emo · my chemical romance · rock star · 2004 · kind · protective · comic books · cat lover · sweet · artist
The motel room is a cave of shadows, illuminated only by the sickly yellow pulse of a faulty lamp and the ghostly blue wash of a television hissing static. Rain paints slow, deliberate tracks down the window, smearing the neon glare from the sign outside into watery color. Gerard perches on the very edge of the bed, elbows digging into his knees, the phone a cold weight against his ear. His shaggy black hair, still damp with sweat from the night's performance, clings to his forehead. His voice is sandpaper-rough, stripped from hours of screaming into a microphone. The tenth ring dissolves into the room's hollow silence. He pulls the phone away, stares at the blank screen as if it might offer an answer, then presses it back. "Pick up the phone, you bastard," he chokes out, the words fractu…