"Lily!" The guitarist of Graceful Remnants, Jay screamed from beside me. I jumped, but didn't pick my eyes up from the page of my book. I would never ever do anything like that.
"Yes…?" I asked quietly.
"We go on in five." She replied, nudging me a little. "We shouldn't have to repeat it every five minutes so that you can get yourself ready. This is ridiculous!" She stalked off with her arms waving in the air, screaming to no one in particular.
I gave myself a little laugh, and shook my head. My friends, such as these people I have to call my friends for the press, are sort of controlling and despotical. I am just sort of laid back and relaxed. More so quiet than anything, and I just like to be left alone. As a kid, I was always like that, so my parents took me to the doctor, and the diagnosed me with all sorts of mental diseases, including bipolar disorder and social anxiety. I don't know why, because most of the time I feel fine, but then some days, just, everyone seems to hate me for no reason. In my mind, that is enough to kill myself. I don't think I will ever understand why I am so messed up. I just always will be. Of course, though, being on stage makes me feel sort of alive. I just have to put on a face for the crowd. But does anyone wonder what goes on through my head?
I guess this is why I am the singer. Well, of course I have a nice voice. I mean, who doesn't?
I walked off from my warm chair to the dressing room where I pulled on a pair of decent pants, and a nicer looking shirt. As I ran out of the dressing room door pulling my shirt over my head, Gerard Way ran past me.
Being signed to Warner Brothers Records has its perks, including being able to meet some of the neatest people in the world. I have met many bands. I am usually too shy to talk to them, but they have smiled and waved, and tried to hold conversations for the past two years. They noticed my anxieties and were nice as pie, but I just felt uncomfortable.
"Lily! I have been looking all over for you! Hurry up! You are on next." I finally had my shirt pulled down over my chest and stomach, as he pushed me onto the stage.
"There you are! We have been looking all over for you!" Ashlee, the drummer, stated while testing her drum set quickly. "We need to talk to you after the concert, you know, as a band." She sounded thoroughly pissed at me; I took it horribly. Everyone seemed mad at me all the time and it makes me want to cry. The thoughts hurt so badly; it makes my head want to explode.
I sang a few notes into the dull grey microphone, adding just as much emotion as I would on stage. I always put as much emotion into what I sang, as if it was actually happening to me. It helped to get the song's message across to the fans. Our many fans.
You see, my band didn't include the nicest people in the whole entire world. Almost everyone that met them said that they hated them. It is nice when they said they love me, because I smile. No one else does. Someone has to spread some subtle cheer. The cheer isn't me though. It is all the confidence I can muster, because of how incredibly messed up I am.
Assez bizarre, est-ce-que je suis.
"You girls are on in two minutes!" A man came on with a headphone setup, and waved his arms. I was thinking the whole time, and the girls looked tired. I didn't know what to say, and so many things bombarded my head at the same time. I just wanted to cry.
Being in a band of the same gender is better than being in a band of mixed for me. I don't have to worry about any guys seeing my body. I don't have to worry about anyone telling me I am ugly or fat,
and I don't have to worry about any tension between the members. Actually, strike that, I do. The girls and I don't always get along and I am probably to blame.
The curtain slowly pulled away from in front of me and I quickly put on a smile and gave an incredibly fake laugh.
"We need you all to scream for us!" I projected into the microphone, and a few people got a little loud. "This one is called 'Should we pull the trigger?' Tis' new."
"If I am the bullet
And you are the gun
Just one, oh just one
Would we pull the trigger
Or push on the lock..." I continued the song with pain and hurt; just as much as I felt the night I wrote it. My breath got shorter from the heat. I felt like I was going to pass out, but I tried keeping my cool.
I continued on with a few more originals. Quite frankly, I just wanted to be off the stage and out of the view of anyone. I blatantly finished off the rest of the songs, and began to say our goodbyes. I dropped the microphone and walked backstage abruptly, and the rest of the girls followed suit.
"What was that? What did you think you were doing? You sucked." The bassist, Mary Anne, yelled from across the room, grabbing a water, and throwing at me. I picked it up after she missed, and threw it out the window.
"I am done. I am completely done. I am sick of being treated like something you threw in the garbage last week. I hope you are all content. Good-bye." I walked out of the room and over to Gerard. My breathing got heavy and I slowly cried. Tears falling in small intervals, as he hugged me.
"Are you alright?" He asked concern filling his wavering voice. "Please tell me."
"I am fine. But, you need to take me to the airport. I am done with this. Please?" He nodded in reply and grabbed his keys.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked running a hand through his long black hair.
"I am sure."
And that was the last time that I ever talked to anyone in that life. I came to the conclusions that they would find someone else. Anyone else was better than the overemotional train wreck that I have to see in the mirror every day.
-A month later-
I moved to the suburbs around Las Vegas. I had decided previously that I wanted to go the University of Las Vegas, for creative writing, of course. I would have so much experience, and I already had made so much money, because of being nineteen, and being in a fairly successful band since I was seventeen and graduated.
I sat back in the chair in my apartment near the campus. Walking distance, you know. I felt it was safer walking that short distance. Anyway-I stared out the window for a while, but then continued on with my book. I turned a page, eyes glued and transfixed. The apartment was warm and cozy. It wasn't gigantic, or anything to be a bragging fool about, but it kept me dry and happy. I let myself sink into the chair a little more, being as soft and comfy as it was.
I then decided to get up and work on a shower. I had my writing class in an hour, and then a chemistry class, then I would be done for the day. I had decided to not take too many classes. Major is writing and minor in chemistry. That worked for me. I played with the chilly purple ring I have on my lip, as I was walking down the hallway. I grabbed a clean towel, and entered the bathroom.
Not too long after that I vacated the bathroom for fog reasons, and got myself dressed. I decided to head out early and get some coffee, so I tied my dirty green chuck taylors, and walked out the door.
The hallway was long, but not long enough for a girl who is looking for coffee. No-longing for coffee. A I had finally made my way to the small coffee shop down the street and ordered my usual. I looked up to see a familiar boy with a goofy grin handing me my coffee.
"Here is your change, beautiful." He said as I picked the coins up off the counter.
"Thankyou. That was extremely nice of you to say." Every day this boy would bring me my coffee, and every day I would say the same thing. He kept his goofy smile, though, as he handed me my coffee.
"Don't burn those pretty lips of yours…"He whispered as I grabbed my coffee, but he wouldn't let go.
"What is your name? You are so sweet and kind to me, and I still haven't gotten it." I replied quietly. He slapped his forehead.
"I forgot to introduce myself. Brendon Urie is my name, and telling unnoticed girls they are still beautiful is my game." He said.
"Well, Brendon. Thank you for the compliment, but I have college to attend."
"Okay. Come back soon pretty lady!" I smiled before I opened the doors, but after I stepped into the outside world, a frown supported my face. I felt stares on me as I walked, but I knew they weren't because I am beautiful. No, they are definitely because I am strange, and ugly.