Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Sharpest Knives - Frerard
A/N: *TRIGGER WARNINGS; RAPE, DRUGS
I originally planned this chapter as much more explicit, but when I wrote it it genuinely made me feel sick and I didn't want to use that draft as it would trigger people a lot more than this version. If you have a nervous disposition surrounding the topics in the trigger warnings, please skip this chapter and just read the last paragraph.
Frank had been free of seizures for the rest of the drive through Ohio and partway into Pennsylvania. He hadn't moved from the seat behind Gerard even to use the restroom, and had fallen in and out of consciousness for days. Morning and night seemed the same to him, time had no substance or purpose. He was simply living, not thinking, not processing; just breathing in, out, in, out, in, out, in, out.
His mind was so exhausted from his episode in Ohio that he was not even seeing images in his brain, but merely colours and patterns. In his ears, he did not hear Gerard and Bob's conversations, just inaudible murmurs. His worries were pushed to the pit of his stomach, forgotten and irrelevant. All that mattered now was staying calm, playing zen, and keeping himself alive.
Frank had been asleep for three hours when the colours merged into faces. Regardless of it being a dream, Frank felt the damp sheet and mattress beneath him. Despite him being unconscious, Frank could smell the dank smell of urine and alcohol lingering in the air of the room he was in. Even though this was not real life, Frank could see the cracking, whitewashed walls, broken television, carpet-less floor and bloody tools as clear as day.
Frank, in his dream, did not know how long he had been laying there in front of the faces. There were two of them, both men, although one had long greasy hair with a straggly pushover fringe, as a girl might have. He was the shorter of the two, and knelt closer to Frank. He had yellowed teeth which curved into a crooked smile, which in turn caused his sunken eyes to glow manically. He had a receding jawline and a bad case of acne, even though Frank assumed he was in his mid-twenties.
The second person was taller and stood behind the crouching man, his extensive height meaning that his head was scarcely below the ceiling, and his nineties hairstyle meant the tips of his quiff brushed against the roughened roof. He seemed of a more nervous disposition than the other man, but his shady demeanour set a feeling of uncomfort in Frank. He had dark, potent eyes and his skin was the same, unhealthy sallow-ish complexion as the smaller man. He watched Frank with restless eyes, somewhat apprehensive about the situation.
Frank himself was lying naked apart from his boxers on a soggy bed, his wrists tied together. This, however, did not seem a cause for panic. In fact, it seemed perfectly normal, relaxing even. Frank's body lied emaciated, his ribs sticking out of his belly and his legs and arms limbs of nothing but skin and bone. This also, however, seemed no reason for stress to Frank. He felt perfectly soothed with the buzzing sensation the needle had left it his arm. He watched bemusedly as the long-haired man squirted a little out of the next syringe to make sure it was ripe.
“Ready for another, kid? How out do you have to be to go along with it this time? Last time you cried. I don't want you crying. It pops little Kel like a balloon,” the man teased. His words sent a little jolt in Frank's tummy, but it soon subsided.
Frank rolled onto his other side so he was facing the more clear part of the room in which Kel knelt and the other man stood. The standing man shifted about and rubbed his chin and neck thoughtfully, as if battling with his thoughts. “Kel,” he exhaled nervously as he ran a raked hand back through his hair.
That action would've reminded Frank of Gerard, had he even known who Gerard was in the dream.
“Kel,” the lanky man repeated, “is this a good idea? Isn't Mick meant to be coming round in like, an hour?”
“So what?” Kel laughed. He looked, calculating, at the day-dreaming Frank whose eyes were larger than tennis balls as they reacted to the drug. “He'll know we're seriously misdemeanants if he sees us ramming a fucking dosed up sheep.”
“I don't know, Kel...” The tall man was visibly uncomfortable with the situation, Frank noticed. He watched him begin to pace as Kel crept his needle laden hand closer to Frank's pockmarked wrist. “I don't really like it, when he's crying it kinda, well...”
“It kinda what?” Kel catechized, slapping the inside crook of Frank's elbow to make sure the skin there was supple. He stretched the syringe strategically across his hand like his fingers were a bow and the needle was an arrow.
“Well, it feels sorta, rapey, y'know?” The man's voice was pitchy, as if he felt he was treading on unwarranted ground with what he was saying.
Kel dropped the syringe onto the bed by Frank's naked arm, annoyed. He swivelled round to face the other guy, still poised in a crouch. “It's not rape, Trent. He doesn't say no. Ever.” Kel turned back to Frank and injected the pale skin at his elbow. Frank jolted only minimally as the needle went into his arm for what he thought might be the fifth time. He didn't mind. At first the drug sent him on edge, but after a while it felt a little bit like being tipsy, but on an extreme level. Any form of contact that would seem violent when he was clean now felt like a cloud caressing his skin.
“Anyway,” Kel smirked. “If he did say no, we'd just gag him anyway.”
Trent's face, from what Frank could see in his hallucinative state, turned marginally more red. “I, uh...”
Kel stood up and threw the syringe in a wastepaper basket that had no lining. He smacked his hands back and forth on his thighs. “You what?”
Trent looked ashamed of himself for arguing. “Nothing.” He looked to the ground.
Frank, meanwhile, was completely disregarding of the real world. All he saw now were clouds and marshmallows and everything that made him feel warm.
“Right, let's get this done then, eh?” Kel cackled, pushing Frank over onto his stomach.
Frank could hear the two men undressing behind him. The only time his lazy smile began to fade was when he felt Kel's hands roughly pull Frank's boxers down his legs, and the bed beneath him began to creak.
Frank woke with a start. A gash seemed to be ripped in his brain.
For a while, he could not think. And then he remembered.
He had not been reminded of Gerard in his dream, because it wasn't a dream. It was a memory. A memory that Frank had not recalled of ever happening for nearly a decade.
And that was when Frank began to cry.
I originally planned this chapter as much more explicit, but when I wrote it it genuinely made me feel sick and I didn't want to use that draft as it would trigger people a lot more than this version. If you have a nervous disposition surrounding the topics in the trigger warnings, please skip this chapter and just read the last paragraph.
Frank had been free of seizures for the rest of the drive through Ohio and partway into Pennsylvania. He hadn't moved from the seat behind Gerard even to use the restroom, and had fallen in and out of consciousness for days. Morning and night seemed the same to him, time had no substance or purpose. He was simply living, not thinking, not processing; just breathing in, out, in, out, in, out, in, out.
His mind was so exhausted from his episode in Ohio that he was not even seeing images in his brain, but merely colours and patterns. In his ears, he did not hear Gerard and Bob's conversations, just inaudible murmurs. His worries were pushed to the pit of his stomach, forgotten and irrelevant. All that mattered now was staying calm, playing zen, and keeping himself alive.
Frank had been asleep for three hours when the colours merged into faces. Regardless of it being a dream, Frank felt the damp sheet and mattress beneath him. Despite him being unconscious, Frank could smell the dank smell of urine and alcohol lingering in the air of the room he was in. Even though this was not real life, Frank could see the cracking, whitewashed walls, broken television, carpet-less floor and bloody tools as clear as day.
Frank, in his dream, did not know how long he had been laying there in front of the faces. There were two of them, both men, although one had long greasy hair with a straggly pushover fringe, as a girl might have. He was the shorter of the two, and knelt closer to Frank. He had yellowed teeth which curved into a crooked smile, which in turn caused his sunken eyes to glow manically. He had a receding jawline and a bad case of acne, even though Frank assumed he was in his mid-twenties.
The second person was taller and stood behind the crouching man, his extensive height meaning that his head was scarcely below the ceiling, and his nineties hairstyle meant the tips of his quiff brushed against the roughened roof. He seemed of a more nervous disposition than the other man, but his shady demeanour set a feeling of uncomfort in Frank. He had dark, potent eyes and his skin was the same, unhealthy sallow-ish complexion as the smaller man. He watched Frank with restless eyes, somewhat apprehensive about the situation.
Frank himself was lying naked apart from his boxers on a soggy bed, his wrists tied together. This, however, did not seem a cause for panic. In fact, it seemed perfectly normal, relaxing even. Frank's body lied emaciated, his ribs sticking out of his belly and his legs and arms limbs of nothing but skin and bone. This also, however, seemed no reason for stress to Frank. He felt perfectly soothed with the buzzing sensation the needle had left it his arm. He watched bemusedly as the long-haired man squirted a little out of the next syringe to make sure it was ripe.
“Ready for another, kid? How out do you have to be to go along with it this time? Last time you cried. I don't want you crying. It pops little Kel like a balloon,” the man teased. His words sent a little jolt in Frank's tummy, but it soon subsided.
Frank rolled onto his other side so he was facing the more clear part of the room in which Kel knelt and the other man stood. The standing man shifted about and rubbed his chin and neck thoughtfully, as if battling with his thoughts. “Kel,” he exhaled nervously as he ran a raked hand back through his hair.
That action would've reminded Frank of Gerard, had he even known who Gerard was in the dream.
“Kel,” the lanky man repeated, “is this a good idea? Isn't Mick meant to be coming round in like, an hour?”
“So what?” Kel laughed. He looked, calculating, at the day-dreaming Frank whose eyes were larger than tennis balls as they reacted to the drug. “He'll know we're seriously misdemeanants if he sees us ramming a fucking dosed up sheep.”
“I don't know, Kel...” The tall man was visibly uncomfortable with the situation, Frank noticed. He watched him begin to pace as Kel crept his needle laden hand closer to Frank's pockmarked wrist. “I don't really like it, when he's crying it kinda, well...”
“It kinda what?” Kel catechized, slapping the inside crook of Frank's elbow to make sure the skin there was supple. He stretched the syringe strategically across his hand like his fingers were a bow and the needle was an arrow.
“Well, it feels sorta, rapey, y'know?” The man's voice was pitchy, as if he felt he was treading on unwarranted ground with what he was saying.
Kel dropped the syringe onto the bed by Frank's naked arm, annoyed. He swivelled round to face the other guy, still poised in a crouch. “It's not rape, Trent. He doesn't say no. Ever.” Kel turned back to Frank and injected the pale skin at his elbow. Frank jolted only minimally as the needle went into his arm for what he thought might be the fifth time. He didn't mind. At first the drug sent him on edge, but after a while it felt a little bit like being tipsy, but on an extreme level. Any form of contact that would seem violent when he was clean now felt like a cloud caressing his skin.
“Anyway,” Kel smirked. “If he did say no, we'd just gag him anyway.”
Trent's face, from what Frank could see in his hallucinative state, turned marginally more red. “I, uh...”
Kel stood up and threw the syringe in a wastepaper basket that had no lining. He smacked his hands back and forth on his thighs. “You what?”
Trent looked ashamed of himself for arguing. “Nothing.” He looked to the ground.
Frank, meanwhile, was completely disregarding of the real world. All he saw now were clouds and marshmallows and everything that made him feel warm.
“Right, let's get this done then, eh?” Kel cackled, pushing Frank over onto his stomach.
Frank could hear the two men undressing behind him. The only time his lazy smile began to fade was when he felt Kel's hands roughly pull Frank's boxers down his legs, and the bed beneath him began to creak.
Frank woke with a start. A gash seemed to be ripped in his brain.
For a while, he could not think. And then he remembered.
He had not been reminded of Gerard in his dream, because it wasn't a dream. It was a memory. A memory that Frank had not recalled of ever happening for nearly a decade.
And that was when Frank began to cry.
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