I'll Sing You One Last Song and then I'm Gone (Tokio Hotel Fan-Fic)

Chapter 7

This story is written by @xAnDeinerSeitex She wrote this story on a website called TokioHotelFiction.com. I was able to locate her and found out she had a wattpad account. She has given me permission to post it on here. @xAnDienerSeitex aslo has a new updated version of the story, as seeing this one is a few years old. If you like to read that one click the external link on the side. And I would like to say I have no rights to this story and I am NOT the writer. I would also like to thank @xAnDeinerSeitex for writing this great story and letting me post it on my account.

I always kind of wondered what it would be like to be a normal kid.

You know, seeing as I clearly am not.

Every now and again, randomly, the thought would strike me. It could be basically while I was doing anything, but it usually happened when it involved large amounts of people who only knew my name. Well, to be brutally honest, I was lucky if they even knew that much about me. To all the smiling faces that were swallowed in a sea of friends on a regular basis, I was just that girl that sat in class and doodled or wrote. I've heard quite a few suggestions about my life. It's surprising, some of the things rumors teach you about yourself, if you haven't noticed or been the victim of them. For example, I never knew that I was mute. I also never knew that I cut myself. I suppose maybe that's just how high school kids are. Everyone around this age acts like nothing matters, and like the kids who don't fit their cookie-cutter mold obviously deserve to be mistreated. I was always kind of confused by that. When we're little, we're taught that everyone is different from everyone else in the world. So if we hate differences so much, why isn't everyone mean to everyone?

The answer was simple - because they had come to accept each other's differences. But answers only led me to more questions. It baffled me why, if they couldn't accept mine, they could accept each other's. They're different, I'm different, so what made me so much MORE different than them?

But, like I suggested, just because I wasn't like everyone else didn't mean I didn't want to know what it would be like. What would it feel like to have a bunch of girlfriends to go tanning with? (Well, I'm pale as hell, so what's it like to go tanning, period?) What would it be like to wear bright neon sweatpants with Ugg boots and a shirt that revealed the boobs I kinda sorta have? What would it be like to talk to boys and giggle about them later? What would it be like to make fun of the people like me?

Seriously. What would the joy of it feel like? They obviously don't do it for any other reason besides the fact that they find it amusing, that something about it makes them happy. There has to be something more than just my lack of reaction. I always kind of thought that, because they knew literally nothing about me (I "accidentally forgot" the haiku everyone was supposed to write about ourselves when we learned about them for English last week, and have always avoided other projects like it at all costs), they felt the need to make things up. They seriously made fun of me for things that weren't even true. Is that supposed to affect me?

What did bother me, though, was when the "she's abused" or "she's mental" go around, like they do every so often. It's not like I say anything about silly rumors anyway, but those ones bother me, because they're true, and I don't want anyone knowing. I protect my secrets as best as I can, and I know they're just trying to find a reason I'm so quiet (in their eyes, it can't be because they're awful, rotten people and I want nothing to do with them, because there's nothing wrong with them, and you're an awful person for so much as insinuating that it's their fault you hate them so much), but the fact that they're right both annoys and pains me.

I found myself thinking about this in the middle of art class on the day our projects were due. You remember, the project I did about Bill. The one I worked really hard on for days to make perfect, because one cannot half-ass a project about someone that beautiful. There is nothing to make simple, no shortcuts to be taken. To achieve the degree of perfection to which he lived, you had to strive, and if I do say so myself, my depiction of him came out pretty well, especially considering the fact I had a quick glimpse of a memory of a dream to work off of. Everyone that had gone so far had done a recreation (in whatever area they felt best - sculpting, painting, drawing, etcetera) of a picture, regardless of what or who it was of. But it's not like I can print out my dreams or anything. And besides, I kind of thought my class should feel lucky I'd chosen to do my piece on Bill Kaulitz and not Mum, like I was planning to originally, before Bill was thrust into my life. Not that Mum isn't special to me or anything, I was just kind of reluctant to share Bill. Even if he's a real person and tons of people adore him, I didn't want anyone here to. Here, he was mine to keep.