My Chemical One-shot

Millions

(Based on Gerard Way's song, Millions, and my most likely incorrect interpretation of it)

The morning haze filled the dark room with light. I scratched my mop of hair as I sat up in bed. The sheets were all the way on the other edge, tangled in her modest frame. I sighed, telling myself to get my own sheets. But even with that, she would end up with two sheets around her. Other than the bed, her room is covered with books and papers. I never really minded it, the mess.

"Gerard?" She said sleepily, still curled up on the bed.

"Hmm?" I replied, not looking back to talk to her. A small hand slid down my arm as I was pulled back down onto the pillows.

"It's way too early in the morning to be this lusty," I chuckled after she kissed me.

"There's no such thing."

"Rachel, there is for me." I argued, letting her lay kisses on my collarbone. She sat up, an eyebrow raised.

"Okay," She pouts, lying back down on the bed. Falling for her ruse, I gently press my lips to her shoulder as her body is turned away from me. "Let's make up everything, just like we always do."

"What story are you going to concoct this time?" I ask, staring up at the ceiling. Rachel sighs.

"I have a new villain in mind. Do you think you can defeat him?"

"No, you make up villains that are too difficult. With you, the good guys die and the bad guys win."

"Is that bad?"

"I guess not."

"Then let's battle. I'll be the bad guy and you be the good guy." She says while tackling me, our bodies falling to the floor in a mess of arms and legs. Rachel's giddy with glee, happy that she has me hopelessly dominated in her grip. I don't fight as much anymore, because she likes to win. Having me pinned down, she kisses me; a heavy, bruising, passionate kiss. I laugh, out of breath.

"Is the villain a succubus?" I joke while grimacing. My mouth is sore. She frowns and rolls of off me onto the floor.

"I am not a succubus, as promiscuous as I am. I'm just a plain old villain."

"Hmm."

Rachel cuddles into my side, not wishing to discuss it anymore. And by it, I mean the fantasies she makes up. She tells me that she wants her life to be a case of good versus evil. Of magic powers and dark forces. But it only leaves my heart in discontent, knowing that I'm just a pawn in the story.

"Don't be mad at me, G," she murmurs, eyes screwed shut. "I know, I can't come up with good character ideas anymore."

I want to say something back, but my mind blanks. And while we're lying on the floor, I wonder how long I can play this game. She's pulling me up off the ground and leading me out into her tiny backyard. She lives out in the middle of nowhere, practically an hour's drive to the nearest city in any direction. We're modern day hermits. 

"Hey, guess what? I found some old sprinklers in the back of my junk cabinet. I'm going to go grab them."

     Rachel is back with sprinklers in hand, looking solemn. One part of me wants to ask why she is looking so forlorn, but the other part of me wants to play along with it. She hands me one, delicately, as if it is a reward to be cherished. Without speaking a word, I pull the lighter that I found on her bedside table up to the sprinklers and light them. The sparks immediately flare up, causing us both to jump. Instead of running around in a frenzy, like the child she usually is, Rachel sits down on the green grass, cross-legged. I sit down as well as face her. 

"Why are we doing sprinklers during the day? Wouldn't they show up better at night?" I ask hesitantly. 

Rachel, who was in a trance-like state of meditation, looks at me in astonishment.

"It's not about the sprinklers showing up. It's the concept." Rachel smiles sleepily at me. I am completely lost, and pretty sure she just said that without thinking. But with Rachel, it isn't about thinking, it's feeling. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. But I love you just the same."

"You believe in love. I believe in fate."

     Now it is Rachel's turn to be confused. She looks as if she is about to cry, as if every fiber of her emotional strength is being tested. The sprinklers are starting to shrink. 

"Do you... do you believe in me?" Her voice is shaky and uncertain. My eyes can't seem to meet hers when I say no. 

     The sprinklers die out, the last few sparks coming out in short splutters. I get up off the ground and sigh. I pace over to the backyard fence door. Looking back, I can see Rachel, still sitting, staring at the remains of her little fireworks show. I wonder what she's thinking. I wonder if she's trying to come up with some new scenario, some villain that will prevent me from leaving. There's a million stories, a million reasons not to go, but I'll need a million more.