It wasn't like I begged you to, to do the things you want to do.
Frank Iero nipped anxiously at his bottom lip. He rose blood, which slowly streamed into his mouth in little, scarlet droplets. His scruffy ebony fringe was cast in front of his russet hazel eyes, hiding the pain and suffering that gnawed at the rims of his irises, as he shuffled from one foot to the other, staring at his feet.
The boy in front of him sniffed. "Well?" he snarled, fists clenching at his sides.
Frank recoiled further into his hoodie, watching as the towering male in front of him angrily flexed the muscles again.
"Elf!" barked the boy.
Frank felt a claw-like-hand grasp harshly at his throat and thrust him backwards into the wall, head brutally colliding to the brick. He felt the blood before he saw it; hot tracks of deep red making way down his neck.
The small 16-year-old-whimpered. "W-What do y-you want?!" he squeaked airily, voice hoarse, a mere whisper cracking from the back of his dry throat.
The tall boy laughed, his friends behind him hollering and cheering him on, as he squeezed Frank's throat even harder. "You sound pathetic!" he muttered sharply, spitting next to his squirming victim. He saw, with vast delight, tears building in the small boys eyes. "I said, what the fuck are you doing here, Elf?!"
Nails dug deep into Frank's neck and, resentfully, he let a tear fall from his eyeliner-adorned eyes where they had begun to brim right at the waterline.
Demetrius, the boy who had Frank pinned defenselessly against the wall of the alley, chuckled poinsonously. "You're pathetic," he spat. "You can't even fucking answer me without crying or stuttering." He gouged his nails deeper into Frank's milky neck with a smirk of self-satisfaction, pressing the small 16-year-old further into the coldness of the sharp brick wall. "I bet when you go home to your mummy tonight, you're going to slit your fucking wrists like no fucking tomorrow."
And, to Frank's horror, Demetrius shoved Frank further into the wall, increasing the steady flow of blood from the back of Frank's head. It felt like a river flowing from his hair, and dizziness started to overcome him, along with a sense of foreboding doom and shaky weakness.
Frank, with he increasing force and strength of Demetrius' grip, struggled to find oxygen. He was panting lowly under his breath and his face looked redder by the minute, turning an almost dangerous shade of burgundy. He was squirming uncontrollably, his lungs on fire, as Demetrius pressed his nails into one of Frank's veins and elicited a, somewhat, throaty gasp of pain.
Demetrius and his friends laughed, before the tall boy let go of Frank and watched as he collapsed to the floor in a misfitted heap.
"I told you," Demetrius growled, "to never come round here again."
He crouched down and met Frank's wide, terrified eyes with his own guilt-free, blue ones. His friends crowded around the two, all of them grinning sardonically, unethically, as Demetrius bored fear into Frank's very soul. It struck him - all the hate projected through one gaze - as impossible. I mean, how could one person hate another so much?
But then Frank reminded himself that it was, in fact, him, and everyone, including himself, hated him; resented him; loathed him.
"Yet here you are," Demetrius mumbled. "And why?"
Frank didn't know how to reply that he had just been beaten up and dragged here by Demetrius' other friends. So, instead, he kept quiet, averting his eyes from Demetrius' cold stare and waiting for the blows.
He could still feel blood running down the back of his neck and being absorbed by the soft, comforting fabric of his Misfits hoodie; the round neckline of his Iron Maiden teeshirt. The dizziness was still spinning erratically at the back of his head, as fast as his heart was beating, as he felt more and more fatigue overcome him.
"I-I'm sorry!" he squeaked. "I-I didn't mean to! I di-didn't want to b-"
He was cut of by a sharp, hard kick in the groin that had him groaning and moaning at the top of his lungs, making the group of boys laugh and snigger at him, pointing accusing, ridiculing fingers that had Frank embarrassed and angry. Why had no one come to help?
He asked himself that every time... But not once had someone come to help.
Knowing what was on it's way, Frank curled up in a ball to protect his vital organs and let the merciless punches and kicks unfold, sharp blows to his face, stomach and legs, as he whimpered and waiting for the torture to end.
Frank scowled at nothing in particular as he skulked down the street that night, rubbing the throbbing cut at the back of his head and occasionally feeling the raised, grazed skin on his neck from Demetrius' nails.
He was buried deep within his hoodie, hiding his thin, limping figure; a faded shadow of the once happy boy he was; a spindly silhouette of regrets and mistakes; an oddball made of self-loathing. It was dark and gloomy, only at 5:00 o'clock, and he had barely been able to stand up after Demetrius and he gang had left him be, throwing and jeering humiliating and soul-stinging comments behind them as they went.
The 16-year-old had watched their butch figures dissolve into nothing; into the blackness of the alleyway, and felt his shoulders slump.
He was infuriated, humiliated, angry, embarrassed, scared..
Yes. Still scared. Terrified.
That never left him, the sense of foreboding. The sadness. The distress. The perturbed, timid, frightened feeling. It always lingered, made itself known.
Frank stumbled up the front steps of his house, worn converse scuffing the speckled street, and angrily jammed his keys into the lock. He started swearing to himself as his soul started to inwardly shout and scream, fury hitting him full-force and the door swung open and he stumbled inside.
The hallway was a mess of magazines and flowers and shoes, despite his Mother being a complete clean-freak. She was a warm, neurotic women, sometimes a bit too close for comfort, but she meant well. Frank loved her, really, he guessed. Of course he did, he had to. She was his mother. But sometimes she was just too fucking nosy and worried. It pissed him off!
Stil glaring behind the security of his fringe, which now hid a ghastly black eye, Frank slammed the front door and stomped into the kitchen, not caring about his mother who met him with a cheery hello as she sat at their dark pink fabric sofa.
"Frank?" she called after her son curiously, worriedly, knowing his problems at school and.. well.. his resentment. She got up and scurried after his retreating figure.
"What?!" he mumbled back, burying his head in the fridge. He scanned the dimly lit shelves with minor curiosity, still scowling fiercely, and finally decided on the Sunny D located on the back of the highest shelf. He started to root for it.
Ms. Iero cleared her throat behind her son, lips pulled into a strained, worried smile. Her thin figure looked worn out as she slouched, obviously so exhausted from worrying about her son. Her pride and joy. "Pete wont be back for another hour or two, so I'm making dinner then, okay?"
Frank simply clicked his tongue, pushed some butter out of the way and pulled the Sunny D out of the fridge. The door slammed shut, rumbling the rickety hinges.
Ms. Iero tried again. "So, I hear your old friend's coming back into town. His mother told me because we used to be quite close. Oh, do you remember?"
Frank made a small hum of recognition as he pulled out a glass and poured in the Sunny D, watching as the tasty drink sloshed messily into the cup, falling in a beautiful, orange waterfall.
"That's great," he muttered, still frowning.
Ms. Iero tried a weak smile. "Yes.." she mumbled to herself. Then, quickly returning to reality, she watched her son put the carton back in the fringe and start to take a gulp of the Sunny D he had poured himself. "Yes, what's his name? Oh, dear.. Oh yes! Yes!"
She patted down the white pinny at her front.
"Gerard, I believe. Gerard Way. Mother's Donna Way, I remember. Such a lovely woman! And that Mikey t-"
Frank spat his drink everywhere, hood falling from his head and revealing the dried trail of blood on the back of his neck. His mother gasped, but he simply pulled it back up and excaimed, "Gerard Way?!"
Ms. Iero, mistaking her son's shock, dread and utter hatred for happiness, smiled brightly. "Yes, Gerard! They're moving next door tomorrow!"
Frank blinked once, let his scowl get fiercer, and slammed his cup down to the table.
"I'm going out," he mumbled, stomping out of the kitchen and slamming all the doors as he went.
He had hated his life to a certain point up until three seconds ago. Three seconds ago it had been bad, terrible, even, but up now it was like Satan had personally came and unleashed Hell on earth.
Frank thought he would've preferred that.
Hi guys! :)
I'm Evanna and I'm new to Ficwad, so I decided that, for my first story, I wanted to write a Frerard. Gerard'll be introduced in either the next chapter or the one after, but either way, he and Mikey will come in very soon. :)
Next chapter we meet 'Storm'; biker-boot wearing, totally vicious and intimidating best friend of Frank's.
I hope you liked it! R&R and... thanks for reading, I guess. :)
Bye for now! xoxo