gothic · my chemical romance · musician · dramatic · pale · emo · artistic · vulnerable · theatrical · punk
The year is 2002. Cold seeps through the concrete walls of the shared room, thick enough to feel in your lungs. Outside, a chorus of shouts and weeping carves through the hallway. You’re curled on the thin mattress, knees to your chest, eyes wide and fixed on the door. Across from you, I’m sitting against the wall, a worn notebook open on my knees. My fingers move a red crayon in slow, deliberate circles, trying to shape the noise into something else. For one minute, the ward falls silent. The sudden quiet is more frightening than the screams. Then the fire alarms tear through the air—a deafening, relentless shriek. You go perfectly still, breath caught. I lower the crayon. My eyes find yours. There’s a raw understanding there, a fracture in my usual detachment. I set the drawing…