Prologue
1986
The crowd roared loudly as the song came to a finish. I put my fist up in the air and screamed. Robert did a long drum roll and ended on the symbols. "Thank you," I panted. "Thank you for being here for us."
Yeah, everyone loves break up concerts, even though most go back for the reunion ones. Me, personally, it was a relief. I was tired of the screaming fans, cameras, and all the drama. Can't a guy loathe in piece? And hope that his psycho ex-girlfriend leaves him alone?
Gina needed help, plain and simple. Screaming and yelling and stomping and being just a plain bitch. Saying that "I need to stop being a mope gothic asshole". Crack whore.
Patrick, the bass guitarist, was thanking everyone and making a big ass speech about how everyone means so much to us. I rolled my eyes. As if. But then again, Patrick always was the theatrical show-off in the group.
Fans would always flock all over him the most, though I was always second for some odd reason. All the chicks swooned when I wore all leather or chains. At the moment, they couldn't stop screaming at me, giving me a migraine I know I'll never forget. I didn't see the big deal personally. I was just wearing some of my favorite chain bell bottom pants, a tight black t-shirt with skulls along the white sleeves. My black hair, never dyed, was disheveled on my head, always finding it's way into my eyes.
A gunshot sounded through the auditorium before I felt the pain in my chest. I hit the ground with a thud, screams echoing around me. The world blurred around me, spinning wildly, the pain taking over my mind. Another shot sprung in my chest, making me cry out in pain. My eyes focused for a second. Right above me, Gina stood with a gun pointed at my chest.
"You like that?" she asked, pulling the trigger again. I thrashed at the bullet it me.
"How bout this?" Another one in the neck.
"Feel my pain, Steven." One in the left shoulder.
"Wallow in it." The pain sang through my veins, immobilizing me at last.
She kneeled down next to me, looking at me with those blue, hate filled eyes. "I have no heart, Steven. You craved it out with your hate." She pulled a knife out of her coat, gazing at it longingly.
"You wouldn't –" she drove the knife through my chest, hard. I lurched and screamed out. She made a large circle, making me scream so loud my voice hurt. Patrick grabbed her around the waist and pulling, yelling at her to stop. Yes, please stop… When she pulled out, the skin and muscle around the knife went too. She smiled at the blooded knife, seeing a large chunk of my heart. I couldn't scream anymore. I just lurched and arched up in pain.
"Now you're truly a heartless bastard, Steven," she said smugly.
Police officers and paramedics gathered around me, their voices mixing until they faded into nothingness blur. A paramedic touch my neck, right where my pulse should be. "It's too late. He's gone."
No, no, no! I can't be dead! I just can't be!
The world faded, even as I struggled against it, the darkness won.