Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Now Press Repeat
Disclaimer: This is totally fiction, nothing in this story actually happened (as far as I know) and I do not own My Chemical Romance in any shape or form, only the character I have made up myself.
Frank's POV.
I could feel the blood making it's way down my face, but I knew he wasn't going to stop.
He punched me again. This time in the chest.
Ouch, that really fucking hurt.
"Dad, please.." The pleading would be futile, because it only makes him angrier.
"Shut up you faggot! You have the nerve to come to me and complain that you're clothes
are too small? I don't give a shit! As long as you live in my house, you wear what I tell
you to wear!" His face was bright red now, fucking bastard. His beady, black eyes bore into mine
as he graced me with his saliva.
"O..ok dad, sorry." I muttered.
"You will be." and he kicked me in the balls. I doubled over in pain almost immediatley.
"Oh, and Frankie-boy? We're moving back to Jersey tomorrow. Pack your shit. We're coming home."
He sneered in my direction and made his way out of my bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Back to Jersey? Back to the motherfuckers who basically tortured me
at school for 3 years? Back to him?
He hurt me in so many ways, and the worst part? He doesn't even give a shit.
I knew there was no way out of this, as I would most likely die if I try to run away or refuse going, might as well face it. It's been almost 2 years since then, so he probably won't remember me anymore. Or he'd probably gotten expelled by now. Hopefully.
I got a feeble plain black suitcase from my small closet and began packing. Ever since mom died when I was 13, dad became a raging alcoholic and didn't let me have anything. All my posessions are either from 4 years ago or presents from distant family members. 15 CDs, my old schoolbag, 4 DVDs, some band t-shirts, a couple of pairs of black skinny jeans and three slightly worn out hoodies. Looking back now, I remember my childhood being filled with love and adoration, now only to be replaced with hate and heartbreak.
I left my suitcase outside my bedroom door, closed the door and began undressing for yet another night of pointless slumber.
I stood infront of my cracked mirror in nothing but my 'birthday suit'.
No wonder he only pretended to love me for a fucking dare. Who would love a freak like me?
Pale, skinny body. Vomit coloured eyes (if you happened to puke out peas and chocolate). I'm too fucking short for my age. And I seriously need to wash my hair. It's hanging off my head like scraggly, black, shoulder-length ...shit. Not like anyone's gonna care, so why bother? I climbed into my cramped bed and let sleep overtake my mind, body and soul.
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After a rude awakening from my father at 3am in the form of a full bucket of water, the bags were packed in the car and we started our 3 hour drive back to Newark, New Jersey. My faithfull iPod kept me company during the gruelling trip, blasting Green Day and The Misfits for a good amount of time. At least my father was quiet for a change. Didn't last. He turned his head to me and cleared his throat.
"Now I know that you know that I don't care very much about you. You should know well. But some bad shit happened at that school to you, and unfortunately you're still my son. So if anything like that happens again let me know. I'll try to sort it out." He smiled awkardly in my direction and faced the road once more.
I was in complete shock. I think my face showed it. My eyes were slightly bugging out of my skull
and my mouth was agape.
I recovered though, and smiled a little. "Thanks dad." It's the first somewhat nice thing he did for me in the last 3 years.
We remained in silence for the rest of the drive. I was so engrossed by the 'Die Die My Darling' playing on my iPod, that at first I didn't register that we had parked. Or where we had parked for that matter. This has to be some kind of crule joke, hasn't it? We were parked next door to his house. Fuck.
"Dad, please tell me this is some kind of joke. We're not moving here, right? That's his house! The one fucking next door!" I was seething. The evil smirk adorning his cruel face let me know that he was aware of our neighbours.
"Really? Frank, I had absolutely no idea!" He chuckled darkly to himself, got his suitcase and entered the house. Leaving me on the porch at the beginning of yet another fucking nightmare.
Frank's POV.
I could feel the blood making it's way down my face, but I knew he wasn't going to stop.
He punched me again. This time in the chest.
Ouch, that really fucking hurt.
"Dad, please.." The pleading would be futile, because it only makes him angrier.
"Shut up you faggot! You have the nerve to come to me and complain that you're clothes
are too small? I don't give a shit! As long as you live in my house, you wear what I tell
you to wear!" His face was bright red now, fucking bastard. His beady, black eyes bore into mine
as he graced me with his saliva.
"O..ok dad, sorry." I muttered.
"You will be." and he kicked me in the balls. I doubled over in pain almost immediatley.
"Oh, and Frankie-boy? We're moving back to Jersey tomorrow. Pack your shit. We're coming home."
He sneered in my direction and made his way out of my bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Back to Jersey? Back to the motherfuckers who basically tortured me
at school for 3 years? Back to him?
He hurt me in so many ways, and the worst part? He doesn't even give a shit.
I knew there was no way out of this, as I would most likely die if I try to run away or refuse going, might as well face it. It's been almost 2 years since then, so he probably won't remember me anymore. Or he'd probably gotten expelled by now. Hopefully.
I got a feeble plain black suitcase from my small closet and began packing. Ever since mom died when I was 13, dad became a raging alcoholic and didn't let me have anything. All my posessions are either from 4 years ago or presents from distant family members. 15 CDs, my old schoolbag, 4 DVDs, some band t-shirts, a couple of pairs of black skinny jeans and three slightly worn out hoodies. Looking back now, I remember my childhood being filled with love and adoration, now only to be replaced with hate and heartbreak.
I left my suitcase outside my bedroom door, closed the door and began undressing for yet another night of pointless slumber.
I stood infront of my cracked mirror in nothing but my 'birthday suit'.
No wonder he only pretended to love me for a fucking dare. Who would love a freak like me?
Pale, skinny body. Vomit coloured eyes (if you happened to puke out peas and chocolate). I'm too fucking short for my age. And I seriously need to wash my hair. It's hanging off my head like scraggly, black, shoulder-length ...shit. Not like anyone's gonna care, so why bother? I climbed into my cramped bed and let sleep overtake my mind, body and soul.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After a rude awakening from my father at 3am in the form of a full bucket of water, the bags were packed in the car and we started our 3 hour drive back to Newark, New Jersey. My faithfull iPod kept me company during the gruelling trip, blasting Green Day and The Misfits for a good amount of time. At least my father was quiet for a change. Didn't last. He turned his head to me and cleared his throat.
"Now I know that you know that I don't care very much about you. You should know well. But some bad shit happened at that school to you, and unfortunately you're still my son. So if anything like that happens again let me know. I'll try to sort it out." He smiled awkardly in my direction and faced the road once more.
I was in complete shock. I think my face showed it. My eyes were slightly bugging out of my skull
and my mouth was agape.
I recovered though, and smiled a little. "Thanks dad." It's the first somewhat nice thing he did for me in the last 3 years.
We remained in silence for the rest of the drive. I was so engrossed by the 'Die Die My Darling' playing on my iPod, that at first I didn't register that we had parked. Or where we had parked for that matter. This has to be some kind of crule joke, hasn't it? We were parked next door to his house. Fuck.
"Dad, please tell me this is some kind of joke. We're not moving here, right? That's his house! The one fucking next door!" I was seething. The evil smirk adorning his cruel face let me know that he was aware of our neighbours.
"Really? Frank, I had absolutely no idea!" He chuckled darkly to himself, got his suitcase and entered the house. Leaving me on the porch at the beginning of yet another fucking nightmare.
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