Before Killing Was Cool ➊ FRERARD

3: Cigarettes And Falling Down A Rabbit Hole

C h a p t e r | T h r e e

In The Past

I always used to pick the worst times to visit the school toilets. This time, it was during my Tuesday lunch break.

There they are again, the persistent reminiscent scum of the Earth, my first bullies - the term suggests that I'm just another helpless, defenceless kid; a weak pushover. They're sitting on the edges of the sinks, clouds of cigarette smoke hanging heavy over them. I make my presence all too clear by coughing and waving my hand around to clear the air, having never experienced the smell so strongly before.

At this point, Mikey Way is still in middle school; he's yet to meet me, the one who will try to kill him.

"What's wrong, never smoked?" One of them hops down from his seat, waving his half-finished cigarette in my face. "These are the real ones, none of that menthol crap. And don't just look at me like like that, Iero - come closer."

I wipe the equally dumbfounded and disgusted expression off my face in a blink and hesitantly step closer. Usually, I'd make a smart comment and get the crap kicked out of me, or try to walk away to end up in tears at the things they'd spit at me from their tongues. But for some reason, I've always been compelled to at least try smoking - see if it's as revolting and dangerous as people say it is. What do I have to lose?

"I don't—" I start when I'm handed a fresh, unlit one.

"It's easy; just inhale." One of them rolls his eyes and lights it for me. They're being surprisingly civilised today in comparison to the usual, aside from the uncalled-for muffled snickering.

I do just that, quickly finding out why they were all hiding their smirks - there's more to it than simply breathing in. I did it too quickly. I double over in a fit of coughing, dropping the poisonous stick immediately and stomping it out on the tiled floor, one hand on my chest in attempts to keep my composure. They're all laughing.

"God. You'll figure it how to do it properly if that single brain cell in there is working." I'm being tapped harshly on the head and I wince.

"You like it, Iero?" He pushes. I say nothing but I'm shrugging. Minus the coughing, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. It tastes different to how it smells, kind of stale and papery. I just have to grasp the technique. "When you get your own, you're gonna get us some too, yeah?"

"Y-yeah," I echo. I won't be able to; I'm fifteen and have no older siblings, cousins or other connections to pass them on. My parents don't smoke so I can't steal from them either.

"'Y-yeah'," one of them mocks in a falsely high-pitched imitation of my voice much to the others' amusement, "learn to speak, dimwit." With one kick to the shin that causes me to squeak in surprise more than pain, they leave me in the bathroom.

I glare at the sorry-looking cigarette on the ground, still smoking slightly, and quickly rush after my bullies with bad thoughts in mind. I put a hand on one of their shoulders and they all turn around.

He slaps my hand away. "The hell are you—"

I sock him on the nose - he stumbles back and yells, falling onto some nearby lockers and pressing a hand to the injured site. His friends help him to stand upright until he shoves them away.

"You want your cigarettes?" I reveal the half-used one from the floor, still somewhat alight, and clutch onto the collar of the boy's shirt. "Stick it up yourself." I yank out the boy's arm and press the burning end to his flesh.

They're being pulled away from each other by horrified teachers. Screams bounce across the walls of the corridor, and there's a satisfied smile on my lips.