Frank Iero is sick of leading his crappy life and plans on making some major changes.
Hopefully this chapter is a bit more light hearted after the last two
depressing ones...well the beginning atleast.
The bright, colorful spot lights are shinning down on me, causing a thin layer of sleek sweat to form on my tattooed skin. The amplifier to my right is vibrating uncontrollably, filling the enormous arena with the sweet melodies and raw solos coming from my white Epiphone Les Paul. I'm jumping and head banging while I pace back and forth on the huge stage like a mad man, causing the unbelievably huge venue filled with adoring fans to go wild. Before I know it, I’m lying down on the stage, back slightly arched, spilling my heart and soul into the strums leaving my hand and coming to life on my guitar. The crowd erupts in a chant, all the fans screaming my name. "Frank! Frank! Frank!" The beautiful sound starts to fade and as I look into the crowd I spot a bitter old lady in her late fifties, starring at me with a grimace planted on her face. She's screaming along with the crowd but when my name leaves her lips, it's in a completely different context than when the fans yell it. Scary thing is, she reminds me a lot of my old hag of a Science teacher. The stage lights dim at that realization and I'm thrown into a black abyss. All I can hear now is my name continuing to be chanted by that creepy woman in the front row.
A loud eruption of laughter explodes throughout the room and I jolt up in my seat, surveying my surroundings, completely confused as to where I am. Once I make eye contact with the fuming woman in front of me, ruler tightly gripped in hand, dangerously close to my left cheek, I come crashing back to reality. Right, I'm sitting in my sixth period science class, not on a stage, bathing in the bliss of performing for a giant arena filled with devoted fans.
"Frank Anthony Iero, this is the last time you fall asleep during my lecture! Principal’s office. NOW."
I get up and gather my things nonchalantly, not really caring that I got thrown out, just relieved to be out of that retched class. As I walk past Mrs.Loften on my way to the door, I hear her utter something that sounds a lot like "Inconsiderate Homo" under her breath. Ah, the joys of going to catholic school. While all the priests are preaching love and kindness, the administration is judging me and calling me names for being who I am.
They come up with all this crap that says it's a sin to be gay. That God didn't create humans to fall in love with the same sex. But what the fuck do they know? Obviously if I've been attracted to guys since I was nine years old, this is who God intended me to be. And I plan on embracing that fully.
The next hour passes by in a blur. One long, monotonous speech made by my homophobic principal later, I am on my way home. I take my iPod out of the pocket of my skinny jeans and plug them into my ears, almost moaning in pleasure once I hear the opening chords to my favorite Misfits song. My walk home is surprisingly peaceful. I usually encounter some of the stuck up, holier-than-thou assholes from my school and am harassed with insults aimed at both my sexuality and the music I listen to. You could sit here and call me a fag all day if it makes you happy but the second someone takes a dig at the Smashing Pumpkins or any other band I adore, I go apeshit.
My peaceful half hour walk comes to an end as I carefully put my iPod back into my pocket and begin to unlock the front door.
"Oh Frankie, is that you? Come in here, you little shit."
My jaw clenches the minute I hear that mocking voice, dripping with sarcasm. Fuck, I didn't think he'd be home this early. I start to back away from the door, ready to make a run for it, when it is abruptly swung open. A tall, over weight man dressed in a stained white tank top, face heavily coated in stubble, starts to make his way towards me. This man, as much as it pains me to admit, is my father. Actually I take that back, calling someone your father implies that you show a certain amount of adoration and respect towards the person, which I most definitely do not. Nope, he's not my father, he's simply a man whom impregnated my mother at an early age.
The thought of my mother brings tears to my hazel, honey-brown eyes that resemble hers so greatly. When she passed away five years ago, I was left in the custody of my only remaining relative, my fath- him. Now, at the age of seventeen, I'm counting down the days until I'm eighteen and can legally move away from this bastard permanently. He comes even closer towards my face, so close that I can smell the alcohol on his breath, indicating that he's already drunk. I sneak a quick peek at the watch on my wrist and see that it's 2:30 p.m. Wow, that's a new record for him.
"I got a call from your principal today fucker, I had to leave work early and miss an important meeting."
He grabs me by the collar of my white, button up, uniform shirt and throws me into the house, shutting the door behind him.
"And now, you're gonna pay."
I snort at his comment, knowing that he hasn't had a steady job in months. He was probably out fucking some hooker and got interrupted.
"Something funny?" he says before punching my hard in the stomach, making me drop to the floor of our living room.
The beating gets much worse instantly. I'm receiving hard kicks and blows every where he can reach on my body in the matter of seconds, leaving deep purple bruises behind that I know will take weeks to heal.
"Stupid faggot, maybe I should beat you straight. Obviously your slut of a mother didn't raise you right."
Usually I'd just stay there on the floor, giving in to the torture I know is unavoidable and will be over sooner if I let him have his way, but that insult aimed towards my mother sends me over the edge. Gathering strength and courage I didn't even know I had, I bolt up off the floor, ignoring the stinging pain that shoots through my body.
"What did you say?"
The rage in my voice seems out of place, catching the bastard off guard, but he retorts with a drunken response nonetheless.
"You heard me. Your mother was nothing but a whore, a quick fuck. She deserved every bruise and scar I left on her disgusting body."
With that, Frank thrusts his fist towards his father’s face, enveloping all the pint up anger and hatred that had accumulated for the man in front of him over the years into it. His fist collides with bone and an audible crack fills Frank's ears.
"AHHH!! What the fu-"
But he can't finish his sentence as Frank finally loses it. He's punching and kicking at the poor excuse of a man laid out on the floor in front of him with all his might. His vision momentarily rests on the wooden table next to the front door, where a large wine bottle rests. Frank grins widely, before grabbing the bottle and smashing it against his father's head, glass shattering into a million pieces on the floor. To Frank's pleasure, he notes a large amount of blood pooling around the man's head, both from his broken nose and the shards of glass sticking out of his skull.
"That was for my mom, you piece of shit."
Frank spits on the battered body on the floor before quickly making his way upstairs towards his room. He opens up his closet and begins to pack his belongings into a duffle bag. After a few minutes he has all he needs and he reaches into the drawer next to his bed. He takes out the drawer completely, flipping it over to find what he's looking for taped underneath it. It's a one way plane ticket to anywhere in the world. Frank had purchased it two years before, knowing it would one day come in handy. And today was that day.
He grabs the duffle bag off his bed and makes his way back downstairs. He steps over the man laid out on the floor who is now groaning and trying to get up, and leaves the house. After walking a few blocks, he reaches a bus stop and sits down on a bench, waiting for it's arrival. All that's swimming through Frank's brain at the moment is how much he despises his father and what a relief it will be once he's hundreds, maybe thousands, of miles away from him. But then, the dream he had during Science class that was rudely interrupted by Mrs.Loften floats into his thoughts and he relaxes a little, leaning back into the wooden bench he's sitting on.
Frank has always been one to dream big. Even as a little kid, he'd parade around the house in his mother's leather jacket, singing his heart out to whatever song was playing on the radio, and using a broom as his "guitar". All the while, Frank's mother would follow him around, cheering him on and taking pictures she knew Frank would look back on when he was older and be completely embarrassed by.
"Frankie, you've been jumping around for almost two hours now, aren't you sleepy yet? It's passed your bed time, honey."
"Nuh uh! I've gotta start practicing for when I'm older mommy."
"What do you mean, sweetie?"
"I'm gonna be famous! Then you could come to all my shows and watch me play! It's gonna be also!"
"Baby, I think you mean 'awesome'." She said, giggling at her son that she adores more than anything in the world.
"Well even rockstars need sleep, so come on. Let me go tuck you in."
"Aw, okay fine. Goodnight mom, I love you."
"I love you too, Frankie.
Eleven years later and Frank still wants to travel the world, meet new people, and go after his dreams. None of that will ever be possible however, if he continues to lead the crappy life he's been living. Sure, it may be hard to live on my own at first, but I'll make it work. All I know, is that I'm not wasting one more day of my young life living with that bastard I unfortunately share DNA with.
Frank hadn't even noticed he'd been day dreaming until a loud horn snapped him back into reality. He quickly boarded the bus that would lead him to the airport, ready to say good-bye to New Jersey once and for all.
I know, I know, no frerard yet. But I promise that'll change next chapter ;)
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