I don't know why I poured my heart out to Ghost King after the concert. I don't know why I didn't leave Nico alone in the bathrooms. I don't know why I get so jealous of Octavian when Nico 'talks' to him. I don't know why I nicked his sketchbook. But, man, I am so glad I did. I'm sitting in my little hideaway in the park, thumbing through the Italians drawings, to see a part of him that he hides away. I pass the sketches of me (There are quite a few), shaded drawings of roses and little cartoon zombies, Vampires and Werewolves. I trace a finger over a rose growing out of the eye of the Ghost King mask. Guess he like Hollywood Undead. I approach the back of the book and come across panels upon panels of this one character.
The Boy looks a lot like Nico and the pages detail his life. I pass through school where A trio of boys beat on him and to his home life. My eyes scan over an abusive father, malnourishment and shredded skin. I go to the last page where the boy is bent over a table... And the father is raping him. I go to the final two panels where the boy is swallowing pills, and at the very end, a grave stone. Here lies Nico DiAngelo. I stop there and push the book into my backpack. I run out to my car and the engine roars to life. I peel out of the parking lot and try to recall where he would turn off. I swerve onto Elysium Street and stop outside of 667. Hitting the breaks I bust the door open and sprint into each room.
I run up the stairs and come face to face with a black door, cracked open. I step lightly and nudge the door open. I see Nico curl into a ball on the floor and Swallow a scream. I quickly dial 999 and give them the address. I grab a shirt from his floor and wrap the lacerations, applying pressure. Shit, pills. I drag him to the bathroom and position him over the toilet. Shoving two of my fingers down his throat, I pray to every deity I know that this works. The raven haired boys gag reflex kicks in, emptying the contents of his stomach. After I've done the best I can I check how his pulse is. Faint and slow, fading with each beat. I lay him down on the floor and start pumping his chest.
"You can't fucking die. If you die I will fucking kill you. I can't let you die. You are not allowed to die DiAngelo!" I yell, finishing the first thirty count. I hold Nicos nose and tilt his head back. Slotting my mouth on his I blow air into his lungs five times. I start the next thirty count of pumping his heart. I listen as sirens speed towards to house and heavy steps rush up the stairs. "Bathroom!"I yell, when random doors start to open. A huge guy roughly shoves me out of the way and scoops Nicos frail body up. I stand on shaky legs and stumble down stairs. A kind lady starts talking, trying to get me to stop following them and I shake her off. Now that the adrenaline of holy shit, the dude I have somewhat gay feelings for tried to kill himself. Is gone, I feel empty and numb.
"Let me come." I mumble. The lady says something else but everything is muffled, like hearing through cotton. She shakes her head and the ambulance speeds away. I sway and sit on the couch, the lady following me. "It's my fault." I murmur. "If I wasn't such a tool, this never would have happened," I cry, burying my head in my hands. She rests her hand on my shoulder and I brush it off. "I'm sure you feel that way now, because of the shock, but You can't blame yourself." She says in a high pitched voice.
"You don't understand. This is all my fault. I beat on him. I verbally abused him. I never took a moment to see what was going on with him." I say, voice cracking. I look over at the lady who has waist length caramel hair, alabaster skin, and almond eyes. She tries to sit next to me and put her hand on me again. I grab her wrist and grip it as tight as I can with out breaking it. "Don't. Fucking. Touch. Me." I snarl, wiping my tears away. She nods and I let go of her.
"I'm a certified grief counselor. If you need me, here's my card." She says lowering her voice and biting her lip in an 'seductive' way. I read the name plastered at the top in bright pink. Calypso Tietan. I roll my eyes and look back at her. She pushes her breasts out and I restrain from gagging. "Yeah, I'll call you. When I lower my standards, to girls who try too hard and use grief to get fucked." I say, smiling sweetly. She huffs and stands up, only to sit on my lap, trying to give me a lap dance. I shove her off of me and wait for Nicos father to come home. I hear the door open and a drunken yell of "Get down here you Whore!" I stand up from the couch and match the mans face to the man from Nicos drawings.
YOU ARE READING
Nico DiAngelo. The emo gay outcast. No one likes him except the other outcasts. Often shoved into lockers, and has his stuff stolen. Ghost King. The lead vocalist in the popular band Hollywood Undead. Never takes his mask off, because how would his...