PerfectionDefinition [AndrewBiersack]

Admit it to yourself that you want help.

I feel nostalgic. I feel dead. When they took me back to the hotel I went to the room. I had nothing. I was nothing. Maybe I should just commit suicide and get this over with.

But then again, I'm already going to hell. So why rush it? I'm not a bad person. I'm just bitter, cold, and emotionless. Maybe that's why Radke cares about me so much. Maybe he only cares about me because he knows how close I am to the edge.

I got no sleep last night. I just laid there, staring at the wide ceiling. We would be leaving France soon, in a week or so. Maybe getting away from this place would help, but I'm not exactly sure. My problems are following me, and it's not like they're leaving anytime soon.

I'm sitting now, staring at the television. It's in French, which amuses me none, and I'm desperately wanting to go smoke. Shoot up. Drink. Something. Anything other than sit here.

In a second, I'm not sure why, I felt angry. No. PISSED. I was really goddamn angry and I had no idea why, but the tension was building and I needed to get rid of it. Somehow. Thoughts ran through my head quicker than normal, and it only edged me on.

I was pissed at Radke, for making me do this.

Andy, for making me hopeful.

Just pissed at the world. Why was everyone against me?! Why did every single goddamn thing I did start something else?!

It was all my fault.

I stood from the bed, biting my lip so hard I knew it was likely to bleed, and rammed my fist into the nearby wall. I instantly regretted it, not because it was painful, but because it was loud.

I'd have to pay for it. God why was I so stupid? The hole in the wall made small chucks come off into my pale skin, making my knuckles bleed and run down my hands and arms.

Oh god. Radke would be pissed off at me. I tried to quickly move the large painting on the wall to cover it, but it was too heavy.

Oh no. Oh no. I was getting worried. I knew Radke would be pissed, and I really didn't need that. I heard the door opening, and I expected a manager or pissed off Ronnie, but instead I saw someone shorter, jet black hair pushed away from his face messily, and his icy eyes wide as he saw me.

Andy.

"Kai? What the hell? Are you okay?" he asked, rushing over, his large hands wrapping around my tiny wrists and pulling me towards him. I now realized I was beginning to shake.

Why the hell was I shaking? Kai... Stop. I didn't want Andy to see me vulnerable. I didn't want it. I didn't need it.

"I... I'm fine..." I lied, tearing back my wrist from his and cradling my bleeding hand in my other palm, biting my lip.

The vocalist sighed, taking my injured hand back in his and examining it. He didn't say anything, but dragged me over to the small bathroom, his large palms lifting me and setting me on the counter.

It was easy, considering I was so small. His sentiment was what I never expected from a man like him.

He pulled some things to bandage me up from the counter and looked over at me. "I may be a dick to you sometimes, but I know when you're lying to me, Kai." he said, and my eyes slightly widened.

But I narrowed my eyes so he wouldn't see. "You don't know a goddamn thing about me, Biersack." I said, and he didn't reply, continuing to bandage me up.

He didn't reply for a few minutes, finishing and helping me off of the counter.

"Kai, I only came down here to ask you something. Radke and I were wondering if maybe since you've been good, if you wanted to go to a party. You can't drink, but you can still go."