I'll Never Be What You Need.

Mikey walked into his apartment to see his mother sprawled on the couch. "Hey, Mom," he greeted quietly.

"Mikey, come here. Sit with me for a minute," she said.

Mikey went and sat on the couch, a fair distance away from his mother. He bit his lip. What did she want ?

Donna Way looked at her youngest son and smiled slightly. "How was your day at school ?" she asked.

"Fine," he answered softly. Why did she care ? She barely talked to him anymore; she was always at work.

"You got that job, right ? The one at Books-A-Million ?" she questioned.

"Barnes and Noble," he corrected automatically. He'd never really like Books-A-Million; Barnes and Noble definitely owned.

"Right," she agreed. "Make sure you tell me when you get your first paycheck, okay ?"

His throat tightened. He didn't want to me forced to give up his money. He wanted to be selfish and spend his money on clothes or CD's like all the other kids did. They didn't have to worry about supporting themselves and their mother. He nodded silently and went to stand up.

"Mikey," his mother called, even though he was right before her. "I'm so sorry. It's not my fault."

Mikey looked at her face. Her eyes were filling with tears. "I'm doing the best I can. I just want you to be happy, like you used to be. I don't want you to have to wear make-up and ridiculous clothing to get noticed. I care about you," she explained.

She didn't realize no one cared. No one cared about him anymore. No one wanted him. No one could care less.

He locked eyes with her for a moment. "I'm sorry," he mumbled unemotionally and walked into his room.

He sat on the floor, tears subconsciously streaming down his cheeks. He was sure the white make-up that adorned his face would be streaking gray now. How gay. He only cared about his make-up.

He fumbled around in his black bag and took out the box cutter he kept in there for emergencies. He slid up the switch, making the blade come from its plastic covering. He pulled the sleeve down from his left arm. He saw the marks from previous days, just below the palm of his hand. He decided to cut a little higher this time.

Mikey bit his lip, holding his breath. He put the small blade to his skin and slid the blade down his skin vertically. He waited for the blood to come; he needed to see it.

He hadn't pressed hard enough that time. Angrily, he cut harder and faster down his pale white arm, already covered with scars. He kept cutting and cutting in a blind rage until the blood was beginning to flow smoothly from his veins.

Taking a deep sigh of relief, he watched the blood for a few moments. Cutting was the only thing he had control over. He had no say when his father left, or when his brother went to college. His body was his and he could do what he pleased with it. No one could tell him otherwise. It was his choice.

It's not like there was anyone to stop him anyway. No one noticed, his mother too blind; his brother too far away. He was fine no one knew; it was his personal secret. The pain helped him oddly enough. It was hard to explain, but inflicting pain on himself gave him a sense of power; he could make the cuts as deep as he wanted and he had no one to answer to. The bad thoughts and the pain washed away with the blood. He could feel whole for a few minutes. He pressed the sleeve of his jacket to the cuts to stop the bleeding.

He refused to look at himself in the mirror. He hated mirrors. It was just a constant reminder of his ugliness. He hated how he looked. He was so skinny, with such feminine features... God, he hated himself. He wiped the stray tears from his face and crawled into bed, not even caring he hadn't changed his clothes or taken off his boots.

* * * *

Frank Iero jumped on Bob's back. "Go, Bobbie, Go !" he commanded.

Bob Bryar turned his head to looked back at the small boy perched on his back. He was eighteen and a senior, two years older than is smaller accomplice. "Frank, I'm not a horse. I don't appreciate being treated as such either," Bob replied, shaking the boy off.

Frank looked up at Bob, who was menacingly tall, and studied his blue eyes skeptically. "You're so mean to me, Bob," Frank pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm mean to you ?!" Bob rolled his eyes and brushed his white-blonde hair out of his face. "You're kidding, right ?" he asked.

"No ! You're always like, 'Frankie, you're so short' and 'Frank, eat your vegetables so you can get big and strong' ! I don't find it particularly funny !" Frank exclaimed.

Bob reached down and pat Frank's head. "But I do, Frank. I do," he told him.

Frank narrowed his eye and reached for the Skittles in his pocket. Feeling the sticky sweetness on his tongue made him think of Mikey.

Mikey looked like he was really lost. Like, when you looked in his eyes, you could see he was. The thought dampered Frank's mood. He wanted to be friends with Mikey. He seemed like someone he could easily get along with. Plus, Frank liked Mikey pants. Those were cool. He wondered if maybe he could pull those off. He probably couldn't as well as Mikey. They looked really nice on Mikey...

"Frank ! Earth to Frank !" Bob shouted, waving his hands in Frank's face.

Frank's head shot up. "What ?" he asked.

"You tell me. You just totally spaced," Bob replied.

Frank shrugged. He didn't think he should tell Bob about Mikey just yet. "Let's get back in school before lunch ends," Frank said, walking back toward the school.