two part Frerard. after an argument Gerard gets out of control
I wanted your opinions before I entered it...
any improvement I could make?
please be HONEST
the second part will be up once I've finished typing it
and if anyone can think of a better title it would be much appreciated!
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It looked so flimsy, so mundane; just an ordinary piece of paper. He hardly noticed at first, he was so absorbed in his thoughts, but soon he could not miss the crimson staining his pale, slender fingers. Vaguely, almost separately from his conscious thoughts, he realised the small cut was stinging quite painfully, but he was so used to that it hardly registered anymore. He bought the broken skin up to his mouth, relishing the sharp metallic taste as he sucked the blood away. For a moment there was single scarlet line, until the flow started again and he lost himself in its swirling patterns. Faintly he wondered how such a harmless thing could cause so much damage, then he realised it always was the smallest things that resulted in the greatest pain.
/Gerard was alone in his room doodling lyrics and poems in his black notebook. His mood was as dark as the cover; depression and guilt eating away at him, leading to self pity and self loathing. A certain person was invading his mind, creeping into all his thoughts until his obsession almost drove him across the edge of reason. Of course it was Frankie; such kindness, such beauty. The way his bright eyes sparkled, his fingers strumming the guitar, how he would work his way over to Gerard on stage, plant a soft kiss on his cheek, then move forward until their lips met… The was that as soon as the show ended he would go back to her, snake his warm arms around her waist, and Gerard would be left alone. Just like now. Angrily he brushed his tears away, hating himself for being so weak.
There was a sharp knock at the door, immediately Gerard froze – nobody could see him like this.
“Leave me alone,” he called out, hoping whoever it was would get the message. But the handle was slowly turning as the door creaked open. “Go away!” It was no good, Frankie strode in defiantly. “What part of go away don’t you under…” Gerard trailed off at the sight of the younger man’s face; blotchy and tear streaked; it was so unlike his usual cheery self. But it was his eyes that struck Gerard the most; though they were red and puffy, bright anger shone from then, and that anger was directed at Gerard.
“It’s not all about you, you know,” Frankie hissed.
“What? What’s wr…”
“She left me, I hope you’re happy,” he interrupted scathingly, “and you don’t even have the time to speak to me.” Without another word he stormed out the room, slamming the door behind him.
Gerard leapt up and ran after him, reaching Frankie’s room as the door shut in his face.
“I’m sorry!” he called out desperately.
“Fuck off,” was the only response.
“Fuck off!” So, silent and rejected, Gerard trailed back to his room and sat back at his desk./
The blood had clotted by this time and all that was left was a small red line. A tiny paper cut; barely visible, hardly noticeable, but still there none the less. He missed the blood; the stickiness between his fingers, the sweet taste in his mouth. Automatically, practically unconsciously, his hands reached into the inside pocket of his bag, bringing out a small, cardboard box. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he opened it and unwrapped the ragged tissue within to reveal the small, steel blade.
First he drew the sharp edge across his finger, enjoying the sensation as his unresisting skin split to reveal small droplets. But it wasn’t enough, it was never enough. Slowly he rolled his sleeve up his left arm, staring at the veins beneath his pale skin. Then the steel bit deep into his tender flesh; once, twice, again and again until the letters began to form. S - The pain meant nothing, he deserved everything he got.O – He was out of control; he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. R – Blood was flowing freely, but he didn’t care, he had to finish. R – He felt his fragile vein burst, but still he kept going. Y – That covered it, his life in a word. Sorry. Sorry for betraying his best friends, sorry for being so selfish, sorry for his whole pitiful existence. A vague part of his mind told him to grab a cloth, to stop the crimson spilling out, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.
Darkness blurred the edge of his vision. This wasn’t right; it wasn’t supposed to end like this. But he was so tired, so comfortable. Faintly he heard a door opening, then a voice screaming again and again. He wanted to reach out, to tell them it was okay, that this was for the best. But he didn’t have the strength. Instead his lips moved to form a single word.
“Sorry,” he whispered softly, before he faded into black.