Crash the Gates [PG 13] (Chapter 3 Up!)

[ahlageek]

CHAPTER ONE

Lovely.

Beautiful.

Breath-Taking.

Gorgeous.

All of these had been used to describe me except for the one that fits the most - fake. That's all I truely am. Fake. Fake hair, fake smile, fake confidence, fake personality, fake family, fake friends, fake everything.

I'm a barbie doll built by my mother and my agent. A marketing tool for high fashion, beauty products, and unrealistic female perfection. An undeserving idol for young girls who develop eating disorders to imitate what they think is the real me.

Seventeen years of life and all I've done is allowed myself to become a product of the corporate modeling machine. Nothing I do is of my own free will. I'm told when to eat, sleep, work, party, smile, frown, and cry. The only exception, it seems, is when I breathe.

Not a moment or action has been my own, ever since I was born. It started off innocently enough with toddler beauty pageants which turned into commercials and then magazines and finally the runway. The one person I have to thank for all of my "accomplishments" is my mother.

Mother isn't even the right title to give this woman who made me. The more appropriate name to caller by is my "puppeteer" or the "mastermind". She's the one behind every single thing I've done, party I've attended, and facial expression I've delivered on film. Luanne Caprice, her formal name, didn't waste a second getting into my head at a young age and pushing me to do my best and look my best every second of the day.

She pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed me.... right over the edge.



No, she wasn't the one that physically shoved the bottle of sleeping pills and pain killers down my throat, but she was the voice in my head that drove my hand to do it, just like it had driven my hand to take a handful of pills every so often before.

Addiction.

It's controling. Almost as much as my puppeteer, but addiction's strings are stronger. Much stronger.


And, in result of my "unnecessary stress reliever" as Luanne calls it, I've been shipped off to a nice recovery center. Of course, the media is fed the story of me being on vacation - a mere break from the pressures of being a young starlet model.

Chalk up another one to good ol' Luanne. Her puppet screws up so she pulls a few more strings to make the illusion that it's all just part of the show.

I wonder where I learned to become so fake?

_____________________________________________________________

Gerard's POV

Four more days. That's all the therapist said I needed was four more days until I was released.

And I couldn't be happier. Eversince mom shipped me off to this recovery center, I've just been counting down the days until I'm free of these pastey, suffocating walls and psychological medication.

The force fed meds alone were enough to make me crave the poison that brought me here in the first place. But, I had no choice but to shy away from those impure wantings.

No trace of alcohol to be found anywhere in this place. None.

The first week without my drinking was the worst by far. I'd beg for my brother to sneak some in when he visited, even though he always refused. I'd pull my hair out, my body was constantly shaking, and I started having night terrors. It was enough to drive me insane, if I wasn't already there to begin with.

But, since then, my cravings have lessened to the point where I don't pull my hair anymore or shake, but the terrors ocasionally plague my sleep. My therapist says it's a sign that I'm getting better - improving. I don't understand how I can be getting better though when I still constantly think about the warm taste of alcohol on my throat, the bubbly comfort it brings, and it's musky smell. Sometimes, I even pretend the water they give us in the cafeteria is vodka and I've gotten so good at this, that when I try hard enough, I can almost taste the actual alcohol.

Oh! I can't wait until I'm free of this prison. Free of these restrictions and back to the real life - the life outside.


A firm knocking on my door dragged me from my thoughts and I immediately sat up in bed just in time to see the door swing open to reveal a muscular man dressed in the recovery center's uniform.

"It's rec time, Gerard. Let's go."

I sighed, reluctantly standing up and following the man out. Rec time. It was a required activity to "keep up the social skills" and somehow it was supposed to help with treatment. But, honestly, I couldn't see how. What good was it going to do for me to converse with all these psychos, wack jobs, druggies, and crazies that were in here? Which is why I never made any friends, to the disapproval of my therapist, and I don't ever plan to make any.

Unfortunately though, whether I'm seeking friendship or not, I still have to attend rec time.

I walked into the large room occupied with patients clad in sweats, couches, chairs, some arcade games, a tv, and some other various entertainment items. Without even sparring a glance in anyone's direction, I made a beeline for my usual sitting spot on a couch in the back of the room. The couch itself was against an outside wall, which was the closest I was going to get to being out until I'm actually freed. No windows in this place, so I once again was left to my imagination to conjure up what it would be like to peer to the real world through the solid wall.

Only 4 more days until I'm gone. 4 more days.

This was my mantra as I manuvered my way through the crowds of people and back towards my sanctuary. But, as I grew closer to my destination, I noticed that someone was already occupying my spot.


 

[ahlageek]

CHAPTER 2

Gerard's POV

I felt my blood pressure rise and my hands ball into fists. This place is a living hell and all I ask is to have my little spot during rec time. Was that too much? Was it really?

My heart began to pound in my ears and I could actually feel my anger spike. I was fully ready to give in to my fury and let this person have it, but then I remembered how little time I had left in this place and how much longer I would have if I got into a fight. Honestly, this fight wouldn't be worth more time in this prison. Besides, my sudden temper was probably from my alcohol withdrawls. So, I paused in front of the person for a brief moment to take a deep breath and lessen my rage to a dull irritation before I opened my eyes to face my intruder.

I was immediately met with a pair of pale green eyes staring straight into my own. My mouth, ready to form a sharp comment, had fallen slack from the intensity of this girl's stare. It was colder than death but there was a slight hint of what pain and fear it was hiding. I didn't know how to react. Should I just turn and walk away? Or slowly, gentlely reach out to her?

"What do you want?" the girl asked softly, but her voice was firm.

My trance was broken and I blinked a few times before I spoke.

"You're in my seat." I told her, way more kindly then I originally intended.

For some reason, I felt kind of sorry for this girl. Her glare was frightening, but there was just something about her that screamed "damsel in distress"...

"I don't think so."

....or maybe not.

"What do you mean?!?" I demanded, feeling that temper of mine begin to rear it's ugly head again.

"I mean," she pronounced each word slowly and calmly as if talking to a small foolish child, "that I was here first. So, today, this is my seat."

If I was in a cartoon, I would've had steam coming out of my ears by that moment. My body started to shake and I grinded my teeth as I glared at her. I was just about to open my mouth to snap back a retort, but before I could, she interupted.

"But, if you're gonna be upset about it, then I guess we could share."

Like a deflated balloon, I felt the air rush out of me and my temper gradually lessen. How was it that this girl could make me go through such a wave of feelings within the span of a few moments? It was probably just these stupid meds I'm on and if I could only have a little alcohol maybe that would better my mood.

Just a little taste is all I needed, but I can't get that until I'm out so I just have to behave and keep up this sober act.

The girl moved aside on the couch for me and, with a sigh, I sat down. A long silence followed. She sat as still as a statue, hands in her lap, eyes staring across the room, and long black hair poking out of a loose bun.

What a sight she was, even in the uniform grey sweats. This girl looked like she had just stepped out of a magazine and into real life. What a breath of fresh air this was compared to the whack job girls that were locked up in here.

But the thing about this girl was, even though she was nice to look at, there seemed to be some disturbing story behind that pretty face. A story she was determined to keep hiddened and masked behind harsh stares and an emotion jerking voice.

She must've felt my gaze on her, because she suddenly turned those pale green eyes on me once more. However, this time, instead of a guarded glare, her eyes had a more pure curiosity to them.

"May I help you?" she asked simply with a raise of her eyebrows.

"I, well, I was just wondering, what's you name?"

The girl hesitated before answering, "Noelle. Noelle Caprice."

"Gerard Way." I replied back with a smile, but it was met with a confused and searching expression like I had just insulted her.

I didn't do anything! So why was she scrutinizing me so? What was with this girl...?

_____________________________________________________________

Noelle's POV

Was this actually happening?

I just told this guy who I was and he acted like I was just some normal girl. This isn't something I'm used to. Usually when I tell someone my name, if they didn't recognize me first, they freak out.

Screaming. Autographs. Flashing disposable cameras. Praise.

It was unnerving whenever I came across a crazed fan - which was half the reason I kept away from the outside. The other reason was my puppet master.

But here was this Gerard, who I just told who I was, and he doesn't even care. To him, Noelle Caprice is just a name. He has no knowledge of the Barbie doll that comes attached to it or of what the doll has done.

To him, I'm average. Normal.

That's such a strange thought. I've never been known as just normal. My whole life I've been "extraordinary", "special", and all the other names Luanne used to lead her daughter in the direction she wanted her to go in.

An exposed feeling came over me once I came to this realization. This puppet, always dying to be broken free from the strings of fame, overbearingness, and pain, has no idea how to act now that those strings are nonexistant. I always wanted freedom, and here I have a taste of it, but am clueless as what to do. I want to show what my true personality is, but it seems I have no identity outside of my plastic doll exterior.

"Uhhh...are you okay?"

I blinked a couple of times until the fuzziness left my vision and I was left staring blankly into the eyes of Gerard.

"Y-yeah. I, just, spaced out for a second there...I guess." I mumbled, my cheeks burning lightly.

How could I be so stupid? This was normal human-to-human talk. Small talk. Nothing too out of the ordinary. So why was it so hard to form words or string together a single thought? My entire mind just went blank and I found myself wanting someone to tell me what to do. Anyone. How was I supposed to act?

"So, what are you in here for? Depression? Suicide attempt? Drinking? Addiction?" Gerard continued, staring at me with a pleading expression as if he was begging me to make this talk work.

"Just...I....well...." I felt like my tongue was too big for my mouth and my mind was empty.

Should I really tell him what happened? Could I trust him? Could I trust anyone in this place?