing matter. I’m so used to it now. I don’t care. People are bound to hate me. Whoever you are, someone’s bound to hate you. Like, even popular kids are hated by the Goths and the Punks – because they conform to the system, they’re robotic clones, whereas the popular kids hate the Goths and the Punks for not conforming. Poor dears.

Frank looked satisfied with my answer, though he didn’t really appear to understand why – even if he was wearing a knowing smile, like he understood exactly where I was. I had a feeling that maybe his old homeroom teacher was the same way.

Steve – one of the sporty guys – came in with Bryan and Andrew, his friends. They was laughing, and grinning. They looked at me, with a sudden glare, and they then turned to Frank, with a look that plainly said, ‘Ooh, fresh meat!’

“Gerard, Gerard, I’m scared.” He whispered, looking straight ahead.
“Don’t worry, Frankie. You’ll be fine.” I breathed back.

They all took their usual seats – Steve and Bryan in front of Laura and Sam, and Andrew in front of Steve. They chatted to the girls, but kept looking over at us, and sniggering.

“Ooh, Gerard!” Bryan grinned. “Found a boyfriend, have you?”
I didn’t have time to reply, when Frank grinned toothily, and said, “Yeah, he has, actually.”

HOLY SHIT. No, Frank!! Why? By the end of the day, the whole school, literally, will think we’re gay together. Like, he’s not gay, why should he even subject himself to that? Why would he even bother?

“That’s enough, boys. C’mon now, we don’t want to upset Way and Iero.” So he’s starting to dislike Frank too, is he? Well, the only reason he doesn’t want us ‘upset’ under his nose is that the school board will have his head and he probably wants to keep his job, to keep the wife and kids happy, y’know? His wife would have a field day, “darling, I got fired because I didn’t stop two boys getting picked on in my homeroom”, “OH MY GOD WE’RE BROKEEEE!!” Haha. I have a wild imagination. Try and contain it at your own will, I doubt you’ll get very far.

The boys all turned around again so that the back of their heads faced Mr Keith. They stared at us, apparently puzzled – but I bet they were planning which karate moves to beat us up with. Or, who should rugby tackle me, and who Frank.

I think this is going to be a long day.

Suddenly a bell from the corridor rang, making me jump, and seconds later the teenagers started pouring into the classroom. Once it was full, and everyone was sat down, there was whispering. Like, you couldn’t hear what was being said, but you could hear whispering. I hated that. And I noticed glances coming my way, and some looking at Frank. Well, he was a new kid, and he had just loudly exclaimed that he was gay with the school loser – like I said, long day.

Mr Keith did a roll-call, and made Frank introduce himself. The whole room filled with sniggers, as he stood in front of the class, grinning his ridiculous grin and talking randomly about him and his older cousin who was in another class in the same year. He also announced me as his best friend, for some reason. The bell rang and teenagers poured out, some shouldering Frank as they passed him.