Category Linkin Park

Imperfect by Grey Daze

They're all perfect but me...

This was just an idea I got the other day, and had to write down. I don't know where this will go or how long it'll be, but I'd appreciate some feedback.


I was thinking how imperfect I was.

I was partying at a friend's house. I heard my friend's voice in my ear, telling me to down the shot in one. It was a 2 oz shot, of pure Smirnoff. I was just thinking how crazy he was- I was already drunk!- when he tipped the shotglass back and the fiery liquid gushed down my throat.

I choked, and a glass of iced tea was thrust into my right hand. I took a quick drink of it, washing away the taste of the vodka. My head felt fuzzy, and my body felt almost disconnected as I held out the empty shotglass. It was taken from my hand and I found the nearest seat, collapsing into it. People were cheering...they admired the way I had 'taken the shot so well.' I had almost gotten thrice distilled vodka in my lung....how was that well?

A man stumbled over, giggling, a full drink in one hand and a girl in the other. He smiled goofily at me.

"What?" I mumbled. The shot had been too much, and I was still on the edge of feeling sick. My head was swimming and I had a peculiar burning sensation in my eyes. It felt like a hundred fucking degrees in the room. Would someone turn the damned thermostat down?

"You're...you're that guy! From that band! The singer dude." The man slurred, his voice sounding hollow and grating. I willed him to shut up, but the words didn't come.

"Yeah." I choked out instead. "From Linkin Park."

"We l-l- loooove your mu-sic." The woman was even worse off than the man.

I tried to frame a decent response, but instead closed my eyes and put my head back, falling into a state that was only halfway conscious.

"B-but...I, I wanted h...your auto...autograph." The woman managed to say.

"Dude...he's like, wasted. You- you can wait." The man giggled, then they were gone.

And so was I.


He had found me that way. Slumped unconscious on a couch, a spilled cup of iced tea staining my shirt.

I woke up with my head pounding and my stomach churning horribly. Someone was carrying me...I was slung over their shoulder like a misbehaved child, my head upside-down and my arms hanging slack over the person's shoulders. I tried to speak, but all I could manage was a grunt.

The person carrying me stopped as they heard me and threw me down into the back of a van. I felt my vision swim with multicolored spots, then they cleared and I was looking up into Mike's eyes.

They shone with disapproval.

"Chester, what in the hell were you thinking!" he spat, his voice making my head hurt. It sounded louder than a jet engine.

"M-mike, I'm-"

I broke off and lunged forward, pushing him aside as a wave of vomit gushed out of my mouth.

There was a sigh from behind me, then he wrapped his arms around me and put me in the back of the van again. "Look at you, Ches, you're a complete wreck. Why did you do that to yourself?"

"I'm sorry." I muttered. I didn't feel as nasceous, and the ringing in my ears was fading. It didn't help the pounding in my head, but I was sure that would pass too.

"Just tell me what made you go out and get smashed."

"It was a party." I defended myself, focusing on the black carpeting of the touring van. The sun was so bright.

"I KNOW, but why drink? I thought you gave that up!"

"I didn't mean to..."

"How in the FUCK do you not mean to get drunk!" he yelled in my face. I flinched, pulling away from him as his warm breath blasted my face.

"He...he made me. I wasn't gonna do it."

"Whatever. Just...there's a band meeting in 15 minutes. We'll be late as it is." He closed the door and walked up front, getting into the driver's seat and starting the car up. "If you have to puke again, please tell me so I can stop. Try not to ruin the carpet."

I sighed in despair and laid down on the floor of the van, trying my best not to move.

We seemed to travel forever, the van bouncing over potholes and bumps. By the time we rolled to a halt, I felt worse than ever.

The door opened and Mike sat beside me. "I'm sorry I yelled, Chester. But...you know I was just worried. I don't like to see you sick like this."

I closed my eyes and groaned, feeling like I was just hit by a train. Thanks for reminding me how sick I am, Michael.

"Come on, Chaz, the rest of the band's waiting. They're worried sick about you."

If you say the word sick one more time, Shinoda, I will injure you.

He picked me up again, this time the right way, and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders as he carried me towards the studio.

"I'm sorry I got so angry at you." he muttered. "I love you, Ches. I don't like to see you drink. It does the worst to people."

"I'm sorry, Mikey." I whispered into his shoulder. "I won't do it again."

I knew, right in that instant, how much I was lying. How much I enjoyed the numb feeling alcohol gave me.

How much I had forgotten how great it felt to be buzzed.

And I would do it again. It was just a matter of time.


He brought me into the studio and threw me down on the couch. The whole band was instantly in my face, some of them concerned, some of them upset.

I shrank away from them and buried my head in a pillow, curling into the fetal position as I felt my stomach lurch in warning.

"Is he okay? What happened Mike?" Rob's muffled voice reached my ears as I heard him shift and turn to the emcee.

"He drank a bit too much last night at Martin's party. He'll be okay, he probably just has a hell of a hangover."

"Oh." I felt his hand rub my back gently. "Need anything, Chaz?"

I opened my mouth to say no, but before I could, his hand was thrust away and someone was grabbing me by the hair, pulling my head up painfully. I whimpered in pain as Brad's face came forward until our noses were almost touching and his poofy hair was brushing my forehead.

" What the FUCK were you thinking, Bennington!" his voice yelled in my face. "So this is your idea of a party? What if the fucking media caught on? Our REPUTATION is at stake here, asshole! Do you want us to be labeled as a group of no-good punk alcoholics?" HUH?!"

"HEY!" I heard Mike yell as he pulled the angry guitarist off me. I pulled away again, willing myself to vanish into the couch.

"Keep your hands OFF him, Delson!" I heard Mike snarl threateningly. "Leave...him....alone. Or I'll make sure you wished you were never born."

All the anger, yelling, and threatening was making me sick. I had caused all this. What the hell was I thinking?

Why couldn't I be perfect, like Mike or Rob? Such good, perfect people.

I stumbled off the couch and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind me. Then I slumped to the floor, my back resting against the counter. I felt a few stray tears stream down my face as a gentle knock sounded on the door.

"Chester? You alright?" This time it was Phoenix's soft voice that came through. It must have taken both Mike and Rob to hold Brad back from chasing me and causing series injury. I wished they'd let him.

I sighed, summoning up enough strength to call out a reply. "Yes."

"Don't listen to Brad. He's been like that all morning. I don't know what's making him so grouchy. Don't worry about it, everything's fine."

I heard his receding footsteps and sighed, wondering just what had been going through my head the night before.

Certainly not the consequences, or how things would be in the morning. No, it was all now-now-now. What can I do now and regret later?

I loved that way of thinking. It was how I felt best.

I didn't give a shit what Brad thought, or Mike, or Rob, or any of them. They were unimportant in the grand scheme of things, weren't they? Just another few people in a world of seven billion. And I was only one. So why couldn't I make the best of the rest of my life by doing whatever I wanted?

It was that exact way of thinking that would get me into the biggest of messes.

But I wasn't perfect. Not like them.


Rate and review, pretty please? Tell me what you think.

New update coming soon. The next chapter is a lot darker.

Also, in the next chap, Brad & Mike's twisted relationship.

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