You're Not Alone (Andy Biersack Love Story) [REVISED]

I was walking through school feeling rejected as usual, getting shoved every few seconds by preps or jocks. I never fit in with the rest of the student body. With my long, glossy, black hair, blue eyes lined thickly with black eyeliner, worn black converse, and the Black Veil Brides bracelet that never parted from my wrist, everyone thought I was some psychotic satanist. But they didn't know what went on at home, maybe then they would've treated me differently. Then again, maybe not.

I entered my first period class silently as "The Way She Feels" blasted through my cheap headphones.I sat down in my seat at the back of the classroom, trying not to be noticed.

"Hey emo freak, how 'bout you go cut your wrists!" Maclamore Jameson called.

Maclamore was one of the only people that I never expected to hear that from. He was the cute "emo" boy of the school, hell, he even used to cut before he became popular. But I suppose that popularity changes the way someone feels about themselves.

I didn't respond as I put my head down on my desk and let silent tears form minuscule puddles by my eyes. Why couldn't they just leave me alone?

The next thing I knew, a wad of paper hit my head. I sighed as I opened the note and read:

Hey slut, go kill yourself! No one likes you! I bet even your parents hate you! You are a stupid, emo, lesbo!

I grabbed my books, leaving the classroom with the teacher calling after me. I didn't care. I didn't want to give everyone the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I hated crying in front of people. I had showing weakness, because if I did, then that meant the bullies won. That I lost.

The note was almost completely true. No one liked me, at least no one that I knew about. My parents hated me. They would yell at me telling me that I was stupid, worthless, and that I was going to hell. I was nothing but an added expense to them. Great parents right? Even the lesbian statement was somewhat true. I did find girls attractive, but I also liked boys. I didn't care about what appendages someone had. All I cared about was that someone, somewhere could love me. That was all I wanted.

I took my belongings out of my locker and ran home, which may not have been the best idea, because the Avon skies were crying with me. Ohio weather always seemed to be crying, like me.

At least no one can tell that you're crying, Melanie, I thought to myself.

My parents were at work, they were always at work. Sometimes I felt like their jobs were their children. At least they cared about those. It benefited me today though, because I was finally fed up with this town. I needed out.

I climbed up the chipped wooden steps to my bedroom, absorbing its appearance for the last time.I hated my bedroom for the most part. The walls were a baby blue colour that I picked out in second grade, and the furniture didn't match. The only part of my room that I enjoyed were the posters of BVB, SWS, PTV, MCR, and ATL that adorned my walls. I had pulled all of the posters out of Alternative Press magazines.

I packed my good clothes, makeup, laptop, money, iPod, and I was ready to leave the place that had kept me trapped for almost 18 years.

I was nearly out of my room when I remembered my most important possessions. My Black Veil Brides ticket was on my nightstand, my favourite razor next to it. I grabbed them both and stuck them in my front pocket.

I took the keys out of the back pocket of my black skinny jeans. I unlocked the door to my beat-up red truck and shoved my suitcase in the seat next to me. I started driving, to where I wasn't sure.

I thought it was too quiet in the truck so I put in a Black Veil Brides CD and turned the volume up so loud that I couldn't hear myself think. Silence bred my worst thoughts, and the last thing I needed today was more drama. I just needed to stay composed, and I was up until "Saviour" came on.

Tears started forming once again. I couldn't stop the tears from flowing down my face. This song was the reason that I was still breathing, why I didn't kill myself four months ago.

I pulled into a parking lot and played the song on repeat. I curled up in the front seat and just let myself cry. Who knows how long I cried, but by the time I was done, I was pretty sure that there was no water left in my body.

I looked at the clock on my dashboard. The red numbers flashed: 4:00.

I sighed as I got out of my truck and locked it. I checked my front pocket to see if I had my ticket. I felt it, but then my fingers grazed up against another object. This other object, however, was cold. It was my razor.

I looked around and didn't see anyone yet. Most kids were probably just getting out of school, so hopefully I would be alone for at least a few more minutes. I just needed a few minutes to find my relief. It was a stressful day and I needed it.

I took out my razor and sat down on the concrete pavement with my back against the wall of The Agora. I sliced away at my wrists, leaving behind red ribbons of blood that ventured onto the ground. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I mutilated myself. I knew I shouldn't be doing this, but I couldn't stop myself. I was addicted. Addicted to the pain. Addicted to the blood. Addicted to the proof that I was alive.

"Holy shit! Are you okay?" a deep voice shouted from roughly ten feet away.

I looked up, startled and my eyes absorbed the tall, skinny, blue-eyed man with long, wild, black hair, covered head-to-toe in war paint, running towards me. It took me only a second or two to realize who it was. I was looking at none other than fucking Andy Biersack.

Notes