Inevitable

The first thing I saw was the back of my mother's head. Now, I can tell a lot from the back of someone's head. Either my mother is stressed, causing a bad night of sleep, or she could have had sex. I'm guessing it's the second option, as she seems happy. Well, when I say happy, I mean happier than usual. Which means she's still a moody woman but with a fake smile to top it off. I guess I got that from her. No, not the part about having sex nearly everyday of the week, but the terrible mood. You see, when I wake up, I feel like The Incredible Hulk but on a bad day. A very, very bad day. As I stumbled into the cold dining room, I noticed a plate of toast placed at my spot on the table. Again, she definately had sex. Although most of the two slices were burnt, the first meal of the day felt good. It almost woke me up fully. Nah, she's not that good with a toaster. I should really get out of bed earlier so I could have toast that actually tasted like toast, but that's too much of my precious energy used. Playing guitar until one or two am is a much better decision.

After scolding my mouth and throat on some shockingly strong coffee, I dragged myself into the shower, where I can scold my outsides. It's weird, whenever I shower I don't do anything for the first fifteen minutes. Instead, I try out for American Idol and think about the magical wonder that we call life. Kinda stupid, now that I think about it. Why do I stand under burning water just so I end up in a horrible five minute rush after? This happened again, today. I showered, thinking about what would happen if we had hands for feet and feet for hands, for almost twenty minutes. I was late for school. Too bad... Joking. I missed first lesson.

Again, the first thing I saw was the back of his head. I've never seen the back of his head before. This one is new. The head was covered by long, messy, black hair. Compared to my short Mohawk, his hair was rapunzel's. A leather jacket hung on his shoulders, and he annoyingly tapped an odd tune on the desk with his two hands. The back of this head intrigued me. I needed to see the front.

I slowly glanced around the room, watching everyone else work hard on their essays. My eyes scanned over the many familiar heads and faces, before landing back on the unknown infront of me. I gulped, before raising my shaky hand. God, why must we be forced to ask if we can speak? Or go to the bathroom? It's all stupid, if you ask me. Everything about his place is stupid. The teacher looked up to my shaking hand and nodded his head in one swift motion. As I stood from my seat, my chair scraped against the flooring, making a cringe worthy sound. Of course, everyone stared at me. Even the mystery boy. Oh Jesus, he was pretty. Oh my gosh, I'm so fucking gay.

It must have been one minute already, but those eyes. Those goddamn hazel eyes! The nose, the perfect shaped nose, and the eyebrows. The eyebrows. Those lips, obviously coated in lip balm. Jazzy. The best thing? The way it all looked together. Oh look, two minutes. The way his facial features pulled in to a frown as I stared at him. Three minutes. The way his lips moved as he spoke. I didn't hear what he said, but it looked like an annoyed "what?" Four minutes. The way he blushed when the other students saw the scene. Five minutes. The way he jumped up from the seat and looked down on me. Six minutes.

The way his fist collided with my cheek. Oh wait.

"Gerard!" People gasped, I fell. God, even his hand felt perfect against my skin. Again, I'm so fucking gay. "Gerard Way, get him to the nurse! I hope you apologise, too." The teacher must have wrote him a pass, but I don't know. Once I finally heard his full name I kinda passed out. It repeated over and over again in my messed up brain. It sounded good. It sounded perfect.

Oh my god, I'm so fucking gay.