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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> My Chemical Romance >> The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

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Chapter One
By idontxloveyou

 


“You're not listening to me,” I screeched, stomping my size seven feet on the sticky fake wood flooring. Fake wood, fake portraits, fake personality, fake life. Fake everything.

“Bea, please. Be reasonable.”

”Wait,” I whispered. Okay, louder now. One more time, with feeling. “Wait a goddamn minute. Where do you get off telling me to be reasonable when all I do is be reasonable? I rearranged my life around you, Jack. Don't think you can send all the blame towards me.”

He snorted, and it made me want to punch him in the nose so much more, if possible. “Oh, please. We both know you're not completely stupid. You had say in everything, you know. You kept silent, and that was your doing. You know it's a smart idea to stay here, so why don't you just do it? God, Bea. Don't be such a fucking dramatic.”
”I kept silent? Like hell I did! I said so much and you heard! You heard me, Jack, but you didn't listen. You never listen. And there is nothing dramatic about standing up to a corporate-sized ass like yourself.”
”Please, can we just sit down and talk about this?”
I told myself I wouldn't do it. This is the final destination, I told myself at the start. From the start, I thought we would always be together. He was strong where I would crumble to my knees and beg forgiveness from a sinner. He would always keep me safe. Or, at least, that's what I thought.

Well, hell. I'm going to do it. “No, Jack, I don't think I can sit down and talk about this. I think there's nothing left to talk about, and I need to leave.”
As much as I wasn't a fan of Jack right now, I still felt the strings in my heart being pulled when he made the same expression he would have if I had just gave him a good kick in the pants. I didn't want this to be my last memory of him, but I guess I screwed that one up. I screw a lot of things up, but that's okay. It's a talent, and I try to stick with where my talents lie. Life moves faster that way. I pulled the handle of my suitcase up, picked up my duffel bag, and walked out of his life, and my old one.

Goodbye Jack, hello new apartment. Hello new life. Hello everything. It's like that Target commercial; saying goodbye to goodbye and just saying hello. Is that Target? Or maybe that one cell phone company, but that has something to do with bars and buildings and ironically that's what I'm seeing outside of the obnoxiously yellow taxi cab I'm in and I'm trying to ignore the foreign driver's attempt at conversation because I can't understand a word he's saying.

Right now I'm trying to remember that doing this was the right thing to do, and that all these feelings are just stress and once I get to my apartment, everything will be okay. I try to think of all these things and how okay everything is going to be, but it doesn't work. All I can think about it how right now I really need some of The Smiths being blasted into my ears, a fluffy pillow, and some Diet Coke. Material things make all the difference in a world like this.

And all of a sudden, I'm nauseous and the world seems to be spinning around me really fast, but that's impossible because we're stopped in the inevitable highway traffic and I can feel my eyelids starting to flutter and then there's a whole lot of blankness.


”Miss? Miss?” Or, at least that's what I think the cab driver is saying. It sounds more like `meese', which everyone knows is the plural of moose and all I can do is laugh quietly to myself because I'm obviously not a pack of mooses.

”Miss,” he says again, “Cab fair.”
I nodded and opened up my pursing, grabbing six twenties and a ten.

”Thank you,” he says. “Generous lady.” I smiled at him, just because his job must suck and suckishness needs some happy every now and again. Grabbing, well, more like tugging my suitcase and pulling my duffel bag out of the car and not a second after I slam the door shut, the taxi cab speeds away leaving puffs of exhaust trailing after it.

This is precisely when I remember that my purse is still in the cab. And my wallet. And my keys. And my cell phone. Damn.

It's just my luck that not two minutes later, while I'm immersed in my own panicky thoughts, that a boy -well, scratch that- some dude walks up to me with his hair covering half his face, his shirt too tight and his jeans too loose. Great.

”I'm sorry, but are you trying to get somewhere?” Mystery guy asks me through his hair.

”I'm fine,” I responded through gritted teeth.

”Oh, okay,” he said. And he didn't leave. He just stood there, next to me, with his hands in his pockets and his hair in his face.

I was fed up to start with, but now I'm getting even more pissed off because this guy who I don't even know is standing right next to me like he's my best friend even though he's not and he dresses weird and I still really want a fluffy pillow, so I turned to him with gritted teeth and pissed off eyes and said, “Look, dude. I don't know what your problem is but I don't' know you and you don't' know me so why won't you just leave?”
He looked at me and that asshole smiled and stuck out his hand. “Name's Frank. Now you know who I am. And I'm still standing here because you're clearly not okay. I'm thinking eventually I'm going to find out what's going on.”
I grasped his hand and huffed, “I'm Bea and I want you to leave me the hell alone.” With that, I pulled my suitcase over to the steps leading up to the entrance of the apartment complex and I sat down.

My new “friend” came and sat down right next to me and said, “So are you going to tell me? Because I have a feeling I can help.”
I looked at him, and for a second I contemplated punching him in the nose. Fatigue took over and I just sighed and let the day's events pour out of me like water from a faucet.
”I got in a taxi-cab from New York to come to this godforsaken apartment I bought just so I could get away from some things and I fell asleep in the cab and was disoriented and I left my purse in the car. My purse, might I mention, has my keys, cell phone, and every single piece of information on my life in it. I was thinking until you walked up to me and decided to be all nice and shit, so now I can't think and my head hurts and I just want to go to sleep. Again.”
He smiled. “That's it?”
I turned my head towards his and gave an expression of shock. “What do you mean that's it?! This is a big problem for me and you think it's nothing? You don't even know me!”
Frank ignored my mini-outburst and pulled out his phone.

”Gimme your number.”

”No. It's bad enough that you know my name. And you didn't even ask nicely.”

”No, so your phone'll ring and the taxi driver or other passenger might answer it and then you'll tell them to bring it back to here.”
I opened my mouth to point out a flaw in his plan, but I found none. So, I gave him my phone number.

After calling and speaking to the cab driver, I had my phone back within the next thirty minutes of silence, still sitting with Frank, who apparently had no intention of leaving me alone.
”Jersey isn't safe for girls like you,” he kept telling me. I contemplated asking him what he meant by `girls like you' but I figured it was best to keep my mouth shut. The less I talk, the less he had to talk about.

”Well, thanks for staying with me, I guess, but now I suppose we're going to go our separate ways. I can get in my apartment building now.”
”Alright. Nice meeting you, Bea. Pretty name,” he said.

”Thanks.” I picked up my suitcase, duffel bag, and purse and headed up the rest of the stairs to the entrance. Frank sped ahead of me and opened up the door with a key he pulled from his pocket.

”Wait, do you live here too?”
”Third floor,” he smiled.

Shit, me too.

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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