Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > But No One Sees the Gnashing Teeth of My Heart [Frerard]


by eccentricpaige 2 reviews

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Characters: Frank Iero - Warnings: [?] - Published: 2011-09-11 - Updated: 2011-09-12 - 2092 words

I was jolted awake by a loud banging on my door. Dad was home from work, and furious as usual.

"Frank Anthony Iero! You open up! What did I say about locking your door? That's a fire hazard, young man! Your mother wants to talk to you!" he all but yells through the thin barrier between my room and the hallway.

"Coming!" is all I could think to say as I fumbled around for a clean shirt to slip on, and took a moment to compose myself before stepping out to face whatever was waiting for me.

"Did you know that the school calls my cell phone on the days you miss? And they ask where you are, and why you're absent?" my mother said calmly as she stared at her laptop's screen. I shook my head 'No' and waited for her to continue.

"And did you know that I had absolutely no idea what to tell the office when I found out that you hadn't made it to school this morning?" she questioned in that lax voice once more. Again, I shook my head and waited for the yelling.

"Where were you!?" she screamed. I shuddered at her sudden rise in blood pressure. "I'm sorry; I just needed to take a break." I answered smoothly. The livid fire in her eyes was enough to prove that my response hadn't been a good one.

"You still didn't answer my question, Franklin." she barked with an intensity I've never liked.

"I was just at the park. I brought my math book; the day wasn't a complete waste." I lied. As she smirked, an angry line formed on her forehead. The ridges in her unkind face showed just how quickly she was aging. At forty-one, my mother could easily pass for fifty.

"That doesn't matter. Skipping school is still skipping school. It's against the rules in this household, and you know that. Did you think I'd just let you get by with this? I'm not that kind of mother. I don't just sit around and let you do whatever you please. There will definitely be consequences for this. And until I've deliberated this with your father, you need to go in the kitchen and work on the dishes. I'm sure he'd have no objection with making that one of your regular chores, starting now." she ranted. I stood silently as the sudden slap to the face really sunk in. I was in deep shit for this, and not a damned thing I said was going to get me out of the mess I'd created.

I trudged into the kitchen as she had ordered; walking the walk of a completely broken kid. Cleaning was the very least of my worries. God knows what kind of uncomfortable, and nasty thing she'll think up.

I spent the next ten minutes or so simply sitting back as my imagination ate away at my core. The suds in the sink had turned my hands drenched and wrinkled. When I heard my name called from the living room, I took a deep breath before washing off the soap and walking over to my parents.

"Sit down, son." my dad spoke. I hesitantly took a seat on the couch, next to my technologically-addicted mother. Her body and soul were sucked into the social networking scene. Any stupid comment she could read or make would surely be posted somewhere on her facebook wall. I sat back patiently; in no real hurry for this lecture to really start.

"Linda?" my dad said. We both waited a moment, before my mother peeked over top of the screen and looked around; asking us if she had missed something vital with her eyes.

"Can we begin?" he asks sarcastically. She huffs loudly before shutting her computer and sitting it aside on the loveseat.

"Frank, we know this year has been stressful. You're making great grades, and with that comes a lot of stress, we're sure. But that gives you absolutely no reason to act like you're not a part of this family anymore. Lately, you've been a major hermit; sitting in your room every hour of the night. We're both very tired of never seeing your face around the house. You need to learn to set aside some time for us, or all of your privileges will be taken. Do you understand? It's all up to you. You can either begin to live a life for God, and us, or you can continue to hide away in that room of yours, and be forced out in a way I'm sure you'll complain about." he said. My father isn't very well-known for being a long-winded speaker, so I know he must have meant what he said. I nod in defeat and wait to be dismissed.

"Not so fast, there." my mother spoke; catching onto my eagerness to get away. "We're nowhere near finished. You broke a major rule in this house, and there are consequences. Starting Monday, you'll be taking a trip to the hospital for me every week, sometime after school. I'll be getting a lot of prescriptions filled lately, and it's up to you to pick them up and sign for me. Along with that, you'll be handing over that ipod of your's. If you can't follow the guidelines we've cut out for you, then you no longer deserve the privilege of having something like that at your expense."

My heart sank. Every muscle in my chest had locked, and was waiting for a signal from my brain before they could properly contract in a way that muscles should.

"Mom, no-" "There won't be any arguments about this, Franklin. You're only getting what you deserve." she states calmly.

Dejectedly, I reach into my pocket to grip what's left of my joy. If they take this away, they're taking away the last ounce of happiness I have in me. Slowly, I switch it to the locked position and toss it on the couch. As it flops onto the striped cushion, I feel as if a bullet has buried itself deep inside of my chest. It's hard to breathe, and I can already feel the urge to find some form of relief. I pray, silently, that the conversation will end so and I can finally do what it takes to keep me stable.

"As for your attitude, you had better plan on making a huge change in your life. Do you know how embarrassing it is? To have the deacons at church walk up to us and ask why you're always so glum? You have absolutely no reason on this Earth to act the way you do. We give you everything you could possibly want. We don't beat you, we feed you, and we give you anything you'd ever asked for. So why do you act like you've been slapped in the face all of the time?" my mother asks. A moment of silence inches by, before her shrill voice rings through the air once more. "Answer me!" she yells.

"I don't know." I say with extreme disinterest. They've already taken away what means the most to me; I don't feel inclined to appease them in this conversation any longer.

"Well you had better find out! The Bible says 'Those who cause their neighbor to judge them have sinned in God's eyes.' It's a sin to act the way you do. Like you're so above everyone that goes to our church. They're your family, Frank. Your brothers and sisters in Christ. If you can't act civil around them, then who can you act nicely with? It just makes no sense. You're straying so far!" she shrieks. I can tell the level in her voice has only gone up as I've gotten quieter. My forced calm angers her to no end, and in a strange way, I find this to be comforting.

"I'm sorry." I say quietly. Her notorious smirk plays on her lips once more, and I'm forced to feel the hatred wash over me, and coat my insides as I practically bathe in this liquid, dark feeling.

"I'm sure you are." she says in a mock voice.

"What your mother and I are trying to convey, is that you need to start acting more like the children at church. You're not as special as you act, Frank. They all have lives, and problems, just like you do. And yet, they still manage to come to church with huge smiles on their faces. I'm asking -no, ordering- you to erase this down-in-the-mouth attitude. There should only be room for happiness in your heart. Like your mother said, you have no reason at all to act the way you do. We're sick of seeing you pretend to be so snooty. Just give your problems up to the Lord, and learn to have some happiness in your life." my dad chimes in. I'm completely struck with pure and utter rage. Who I am isn't good enough? What I've worked for - to rise above the pull of peer pressure; to develop a functional brain, and use it to my advantage - they're not proud of it? What have I done that is so wrong? To not even deserve some hinted praise from my parents once in a while?

What makes me such a target?

I simply nod; there's no point in arguing. Every thing I want to say, and always will, will only go through one ear and get lost in transit. There's absolutely no point in voicing an opinion that won't matter in the long run. I'm finished with trying to make my thoughts known. They don't matter in this house. Not in this home, and probably not a single other place in this world.

When it's hinted time and time again how completely useless you are, the notion starts to stick. Now, it'd be practically impossible to scrape away all of this damage. It's been fused to the lining of my mind. I couldn't find truth in any other statement.

I am worthless.

To my parents, to my ex-friends, and probably to Gerard. There's no point in forming a friendship - or even an acquainted relationship with a guy who wouldn't give me the time of day if I begged on my hands and knees. And why would he want to, anyway? There's nothing particularly special about myself. I don't have much talent, and what I do have is never appreciated anyway.

Maybe they're right. Maybe it would all be best if I hid away my true self and tried making the world happy for a while. It's not something I'll cherish doing, but if it keeps them off of my back, and away from my personal demons, then it's worth a try.

But deep down, I know I'll never succeed. This will only be another failed attempt at pleasing those who can never fully be pleased. As I'm excused from their presence, and find myself back in the safe confines of my room, I feel panic's sting wither away. The blade is cool, and promising. It feels good as it digs and slices through my skin. Sure, it's only a few cuts, but in the long run, they'll be mementos. Beautiful, and lasting memories of how tortured I was at this time in life. Because if I make it later in life, I'll want that hint of the past. I'll want that whispered reminder of how things used to be.

Not so I can think back on it and smile, no. But so I can see where I am in comparison to where I was, and hopefully find something to be thankful for once again. Because no matter how terrible life may turn out, it couldn't possibly amount to how I had it as a teenager.

I tell myself these things, in order to gain a little bit of hope. Just to build up a security blanket; a comforting thought to keep me from doing anything drastic. As long as I force myself to survive these last few months, I'll be able to taste my freedom before the year is out. I'll be able to run away, and throw all caution to the wind as a wild soul should. There will be no tear-filled goodbyes. I'll simply leave, and probably shout a loud "Fuck You!" in the process.

Or at least I tell myself this. Because it's future plans like these which keep me sane. It's these daydreamed scenarios which keep me somewhat alive.
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