Frank finds himself in the intense care unit.
Chapter 2 – Always Spiked With Pain
“Mom, watch what I can do!” I shouted, yanking at my mother's loose white sleeve.
Her weary brown eyes moved from the bright computer screen to my eager face. My mom was the most prettiest lady ever, in my opinion. As a careless six year-old, I really didn't see the dark circles formed under her eyes, resulted from her lack of sleep, or the worry wrinkles that had formed on her forehead at a very early age. I didn't really care anyway. She was my mom; all I knew was that she needed to watch me, praise me, love me. And she knew it too, so she stretched her pink lips into a radiant smile, gasping in fake awe as I showed her I had learned to walk on my hands. It was, by far, the greatest accomplishment of my young life. As I dismounted onto my feet, my mom clapped her hands.
“Oh Frankie, you're getting so strong!” she sized me up, “That's wonderful. Come here.”
I toddled towards her and fell into a warm hug. She ruffled my hair, kissing my forehead and told me she had to get back to work now. I grinned, satisfied, before prancing off to some other activity. A few seconds later, I returned to my mom's side with a box of Kraft Mac N' Cheese. Her eyes were once again glued to the computer screen, analyzing Excel spreadsheets for work. Her face was concentrated, hard at work. Did I care? Nah.
“Mommy, can you make me this?”
“Not right now, sweetie,” her focus remained on her work.
“But I'm hungry!”
“There's some pizza on the kitchen counter, eat that.”
“But I want mac n' cheese,” I whined. “Pizza's gross.”
“You said pizza's your favorite this afternoon,” she tried to reason with me.
“I want macaroni!” I obnoxiously screeched at full volume. Why was my mom being so mean?
“Frank, I have to finish my work. Eat a snack and I'll make you macaroni once I'm done, okay?”
This deal would not suit my needs, “I want it now!”
My mother's voice became firm, “Well you're not gonna get it now, so be patient.”
“No!” I screamed, “I hate you! I hate you!” I beat my fists against her side, “You never do anything I want! You're always working!”
Her jaw was clamped shut, her lips pursed in a tight, thin line. She finally looked at my flushing red face. I saw rage in her eyes and whimpered, clutching my box of macaroni. I could tell when my mommy was angry.
“I do everything I can for you, Frank Anthony Iero,” she said in a quiet, cold tone, “If I didn't work, you wouldn't have half the things you have now. You're turning into a spoiled brat. Go to your room right now, young man. You're grounded!”
I couldn't believe my paper-thin ears. How unfair! I just wanted to eat my dinner, but my mom was too selfish to cook! I was fuming mad.
“I hate you!” I yelled again, but instead of running to my room, I bolted to the front door and out.
The box of macaroni and cheese had been thrown at the wall and it ricocheted off, to the floor.
My legs were short, but efficient in times of need. They carried me—lord knows how far—despite the salty teardrops that blurred my vision. I wasn't aware of where I was going and it didn't matter; my only goal was to be far, far away from my evil mother. I would never stop running away from her, I hated her. When I actually came to a stop, it was because I had slammed straight into somebody. With a small yelp, I fell backwards onto my butt, onto the tarred road. I cried harder now that I had scraped my hands.
“Hey, watch where you're going, kid,” a voice jeered.
I sniffed and moaned until I finally stopped crying. Looking up, I could see a very tall boy staring down at me with his steely green eyes. I had no real sense of age at this point, but for all I knew, he could've been twelve whole years old. He seemed like a skyscraper from where I was sitting. His hair was black, and long, really long for a guy and blond at the top. A toothpick hung from the corner of his mouth. My mouth opened in awe; I had never seen such a cool looking kid ever before. Another boy stood behind him, peering curiously. They were so tall.
“S-s-s...” I tried to apologize to them, but only incoherent stammers came out.
“Shut up,” the boy said and flicked his toothpick away. He must have caught the fear in my eyes because he suddenly smiled, a sweet smile. I felt much better; maybe he wanted to be friends with me. “You need help, man?” he held out a hand.
I gratefully took it, attempting to lift my weight up. However, in the last moment, he somehow lost his grip and I fell back down onto the rough ground. He threw back his head a laughed really hard and the sound made me want to cry again. But maybe he was just kidding around. Friends did that.
“Aw come on, Ash, he's just a little kid,” the boy behind spoke for the first time, putting his hand on the first boy—Ash's shoulder.
Shrugging the hand off, Ash turned around, growling, “And you're a pussy. So shut up.”
I didn't get why Ash calling him a cat made him look so insulted, but he didn't say anything after that. It seemed to me that the boy didn't want to hang out with me, because I was just a little kid, but Ash had stood up for me. It made me really happy and I almost smiled, but was still a bit scared to do so. Ash's attention was now back on me. A grin was on his face.
“Are you a fag?”he asked me.
The word was not in my limited vocabulary. But, Ash was smiling, so it had to be something good, right? So, I nodded furiously.
He laughed again, elbowing his friend in the ribs, “Looks like you got company, huh?” His friend glared, but Ash was speaking already, “I hate fags.”
My eyes widened. Oh no. He hated me. And I didn't even know what a 'fag' was. I brought my knees to my chest and hugged them as he bent down to my eye-level. What was he going to do?
“But I'm not gonna kill you yet, cause you're too small,” he patted my head, comfortingly. Again, I figured that he was just kidding around. “So, fag, are you pissed off?”
I frowned, once again, confused at his highly advanced sense of words.
Ash sighed “Means are you mad?”
I suddenly remembered that yeah! I was! “Yeah!”
“Good, it's good to be mad,” he flashed his teeth, “You know what you do to people who make you mad?
I shook my head with pure innocence.
His words were rough, “You spit in their face.” He reared up saliva and spit on the ground, dangerously close to me, “And then...you say to 'em, 'Fuck you'.”
He said the words with such confidence and such power, that I really wanted. I bet his mommy did whatever he wanted. The eyes looking up at Ash were no longer fearful, they were admiring.
“You got it?” he questioned.
I nodded and smiled. He was really cool and really nice to me, so I courageously asked him, “Do you wanna play with me at the park sometime.
The smile on his face got my little hopes up pretty high, “With a fag like you? Well...let me see,.”
There was a silence during which he looked thoughtful. Suddenly, he reared up saliva and this time, it landed right on my cheek. I felt it, wet and bubbly.
“Fuck you, faggot!” he snickered loudly and mockingly, “Never!”
I felt a warm spot between my legs as he left me there, crying into my hands in the middle of the road. I sobbed and I sobbed but the tears just kept rolling down my face. Never, ever had anyone been that mean to me. I couldn't believe it. I thought Ash wanted to be my friend! But why...why would he? He was far older than me, far cooler. And I was a scrawny little boy who had no sense of the complicated words he used. Of course he didn't want to be friends. I knew that now, but it only made me weep harder.
“Oh my God, Frank!” a female voice cried. I recognized it as my mother's. “Thank goodness, I thought I'd lost you!”
She swooped my up into her arms and pulled me close against her chest. I sobbed even more and for a few seconds, I was comforted. Soon, though, I realized that I was mad at my mother. Pissed off. I pushed back from her shoulder so that I could see her face. She was smiling. But she had been so mean to me before. I knew what I had to do.
My small foam of spit hit her chin, dripping, and her face turned bright red, shocked. I pounded at her until she let me down.
“Fuck you!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, feeling empowered at the new phrase rolling off my tongue.
After that, I ran.
I think I made my mom cry.
When I regained consciousness of the present-day world, I was on a bed. Sweat dripped down my neck and forehead; I could even feel wet beads on my upper lip. As I tried to wipe it off, I discovered that my arms and legs were strapped down. Shit. How did I end up in the intense care ward? This was certainly a deterrence on my mental progress...I probably just earned myself a few more years here. What had happened?
The only thing I could remember clearly was the memory I had just rewitnessed. I wanted to forget it. So bad. Never again did I want to relive being such a horrible, cruel, selfish child. At such a young age, too! I know I only got worse later on, but I definitely didn't want to remember that. No wonder my mom left me... my mom.
The incident in Doctor Barker's office slowly came back to me. The lady whom he had called Doctor Nestor stepped into the scene in my mind. I recalled her face and once again, my breathing grew rapid. It was so familiar, achingly familiar. Wispy, blonde hair, framing a long, thin face. Small, sad, brown eyes surrounded by thick eyelashes. Plump lips, always colored with pink lipstick. An average figure, but on the short side. Her name wasn't Doctor Nestor, it was Linda Iero. Heartbeat racing, my eyes watered. Why the fuck was she pretending to be my new therapist? Why didn't she just come as my mother and get me out of this hellhole? Her love was the only medication I needed. Fuck, I had never realized how much I wanted her to come back until now. Screw all my musings about how the world had no love, I just wanted my mom! Oh god, how could I ever have been such a bastard-child? I had driven her away, it was my fault.
By now, I was bawling so hard that I barely noticed a hand on my shoulder.
“Frank,” a voice said. I didn't care enough to look in the direction from where it was coming. “This is Nurse Kelsey. It's time for you to take your medication.”
I turned my head a bit, but still didn't look at her. I had intended to say something, but I only coughed out tears and more tears.
Nurse Kelsey squeezed my shoulder, “Aw hon, don't cry so much. What's wrong? I thought you've been getting better.”
I sputtered and choked before I managed to console myself a bit. Shit, I hoped this wasn't the hot nurse. My teenage horniness made me laugh a little. The human brain...even in the most desperate of times, its first priority was mating. My vision had cleared enough for me to see Nurse Kelsey clearly. It wasn't the hot one.
“Well, it's good to see a smile on your face,” she cooed.
She was an older woman, with friendly, blue eyes. She gave me a reassuring pat on the head before scuttling over to her medicine cart. I was in bliss until my eyes fell on the door on the far side of my room. It was pretty far, but come on...I recognized her, even in a labcoat.
“Mom...”I whispered. She was staring right at me, so I spoke louder, “Mom! Come over here! It's me! Frankie!” I struggled, trying to thrash around, “Mom!”
The nurse was trying to calm me down, but had already called, “Call in the doctor, stat! Bring the Diazepam!”
“No, she's my mom!” I shouted, twisting and turning, trying to loosen the straps. It wasn't too long until I felt a needle being stuck up my arm.
“No! Fuck!” what was supposed to be a scream came out as more of a whimper.
Drowsiness had slammed into me, quicker than I expected. Damn sedatives. Before it completely took over, I was able to see a white coat slip out the back door.
A/N: So, was that good? Rate/Review. But what I really wanted to do was propose a game. Okay, so all my chapter titles are lyrics from a song, the name of a song, or maybe an album or something. The game is to identify what it is and who the artist is and if it's a lyric, what song it is from. The person who guesses it right first gets a point! If no one guesses it, no one gets a point. And at the end of the story, or wherever I decide to stop writing it, the person with the most points gets a prize. This prize being...uh, a story, written by me, JUST FOR YOU. Like, you can give me the plot and whatever else, and I'll write an awesome story for you. I'll decide to keep this game if I get adequate response.
PLEASE DON'T GOOGLE! This makes it totally unfair...I'm sure some of you still will, though, haha. BUT PLEASE DON'T!
So, this one should be pretty easy. "Always spiked with pain..."