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

Organized Chaos

by eccentricpaige 3 reviews

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way - Warnings: [?] - Published: 2011-09-18 - Updated: 2011-09-19 - 1226 words

Monday comes along in a quick flash. My mother makes sure to remind me at least half a dozen times of what she expects me to do once school lets out.

"You'll walk to the hospital and ask at the front desk for a sign-in sheet. Once you've filled your name in, you'll probably have to sit for a half an hour or so until you're waited on, and then they'll ask you what you need and you should tell them to refill one of my prescriptions. The way my insurance is, each medication I take has a re-fill date, so all throughout the month you'll be running this errand." my mom says as she feels around the couch cushions for her mobile. I roll my eyes when I know she isn't looking, and start to feel the uncomfortable pressure on my chest when it dawns on me that I'll be in a room full of people for an indefinite amount of time without anything to occupy myself with.

"Can I have my iPod to pass the time?" I ask hopefully.

"Frank, your father and I took that away from you. How could you even think we'd give it back so soon?" she answers with a bland laugh. Before the anger sets in, I excuse myself and wait outside in the car for her to drive me to school.

Once I arrive on campus, I only have about five minutes to reach my locker and grab my sketchbook for class. It frustrates me when I have to rush like this, but my mother's been incapable of getting me to school by a decent time ever since I could remember.

"Hey! Iero!" a dark-skinned boy yells out as I'm leaving my car. I see him flash a toothy grin at my mother as she's pulling away, and feel the vomit make its way up my throat.

"What do you want?" I ask without any real interest. He studies me for a second before a gruesome sneer spreads across his features which reminds me of brutality.

"Word is you're the fag with a brain. I need you to go to the lab during lunch and find some reference sites for this dumbfuck of a book report." he says, like it's absolutely normal for him to be giving me such an order. I stare at him, waiting for him to get the hint that I'm not interested, but his only response is an over-done laugh.

"It's not a question, Frank. Either you do this for me, or I mess your pretty face up." he assures me. I see him lift his arm to give me the papers with the information I'll need and feel his hand slap me firmly on the back to give the illusion of a fair trade. Without so much as a glance upward, I take the offered papers and hold them down at my side.

"Good man." the nameless jock whispers before walking away to find his posse.

I sigh heavily. As I approach the school building, I make a quick stop at the trashcan to toss his information away. If he wants to teach me a lesson, then fine. I can't be assed to do someone else's work for them while they sit around and talk football with their peers.

The day goes smoothly from there, the only exception being that the lunch served was a disappointment if I've ever seen one. When he saw me in the lunch line, I knew I was in deep shit. Just something about his cold stare gave me warning signs.

I don't regret it, though. Just as I don't regret having the life beaten out of me behind the dugout. A few punches to the stomach is easy payment for a carefree lunch, and if I'm not mistaken, I walked away laughing. Because once you face abuse on a regular basis, you start to welcome it with open arms. It's no longer something you live in fear of, but rather a daily routine you've learned to expect. So what if it's dished out in a new way? The results are always the same. Pain, albeit physical or otherwise, and some interesting memories to play in the background.

As soon as dismissal came around, I make my way for the sidewalk and keep walking until I find myself at the gas station three blocks away. Once inside, I buy a water with the change I could find in my pocket, and set out for the hospital.

It takes a while, but I finally make it. As I trudge onto the premises, I take in how very formal the place seems. Windows at every angle, perfectly trimmed bushes lining all sides of the building. It's as if the ones who work to keep this place beautiful want us all to forget how many people die in these hospital wings each day. Almost as if they want us all to judge this place from the outside alone, and pay little attention to how much heartbreak is expressed from mourning families at every waking hour.

I start to tread the asphalt and imagine how amazing the air-conditioned forure will be once I walk inside. Just in front of the double sets of doors, I see people leaving and coming like it's something they've done all of their lives. Pregnant women with other children at their sides walking in for their monthly ultrasounds, elderly patients ready for their checkups. The idea that death and illness can be so organized has never much appealed to me. I hope never to find myself in a situation in which I'm required to be in a hospital for an extended period of time. I can't imagine the mindset of those who are forced to live here.

Amongst all of the livelihood, I see someone who sticks out like the sorest of thumbs. As he takes long, nervous drags of his cigarette, I can see a scared, lonely boy trying to make himself invisible in the midst of such chaos. He backs up closer and closer into the corner; willing his body to somehow morph into the cement blocks of the wall behind him. Through the initial shock, I can't help but to observe him while I have my chance. Tired eyes; still with a healing bruise around each one. When he's not sucking in the nicotine that's apparently keeping him calm, he attaches his front teeth to his bottom lip somewhat violently and watches the ground beneath his feet. In spite of his anxious behavior, I can tell he's used to this. That this visit is one of many, and many to come.

But why?

As Gerard releases the cigarette from his lips for a last time and stamps it out on the ground, I wonder what brought him here, and if he'd be opposed to keeping me company throughout my wait.

But then I remember that barely a word has been spoken between us, and that for all he knows I've followed him here. With this in mind, I maintain as low a profile as possible and hope to God he doesn't recognize me. Because the last thing I'd want is another awkward encounter.

The last thing I'd want is a chance to fuck things up any further.

A/N: I apologize for the shortness :[
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