Sequel: My Teenage Romance ›
Status: Completed
Rock Star Father
Finding Out
Celeste was back up in her room on Sunday evening, her favourite place in the house, listening to her favourite CD and feeling rebellious, her favourite thing to do, the most un-ordinary thing happened….
“Get the feeling that you’re ever,
All alone and I remember now,
At the top of my lungs in my arms,
She dies, she dies.” Murmured Celeste, her radio/CD/tape player blasting out ‘The Ghost Of You’ from My Chemical Romance’s second and most recent album, ‘Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge’, which had only come out two weeks previously.
“Ugh, I HATE Mondays. Why can’t today be Saturday!!!! Then I’d have one more not-quite-but-near-enough-hell-free day.” she muttered to herself. What she didn’t know was that in less than five minutes, her whole life would be turned upside-down.
“Celeste! Get down here! There’s someone you need to meet.” Her mother, Marie Easton, from Mauritian origin, with dark skin, being slightly plump and very short, with a black mini-afro hairstyle (today wearing grey tracksuit trousers, a white T-shirt and a disgusting purple cardigan) yelled up the stairs into Celeste’s dark, gothic room.
“Okay, Okay, sheesh!” Celeste murmured to herself, turning off her CD. Running down the stairs in her plain, black T-shirt and brown trousers, she wondered who she “needed” to meet. Was it some stuffy old college? Or an old friend? Or- her thoughts were interrupted by her reaching the living room. The atmosphere was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Celeste even considered trying, for she loved testing out sayings like that, but did not get the opportunity as her mother saw her.
Marie motioned for her to come in from her seat on one of the cream leather sofas. Next to was her husband Harry (who was decked out in old grey jeans and a hideous mint green T-shirt). Sitting in a matching armchair next to them was her fifteen-year-old brother, Patrick, who was wearing a white T-shirt with black squares drawn on, black casual trousers, and black wristbands. Patrick was rather tall (but you couldn’t tell as he was sitting down), he had clear blue eyes, dark brunette hair which was obscured by a black beanie, pale-ish skin, a small nose and a childish smile. At the moment he looked shocked, sad and confused.
Looking around, Celeste noticed someone vaguely familiar was sitting on the sofa. Who this mysterious visitor? Just as she was wondering, the stranger lifted his head to reveal…Celeste gasped and put her hand over her mouth. For the ‘stranger’ was none other than Gerard Way!!!! The Gerard Way, lead singer of My Chemical Romance! Celeste was flabbergasted. How did her parents get him to come here? Was this who she needed to meet? Why would she need to meet him?
“Please, sit down.” Marie said, sounding more like a teacher than Celeste’s mother.
“Err...Okay then.” Celeste said confusedly, perching on the edge of the empty, cream leather footstool next to Patrick’s armchair. What was going on? She looked at her brother to see if he knew be his face was totally blank.
“Err...I don’t know how to say this but we are not your real parents, my dear.”
“YOU WHAT NOW?!” Celeste yelled.
“And something else…” she continued, obviously apprehensive of how Celeste would react. Motioning towards Gerard she said, “Maybe you would like to...”
“I’m not one to beat around the bush, so I won’t sugar-coat it. I’m your father.” Gerard stated in his usual New Jersey twang.
“Excuse me?!” Celeste said, with the most confused, disbelieving voice ever.
“I mean exactly what I said. I am your father.” He said. Celeste was utterly in shock, and she simply sank deeply into the chair, her lips moving soundlessly. Eventually she managed to stutter out,
“S-s-so who-who’s my m-m-mother?”
“Her name was Janet Calloway. She died in a fire while staying in a hotel over in Chicago, when you were about three years old. I panicked and I knew I couldn’t take care of you, so I thought-and it was in Janet’s will as well-that it would be best to send you back to where you were born, and have you adopted. They were supposed to tell you when you got to six years old-”
“We wanted to protect her! Six years old is far too young to know of such things! And she wouldn’t have understood!” Marie blurted out in defence.
“So you lied to me all my life! To ‘protect’ me! Years I missed out on having a father who I didn’t hate! How do you expect me to understand that, huh?” Celeste screamed, rising slightly from the chair. All the anger and hatred she had ever felt towards her ‘parents’ was now, finally being let out, after all these years.
“If we’d shown you a picture and said ‘This is your father’ you’d have been totally afraid of him! You were right to think that you couldn’t take care of her, always dressing like you’re going to someone’s funeral, covering yourself in make-up like the freak you are, creating such vulgar things…”
“Whoa. You did not just say all that. This guy is possibly the most talented being I’ve ever had the great luck to come across. Everything that he has ever created has been an intricate musical or artistic luxury. And I’d like to see you do better.” Celeste spat passionately.
“I heard your something of a fan.” Gerard smiled slightly.
“A err, moderately big fan.” She replied, smiling back.
“Well you’re in luck, kid; your dad’s the lead singer!” He was now grinning.
“And there’s more. I didn’t come here just to say hello. I’ve come here to take you back.” Gerard said.
“Back?”
“To New York. Or Jersey. To live. Like, permanently, with me. And maybe you could come live in with Frank and Mikey next time we’re recording. I kinda haven’t got the permanent stuff decided, and I thought it’d be best you had an equal share in the decision. I’ve got all the papers and stuff, all I need is your signature then you will officially be living with me!”
“Cool! When do we leave?” Celeste was now happier than ever before.
“In about three weeks. Your leaving school has been sorted out.”
Celeste swore under her breath. She had forgotten that she couldn’t go to school in England and live in America. Celeste then realised- if she moved to America, she would be leaving behind the best, mot trusted and understanding friend she had- Patrick. He may not be related to her but he was one of her dearest friends.
“I’ll come back when we’re due to go. Be packed by then. See ya, kiddo.”
And after a long hug, he left, no longer the vocalist Celeste’s favourite band, but her father.
“Get the feeling that you’re ever,
All alone and I remember now,
At the top of my lungs in my arms,
She dies, she dies.” Murmured Celeste, her radio/CD/tape player blasting out ‘The Ghost Of You’ from My Chemical Romance’s second and most recent album, ‘Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge’, which had only come out two weeks previously.
“Ugh, I HATE Mondays. Why can’t today be Saturday!!!! Then I’d have one more not-quite-but-near-enough-hell-free day.” she muttered to herself. What she didn’t know was that in less than five minutes, her whole life would be turned upside-down.
“Celeste! Get down here! There’s someone you need to meet.” Her mother, Marie Easton, from Mauritian origin, with dark skin, being slightly plump and very short, with a black mini-afro hairstyle (today wearing grey tracksuit trousers, a white T-shirt and a disgusting purple cardigan) yelled up the stairs into Celeste’s dark, gothic room.
“Okay, Okay, sheesh!” Celeste murmured to herself, turning off her CD. Running down the stairs in her plain, black T-shirt and brown trousers, she wondered who she “needed” to meet. Was it some stuffy old college? Or an old friend? Or- her thoughts were interrupted by her reaching the living room. The atmosphere was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Celeste even considered trying, for she loved testing out sayings like that, but did not get the opportunity as her mother saw her.
Marie motioned for her to come in from her seat on one of the cream leather sofas. Next to was her husband Harry (who was decked out in old grey jeans and a hideous mint green T-shirt). Sitting in a matching armchair next to them was her fifteen-year-old brother, Patrick, who was wearing a white T-shirt with black squares drawn on, black casual trousers, and black wristbands. Patrick was rather tall (but you couldn’t tell as he was sitting down), he had clear blue eyes, dark brunette hair which was obscured by a black beanie, pale-ish skin, a small nose and a childish smile. At the moment he looked shocked, sad and confused.
Looking around, Celeste noticed someone vaguely familiar was sitting on the sofa. Who this mysterious visitor? Just as she was wondering, the stranger lifted his head to reveal…Celeste gasped and put her hand over her mouth. For the ‘stranger’ was none other than Gerard Way!!!! The Gerard Way, lead singer of My Chemical Romance! Celeste was flabbergasted. How did her parents get him to come here? Was this who she needed to meet? Why would she need to meet him?
“Please, sit down.” Marie said, sounding more like a teacher than Celeste’s mother.
“Err...Okay then.” Celeste said confusedly, perching on the edge of the empty, cream leather footstool next to Patrick’s armchair. What was going on? She looked at her brother to see if he knew be his face was totally blank.
“Err...I don’t know how to say this but we are not your real parents, my dear.”
“YOU WHAT NOW?!” Celeste yelled.
“And something else…” she continued, obviously apprehensive of how Celeste would react. Motioning towards Gerard she said, “Maybe you would like to...”
“I’m not one to beat around the bush, so I won’t sugar-coat it. I’m your father.” Gerard stated in his usual New Jersey twang.
“Excuse me?!” Celeste said, with the most confused, disbelieving voice ever.
“I mean exactly what I said. I am your father.” He said. Celeste was utterly in shock, and she simply sank deeply into the chair, her lips moving soundlessly. Eventually she managed to stutter out,
“S-s-so who-who’s my m-m-mother?”
“Her name was Janet Calloway. She died in a fire while staying in a hotel over in Chicago, when you were about three years old. I panicked and I knew I couldn’t take care of you, so I thought-and it was in Janet’s will as well-that it would be best to send you back to where you were born, and have you adopted. They were supposed to tell you when you got to six years old-”
“We wanted to protect her! Six years old is far too young to know of such things! And she wouldn’t have understood!” Marie blurted out in defence.
“So you lied to me all my life! To ‘protect’ me! Years I missed out on having a father who I didn’t hate! How do you expect me to understand that, huh?” Celeste screamed, rising slightly from the chair. All the anger and hatred she had ever felt towards her ‘parents’ was now, finally being let out, after all these years.
“If we’d shown you a picture and said ‘This is your father’ you’d have been totally afraid of him! You were right to think that you couldn’t take care of her, always dressing like you’re going to someone’s funeral, covering yourself in make-up like the freak you are, creating such vulgar things…”
“Whoa. You did not just say all that. This guy is possibly the most talented being I’ve ever had the great luck to come across. Everything that he has ever created has been an intricate musical or artistic luxury. And I’d like to see you do better.” Celeste spat passionately.
“I heard your something of a fan.” Gerard smiled slightly.
“A err, moderately big fan.” She replied, smiling back.
“Well you’re in luck, kid; your dad’s the lead singer!” He was now grinning.
“And there’s more. I didn’t come here just to say hello. I’ve come here to take you back.” Gerard said.
“Back?”
“To New York. Or Jersey. To live. Like, permanently, with me. And maybe you could come live in with Frank and Mikey next time we’re recording. I kinda haven’t got the permanent stuff decided, and I thought it’d be best you had an equal share in the decision. I’ve got all the papers and stuff, all I need is your signature then you will officially be living with me!”
“Cool! When do we leave?” Celeste was now happier than ever before.
“In about three weeks. Your leaving school has been sorted out.”
Celeste swore under her breath. She had forgotten that she couldn’t go to school in England and live in America. Celeste then realised- if she moved to America, she would be leaving behind the best, mot trusted and understanding friend she had- Patrick. He may not be related to her but he was one of her dearest friends.
“I’ll come back when we’re due to go. Be packed by then. See ya, kiddo.”
And after a long hug, he left, no longer the vocalist Celeste’s favourite band, but her father.