chemical kids & mechanical brides. ☽ andy biersack

09 • nowhere to go

"you're used to speaking in tongues to feel
like you're in control."

☆

andy's pov
about a night later in seattle.

"shit." i shoved the hood of my jacket over my head at the chill that hit the skin of my jaw, speeding up my inhale and exhale as i pulled my cigarette away from lips. my eyes switched around to watch the smoke leave my mouth and vanish into the cold air.

in the last few days, these moments where i could stand out in the cold night for a little bit of silence and solitude quickly became my favorite part of the day. my passion for being on stage seemed to deteriorate with every show that passed. my energy was down in a way i couldn't wrap my head around, and i knew it was showing. i had been quietly thanking myself for learning how to put on a good face years ago.

turns out being faced with the physical manifestation of some of your worst memories on a daily basis wasn't exactly great for your psyche.

i held my chin high and leaned my head to the hard wall behind me, scanning the numerous, un-uniform stars perfectly lighting the pitch black ink color spread across the sky. with only the sounds of the streets of seattle to keep me company, for the first time in days, i truly felt a bit at peace, even if just for a second.

that was until it was all all too quickly interrupted at the newly familiar sound of the back door about ten feet away creaking open.

truly, any person with a beating heart would've irritated me with their presence in that moment, but my luck couldn't have been any worse in terms of probability.

the silence of the night around me was cut in half by the sound of faint music, playing far too loudly out of over the ear headphones on a platinum blonde head. every lyric of the song blasting out from the small speakers pressed to her skin could be heard.

"raise my hands at the thought of you leaving me alone. what if i still care?" i'd heard the song before, but my brain couldn't seem to put a name to it.

she slipped her bone-y hand into the pocket of the thin, distressed cardigan that was slipping slowly off of her back. she pulled out a tiny, tin box that looked from afar like it was decorated with stickers, opening it to reveal and take a black lighter and what i could only assume was a joint.

i wonder how long it took after the last time i could genuinely say that i knew dahlia for her to not be able to survive without being high. because lately, that's how it seemed to my outside looking in eyes; those same eyes scanned her slowly.

one hand wrapped the tips of her fingers around the flat edge of her phone, the tap of her sharp, black fake nails audible to my ears. with every click, i could hear the song in her ears change.

"all the stupid lies, and the stupid games," i swore my pupils met with my brain for a moment when she decided to stop on the recently released single of the third band on our tour. if she could get anymore desperate at this point, i think she'd have to start begging and crying her pleas right to chris's face.

the little box went back to her one, deteriorating pocket, while her phone went in the other. the weight of the two little objects weighed the fabric down and practically took it right off of her. she gripped onto it, quick, cold breezes whipping through the air around us.

for once in the past week or so, i didn't think to look away from her out of spite. in that moment, she almost seemed outside of reality to my eyes; as if i was watching a character in a movie who couldn't see me looking at her, like she didn't know i was there. if nothing else, she ignored my presence completely as if she didn't know.