Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Demolition Lovers
Authors Note -
First chapter! Please read and review; I want to know what you all think!
Demolition Lovers
Chapter 1
Franks Point of View
“Frank honey, are you in there?” my mother asked softly as she tapped on my bedroom door. I considered pretending to be asleep and ignoring her but she sounded worried so I dragged my sorry ass out of my warm bed and trudged over to the door. I unlocked it and pulled it open. My mother gasped and startled back a few steps as she looked at me.
It was the last week of the summer holidays and I hadn't moved from my bedroom at all for over a week due to worrying about school and the horrors that came with it. So, I probably looked like shit, I sure was feeling like it. I gave an annoyed sigh and coughed, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Frank… Y – You look like you could use a shower and maybe some food. Why don’t you come down and have lunch once you’ve showered okay? I need to speak to you.” She said, her eyes looking at my face, her eyebrows furrowed. I could tell she was trying not to make too much fuss over my long black, greasy hair or the bags under my eyes, or how skinny I was and I thanked her – mentally – for that.
“Sure ma, I’ll be down soon. I’m not hungry though so I’ll just have coffee. That okay?”
“Sure. Actually Frank, do you want to go out for lunch? We can go to Starbucks?” she asked, a sly smirk tugging at her lips. She knew I loved Starbucks and I would never deny a chance of going – well I wouldn’t of three months ago – but things were different now, I hated public places and as much as I still loved Starbucks, I didn’t know if I could handle it.
“M – Mum, I’m not sure ab-about that. If you want to go, then go. I don’t mind honest.” I said with a sad smile.
“Are you sure? Won’t you try for me please Frank? It won’t be as bad as you think, trust me.”
“I-I’m sorry mum, I just can’t.” I hung my head as the guilt rippled through me in waves. I was breaking her heart but I couldn’t help it – I had been this way since I was 13 – but somehow, I don’t know how, things got worse in the past few months.
“That’s okay honey; I’ll be back in an hour or so. I’ll have to go to the supermarket first. We’ll have our chat when I get back. Remember to shower!” she called as she walked off down the stairs.
I closed my door after I heard her car back out the driveway and down the road, falling back into my bed. It was so warm and comfortable; I wanted to stay there forever. Then I realised that the longer I lay in the warmth of my bed, the more I wanted to fall asleep, so I decided to get up and shower.
~time lapse~
After a reasonably long shower, I felt refreshingly clean and actually smelled nice. After a while of lazing about my room in my boxers I got dressed, pulling on a Green Day tee, black skinnies, socks and a hoodie. Since my mum wasn't due home for another twenty minutes or so, I considered all the things I could do to pass time. A few minutes later and I was sitting on my now made bed strumming the strings of my guitar. I wasn’t really paying attention or trying to create a new piece of music, I was just happily plucking away, letting the music lull me into my own little world.
“Frank?” my mother called from downstairs, the door closing behind her. Sighing I placed my beautiful guitar back in the corner of my room and walked downstairs to greet my mother.
“I got your coffee. Well, I got you two actually.” She said from the kitchen. She got me two coffees. Two? Something was up and I was starting to get nervous.
“Two? Why two?” I asked accusingly, walking into the brightly lit kitchen. I instantly noticed the two Starbucks coffees sitting on the counter in one of those cardboard holder things. I walked over and collected them, tossing the holder into the bin.
“Well, there was a deal on that coffee; two coffees for the price of one.” She replied innocently, not meeting my eyes. I ‘mhmm’ed sarcastically, not believing her at all, and sat down at the small table we never used. I sat with my back hunched over, my hands resting in my lap, my eyes darting around the kitchen. To say the least; I felt uncomfortable. To try and distract myself from my surroundings I began to sip at my first coffee, my eyes closing at the milky liquid making its way down my throat – it was delicious.
“I got your favourite,” my mum said, sitting down opposite me and tossing a small, white Starbucks box on the table, “apple and cinnamon muffins.” She finished with a small smile. I stared at the box filled with my favourite muffins, terror filling my body.
“I-I’m not hungry mum, honest. I had an apple while you were away and I have these coffees. I don’t need them; you have them.” I said quickly, pushing the box to her, pleading her with my eyes.
“Frankie,” she stated, “why won’t you eat? You need to eat. You’re wasting away. Please Frankie, just eat one and that’s it. Please?” she pleaded a tear rolling down her cheek. As much as it hurt me, I wouldn’t eat those muffins – not even one. I was starting to feel sick so I placed the coffee on the table, pushing them both away from me.
“Mum, I’m sorry okay? I just can’t. I ate an apple when you were gone, I’m full.” I lied, pleading her with my eyes to just drop it and leave it be.
“I’ll keep them for you later,” she sighed, wiping the tear from her cheek, “we need to talk. It’s important. Are you gonna finish your coffees?” she asked, her eyes darting to the coffee then back to me.
“I-I’ll have one,” I grimaced, “you can have the other.” I said, attempting a smile.
“Okay.” She said, rubbing her hands down her face before collecting a coffee and taking a few gulps. “So,” she started, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I’ve booked you an appointment with a therapist.” She stated looking me straight in the eye, waiting for my reaction.
“YOU WHAT?!” I cried, knocking the chair back and standing up, glaring down at my mother. “How could you ma? I don’t need a therapist! I’m perfectly fine!” I said, my voice cracking at the end.
“Let me see your wrists.”
I stumbled back, blinking furiously. She didn’t sound angry or judgemental, she was just asking. But that one question was enough to make my palms sweat and increase my heartbeat.
“W – What? N – No. No ma.” Damn my stutter.
“Frankie, you’re not okay. You need to see a therapist; I want my Frank back. I miss him. Let me see your wrists, please.” She pleaded, hurt etched across her face. I shook my head “no” and she stood up, walking towards me. My eyes grew wide; questioning what she was doing. I stared at her in disbelief as she grabbed my left hand gentle, but firm enough that I couldn’t break free.
Before I could even register what she was doing, she pushed my hoodie sleeve back, revealing the scars and cuts scattered across my wrist. Some were new, some were old, some were faded and some were more noticeable than others. I hear an audible gasp come from my mother and she let my hand fall. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled my sleeve back over my wrist, shame consuming my body and mind.
“F – Frankie, when did it get s – so b – bad?” she asked, her voice muffled by her hand.
I took one last look at her before I ran from the room – just wanting to escape everything.
First chapter! Please read and review; I want to know what you all think!
Demolition Lovers
Chapter 1
Franks Point of View
“Frank honey, are you in there?” my mother asked softly as she tapped on my bedroom door. I considered pretending to be asleep and ignoring her but she sounded worried so I dragged my sorry ass out of my warm bed and trudged over to the door. I unlocked it and pulled it open. My mother gasped and startled back a few steps as she looked at me.
It was the last week of the summer holidays and I hadn't moved from my bedroom at all for over a week due to worrying about school and the horrors that came with it. So, I probably looked like shit, I sure was feeling like it. I gave an annoyed sigh and coughed, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Frank… Y – You look like you could use a shower and maybe some food. Why don’t you come down and have lunch once you’ve showered okay? I need to speak to you.” She said, her eyes looking at my face, her eyebrows furrowed. I could tell she was trying not to make too much fuss over my long black, greasy hair or the bags under my eyes, or how skinny I was and I thanked her – mentally – for that.
“Sure ma, I’ll be down soon. I’m not hungry though so I’ll just have coffee. That okay?”
“Sure. Actually Frank, do you want to go out for lunch? We can go to Starbucks?” she asked, a sly smirk tugging at her lips. She knew I loved Starbucks and I would never deny a chance of going – well I wouldn’t of three months ago – but things were different now, I hated public places and as much as I still loved Starbucks, I didn’t know if I could handle it.
“M – Mum, I’m not sure ab-about that. If you want to go, then go. I don’t mind honest.” I said with a sad smile.
“Are you sure? Won’t you try for me please Frank? It won’t be as bad as you think, trust me.”
“I-I’m sorry mum, I just can’t.” I hung my head as the guilt rippled through me in waves. I was breaking her heart but I couldn’t help it – I had been this way since I was 13 – but somehow, I don’t know how, things got worse in the past few months.
“That’s okay honey; I’ll be back in an hour or so. I’ll have to go to the supermarket first. We’ll have our chat when I get back. Remember to shower!” she called as she walked off down the stairs.
I closed my door after I heard her car back out the driveway and down the road, falling back into my bed. It was so warm and comfortable; I wanted to stay there forever. Then I realised that the longer I lay in the warmth of my bed, the more I wanted to fall asleep, so I decided to get up and shower.
~time lapse~
After a reasonably long shower, I felt refreshingly clean and actually smelled nice. After a while of lazing about my room in my boxers I got dressed, pulling on a Green Day tee, black skinnies, socks and a hoodie. Since my mum wasn't due home for another twenty minutes or so, I considered all the things I could do to pass time. A few minutes later and I was sitting on my now made bed strumming the strings of my guitar. I wasn’t really paying attention or trying to create a new piece of music, I was just happily plucking away, letting the music lull me into my own little world.
“Frank?” my mother called from downstairs, the door closing behind her. Sighing I placed my beautiful guitar back in the corner of my room and walked downstairs to greet my mother.
“I got your coffee. Well, I got you two actually.” She said from the kitchen. She got me two coffees. Two? Something was up and I was starting to get nervous.
“Two? Why two?” I asked accusingly, walking into the brightly lit kitchen. I instantly noticed the two Starbucks coffees sitting on the counter in one of those cardboard holder things. I walked over and collected them, tossing the holder into the bin.
“Well, there was a deal on that coffee; two coffees for the price of one.” She replied innocently, not meeting my eyes. I ‘mhmm’ed sarcastically, not believing her at all, and sat down at the small table we never used. I sat with my back hunched over, my hands resting in my lap, my eyes darting around the kitchen. To say the least; I felt uncomfortable. To try and distract myself from my surroundings I began to sip at my first coffee, my eyes closing at the milky liquid making its way down my throat – it was delicious.
“I got your favourite,” my mum said, sitting down opposite me and tossing a small, white Starbucks box on the table, “apple and cinnamon muffins.” She finished with a small smile. I stared at the box filled with my favourite muffins, terror filling my body.
“I-I’m not hungry mum, honest. I had an apple while you were away and I have these coffees. I don’t need them; you have them.” I said quickly, pushing the box to her, pleading her with my eyes.
“Frankie,” she stated, “why won’t you eat? You need to eat. You’re wasting away. Please Frankie, just eat one and that’s it. Please?” she pleaded a tear rolling down her cheek. As much as it hurt me, I wouldn’t eat those muffins – not even one. I was starting to feel sick so I placed the coffee on the table, pushing them both away from me.
“Mum, I’m sorry okay? I just can’t. I ate an apple when you were gone, I’m full.” I lied, pleading her with my eyes to just drop it and leave it be.
“I’ll keep them for you later,” she sighed, wiping the tear from her cheek, “we need to talk. It’s important. Are you gonna finish your coffees?” she asked, her eyes darting to the coffee then back to me.
“I-I’ll have one,” I grimaced, “you can have the other.” I said, attempting a smile.
“Okay.” She said, rubbing her hands down her face before collecting a coffee and taking a few gulps. “So,” she started, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I’ve booked you an appointment with a therapist.” She stated looking me straight in the eye, waiting for my reaction.
“YOU WHAT?!” I cried, knocking the chair back and standing up, glaring down at my mother. “How could you ma? I don’t need a therapist! I’m perfectly fine!” I said, my voice cracking at the end.
“Let me see your wrists.”
I stumbled back, blinking furiously. She didn’t sound angry or judgemental, she was just asking. But that one question was enough to make my palms sweat and increase my heartbeat.
“W – What? N – No. No ma.” Damn my stutter.
“Frankie, you’re not okay. You need to see a therapist; I want my Frank back. I miss him. Let me see your wrists, please.” She pleaded, hurt etched across her face. I shook my head “no” and she stood up, walking towards me. My eyes grew wide; questioning what she was doing. I stared at her in disbelief as she grabbed my left hand gentle, but firm enough that I couldn’t break free.
Before I could even register what she was doing, she pushed my hoodie sleeve back, revealing the scars and cuts scattered across my wrist. Some were new, some were old, some were faded and some were more noticeable than others. I hear an audible gasp come from my mother and she let my hand fall. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled my sleeve back over my wrist, shame consuming my body and mind.
“F – Frankie, when did it get s – so b – bad?” she asked, her voice muffled by her hand.
I took one last look at her before I ran from the room – just wanting to escape everything.
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