Church Camp🌲Frerard

🌲one🌲

Gerard's POV
"Mom, don't make me go." I pleaded, watching my mom trying to zip up my suitcase.

"Honey, this will be good for you! You are going to have so much fun!" She said, still struggling with the zipper. I groaned.

"Mom, I'm 15. 15-year-olds don't go to fucking Church Camp." I stated. Mom sighed, stopping in her pursuit of zipping up the suitcase.

"Gerard, there are tons of kids your age at this camp. It's a camp for kids 13 to 18. Trust me, you'll have fun, honey." She grinned, assuring me that there was no way out of this. She tugged at the zipper to my bag, finally zipping it up and pulling it out of my room, and finally throwing it in the trunk of our car. She got in the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition.

"Come on Sweetheart! Time to Leave!" She sang. I grabbed my earbuds and a phone charger. I shoved the charger in my pocket and but the earbuds in my ears. I walked to the car and sat in the passengers seat. I hit play on my phone and blink 182 came on. I tapped my foot lightly on the floor to the beat of the song. It didn't last long though, as my mom grabbed my earbuds, yanking them and my phone out of my grasp, putting them in her purse. "No music! This camp has a very strict policy on electronics!" She smiled. I knew she did this on purpose.

"Thank you so much, Mom. First, you make me go to Church Camp, then you make sure I can't use my phone." I grumbled, crossing my arms and putting my head on the windowsill, falling asleep.

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"Wake up, Gerard!" Mom squealed, practically jumping out of the car. I rubbed my eyes and stretched, trying to figure out where we were. I pushed the car door open, stepping on to the gravel and hearing it crunch under my black Converse. I look up, and I see a banner tied between two trees that read "Welcome To Westbrook Church Camp!" I rolled my eyes and walked to the back of the car, where mom had already pulled my suitcase out of the trunk. She wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me tightly.

"Honey, you are going to have so much fun! I'm going to miss you!" She smiled.

"Why didn't Mikey have to go, Mom? I'm not going to have any friends." I snapped. She sighed and stroked my greasy black hair.

"Mikey's only twelve. He can't come to camp yet. If he was old enough, I would have sent him, honey. Don't worry sweetheart, everyone is going to love you. And hey, if you don't like it here, you won't have to come back next year." She gave a weak smile. She dropped her hands and closed the trunk. "Now sweetie, take your bag and go over to the desk- they'll tell you where you are sleeping. I have to go- Mikey's home alone. Bye, sweetheart! Love you!" Mom said, walking to the driver's seat and opening the dirty car door, slamming it shut and driving away. I grabbed the handle of my heavy black suitcase and rolled it over the gravel path down to the small table sitting in the middle of the path. At the table sat a man with shoulder-length curly hair and a mustache.

"Hi, I'm Chris. Chris Cornell. I'm one of the directors of this camp. What's your name, kid?" He said.

"I'm Gerard. Gerard Way." I said, somewhat mocking him. He looked through a pile of papers until he found my name.

"Okay Gerard, you are going to be staying in dorm 45, it's down the hill to the left." He said, handing me a small piece of paper with the number 45 on it. He waved me away, and I dragged my suitcase down the road, finally reaching dorm 45. I pulled open the rotting wood door to reveal a short, black-haired boy unpacking his red, beat-up suitcase. He turns to look at me, glares, then looks away.

"Hi, asshole," I said, smirking. He looked up again.

"Hey, douchebag, who the hell are you?" He snapped. I put up my hands jokingly.

"I'm Gerard, and this is my bunk. Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm Frank, and this is my bunk, too." He said simply and began unpacking again, ignoring me.
"Okay, Mr. Social." I laughed, dragging my suitcase to the other bed. I pulled out my black bedsheets and messily made my bed. I looked over at Frank and, holy shit, he had the coolest fucking bedsheets ever. They were white with fake blood splattered on them.

"Holy shit, dude. You fucking emo." I poked his arm. He whipped his head around.

"You like them?" He asked. I smiled.

"Hell yeah, dude. Those are cool as hell." His face went red.

"I made them myself. Took forever. The blood kept washing out." He said.

"Well, they're pretty fucking dope," I replied, throwing my pillow on the wrinkled black comforter.

"Anyway, why'd you come to Church Camp? You don't look Christian." I asked, sitting in my bed.

"Oh, um, I had to come. My mom forced me to. I'm gay." He said awkwardly. My eyes went wide.

"Really? Me too. That's not why I'm here, though- my mom thought a "connection with God" would make me stop drinking." I sighed. He sat next to me.

"You have any with you? Today's been shitty already and it's not even noon." He asked. I fake gasped.

"Me? Possess Alcohol? Never!" I said, pulling a flask out of my bag, handing it to him. He smiled and took a drink of the bitter vodka in the metal container.

"Nice to meet you, Gee-rard."

"You too, Frankie."
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welp, here's a partially edited version. i started this when i had jus turned 13 yikes. so ya b boutta edit ze fucc outta this story 1!1!!!!!1!11!! xoxo, mick