Legitimate Self Destruction #2 -Confessions

Were you dying to know what happened with Maria and her dramatic life as Billie Joe Armstrong’s sister? Did this week drag by as you thought longingly of Friday afternoon and the next chapter of Legitimate Self Destruction? No? Well here you go anyway.

The bus came to an abrupt stop. I opened my eyes, and came face to face with Frankie’s amber cat like eyes staring intently at me. I jumped a bit, startled by his sudden arrival, and then relaxed once the initial shock of his face had worn off. I paused my ipod still staring back at him.

“Is there a specific reason that you’re on Billie Joe and my bus, Mr. Iero?” I asked smugly, as I sat up careful not to hit my head on the bottom of the bunk above me. He stared back at me in the same inquisitive yet smug way. I noticed a girl next to him; she shared a surprising likeness with Lisa my friend from High school. She had blue and green hair not much different from my own purple and green spiky, choppy, angled hair.

This is one step away from just pasting images from the Hot Topic website in the middle of the text. Which I saw happen, like, every other story.

She had piercing blue eyes and small dimples when she spoke. She had her nose pierced on the right side, and had a small blue crystal in it. Lisa. My old best friend.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, standing up amazed, why hadn’t she told me that she was coming? Why hadn’t BJ (my nickname for Billie Joe) told me she was coming? But what if it was because he didn’t know?

What the fuck? What does this mean? Why is it there? Only one of these is a valid question! Seriously, why did no one over the age of 15 read this and tell me to stop?! (But also thank you to my adoring fans who kept this going)

“Frankie and I, well,” She looked at Frankie as if she were asking permission to take her new bike for a ride around the block, he smiled back as if saying yes. “We’re together! As in a couple!” She excitedly squeaked out. Her voice had become high pitched and squee-ish.

“Congrats!” I smiled at them.

“Yeah, so when are you and Gerard going to hook up?” she asked standing next to me, she gently nudged my rib cage with her elbow. I’m not sure why she would say that since I’d only spent about an hour with Gerard in total.

“Um… let’s see… how about… NEVER!” I shoved her face away from my shoulder with my hand left hand while my right one pulled at my sleeve. “We just met today you dork! We hardly know each other!”

“Oh right, so then let’s go to their bus and talk!”

See, I totally know how to move the plot forward. This is so natural, and logical. I should have won a goddamned award for this shit.

She grabbed my hand quickly and dragged me to the My Chemical Romance bus. I was pushed up the stairs, almost falling on my face. She nearly threw me onto the couch; and there I sat still fingering the buttons on my ipod, and pulling at my sleeves. I felt the couch sink quickly; and heavily next to me. I turned to see Gerard sitting there looking almost as confused as I was feeling.

“Alright, we’re going to leave you two to get to know each other. So, um, talk, laugh, do whatever you please. Just don’t make too much noise.” Frankie spoke with a hint of amusement in his voice. He led Lisa to the back of the bus, where his bunk was located.

I looked over at Gerard from my peripheral vision. He was sitting there, his black Misfits shirt hugging his chest loosely, his stomach stuck out slightly, but it wasn’t horrible.

Shame on you 12 year old Maria, shame on you for fat shaming Gerard Way. So young, so little confidence, it’s okay. It got better, mostly.

He wore dark, semi-faded jeans and a pair of Etnies. His raven black hair was messily tousled as if he’d just rolled off a rather uncomfortable sleeping position. I must admit, even then, when I wasn’t sure how I felt about him, I found him scrumptious, almost like a cupcake.

Now, as a rule now, I never compare people to food because it gets really creepy really fast.

There was nothing wrong with him and me talking. I mean I liked his band and all that but, the way they set this casual talk up was just… suggestive.

“Maria?” Gerard looked up at me as if he were concerned I would tell him to die in a hole of fire.

“That’s who I am! What do you need?” I looked back at him, smiling a bit nervously.

“Can I, um, tell you something?” He stumbled over his words slightly, his thumbs twiddled back and forth.

I gestured for him to lie down, and place his head on my lap. He obeyed quietly laying his head in the space I’d created by criss crossing my legs. I stroked his soft black hair, it felt like silk between my fingers, and asked him what the problem was.

“Well… I have a… problem…” He said awkwardly, he picked at the artists calluses on his fingers. “I’m a binge drinker, I’m addicted to heroine!” He spat out the sentence in a rush of nervous words.

Okay, let’s get this straight. You met him less than 2 hours ago. You’ve said maybe 20 words to each other. And now he’s got his head in your lap and is confessing his deepest darkest sins to you? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK 12 YEAR OLD MARIA?!??!?!?! I know that’s an egregious amount of exclamation points but I don’t care. The character development here is, well, almost nonexistent.

“Wow… Gerard… does Mikey know?” I asked caringly, now running my fingers through his hair. Why had he come to me? Was it because I didn’t know him, or because he knew that I wouldn’t judge him?

How did she know, that he knew, that she wouldn’t judge him?! How would he know that she’s not wicked judgmental? She could be a heartless judgmental bitch for all he knows at this point!

Was it because he was scared of what his brother or his friends would say? Why me? Did I give off the vibe of a confident, reliable, person? I wasn’t.

So maybe all of this isn’t crap, that last question/answer was funny enough that I chuckled out loud to myself.

But he wouldn’t know that. He didn’t need to know that.

“No. You’re the only one who knows,” He looked into my eyes. I could see the lost troubled man that was trapped inside them.

The mere idea of something/one being trapped in eyes makes my face screw up like I’ve just eaten a lemon.

He wanted to get out. He wanted to be set free. But he didn’t know how. He didn’t know what to do. That’s why he came to me. That’s why I was sitting there staring into his perfect hazel, green eyes at three o’clock in the afternoon.

“I know you want to stop. But I don’t know how you want to stop. Weaning yourself off might work. Going cold turkey would definitely work. Or, I hope it would.” I looked at the black screen of the TV; I chewed at my bottom lip. I couldn’t tell him how to fix this. I couldn’t understand what would work best for him. Would he be able to go cold turkey?

You can tell I didn’t know much about addiction. At this point everything I knew about addiction probably came from MTV’s True Life and memoirs from 1980s rock stars like Slash and Nikki Sixx.

“Maria, I don’t know if I can even try to do that!” He spoke with fear and panic seething and spewing out of his mouth. It was as if I’d just told him to step onto the moon naked. He looked petrified.

“Shh… shh… shh… Gerard it’ll be ok…” I spoke in a soft soothing tone. He looked at me with those, hazel, green eyes almost begging me to say something else, begging me to continue, to give him guidance and structure.

This is a punctuation nightmare. I actually had a panic dream about commas after I annotated this chapter.

I sighed. “Well you also smoke!” I pointed out defensively. “That could help you get through this. The drinking needs to stop. You can seriously kill your liver with that kind of drinking. The heroine, well that we need to do something about!” I furrowed my brow in concentration.

Yeah, I have a really big problem with strong, well rounded female characters too. And back then homonyms were also a problem.

I needed to think. I needed time to get into his head, understand how he worked. How would I be able to help him if I couldn’t help myself?

Gerard sat up curiously while looking up at me. He stood up very quickly, walking into his bunk area, which was the first lower bunk, on the bus. As my tendancy goes I was growing curiouser, and curiouser, as to where he was going, I followed. Sometimes I reminded myself of Alice, from Alice in wonderland. I never took the good advice that people gave me. I frequently just ignored what came out of their ignorant mouths.

Which is it? Good advice, or they’re ignorant shit heads!? You can’t have it both ways!

There was also the matter of following almost everyone, and questioning people about almost everything. That’s what brought me here. To this very position actually.


ohmygod. I need a drink.

He took out a duffel bag to the brim of vodka and heroin. I stared into the bag in complete and utter amazement. I had never seen so much heroin in anyone space. There were sandwich bags filled to the breaking point. How could he get that much? Wasn’t heroin expensive? Wasn’t it hard to find?

1. The grammar here is so offensive it should be illegal.
2. Vodka and heroin are strangely specific since I was pretty much making this up based on shitty MTV reality shows and rock star memoirs.
3. Heroin doesn’t come in sandwich bags, and it is expensive as fuck.

Though Billie had an extensive liquor cabinet, and highly supported Jack Daniels in the house, he did not have that many bottles of Smirnoff. Though, it would have been much nicer to have Smirnoff in the house than JD.

What the actual fuck is the point of this sentence? I think I wanted to appear cool, as though (at 12) I had experienced these things. Which is a tragically misguided way to go through middle school. But hey, it’s middle school.

Gerard took the suitcase, slowly heaving it left and right. He walked over to the sink, placed the bag on the tiny counter top. Then opened a baggy of the drugs promptly dumping them down the drain, to be lost forever in the itty bitty septic tank under the bus. I let a small soft gasp escape my lips. Of all the things I’d seen people do, this was not one of them.

“Ge- Ge- Gerard?” I stumbled over my words as if they were rocks glued to the ground.

“Hmm?” He replied not looking up from the last bag of drugs. I could see the fear, total terror, that ran across his face. He was thinking about the with drawl syndromes that he was going to suffer.

HOW DO YOU KNOW?! He could be thinking about all the money that he wasted on these drugs and vodka. That’s what I would be thinking about.

I saw the first bottle of Smirnoff make its appearance over the sink. It was gone faster than stolen Twinkies at fat camp.

“Why are you doing this?” I questioned, walking over to his side, slowly moving my hand to his forearm. “I mean, I… Just… don’t you like drinking, and, and doing drugs? Isn’t that what’s expected of you?” I tried to meet his eyes with mine. He refused to look into mine.

“It is kind of expected of me. But, A. I really don’t want to be taken away for possession, B. I feel like I don’t need them to be who I want to be on stage. I have you to root for me now,”

That’s nice and logical at least, and then it just takes a sharp left turn into serious-relationship-commitment territory.

He finished pouring that last drop of alcohol that he had, down the drain. He looked up and smiled at me softly, his lips parting to reveal just enough of his teeth to make him appear adorable. Though, I could see the confusion that was going on behind his hazel eyes.

Did you know his eyes are hazel? I don’t think it’s been mentioned in the last paragraph or two. In case you forgot his eyes are hazel. Like that Kelly Clarkson song.

“Well, while we’re on the topic of heavy shit that should not be discussed while in a good mood, is there anything else you would like to talk about?” I looked at him caringly. I rubbed his arm slowly.

“Yeah there is actually,” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “But can I get a hug first?” He opened his arms in a hugging motion. I walked over to him, happy to oblige him, seeing as he was one of the most huggable people in America, by hugging him tightly. He hugged me back almost as tightly; slowly he pulled away from me.

We sat back on the couch I crossed my legs Indian style, leaving a nice hole in between my knees. This position made my baby soft knees stick out of the giant holes I’d sliced into my jeans. Gerard lay down so his head was in the small hole in my lap again he was still looking up at me.

Baby soft knees?! Has anyone on earth ever complimented someone’s knees?

This sentence is such a disaster that I almost want to send it to my middle school english teachers and ask how they could let me pass their classes.

“OK. Well there’s this girl that I think I might be developing feelings for. I don’t really know her; I just know things about her from Mikey. So this girl lets call her. . .  Sara, is best friends with Mikey. I don’t know if I try to make a move on Sara, if she’d feel threatened and so will her brother. What do you think I should do, as a girl who might be in this position once in a while?”

This sounds like something a drunk 13 year old girl would say.

“Why won’t he AIM me baaaack?” she would sob while her best friend passed the Bartles & James kiwi strawberry wine cooler.

I absorbed what he had said. Taking a minute to let everything seep in, and for my brain to register the meaning of what he’d just said. I was shocked when I comprehended what I was hearing.

OMG, THIS IS NOT DIFFICULT TO UNDERSTAND! Actually, based on his second to last sentence it is difficult to understand because there’s definitely a missing preposition and probably a missing verb.

The news made my heart sink just a little. I had, had this odd attraction to Gerard since I met him.

Yes I had actually met him roughly 3 years ago when My Chemical Romance was first starting out. It was at a very small club in the Boston area. I’d gone to Boston with Billie for a guitar expo that he wanted me to see I’d taken a night off to visit Mikey.

Wait, when did they meet? How are they friends? THERE ARE SO MANY FUCKING PLOT HOLES. This story might as well be swiss cheese

Thus, I met Gerard. He was too drunk to remember though. I sighed, my famous sigh; the one that Billie Joe said reminded him of our mother.

“Personally, I think that you should get to know this girl a bit more. Just, see what she likes, how she acts. Know enough so that your dates won’t be dull and full of awkward silence. Once you’re confident that you know her enough you should ask her on a date,” I breathed deeply as I pulled my fingers through Gerard’s silky hair once again.

“Thanks Maria. So, do you want to talk some?” He asked. His voice noted that he felt slightly awkward. I nodded my head slowly, trying to think of things to start the conversation with.

Girl, you’re reading way too much into people’s tone of voice. This is not that important. Also probably not accurate. Also, I don’t think you need to ask someone you’re already in a conversation with if they want to have a conversation.

Gerard and I talked for hours feeling as if nothing was going to stop the steady flow of conversation. I swear I felt as if we’d known each other our entire lives, our conversation flowed just as such. We talked about our past our present and our future. When the bus jolted to a halt I glanced at the clock. The huge red letters almost slapped me in the face with a 2AM. I practically jumped out of my skin in fear. Billie Joe was going to kill me. I had gotten on that bus at the first pit stop… roughly 12 hours ago.

Wait, they’re moving this whole time? How come none of the other band members are apparently on this bus? WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?

I ripped my cell phone out of my bag so quickly it almost broke. I dialed Billie Joe’s cell. It rang once, twice, finally an answer.

Tune back in next week when Maria and Gerard have a weird conversation where everyone leaves upset but it’s okay because it’s all fixed 20 minutes later. Or two days. Time is, apparently, meaningless in this story.


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