I'll Never Be What You Need.

"My name is Mikey Way. I'm quiet and not too good with people. I like books, and I just really need this job to try to support my mom. I promise I'll do the best I can," the young boy explained. He was seventeen, far old enough for a job, but he'd never needed one. Until now.

"We have an opening working at a register. Do you think you could do that ?" Mrs. Barnes, the Barnes and Noble manager, asked.

"I think I could if someone showed me how to use it," he replied, looking down at his hands.

"All right. Come in tomorrow at four. I'll have someone get you set up then," she told him.

Mikey nodded slowly and stood up. He was surprised she was giving him the job. She must have thought he was a freak. "Thank you," he mumbled quietly. He turned an walked out of the small office and into the street, staying as close to the road as possible without stepping off the sidewalk.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. He wished things were easier. We wished his dad had never left. He wished Gerard had never followed close behind to go off to pursue his dreams at an arts college. He wished people liked him more.

With black over-sized baggy pants that weren't falling off but swished when he walked, and a very loose, long, black coat, Mikey Way was never really very hard to miss. He had that quality that made people stare but keep them away. Except for the usual do-gooder who wanted to turn the "goth kid" into a reasonable citizen, Mikey never really talked to anyone, except his brother Gerard. And that was over the phone.

The air was cold; his jacket wasn't helping him much. He could feel his cheeks getting red. Hopefully, if he walked a little faster, he'd be home soon. Whatever home was these days.

Maybe working at Barnes and Noble wouldn't be so bad. He liked books. He liked all kinds of books. And he probably would just ring up the books and be like, "That's $10.97." It would work out. He'd bring in money to support him and his mom, and they'd be okay. We'll be okay, he thought to himself quietly.

As he walked up to the small apartment, he kept his head low and fumbled in his large pocket for his key. He found it after a few seconds of groping and put the key in the lock and turned it.

The apartment was small, and that was all they needed. It featured two bedrooms, and small kitchen/living room, and a bathroom you could just barely stand up in. It wasn't too dirty, (not after Mikey got fed up one day and cleaned the entire apartment with bleach) and it was okay.

Mikey walked into his small room, which contained a twin-sized bed, a stereo, multiple CD's on the floor, a small closet, and many posters on the wall. His favorite one was of The Smashing Pumpkins, which he had gotten a year earlier at the first concert he ever went to.

He unzipped his boots and put them neatly in the closet. He didn't like things to be messy. He brushed a bit of light brown hair out of his eyes and readjusted his glasses. What would he do now ?

He lied back on his bed, wanting to be able to do something fun. He sighed. Work tomorrow was hopefully going to be easy.

* * * *

Mikey stood at the bookstore, leaning forward against the counter that was his work station. He'd been doing okay so far, talking only when necessary. An older couple look at him skeptically and chose to go to the other counter instead. That was fine with him.

He lightly traced the raised scars on his wrists. It was a habit of his; something he did when no one was looking. Feeling the scars made him feel better: content. It was something only he could truly understand.

He'd come to the bookstore straight after school, which had been highly uneventful. He was ignored, as usual. It might have been better if he had gotten, like, beaten up or something, because that would have meant that someone had actually noticed he was alive. But that hadn't even happened.

He was okay with it, when it all came down to it. Friends just complicated things, asking unwanted questions and nosing into your personal life. Mikey had always been a private person. The door to the bookstore opened and the little bell attached to it rang, making Mikey stop touching his skin and look up.

The person who looked up was a boy, not really a boy, but a teenager. He looked not to much younger than Mikey himself, but he was short. He had dark brown hair that fell into his hazel-green eyes, and tan skin. He was nice looking.

Mikey's stomach churned. What the hell ? Nice looking ? Had he actually though that ? He shuddered. He wasn't even gay.

The guy was wearing a uniform, in khaki pants and a jacket. It looked like a private school uniform. He headed up to the counter in front of Mikey, whose throat tightened. Jesus.

The boy looked at the candy rack before him, not hesitating to grab a pack of Skittles and place it one the counter. He looked back at the counter debatingly and grabbed two more packs.

Mikey rung up the candy, wondering if this guy was a total Skittles addict. "$ 2.97," he mumbled in the quietest voice that could still be heard.

The guy put three one dollar bills on the counter and Mikey put it into the register, handing the boy three cents.

The guy looked at Mikey's face, studying him carefully. "Are you new here ?" he asked, his voice smooth and calm.

Mikey couldn't find the voice to answer. He simply nodded.

"I thought so. I'm Frank Iero," he introduced, sticking his hand over the counter. I come here pretty much everyday after school.

Mikey shook it gingerly. Iero ? That was an unusual name. "Mikey," he replied. "Mikey Way."

Frank smiled; it was a nice smile, Mikey thought. "Nice to meet you, Mikey Way. Will you be here tomorrow ?" he asked.

Mikey nodded again.

"Cool. So will I. I'll see you," Frank promised, beginning to walk away.

Mikey watched him go. See you, he thought. Who was Frank ? And why was he addicted to Skittles ?