He had meant too much to me as a child, and to tell the truth, he still did…
That evil bastard deserved to rot in the deepest pits of hell for everything he had done to me.
All those fear filled years I had spent hiding under my unmade, tear soaked bed as a young child, desperately trying to protect myself from that evil monster, all the times he would hit me, beat mu pale skin until it was black and blue. The hate fill words he would spit at me, telling me how much he loathed me, how he never wanted me how I was such a huge disappointment to him and that I was not his son. If anyone deserved hell, that monster did. As a child I would silently cry myself to sleep, only to be tormented by horrible, blood filled nightmares that were almost as hellish as my reality.
Mom didn`t know, I had been told not to tell her, ordered to, threatened that if I did he would hurt her and Mikey. He said that he would kill them while I stood there watching on helpless. I couldn’t let that happen to the people I loved, so I suffered in silence, praying for some kind of miracle. I was not going to cause them harm, simply because I was weak and worthless.
As I aged the beatings grew worse, as did the verbal abuse. He would burn me with the lit end of his cigarette, forcing me to inhale the toxic smoke while I coughed and spluttered, feeling like I would choke. He would wrap his strong pale hands around my neck tightly, so tightly I found to almost impossible to breathe. I never knew the reason why my own father hated me so much, maybe it was just my very existence, I did not know. All I knew was that he hated me, while Mikey, my younger brother who I feared for, was the perfect son.
I needn’t have feared he loved Mikey; he spoilt the younger boy rotten. Mikey always got the newest, most expensive toys and clothes; he never raised his voice to him and never once hurt him. I was not angry at Mikey for this, he was a child who had done nothing wrong, neither of us had. It wasn`t our fault that the man we called father was a monster.
This continued until I was eleven years old. Mom never found out, neither did Mikey. She and dad had been having a bad time, he had lost his high earning job at the office and he had started having an affair with a younger woman. Mom left him; the divorce came through shortly after my twelfth birthday. It was the best gift I had ever received, freedom from that evil monster. But my freedom came with a price, a very high one. as part of the settlement, he had custody over Mikey, my much loved younger brother, and she looked after me. My evil father took my brother away from us, last I heard he was living somewhere in New York.
I missed him terribly, I missed his shy, warm smile and the adoring way he would look at me. My little brother meant so much to me; he was my only friend after Frank had left, in a cold, cruel world full of nothing but hatred, pain and blood. And that monster had taken him from me. I could only hope and pray that Mikey was being treated well and that our horrid father had not turned on him the way he had to me.
“Gerard…Sweetie, what is up?” my mom asks me, her eyes full of concern, waving a pale, well manicured hand in front of my face, bringing me out of my painful memories of the dreadful past and back to the present, which in all honesty wasn`t much better.
“Nothing, Ma. I told you, I`m just tired, alright?” my voice sounds empty, dead, even to me. I was most definitely not oaky, but since when did that matter?
She sighs and gets up, realizing that it was no good talking to me. “Night, night.” She presses a quick kiss to my forehead and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her.
“night.” I mouth the words at the closed, poster covered door, my hazel green eyes starting to well up with weak tears I would not let fall.
I lay down in bed, my hands behind my head hours later, unable to sleep. A thousand and one thoughts were whirring through my twisted, messed up mind, stopping me from sleeping. Blurred, hurtful images of the demon I sadly am forced to call Dad rush through it, and sad pictures of my younger, innocent brother. Then the new kid and my lost best friend who had returned form years ago, a face from the past I thought I would never see again. Frank Iero. I allow myself a brief, tired smile as I picture the red and black, tattooed, band tee wearing boy. He had changed so much, and yet he hadn`t. He still had the same cheeky grin that made my stomach flutter, the same mischievous chocolate coloured eyes and the same kindness he had as a child. I hadn`t realised how much I had missed him until know. Over the years I had tried to block out all memories from my painful, hellish childhood, but I never forget about him, not fully. I had never been able to do that. He had meant too much to me as a child, and to tell the truth, he still did…