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Fifty Reasons To Die	By : EmilyRose Category: My Chemical Romance > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1205 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of My Chemical Romance. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Fifty Reasons To Die
- 2-First Five Reasons
- 1
- 2
Have you ever felt that itch?
The itch, where you just want to hurt yourself.
Your whole body is twitching, and your palms are wet with sweat.

The itch…

You know, where you just want to smash a mirror with your fist then paint the bathroom walls red.

You don’t know?

You can consider yourself lucky then, because I feel that itch - every day.

My reason isn’t bad parents.
It’s not being bullied in school (which I am, but it doesn’t phase me).
It has nothing to do with a childhood trauma - there is none.

My reasons, are all related to my brother.
And yes, I have many reasons.

I have 50 of them.

My brother is that school badass, that guy that doesn’t take anyone’s shit. He’s not a bully, but he refuses to let you make fun of him. Call him ‘fag’ or ‘fat’ only if you want him to use your face to paint his locker. Teachers doesn’t like him, jocks doesn’t like him - no one really likes him. He had his one friend, and his one friend only.

Frank Iero.

The mere name makes me twitch, because Frank used to be my friend. He used to come to see me almost every day, and we used to hang all the time in school. Then my brother was pulled back a year, and he had to repeat last year of high school, which meant that he and I would be in the same school.

Nice you might think, to have your older brother there to help you against the bullies. I say what you’re thinking is bullshit. My brother doesn’t give a fuck about me being bullied, and I don’t want him to. No that’s not a reason why I have ‘the itch’. Frank dumping me to hang with my ‘awesome’ (his word, not mine!) older brother, isn’t even a reason.

Before Frank left me, to be friends with my brother, I was alright. People didn’t pick on me as much, because Frank could be intimidating when he really wanted to. But then I was all alone, because no one else wanted to be a target, which meant there was no stopping them. They pushed me down stairs, poured coffee (or other liquids) in my bag, or wrote foul words on my locker.

I shook it off, it didn’t get to me. I always just stood there, taking the abuse or the punches. It didn’t phase me. That my only friend had been stolen from me by my own brother, that didn’t even phase me.

Our high school is divided into many categories. The obvious ones being;
The jocks.
The preps.
The Goths.
The dorks.
The smart ones.
And me.

I have my own category, because I don’t fit in anywhere else.
I don’t even fit in with the dorks, because I don’t like any of the stupid things they like, and they don’t want to be even more chased by bullies so they don’t let me join them.

Lunch time is always the same, hiding in the bathroom with my home made lunch, trying to be quiet so that no ones hears me and forces my face down into a flushing toilet. Eating in the cafeteria is out of the question, since that’s open spaces and there’s nowhere to hide.

But enough about school, that’s a boring place anyway.
Let me describe our house, and my family.

My mother, Donna, is brilliantly clever, amazingly kind and in all other ways, a perfect mum. Except that she doesn’t see what’s really going on. She tries, and most of the time she succeeds, but sometimes she fails. She can’t see that I’m bullied in school, and I don’t tell her. What am I supposed to say anyway?

My dad, Donald, is a workaholic. Yes, he’s married to my mum, but sometimes you wonder if he doesn’t cheat on her with his job. He spends almost every day at his office, as he works with… I don’t know, and I don’t care. He’s a manager I think, he has power and money, that’s all I know.

Did I mention that my mother is a shrink? No? Well she is. She’s a brilliant one, she’s got several diplomas. But somehow she can’t see her youngest son, fighting his death wish every day. Oh well, I guess no one’s perfect.

My brother Gerard, has black hair, similar eyes to mine, and a very special nose. I wouldn’t say ugly, but I wouldn’t call it beautiful either. My brother Gerard is, to me, a dickhead and a failure. He skips school, he does drugs, he drinks like a sponge and he has been arrested for shoplifting three times. Gerard is, again to me, a waste of space. I wish my parents would just kick him out already, but they won’t. I have no idea why. All he ever does when he’s not in school, is sleep in his basement room. His dark basement room. There‘s tons of things all over the place, and it smells like piss. There’s a mess, and… I’m ranting. Sorry. My brother’s an asshole, lets leave it at that.

Then there’s me, Mikey Way. I look like… well have you ever seen one of those ugly models who are way too skinny? Yeah, that’s me. Without the tits and with black short hair. I have a nose that seems to cover most my face, and eyebrows - no wait, make that eyebrow, since there seems to be no end to the left eyebrow until the right one begins. My teeth are crooked, and I have acne from head to toe. I’m what you may call, plain ugly. The kind where if there were any justice in the world, someone would hand me a plastic bag and tell me to put it over my head before going off to live in a cave somewhere. I really am that ugly.

We live in a two story house, which is actually pretty big. I have a nice sized room, that always looks like a tornado ran through it, but at least it doesn’t have a distinct smell of vomit - like Gerard’s room. My walls are plastered with band posters, mostly Maiden and Misfits. And what I mostly like, is my Lion King bed sheets. Yes, that’s exactly what you think it is. It’s a big ass motherfucking bed sheet with Simba from the Lion King on it. And I love it to death. Why? Because my late Nan gave it to me when I was ten. It’s still on my bed, and it’s going to stay there until the day I die. That’s the only thing that Gerard doesn’t mock me for. He mocks me for my clothes, my glasses, my taste in books, and practically everything else. But not my bed sheets, because I know, Gerard loved Nan just as much as I did.

My parents room is only slightly bigger then mine, and I could bore you with details, but it’s not like you care about that anyway, right?

Didn’t think so…

The rest of our house is like everyone else’s really. We have a nice big kitchen, a fairly big living room, a study, a guest room, and of course some bathrooms. Then there’s the basement, in which there are two rooms, except for a small toilet. There’s the laundry room, and there’s Gerard’s bedroom.

As stated before, Gerard’s room is a dump - literary.
Things are scattered over the floor, plates are left on his desk, empty bottles are piled, and dirty clothes are hidden both here and there. Seeing as the laundry room is just next to Gerard’s, you’d think he’d take ten seconds out of his lousy life to put his dirty clothes in there, but no. He either lets them fall to the floor, or shoves them deep into his closet where you’ll find them six months later. He does the same with his plates, except those are hidden under the bed and when found they have fur and in need of a name.

I think that’s the basics, everything you need to know about my life, before I can start revealing the 50 reasons I have to wanting to die, all of them being related to Gerard.

Excited much?
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Fifty Reasons To Die