It's enough to make you sick. How could you possibly think it's okay to stay with things how they are? What exactly do you think you've done to deserve a life like this one, the way he treats you?
Author: kelly joyce [obvsly].
Summary: It's enough to make you sick. How could you possibly think it's okay to stay with things how they are? What exactly do you think you've done to deserve a life like this one, the way he treats you?
Chapter Rating: hmm, mature.
Pairing(s): gerard and frank. but like, only suggested-kinda. meaning not actual in story relations or shit.
Characters: gerard and frank.
Warnings: umm, hmm. well, it's basically the aftermath of someone being beaten in an abusive relationship.
Disclaimer: not real. didn't happen. both men have serious partners (frank=married) and do not date. though i respect that, it would be hot if the did. IMEANWHAT? aha. blah blah. burrito.
Author's notes: hmm well, i got the inspiration to write this here fic after watching/listening to the song face down by red jumpsuit apparatus [cause i'm so emo. lmao]. the whole thing just kinda came together, ya' know? well, review and tell me if you like it or not. i myself aren't to sure on it. but whatever. you know you love me ;]].
It happened every time Gerard drank. You tried to be there for him, but there was only son much of the abuse you could take. You lift up your shirt and survey the purple bruises decorating you abdomen. The site greeting you is enough to make you ashamed. So you pull down your shirt, you don't even want to think what the rest of you looks like. Not yet.
You shake you head in disgust and look away. You are tired of being pushed away, both emotionally and physically, but think everyone knows you'll never, never, leave his side. It's enough to make you sick. How could you possibly think it's okay to stay with things how they are? What exactly do you think you've done to deserve a life like this one, the way he treats you?
Things weren't always like this I guess is where you would begin. Remind yourself how he used to be in the beginning. When he would whisper sweet nothings into your ear, hold your hand so tight you thought it would fall off, tell you how much he loved you every moment he remembered. You missed it, and things had changed dramatically from before. And maybe you thought, no hoped, that by staying, by showing him that you would always be there, that he would snap back to how he used to be, revival style. One day at least.
Then of course there was the guilt, the guilt knowing that if you gave up on him, that he would have no one. No family, no friends and no one to be at his lowest with, because you were the only one left. And what if he did do something to himself, like he threatened to if you ever left? How would you feel then?
There are far to many 'buts', and 'ands', and excuses. You shake the thought away and instead focus on something else because you can feel the tears that are always so close to the surface welling up and threatening to spill over. There have already been enough tears shed tonight.
You remove your shirt and force yourself to look at the marks tonight's bender have earned you. It's hopeless really trying to understand the reasons why he tells you he strikes you, he's to wasted to make sense of, and you're tired of playing the blame game, so tired, so you don't. At least not tonight.
No tonight instead you poke at a particularly nasty bruise that's only half formed on your neck in an attempt to distract yourself. You wince away feeling stupid and cowardly all over again. An all to familiar feeling. You never did have a particularly strong pain threshold.
A single tear escapes and escalades down your cheek and it's more than you can take. You watch it's process through your reflection as it passes over the cuts and bumps and feel it sting. Another tear falls almost straight after and then another, and another and so many more till it's a steady stream of them. You grip the basin because it's all you can do to stop yourself from falling to the ground.
It's a pathetic site really you tell yourself; a full grown man bawling his eyes out only moments after he promised himself he wouldn't. A full grown man wearing his insecurities and lack of self esteem bright and plain for the world to see. A full grown man that has been broken more times than he cares to recall. Is the way that you view yourself that obvious to everyone else? Is that why he treats you the way he does? Maybe, you really don' know. The only thing that you can register is another broken promise. You can't even bear to be around yourself tonight.
Tonight you just can't bear anything and you're so tired. More than you think you've ever been. You wonder what the time is, well past midnight most probably. It's late non-the-less. To late to be worrying about how you're going to look in the morning and standing around feeling sorry for yourself in the bathroom. You know in the back of your mind that you could go to bed, but you dare not venture out, not while there's a possibility that he could still be awake. He doesn't like it when you lock yourself away from him, so that would only re-fuel his rage.
No instead you think as you limp towards the corner and drop down pulling your legs to your chest as you do. Instead you'll just stay in here till the morning, it's safest for the both of you that way. You won't clean you wounds, at least not now, you'll just wait. Because maybe, just maybe, it'll get easier with time. Maybe.