FicWad

Frank's POV;
I desperately wanted to cry, but that would do no good, I locked my iPod and threw it on the pile of clothes lying on my floor. I hugged my knees, my vision was distorted and everything was spinning. ‘Ugh, the last Jack Daniels was a mistake’ I moaned quietly, grabbing the bedpost for support. Squinting at the window, I saw the outline of one Jack Daniels bottle – ¼ empty – and one empty vodka bottle. Then I saw the razorblade, and I remembered. I looked at my wrist; blood was still seeping through the wound. I sighed, regret washing through me, and winced as the hot air attacked the cut. I pulled the duvet over my head, cuddling myself tight, thinking about in only 3 hours I’d have to awaken to greet the morning...in my new home, in New Jersey. It felt abnormal and somewhat alien to imagine living anywhere other than NYC, let alone call it my home. I closed my eyes, wishing that sleep didn’t abandon me so much; I’d need countless cups of coffee. When I finally drifted off into my subconscious, the nightmares returned.
I awoke groggily. The New Jersey sunrise was breathtaking. Magenta and intense orange blazed through the sky, making the white clouds prominent, I saw the silhouette of the branches from the tree to the right. The branches appeared black, as it was only 5:30AM and were obtrusive against the morning sky. My tongue felt like cotton, dehydrated from the alcohol I consumed only a few hours before, and my cheeks felt sticky from being drowned in the flood of tears I let escape. The cold wooden floorboards awoke my feet as I stood shakily to shower. I showered unconscious of the fact that the scorching water was burning my skin, turning it into a soft pink, clarifying that I was somewhat alive. The fire like water trickled down my spine, which was prominently sticking out, and attacked my shoulder blades.
Shivering, I wrapped the white towel around my waist, and searched my single suitcase for my clothes. I wanted to leave my old life behind, I loved New York and I never wanted to leave, but I had to escape from the horrible kids there, and the awful memories that seemed to haunt me. I found a pair of worn out skinnies, which had unintentional holes in and was covered in patches, there was also a bandanna hanging out of the back right pocket, which I had sewn on in a rather boring textiles class. Craving coffee, I quickly put on a Misfits t-shirt and rimmed my eyes with eyeliner. I don’t know why I even put eyeliner on, because I scrubbed at my eyes, yawning, which resulted in it smudging all around.

“Frankie, love! You should have something with all of that coffee you’re having!” exclaimed my mother, frantically. She popped a Pop-Tart in front of me and kissed my forehead. “You really should leave soon; you don’t want to be late on your first day!” she continued.
“Yes mom...” I muttered downing my ninth coffee and taking a nibble of the strawberry frosted Pop-Tart.

*

In New York, there was Starbucks 2 blocks away from my school; unfortunately there wasn’t a coffee store in sight here. Multiple yellow school buses were lined in the student car-park and the steps were flooding with students. I bit my lip, breathing in and out trying to slow my heartbeat. “It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine” I muttered, wishing that the little confidence in my voice was present in my mind. I fucking hate crowds, and despise most people. I guess the only place where I’d be okay with being with people is in gigs, music is my life and all of my troubles disappear when the lights go down, you feel the excitement buzzing around you and you hear the booms of people’s feet crashing on the floor. That’s when I can really feel okay. I shakily stood up each stair, awkwardly glancing around. Great, I looked like a typical newbie.
Finally I found the reception, and sitting there was this dainty old woman, sipping tea out of the smallest teacup imaginable. ‘What is this, England?’ I thought raising my eyebrows as I approached her. On her pale pink jacket were many broaches – of cats. A cat lady! – And a name tag, stating she was “Mrs Bloomings”. I was expecting her to speak with a British accent, call me dear, say “lovely” while sipping her tea and raising her pinky. Instead she had this nasal New Jersey accent that made her words slurred. ‘Vodka spiked tea? Badass receptionist!’ I thought, amused.
“Why are you standing there gawking?” she asked, apparently sober as fuck.
“Erm...I’m new” I shrugged. I’ve never been a new student before; damn this was going to be awkward. I gave her my name and in return a six-digit code was shoved back at me, a long with my timetable and a map. Talk about making the new kid feel welcome, jeez.
I stumbled into English ten minutes later and the teacher wasn’t too happy with me, in fact he looked pretty pissed off at me for interrupting his intense ramblings about some tattered book in his hand. He pointed to the only vacant seat at the back of the room, impatiently grunted at me and continued speaking. I looked at the kid next to me, he saw me and pushed his glasses up to his eyes and fiddled with his fringe. A few seconds later a surprisingly deep cough escaped his mouth. “Hi, I’m Mikey!” he whispered. Wait what? That’s...social interaction. Rare!
“Erm hi, I’m Frank.” I mumbled, as enthusiastic as I could be. I was obviously going to look like a goof or a sarcastic ass, why try and stop that? I was pretty much a loner in NYC, I’d sit outside by the gates listening to my music at maximum volume, blocking out reality, and write song lyrics and riffs. I put my earphones back in my ears, unnoticed. I put the side of my head against the wall and closed my eyes, imagining I was at a gig and not in a fucking shit hole. I didn’t know how I was going to get through the day, but I knew that I’d need a fuck tonne of coffee and my iPod on constantly.

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I dislike this fan-fic and I haven't even wrote 2 chapters! I suck at ending chapters, sorry. In fact, I suck at writing xD
Oh well, it's good for procrastination!