To The End (Frerard, Rikey)

It's Illegal

Ray's POV

"I'm sorry for disappearing, Ray. I'm so glad that you looked after Emileigh," my mother says, reaching out to hug me.

"More than you did,'' I whispered, but she still heard me.

''Watch it mister! Shut up and be useful!" she snaps, instantly going cold.

"And how exactly do I do that?"

"Get out.''

I scoff before slamming the front door; hard.

I curse and mutter unpleasant things quietly as I storm through the pitch black streets. I hate life. Firstly, my mum and dad are splitting up, as well as disappearing and having total mental mood swings, and now my boyfriend isn't my boyfriend anymore because he hates me, Frank and Gerard.

What am I meant to do now?

I sigh as I realize I have no idea where I'm going.

"Oi, afro!"

I turn abruptly to face a dark alley, but it's just the regular creepy atmosphere with druggies and alcoholics and freaks. Oh look, there's Bob. Perfect description if you ask me.

''Hey, Bob. Where the fuck have you been? I haven't seen you since the Tour, before all the frigging drama started,'' I shout back, walking towards him and his friends.

Since when did Bob have friends?

"Oh I've just been hanging out with these guys. What do you mean 'drama'?" he says, turning to face me.

His friends look incredibly scary. One guy with giant muscles pulls out a cigarette and lights it, blowing a puff of smoke my way. What am I doing?

"You didn't hear the news?" I ask bluntly, because the Hospital disaster was in the media faster than a leopard with six legs.

"Err, no, I err, I wasn't around,'' he avoided my gaze.

What the fuck? That's weird....

"You smoke?" a burly guy asked, his head tired towards me.

I gulp and start to walk backwards as an escape.

"No I don't."

"You should, Ray,'' Bob smiles, reaching into his pocket.

''I'm not starting to smoke, Robert,'' I snap, ''And neither should you.''

"Why not?" he smirks, pulling out a pack of cigs.

"Well let's see; you're under age-it's illegal, it could kill you, your lungs could go deformed, you could easily die from the amount of drugs you consume, Bob,'' I snarl, picking up my pace.

''Just one smoke, Toro. I promise, you will feel more relaxed. It'll get rid of the drama,'' Bob tells me, running towards me.

I stop still, ready to consider his offer. What am I thinking?

"No more drama?"

''None,'' Bob confirms, holding out a cigarette.

My brain is yelling at my feet to get out of here. My brain is intelligently telling my body to run away, run home. But I don't, and this could ruin my life even more.

But I take it anyway. The drama will go away, I tell myself, coughing as I take my very first drag.

"Don't worry you'll get used to it.''

Do I want to?