I'll Be Your Voice.

Another typical typical morning; Get up, get ready, leave. I noticed my brother was not in the living room, in front of the television, eating like I had expected to see him every morning when I went to grab my iPod from the kitchen counter.

"Collin?" I called. There was no response. I called his name again, and still got no reply. I began to worry.

Picking up the phone, I dialed my mother's work number.

"To speak to Christa Melanson, press one," began the recorded woman robotically. I quickly pressed the one key, not waiting for the machine to give any more options. It rang three times.

"Hello, Christa speaking," said the familiar voice on the other line.

"Hey, mom."

"Oh, Samantha. Shouldn't you be catching your bus?" she asked. I nodded, thinking she could see me. "Well?"

"Oh, yeah, probably," I chuckled a bit, but remembered the reason I had called. "Collin's gone." My mother began talking to someone who must have been beside her, then brought the phone to her ear once again.

"He's here with me," she replied.

"Why?" I asked, confused. I scratched my head.

"It's bring your child to work day for his school, Sam." I smacked myself in the head for forgetting.

"Right."

"You're going to miss your bus," she pointed out. I looked at the clock and let out an aggravated sigh.

"Bye, mom." I hung up the phone quickly and ran out the door, grabbing my bag on the way.

The bus ride was typical, as well. I decided that today, I was in the mood for This Is How I Disappear, by My Chemical Romance. I tapped my fingers to the beat that Bob Bryar expertly played out, mouthing the words that Gerard Way sang so beautifully, and powerful. I imagined Ray Toro shaking his curly hair as his fingers skillfully graced the neck of his guitar, while Frank Iero went completely insane with his wonderful energy. Mikey Way, on the other hand, was in complete concentration, letting his fans know that he's always giving his all at the music he plays. I admired them all so much.

"Do you wanna see how far down I can sink?
Let me go!" Gerard screamed. I smiled, remembering the live performance of the song I had seen on the Internet. There was so much energy in the crowd, on the stage, in everyone's eyes.

Wouldn't it be amazing to be on that stage?, I thought to myself dreamily.

But my smile vanished when reality struck me, once again. I would never make it. You have to be liked by people, in order to be noticed. I sighed.

The song ended, and another started. Cancer. Now I imagined the rest of the band members residing to the sides of the stage, the only remaining people were Gerard, who was patiently waiting for his que to begin singing, and they keyboardist, James playing the notes of the intro effortlessly.

"Turn away," he began singing softly, "If you could get me a drink of water, 'cause my lips are chapped and faded,
Call my Aunt Marie. Help her gather all my things, and bury me in all my favorite colours, my brothers and my sisters, too.
I will not kiss you, because the hardest part of this is leaving you." I played along with James on the piano that didn't really exist, but was replaced with the bus seat in front of me. I had only just finished sounding out the entire song last week, and even if there was no keyboard around to play, I was still eager to practice it.

When I arrived at the school, I went straight to my bench. It was alot warmer then the day before. I was so tired, due to the fact that, apparently, I suffer from chronic nightmares, according to my doctor. It wasn't uncommon for me to wake up in the middle of the night in a panic.

I heard the bench creak beside me. Turning my head, I noticed a boy had sat next to me and was texting away at his cell phone. His blond hair fell over his face, which he didn't bother to push away. His lip ring glistened in the sun. I couldn't help but stare - he was really quite gorgeous. Without realizing it, he has slipped his phone into his jeans pocket and had looked over at me.

"Do you want to take a picture?" he said, smirking slightly. My eyes widened, and I shot my gaze directly in front of me.

"Excuse me?" I said, making a pathetic attempt to save myself. He chuckled.

"You were staring at my lip ring," he replied, pointing to his piercing.

"Oh..." I bit my lip, my face going pink, "I was just wondering... if it hurt," I said, covering up the fact that I was staring at him because he was gorgeous. "I was thinking about getting it done, myself," I added. He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

[i[Nice save, Sam. Not.

"It didn't hurt nearly as bad as my nipple," he replied, his friendly smile turning into a devilish grin. My eyes widened even more, and he laughed, obviously finding the entire situation funny. "You have a name?"

"S-Sam," I said quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind my hair. He reached out to offer a handshake, which I accepted. His grip was so strong.

"Nick." I caught a glimpse of his arm, and nearly died of heart failure. He must work out. Alot. Not that I was complaining. "You new here?"

I paused for a moment and shook my head, muttering a small 'no'. "I moved here last October."

"Never seen you around," he mused, picking out a loose thread from his worn out backpack casually.

I chuckled bitterly, "that's common." He looked at me confused, but decided not to press the topic further.

"You like music?"

Jesus, this guy really liked to talk, didn't he?

"Yeah, I guess."

"What kind?"

I don't think anyone had talked to me so much as he did in my life. It was kind of odd, really.

"Punk, metal, screamo... emo, I guess you could call it."

"There's no such thing as 'emo'," he retorted, catching me off guard. I gave him a confused look, causing him to chuckle (might I just point out that he had one of thesexiest most beautiful chuckles I've ever heard). "The way I see it is; people who cut themselves are aren't emo. They're people who need serious help. And people who dress in black are people who enjoy wearing black. It doesn't mean that they're 'emo'." I smiled. Something which I don't think I've ever shown anyone in my school before.
"Aw, there's that smile. I knew I'd see it eventually."

Shit. Now I was blushing.

"I-I should get to class," I stuttered. He pulled out a stray piece of paper from his bag and turned to me.

"You got a pen or something?"

"Yeah, sure. One second," I replied, reaching in my pocket and pulling out my trusty black sharpie. I never went anywhere without my permanent marker. I handed it to him and watched him scribble something down on the paper. He gave back my marker, along with the paper. I glanced at it.

"Your number?"

"Text me some time," he said, giving me a smile before getting up and walking away. I stared at the number in a daze.

What the fuck just happened?