Burn Bright

Chapter 1

   Hey, I'm Gerard Way, singer of My Chemical Romance. I'm currently on tour with the rest of my band members, Frank Iero, rhythm guitar and screams, Mikey Way, bassist, Ray Toro, lead guitarist and backing vocals, James Dewees, percussionist, and Mike Pedicone, touring drummer.
   Frank and I used to fool around on stage to bother the homophobes but that stopped after we both got married, he had a set of twin girls and then another boy, and I have a daughter as well, and people took it all a little too far. He's covered in tattoos, stands at 5 feet, 5 inches tall, five years younger than me, and decided to go vegan after finding out he's lactose intolerant and how they treat the animals before they're killed, and adores dogs so much that he owns close to ten.
   Mikey is my younger brother by four and a half years and the main reason I'm still alive and making music today. Sometimes he doesn't agree with how amazing and creative he is, but I'm constantly telling him how much I adore him. Me and him went through a lot together a few years back when I was addicted to cocaine and we were both alcoholics, even tried to kill ourselves together. The only reason we're both better is because he checked himself into a rehab after making sure I got into one, myself.
   Ray and I have been friends since high school and he's the single most caring person I've met, and I've met a lot of people. He's only a few months younger than me but definitely acts older, which is okay because I don't like acting like an adult.
   James came in when we got Frank, they were always in bands together and still do side bands when we're not on a big tour together. Not many people notice him because he's never really on camera or in interviews, and he's okay with that, that's his decision.
   Mike only shows up for tours, as we don't have an official drummer. The first one we had didn't get along with Ray so we had to kick him and have Frank fill in on drums, he's pretty good, and the second one, Bob, was kicked because he stole our equipment to sell for drug money, harassed Mikey after he cheated on his fiancee at the time, and was just a super big jerk.
   Right now, we're getting ready to go on stage in Portland, the opening act is nearly finished. Finally, it's our turn to get on stage and everything goes smoothly, Frank and I get a little handsy, Mikey gets on the mic for a little commentary. Everyone's having fun, getting crazy, some a little too crazy.
   "Hey, Gee, there's a kid over on my side of the stage, kinda looks like he's getting worn out," Frank goes to the back of the stage by the drums to talk into the dead mic, a microphone that you can only hear if you have the in-ear monitors.
   "All the kids look worn out, what's your point?" Mikey goes back now.
   "No, he looks really worn out."
   I glance over to the kids on Frank's side of the stage, looking over them before I spot the kid, and he looks half dead. Next, Ray and Mikey come over and look, then Ray goes to his side and Mikey goes to be by the drums.
   "I'm just gonna keep an eye on him and watch to see if he falls," Frank goes back to his position.
   We make it through to where there's only a third of the time left when the kid disappears. "Frank, the kid is gone," Ray and Frank had switched sides for a moment, and in the switch, the kid left.
   "Maybe he left the pit to go sit with his parents."
   I scan the grass behind the pit and there's no sign of the kid.
   "Wait, stop, stop, stop," I say into my real mic. The music kills and I move over to stand in front of where the kid used to be, "alright, this what we're gonna do, everyone's gonna carefully step four feet back so we can get a couple guys down there to retrieve a fallen kid." The other kids comply and step back and we watch as a couple bodyguards climb in and pull the kid out. They carefully carry the kid to the dressing room in the back and the guys stay down there to tend to the kid until the show is over. As soon as the set is done, we race down there to see a few on set medicals tending to the kid. He's awake, sort of, and they're getting him to sip water and covered him in ice packs.
   "Do you know your own name?" Mikey has to ask a few times before the kid responds, nodding and weakly saying his name, Drake, "okay, do you know your birthday?"
   He sips a bit more water and nods, "April 16, 2001," only 15.
   "Do you know what happened?"
   "There was this girl who kept shoving her elbow into my neck and so I couldn't breathe, she was doing it on purpose I'm sure, and I couldn't get to my inhaler that was in my bag on my back because of how crowded everything was ." He stopped for a sip of water every few seconds.
   "Where's your bag now?" We look around the couch that he's laying on and one of the guys goes to retrieve it.
   "Probably strewn amongst the ground, everything's probably stolen. I only had my inhaler and an old jacket and some water bottles. Might've been a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, can't remember."
   "People are so foul sometimes," Frank was changing from his sweaty clothes in the bathroom, the door cracked open so he could hear. Mikey gives Drake his phone to try and call his parents. No answer
   "Do you know how to get to your house?" Mikey chewed his lip.
   He shook his head, "we've been living in and out of hotel rooms, I doubt anyone is still there if they didn't answer the phone."
   "Better safe than sorry to get you home, I guess," he shrugged and looked back at us.
   "I guess," he sighed and slowly sat up, clearly dreading going back, alarms are going off in my head. We all rush to get dressed and security escorts us to the hotel that Drake was staying in. When we get there, his key card gets declined and when we go to the front desk to go get a new one, the receptionist says the parents checked out an hour ago but left Drake's bag at the front desk for him. He takes it and slowly follows us out before walking off in the opposite direction.
   "Drake, where are you going?" Frank watches him walk away.
   He slowly stops and turns on his heel to face us, "to find a cheap motel for the night, thanks for helping me earlier."
   "No, no, get back here, we're technically responsible for you now."
   He noticeably grimaces, "don't worry about me, please."
   "If I have to, I will chase you down and drag you back to this van." Frank snaps his fingers and points to the ground in front of him.
   "Frank, take it easy," Mikey nudges him. Drake sighs and slowly walks back, head hanging as he climbs in the back of the van, mumbling about how we're wasting our time and energy on him. The ride back to the tour bus is quick and quiet. When we show Drake the bunk he'll be staying in while we figure out what to do, he silently crawls in and curls in a ball under the blanket he retrieved from the hotel. We leave him to relax while we discuss what to do with him outside, where he can't hear us.
   "I say we take him to a foster home," Ray is the first to speak, and you can see it hurts him to say that.
   "You think a kid like him is gonna survive long in a foster home?" James usually doesn't get angry, but this is an exception, I guess.
    "I say we keep him," it's what we're all thinking, but we also know that idea won't work out like we think it will.
   "Frank, that's not gonna work and you know it," Mikey smacks him on the back of the head.
   Frank sighs, "can't we at least try it out? Just for the rest of tour?"
   "There's three months left of the tour."
   "I say we try it, he's got nowhere else, we don't have time to deal with legal papers to put him in foster care, we gotta do it," nobody dares to argue with me about kids. They just sigh and go back inside, doing our usual things like watching a movie, playing video games, I draw in my comic books sometimes, but we also make sure to check on Drake.