Disclaimer: This is mine. ÊEvery little thing about it is something that if you steal, I will hunt you down. ÊThe characters are real, but the plot, events that take place to the characters, and basically anything that happens in this story are all products of my imagination. ÊDon't even think about using any part of this story as a guideline for your own. ÊNaturally I don't have any affiliation with the amazingly talented The Used or My Chemical Romance, although I wish I did.

He looks up from his place on the floor, sprawled out, half-conscious, barely recognizing his four best friends standing around him. ÊThey're four angels come from someplace else, somewhere better than where he's secretly been for the past few months. ÊThe secret's out now, the price has to be paid. ÊHe doesn't want to. ÊHe can't. ÊGetting up from his position on the floor, he slips over some of the paraphernalia that he doesn't have the heart to look at in the presence of his close friends. ÊHe doesn't want to look at them, to look at the fear mingled with shame in their eyes. ÊHe can almost see their eyes darting from his dazed face to the things that are scattered around the floor and tries to push the thought out of his exhausted mind. ÊEverything swims before him as he rights himself, stumbles over to his bed and, grabbing his suitcase, pushes his way through to the front of the bus, kicking open the door and slipping down the steps, the back of his right ankle banging painfully into the metal stair. ÊHe feels nothing. ÊHe is hollow, he is detached.

ÑDon't leave, he hears Mikey beg. ÊPlease, you can't leave me. ÊYou can't leave us. ÊWe want to see you get better, you can get help, you can Ñ

ÑIt's over, he replies, staring up at his younger brother, green eyes dark with the emptiness he feels inside.

The darkness swallows him up, black coat mingling with black night, and he can hear Mikey's frantic screams as he walks off towards the highway. Ê Footsteps follow for awhile until he hears a thud; his brother has collapsed from exhaustion; he can hear his asthmatic wheezing and the sound of three pairs of feet running in the dirt, picking Mikey up, moving him farther away from his older brother, back to the bus. ÊHe's never heard something so heartbreaking as those screams in all of his life, and instead of walking back, instead of acquiescing to his brother and his friend's requests, he looks up at the night sky, deeply breathing in the night air and releasing the last bit of feeling towards anyone he'll ever feel again.

Gerard wakes up.

It is dark inside the apartment and he turns on a light in the living room, a light in the bare kitchen, yet one more in his bedroom. ÊHe's aware of the dancing light, how it plays on the panes of glass, on the different colored walls. ÊEvery time he sees this he can't help but feel entranced.

He goes over to his computer.

Turning it on, he opens up a new file and starts typing away, long white fingers moving so fast that anyone else would be unable to discern those fingers from a white blur or something else that is unnatural.

Day 31
I still can't get over the heightened perception of sight and of sound. Ê Everything is as if the hue has been increased, the saturation of everything dripping with life. ÊAnd oh, the sound! ÊI can't get over it. ÊI'd sing for hours if it wouldn't arouse suspicion. ÊIf I was in the possession of my guitar I'd strum it, relishing in its sound, in its liveliness. ÊI still must keep quiet, however; I still must make sure that no one suspects anything. ÊIf they do it could have grave consequences. ÊMy life Ñ

His fingers pause on the keyboard, right forefinger pressing the backspace button. ÊThe beginning of that sentence is so glaringly inaccurate that it disturbs him.

Other's lives could be in danger if anything is found out, if anyone suspects. ÊI cannot dwell on this now, however. ÊI am hungry and cannot wait one more minute to dull this appetite.

Until then.

He is well aware of his heightened intelligence, of his ease in writing something as nonsensical as a journal entry and trying to turn it into a form of prose. ÊIt's from the books that he's read in the past thirty-one days; some he had read before, others he had not. ÊThe ease in which he can read, can absorb everything on a page in a few seconds still astounds him. Ê Everything's different; how he walks, how he talks, how he carries himself. Ê It's all new and it's not the person that everyone knew thirty-one days before now.

Turning off the computer he walks over to the door, grabbing the key from the coat hook and locking it securely as he leaves, dropping the key into his pocket as he walks quietly down the hallway and down the flight of carpeted stairs, not making a sound. ÊHe emerges from the apartment complex onto a deserted street and turns to the right, making his way up the block and towards the main part of town. ÊHere there's more people, but still more dark corners to hide behind, to find the perfect, unwitting person.

He finds one.

Gerard's victim is a bit taller than himself, with medium-length black hair that frames a perfect face. ÊHis body is lean yet lanky Ñ his clothes cling to him and Gerard feels almost drawn to this nameless human. ÊAs his victim passes him he slinks into the shadows. ÊA lull in the traffic and people around him make it quite easy for him to sneak up behind his victim, this perfect creature, and drag him to the narrow alley where a fire escape hangs between two buildings.

His victim barely lets out a yelp before Gerard tangles his fingers into the man's hair, pushing him down to his knees and staring at him for an instant, smiling at him as he comes closer, falling to his knees and finally pulling his head back in a grotesque fashion. ÊHis body aches as he stares at the exposed flesh, pallid and glistening with sweat. ÊGerard opens his mouth wide, his tongue gently brushing the victim's neck, the touch making him shudder violently. ÊPulling back his lips he exposes his teeth, sharp and white, the two canines meeting the skin first and then, as the man starts to squirm under Gerard's grip he swiftly sinks his fangs into his neck, drawing blood into his mouth hungrily. ÊHis eyes seem to gleam in the lamplight, the green color they were just moments before now a miraculous white, eyebrows knitted together in concentration as he drinks, closing his eyes with the rush he gets. ÊThe blood, warm and silky, flows past his lips, down his throat, filling his entire being with a sensation that is unparalleled. Ê When he has had his fill he pushes the man backwards, slamming his back into the pavement; he's moaning, holding his neck, and then swiftly drifts into unconsciousness as Gerard gets up and gives him a swift kick to the head.

Emerging from the shadows he shoves his hands in his pockets, walking along the boulevard, the lights from the various stores entrancing him one by one. ÊÊAs he walks he recalls what happened thirty-one days before after he had ran away from his four best friends. ÊThe thought barely causes him any pain anymore and he continues walking on and on until the slightest color forms in the sky and he's forced back home again to sleep the day away in a sleep only mirrored by those who are actually dead.