Millions || Gerard Way

You Believe in Love I Believe in Faith

Jet's POV

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When I was a little kid I used to get bullied all the time, not that it should seem like much of a surprised considering seven year olds didn't have a great understanding of why it was possible for someone else their age to be born with differently colored eyes. By the time I hit eight I'd probably heard about every insult possible, from witch to mutant, I even remember there being a girl who thought I was a vampire.

Along with being born with a freaky pair of eyes I used to be a pretty outgoing kid, attempting to make friends left and right. I think it was because of all the bullying that I ended up becoming a social recluse, finding it easier to avoid everyone than to watch yet another girl or boys eyes wide before they backed away from me as if I were a rabid dog intending to bite them.
You couldn't exactly say how I was treated was confidence building no matter how much my parents tried to encourage me.

Regardless of the bullying I never hated people, I was always willing to be friends with them no matter how they treated me. My best example of this was when I was nine, I'd started my third new school and must have been going there for about two months or so, I was kinda fitting in and the kids there weren't the worst I'd met. There was a boy in my class, whose name I can't recall so let's call him Chris, Chris quite openly thought I was a weirdo and whenever he was in the mood for insulting someone I'd be his target, often copping the brunt of lame elementary school put downs.

I didn't like him at first, no shock there.

One day I was waiting out the front for my mom to pick me up, she was a little late because of work which was nothing unusual for me and I was perfectly content with sitting on the sidewalk, bouncing a tennis ball up and down, over and over, waiting to see the familiar car to pull up out the front.

At the same time Chris was getting collected by his father, I watched the forty year old man stumble (what I didn't realize at the time was that he was drunk) into the school and pull his son out by the arm, calling him a variety of names that I'd also heard from kids in my day to day life. One of the teachers then came jogging out, said something to Chris's father about the how the boy's grades needed improving then went back inside.

Because of being bullied so often I'd learnt how to not be noticed at a very early age and was invisible to the father when he struck his son across the face, hard enough to make him fall back and land on the sidewalk. At the same time the man was drunkenly raving about his son being a failure and before I knew it I'd jumped out of my hiding spot and was yelling for him to leave Chris alone, regardless of the fact I'd been bullied by him from the moment I arrived at the school.

Even though I was still young I was able to easily piece together the thought that maybe Chris wasn't so bad after all, maybe instead of being some monster who called me a freak it was his father who was the monster and he was simply a product of the people around him.

I hardly knew the kid, I didn't know his last name or his favorite color or any of the things kids cared about, I knew nothing to do with him yet I willingly jumped between him and his father then began screaming bloody murder.

The man tried to shut me up by backhanding me across the face, once.
He was only given one chance.

Unlike my crippling shyness my deep-set anger issues had been with me from the second I was able to throw a tantrum and I was already angry from seeing him hit Chris, his attempt with me just fueled my anger and next thing he knew an eight year old had given him a single, crippling punch to the nuts that dropped him to the ground like a bad smelling sack of flour
To be honest I would have done it regardless of whether or not he hit me.