Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The hardest ones to love, are the ones that need it most...
Hi, sorry about the long wait, I didn`t actually plan on continuing this, so I hope that you all like the second chapter. It is down to all of you guys that I am actually carrying on with this, so if you hate it from now on, you cannot blame me! I am aware that this is shorter than the first chapter, I`m sorry for this as I usually try to aim to write over a 1000 words for my chapters, but I wanted to leave this chapter here, please do not hate me! I wrote it at 1am so I am sorry if there are a ton of errors, I`ll try to fix them over the next day or so. I`ll also try to update soon if you want to to continue, and I roughly know what the plot will be. Any suggestions will be weclcome though. Anyway, thanks for reading, hope you like
xoxodakota
Gerard`s pov.
Shit. Fuck. Hell. Why did I, no, how could I?
I keep hammering at the door, but if Frank is in there, and I suspect that he is, he isn’t answering. Not that I can blame him of course, if it really was true. I was praying it wasn’t. Ha ha. Funny. I was praying?! How could someone as evil and twisted as I was expect anyone to listen to my prayers?
“Frank, please…” I sob uncontrollably; my desperate pleas for him to open the door are barely understandable, even I was having difficulty in understanding what the words were.
How could you do this?
The words echo in my disgusting, twisted mind, over and over again, poisoning my already poisoned brain, polluting the little good left in it. I felt so sick, sick to my stomach; I was horrible, evil, mental, a fucking waste of space. I didn’t deserve to live, not after what I had done, not after what evil I had out Frank, my best friend and the person I had been head over heels in love with since the day I met him. I bet, no I know how much he must be regretting that day now.
“Frank, please, just listen to me. If you don`t want to open the door, fine. I know I don’t deserve your time, but please, I need you to listen to me. Please, Frankie, just tell me it isn’t true, that I didn’t…hurt you…” my voice breaks off and I burst into a fresh wave of tears. I haven’t felt pain this bad, not in a long while anyway. Not since that night…no. I shake my head, my dark, limp hair falling forward into my face, covering it. It was just as well, saved people the horror of having to look at me. In fact, I was almost sure that this hurt worse, maybe just a little. I had hurt him, I had hurt him so terribly and I hated myself for it, how I hated myself.
“Frank, I`m sorry.” More sorry than you`ll ever know. “I don’t deserve a friend like you, well; I didn’t deserve a friend like you.” I wipe away my tears, my eyes were so sore it was unreal, they were so red, bloodshot and puffy that it was a miracle I could even see out of them. I am so, so sorry.”
Much to my surprise, on the other side of the door I can hear light footsteps. I hear the familiar click of the door unlocking and the door is pulled open, revealing something so broken looking that I can barely recognise it as Frank. I didn’t know it was possible to ever hate yourself so much.
Frank, poor, poor Frankie was stood there in the doorway, hair unwashed, dirty and matted, a mask like expression on his usually warm and ever so happy face. His skin was bruised and pale, even paler than mine, blood stained his slightly puffy, bruised cheek. His bottom lip was swollen and red, his lip ring missing and he was shaking. Forming under his thin shirt were dark purple and blue splodges, similar to the ones on his shaking arms. He looked as though he had only just hastily pulled on his shirt and boxers, as they were inside out. But the thing that scared me, no, pained me the most to see was his eyes. Usually so kind, loving and warm, Frank`s chocolate eyes would light up the entire room, but at the current moment in time, they were dull, lifeless. And full of such pain, it killed me to see him, to know that I had done this to him.
His arms were held protectively around his chest, he had them wrapped around himself so tight that I knew it had to be causing him pain, but he said nothing. I waited a minute or so. He still stayed silent. It was up o me to speak first, I had a lot to say, to apologise for, though I knew no words could ever make up for what I had done to him, I never really saw myself as good with words anyway. Somehow, everything I said always came out wrong. It was the same with everything I did; I had of course had that hammered into me from a young age. I was a fuck up, a screw up. A fucking waste of flesh and blood.
“Frank, Frankie…” I sigh and run a hand through my own, greasy, dishevelled hair.
What was I supposed to say, no words would ever make this right, nothing would ever do that. I wanted to say I was sorry, to ask if there was something, anything he wanted me to do to try and begin to partially make it up to him. I knew that nothing ever could, but right now I would do anything that he wanted me to. I would jump of San Francisco’s fucking Golden Gate Bridge if he wanted me to. I wanted to apologise, I needed to apologise. I knew it wouldn’t do any good, but I needed to do it. But the only words that came out of my pathetic mouth were, “Please…please…tell me that I didn`t do it…”
how was it?
xoxodakota
Gerard`s pov.
Shit. Fuck. Hell. Why did I, no, how could I?
I keep hammering at the door, but if Frank is in there, and I suspect that he is, he isn’t answering. Not that I can blame him of course, if it really was true. I was praying it wasn’t. Ha ha. Funny. I was praying?! How could someone as evil and twisted as I was expect anyone to listen to my prayers?
“Frank, please…” I sob uncontrollably; my desperate pleas for him to open the door are barely understandable, even I was having difficulty in understanding what the words were.
How could you do this?
The words echo in my disgusting, twisted mind, over and over again, poisoning my already poisoned brain, polluting the little good left in it. I felt so sick, sick to my stomach; I was horrible, evil, mental, a fucking waste of space. I didn’t deserve to live, not after what I had done, not after what evil I had out Frank, my best friend and the person I had been head over heels in love with since the day I met him. I bet, no I know how much he must be regretting that day now.
“Frank, please, just listen to me. If you don`t want to open the door, fine. I know I don’t deserve your time, but please, I need you to listen to me. Please, Frankie, just tell me it isn’t true, that I didn’t…hurt you…” my voice breaks off and I burst into a fresh wave of tears. I haven’t felt pain this bad, not in a long while anyway. Not since that night…no. I shake my head, my dark, limp hair falling forward into my face, covering it. It was just as well, saved people the horror of having to look at me. In fact, I was almost sure that this hurt worse, maybe just a little. I had hurt him, I had hurt him so terribly and I hated myself for it, how I hated myself.
“Frank, I`m sorry.” More sorry than you`ll ever know. “I don’t deserve a friend like you, well; I didn’t deserve a friend like you.” I wipe away my tears, my eyes were so sore it was unreal, they were so red, bloodshot and puffy that it was a miracle I could even see out of them. I am so, so sorry.”
Much to my surprise, on the other side of the door I can hear light footsteps. I hear the familiar click of the door unlocking and the door is pulled open, revealing something so broken looking that I can barely recognise it as Frank. I didn’t know it was possible to ever hate yourself so much.
Frank, poor, poor Frankie was stood there in the doorway, hair unwashed, dirty and matted, a mask like expression on his usually warm and ever so happy face. His skin was bruised and pale, even paler than mine, blood stained his slightly puffy, bruised cheek. His bottom lip was swollen and red, his lip ring missing and he was shaking. Forming under his thin shirt were dark purple and blue splodges, similar to the ones on his shaking arms. He looked as though he had only just hastily pulled on his shirt and boxers, as they were inside out. But the thing that scared me, no, pained me the most to see was his eyes. Usually so kind, loving and warm, Frank`s chocolate eyes would light up the entire room, but at the current moment in time, they were dull, lifeless. And full of such pain, it killed me to see him, to know that I had done this to him.
His arms were held protectively around his chest, he had them wrapped around himself so tight that I knew it had to be causing him pain, but he said nothing. I waited a minute or so. He still stayed silent. It was up o me to speak first, I had a lot to say, to apologise for, though I knew no words could ever make up for what I had done to him, I never really saw myself as good with words anyway. Somehow, everything I said always came out wrong. It was the same with everything I did; I had of course had that hammered into me from a young age. I was a fuck up, a screw up. A fucking waste of flesh and blood.
“Frank, Frankie…” I sigh and run a hand through my own, greasy, dishevelled hair.
What was I supposed to say, no words would ever make this right, nothing would ever do that. I wanted to say I was sorry, to ask if there was something, anything he wanted me to do to try and begin to partially make it up to him. I knew that nothing ever could, but right now I would do anything that he wanted me to. I would jump of San Francisco’s fucking Golden Gate Bridge if he wanted me to. I wanted to apologise, I needed to apologise. I knew it wouldn’t do any good, but I needed to do it. But the only words that came out of my pathetic mouth were, “Please…please…tell me that I didn`t do it…”
how was it?
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