How MCR saved my life (7 part story) COMPLETED

Part One

A/N:

This work is completely fictional. I do not own MCR, The Used or anything associated with them.

Pure fiction. I created the plot and some characters. (This story is also on my blogger account)

IMPORTANT: ..... just to let you know there is quite a fair bit of swearing during various parts of this story, also horror themes? well, not quite pleasnt themes at times, so read at your own discretion. :)

Speical KUDOS goes to @maeganryan for making the awesome book cover! I really appreciate the hours that were put into it.... thank youuu ! XD

Thanks blahblahblah lol, annnd... now, the story:

My name is Myca. I’m just your typical average teenager. I’m thin, brown eyes, black hair with blue highlights. My life depends upon my music, the songs I listen to, the chords that are played and the bands that play the melodies.

My Chemical Romance is my favourite band. They saved my life, you know. You see, there was this one time something terrible happened. When I say that MCR saved my life, it may surprise you that they literally did. Gerard, Mikey, Ray and Frank. They all helped save me from something that still scares me to this day when I think back to how it all began.

I was eighteen at the time...

“Myca... hurry up and come downstairs, dinner is ready!”

I slowly trudged down the stairs, breathing in a pleasant waft of my mother’s cooking. Yeah, I’m eighteen and I still live at home, big deal. I could smell kebabs and mash potato – yum! I loved my mothers cooking, although telling her how much I loved it was not on my list of top ten things to do in life. You see, my mother and I rarely got along. And as much as I craved eating her meals every night, I couldn’t find any respect for my mother at all. I’ll explain all that soon.

As I trudged down the stairs, glaring at my younger sister and her new boyfriend who were both hooking up on the lounge, I spotted a letter sitting on the table. Now, normally letters aren’t a good thing in this house. Letters usually mean one thing, bills, bills and more bills. But this letter was addressed to me... Myca Evans, 73 Queens Street, Boaville.  The thing that stuck out the most about the letter was a small symbol that held the envelope together. Three small letters were written underneath the symbol: MCR. 

Excitement flooded over my body and I hastily opened the letter, shaking from the suspense. I tried not to rip the piece of paper enclosed as I scanned over the document.

“You have won two backstage passes to the My Chemical Romance concert in Berrydale,”

That was all it took. My eyes had gone wide and before I knew what I was doing, I was racing upstairs, searching for my mobile, ignoring my mum’s angry screams from the kitchen.

“Dinner’s getting COLD!”

Oh, mum, shut up. This is way more important, I thought, as I dialled my best friend’s number.

“Holly! Oh my God! Holly, we won! Can you believe it? We won the fucking tickets! Backstage passes to My Chemical Romance!”

I think Holly almost passed out, because there was a dead silence on the other end of the phone for a good few seconds. Then, suddenly, I found myself pulling the phone away from my ear, as Holly screamed loudly through the phone.

“Your sister is going to be so jealous!” Holly exclaimed.

“Nope, Julie has no idea, not like she’d care either. She doesn’t like good music anymore. She’s with TRENT, hooking up in the lounge room AS USUAL... and you know how sick it makes me to see her bringing home a new guy every few weeks!” 

There was a quiet pause, and then we both started screaming again. “Oh my god! Myca, you really won the tickets? I’m gonna kill you if you’re lying,”

“Nope. I won them. I’ll take a picture of the letter and post it to Facebook,” quickly, I grabbed my phone, took a quick shot and shortly after it was being uploaded to my Facebook.

Holly sounded like she was choking when she logged on to see the picture, the proof of our fabulous prize. “Holly, there’s only a few days before the show. They’re doing three shows here this week and we’ve won tickets to the final show. We need to organise what we’re going to wear. We need to organise our hair, make up...” 

Holly told me she wanted to wear her black skinny jeans and her MCR shirt, with red and black fish net stockings on her arms. I knew I was definitely wearing my MCR shirt, but instead of black skinnies, I was thinking of blue, to match my hair, then to top it all off, straighten my hair, blacken my eyes and add a cute little black ribbon in my hair. Who says being eighteen is too old for wearing ribbons?

The phone call with Holly had begun with screams, and also ended with screams. This time, my mothers screams, as she stomped up the stairs and yanked my bedroom door open. “Mum- I’m just on my way down-“ I said, but she came at me with an angry glint in her eyes. She peered over at the bed, where I had carefully put my letter down. “I see you got your letter,” she said, her eyes boring into mine.

“Yes, I did mum. Obviously...”  Jeez, she really knows how to make people uncomfortable. “Well, I’m sure it’s a surprise,” Mum replied, as she placed her hands on her hips. “Yeah, as soon as I saw the emblem, I knew I’d won...” I said, as I eyed my mum off uneasily. Mum is one of the most unpredictable people I’ve ever met. I’ve lived with her all my life, and still, I make sure I’m careful not to get on her bad side.

“Myca... look around your room. LOOK AROUND IT,” Mum’s face suddenly turned angry. I stared around at my room, it certaintly wasn’t messy, my posters were evenly spread out, my cd’s were neatly stacked on my desk. My clothes were all hanging up and my make up sat on my dressing table. “What’s wrong with it?” I asked in utter confusion.

“All this! All this BLACK. Posters! Music! CLOTHES. Tell me, do you think the boys will want to date you with those blue streaks in your hair? You’re a freak, Myca. I wish I never had you! Look what you’ve done to this room! The walls used to be white, and now they’re covered in posters of filthy looking homosexual men who lure young girls into commiting suicide! Grow up Myca! Your sister doesn’t need all of this shit in her room to get a boyfriend. Trent is a lovely guy, and Hayley is very lucky to have him around ton ight. But you! YOU? Get out of my sight! You’re not staying here in this house any longer. If you want to go to that concert... you’d better find yourself a NEW PLACE TO LIVE!” 

Mum stomped out of the room and I fell onto my bed, tears silently running down my face. How could she? HOW COULD SHE SAY THAT? I had a sudden urge to run after her and give her a piece of my mind, but then I remembered what had happened the last time I had done anything like that. The minute Dad had gotten home from the pub, he’d heard Mum screaming about me in the kitchen; in his drunken stupor, he’d tramped up the stairs and smashed my bedroom mirror with his fist. Then I’d be told to stay in my room unless I wanted to be hurt too. I had started crying, so he’d stepped back into the room and pushed me into my dressing table. I still have the scar on my hand from slicing myself against the broken shards from the mirror.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had shoved the letter into my backback, grabbed my phone, charger, wallet and anything else I could find, including a jumper and stuffed everything into my bag. Then I was hurling my things down the stairs, past the kitchen and out the front door. Dad was just walking up the drive way and he lunged at me, pulling me by the shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going, Myca,” he grunted.

“Away from you, you worthless piece of shit,” I replied, as I shoved him away from me and bolted down the street. “You little bitch! You’ll pay for that,” Dad shouted as he chased after me. Suddenly, I felt a hard blow to the back of my head and I fell to the floor. There was a smashing of glass and suddenly a car pulled up next to me. I was hurled inside the veichle and the last thing I remember is a flash of my angry father chasing after me and a broken beer bottle smashed on the road.