My Harlequin Romance (MCR Fan Fiction)

Chapter Three

"Move, freak," a preppy girl with flat blond hair said, pushing me away from the salad bar. I was nearly knocked to the floor. Instead of causing a scene, which was my first instinct, I stood aside and let her grab what she wanted with her perfect little hands. As I waited for her to move, I heard the snob mutter something to one of her posse that was pretty much attached to her, "You would think the Dyke would have enough sense to stop staring at my ass right now." The lackey laughed loudly, then followed the snob away. I stood there for a minute, feeling struck.

Dyke.

That one word. Four freaking letters.

It's like a sickness in high school. Once said, the word becomes an illness and it sticks to you like a flashy bumper sticker for all to see. Suddenly, nobody wants to talk to you, and you're the girl with no friends all because somebody said that damn word.

I look across the cafeteria. At this point, it doesn't matter. I'm not a Lesbian. Not even a little bit, I promise, but that hasn't stopped my entire class from becoming convinced of otherwise.

At first, my eyes lock onto the scrawny black haired boy. "Not him," I think, my forehead creasing, "He hates you, Lola." I bite my lip and begin walking to an empty table. There is NO use in trying to find someone to fit in with. They'll always hurt you. I slid into an empty table, my eyes focusing on the center. Maybe I didn't take my medicine today. I wouldn't be so jittery and nervous.

Around me, my peers run recklessly to their tables. I try to ignore them. It's the only thing I can do. I've been here two months, and, I haven't interacted with a fraction of these people. It's okay though. I'm used to not having any friends, and when I get them, I drive them off. Perhaps it's my habit of scrutinizing everything and freaking out over minor details, like the changing of the portraits.

I reached into my bag and pulled the worn drawing pad from it's resting place, followed by a sharp pencil. For a long time after I moved here, I couldn't even draw. I'd spent weeks, when I wasn't at school, staring at the four walls of my bedroom. It wasn't until about a week ago when I thought, "I need to go back. I have got to get out of this damn room."

After a minute, I looked across the lunchroom, and my eyes stopped on Gerard. I see the side of his face. He ran his hand through his long, black, oily hair, and looked around, just as I was. Gerard scanned across the lunchroom, his eyes never stopping, until they reached me. It was a funny moment really. Two dark and depressed people making eye contact across the lunchroom in a very awkward way. I kept his eye contact for a minute, but Gerard quickly looked away, and went back to eating his salad. A few seconds later, Gerard looked up again. He frustratedly abandoned his salad and stood up. Moments later he sat down right in front of me. I didn't know what to do, so I stayed silent.

"You're alone?" He asked quietly, trying to catch my gaze.

I smirked slightly, and looked up, straight into Gerard's eyes. "And you're surprised?"

"I got the impression that you are surrounded by friends yesterday," Gerard replied, "Nobody is that confident and alone." I took in his words. They were so accurate and true. I worried that someone would see us together and the bullying would duplicate. I didn't reply for a minute, and folded my arms. "I heard those girls in line," he said, leaning closer, "It's the exact same for me too. Expect they don't call me dyke, because I'm a guy, and they usually hurt me physically. I know you need someone."

I scoffed loudly. Perhaps, I really just wanted to scare him away. I rubbed my scars under the table. For some reason, that makes me feel safe and secure. "I don't need anyone," I replied, sitting up slightly. "It's easy to just be keeping an eye on myself."