That Tattoo Guy (MCR Fanfic)

The Party. (Chapter 8)

*A/N: Please don't hate me if I offend anyone or if this chapter is a little depressing. Thank you all for reading and I would love as much feedback as I got with The Tattoo Guy- so if you vote, comment and fan- spread the word too and make it one of the best birthday presents I've ever gotten. Thank you all again and please keep reading as much as I love writing.- Love, Bee/MFK xx

The Party. (Chapter 8)

 Age 17

 I loved this gothic den. I had never been into the whole black façade, I was more of a punk than anything else, but here I felt like I belonged. Even amongst the fakery of the people who flicked from trend to trend, I could just sit in one of these comfy ass bean bags and listen to the mix of rock, punk and indie that flooded the basement. Well I would have been more relaxed if I hadn’t seen him walk in over half an hour ago and jump from every corner of the room scanning over the different druggies, the various selection of booze provided by Mika through his fake ID after he decided to crash his little brothers party upstairs with his own. It sucked being the only one sober in a crowd of drunken horny teenagers. I didn’t want to poison myself anymore, I didn’t want to feel completely drained and sick to my stomach when I even thought of taking a sip of alcohol. I liked being sober, I hated being conscious enough to see how stupid everyone else was. When you were drunk everything was so cool, so awesome and it felt like everything was fast and alive- when really sat here watching like a wall with eyes I see how lame it all was. Chicks were puking, guys were humping anything that walked and the kids who had barely had a sip were prancing around like idiots. I felt at home here but so out of place, I didn’t belong here, neither did he. He just stood and stared like a love sick puppy through his beer goggles straight at Lyn-z aka Queen Bitch how had already spilled drinks down four of her ‘friend’s outfits just to make them look worse than she did. I mean who did she think she was with her black dry died out straw like hair with her puke green and cheap blue clip-ins, her skinny twig legs tangled with chains attached to her black shorts, and her cheap tatty red top made her chicken fillet chest pop out enthusiastically. Someone’s jealous. The voice in my head says at my snide comment and at the same time of fact as I see her murky spiteful eyes flick over to me before settling at him giving him a flirty smile before turning back to her friend who had tatty tattoos I had watched him draw for them without complaint. My eyes land on him again still stood with a bottle of rum, I prayed for him not to drink it, I knew he wouldn’t last much longer if he carried on this way. My breath catches as I see him look down at the bottle I had wished was water and then toss it to the couch where a mini orgy took place between Reid and some chick he’d heckled down at the curb.

I stare wide eyed clutching the pillow to my chest like watching a horror movie as I see him slip in the bathroom of the large basement. F*ck.

“Go after him.” Ryan says creeping over and sinking into the side of the beanbag next to me.

“He won’t listen to me. He’s so hung up on her… he doesn’t even know my name.” I sigh my eyes going down to the sleeve of my long sleeved shirt that’s torn and frayed.

“Go. Grow some balls and go for it.” He says before pulling me out the cocoon of beans and fabric instantly feeling the stress on my muscles and bones as they creak.

On shaking legs my eyes target in on that bathroom door, I need to see him, I need to help him; maybe my own scars can cure his. Maybe even just letting him know it’s okay to feel confused about the world and that this is part of finding yourself. The most vulnerable, damaged and tormented of people have to go through the most pain before they come into the light and show that they really are just as beautiful as they always had been- they just needed someone to tell them they aren’t as bad as they think they are.