Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Love in the Weirdest of Places
A bright, but warm ray of sun broke through the drawn curtains making Frank stir. He cracked one eyes open, groaned, and threw an arm over his eyes hoping to shield himself from the sun. It did work, but now he was faced with more problems. For one thing his head was throbbing like no one's business and his neck was fucking stinging for some reason; it literally felt like he took a fork to the neck. Then there was the fact that he felt drained, he felt like he had just been resurrected from the dead. He groaned once more and reached out for his nightstand, groping around for his cellphone to see what time it was.
He only felt the smooth surface of the wood and no phone. He lifted his arm off his eyes and looked over to the night stand. That wasn't his, it was too nice, his nightstands were basically all of his books stacked on either side of his bed with lamps precariously balanced on them. He dragged his arms from the night stand to the bed. He jumped. This wasn't his bed either! The sheets were too clean and to soft to be his, and they didn't have the Batman symbol on them.
Dragging his eyes from the white soft sheets to the room, he felt his heart stutter. The room was dark from the drawn curtains and well furnished. There weren't any of his favorite band posters adorning the walls, his CD's all over the floor, his desk covered with comics, or his guitar Pansy and her case in the corner near his bed. Just really nice couches and ottomans, an occasional painting, and fancy looking rug at the foot of the bed.
Ah, shit... Frank tugged his hands through his dark locks and run down his neck until they ran over some sort of cloth material. He tugged at it and with a soft tear it came falling off. A gauze? An ace-bandage? Whatever it was it had blood soaking a good portion of it. Frank stared wide-eyed at it. Holy shit... did he actually take a fork to the neck?
Frank strained, upsetting his headache further, trying to get himself to remember what could make his neck bleed like this and end up in a totally different bed and in a totally different room, and a probably a totally different house. Must have been some party last night... was all Frank could think. No. No, no it couldn't have been a party.
Frank shook his head. His headache throbbed angrily, but he had to remember.
Like he said, it couldn't be a party. He would remember getting drunk and taking a fucking fork to the neck, if that's what happened. No... he remembered his boss, the fucking prick. Giving him hell for no reason, just because he filed the wrong papers in the wrong files or some shit like that, whatever it was it was a stupid reason. Frank shook his head, fast forward through all that, he remembered walking home in the night and running into this tall dark figure. He remembered how strong he was when he grabbed him then he fucking took a huge chunk out of his neck.
At the thought Frank timidly let his hand trace up and down the side of his neck. He could feel scabs and scars beginning to form and faint traces of blood that barely covered his finger tips. When he pulled back to examine the blood he felt this strange thirst come over him. The blood on his fingers suddenly looked appetizing. Frank blinked and shook his head, what the hell? And he wiped the blood on his shirts; the thirst only relented a little but he was still thirsty. He shivered, he made himself think of thirsting for water or a beer, and pushed that aside.
He recalled that he was dropped and that the man and this huge dog got into this fight that he lost. He remembered being lifted from the ground by who he was assuming the dog's owner and carried away.
Frank's eyes widened. That's right! He passed out but came to a few minutes later, he couldn't open his eyes; too weak, he could only hear.
Frank felt his body being dropped on a hard wooden table and heard something crash to the ground. "What. The. FUCK?" Someone had shouted.
"Sorry Mikey, but Ray and I were coming back and we saw this kid get attacked."
A soft voice murmured, "Probably a vampire."
"Fucked up his throat and we're pretty sure that he's only has so much blood left before he's done for."
"That was my dinner though...." this so called Mikey complained.
"We have a kid who's been sucked within an inch of his life and all you care about is your dinner?" The once soft voice raised. Even though Frank was drifting in and out, he felt a little annoyed that a dinner was more important than his own fucking life; he'd be screaming too.
There was a frustrated huff and then a more relaxed sigh, "Okay, sorry, sorry." This Mikey person said, "Ray, I'm going to need you to get me my medical kit and find some kind of tubing. It has to be the thinnest you can find or else this might not work. Bob, I'm going to need you to go down into the basement, where the cooler is and get a couple of blood packets, O negative, from there and bring them back here. Quick."
There was hurried footsteps and a slamming of a door. Mikey had hurriedly walked around the kitchen table and pulled a hand towel from a drawer. He came back around again and applied pressure to the wound. "Hang in there, man."
The door reopened but it wasn't the two men Mikey had been talking too. It was a totally different man, but Frank couldn't see that but he could hear the difference in the voice, "Mikey? What's going on? Why are Ray and Bob running around?"
He had moved out of the way to let the man see Frank laid out on the table. The man's eyes widened. "Ray and Bob saw him get attacked by a vampire they guess, and got to him before the vampire could kill him. They're getting stuff I need." He explained quickly as the doors swung open again and the two men came in with the supplies Mikey had asked for.
"Is there anything I can do?"
Mikey instructed Ray to keep pressure on the wound as he opened his medical kit, "No."
"Oh..." the new voice sounded hurt.
"I didn't mean it like that, Gerard. I'm just going to be dealing with a lot of needles here. I don't need you passing out."
The new voice, Gerard, bit back, "I won't pass out."
"Yes you will," Mikey took out a needle in one hand and the tubing Ray miraculously found in the other. He noticed Gerard visibly still when the needle glinted in the light, "Out Gerard."
"I want to help." He insisted.
"You'll just--" Ray cut Mikey off, annoyed.
"In case you two haven't noticed there's a kid bleeding out here on the table."
Bob turned to the man, voice stern, "Gerard." There was a moment of silence then a frustrated sigh. A door opened and slammed closed. Bob sighed, "Christ, you two..."
"I'll apologize later," Mikey said as he finished making the blood transfusion, the crimson blood sloshed in the bag, "Hold this up," he handed the bag for Bob to hold. He pinched the tubing to keep the blood from dripping out, made sure there was a sizeable vein present in the arm, and stuck the needle into Frank's arm.
It hurt like hell, yes, but the feeling wasn't too unfamiliar. After all he had over a million tattoos covering his body so he could say he grown immune to the pinch of a needle. Plus he's been in and out of hospitals ever since he was a little kid because his immune system was shit.
"How long do I have to hold this up?" Bob inquired like he was already getting tired of holding the bag of blood.
"I'll get something for it later," Frank felt something warm press over his neck and it felt nice. "Just let me just tend to his neck..."
And that was all Frank remembered really until he slipped back into unconsciousness again. The one prominent thing he remembered from hearing what was going on all around him was the word 'vampire'. Vampires weren't real. They were just made up creatures of the night that he pretended to be when he was a kid and watched horror movies about them when he was home alone at night. He was an adult now. The only "vampires" he has heard about were those sparkling Twilight, pixie tools and the ones off that shitty diary series. What was it called again... Vampire journals? He didn't know nor cared.
Frank huffed and flung himself back into the soft sheets just as the door to the room opened. A head peeked through looking straight at the bed. Frank sat up. The man smiled, "Looks like someone's finally awake."
He only felt the smooth surface of the wood and no phone. He lifted his arm off his eyes and looked over to the night stand. That wasn't his, it was too nice, his nightstands were basically all of his books stacked on either side of his bed with lamps precariously balanced on them. He dragged his arms from the night stand to the bed. He jumped. This wasn't his bed either! The sheets were too clean and to soft to be his, and they didn't have the Batman symbol on them.
Dragging his eyes from the white soft sheets to the room, he felt his heart stutter. The room was dark from the drawn curtains and well furnished. There weren't any of his favorite band posters adorning the walls, his CD's all over the floor, his desk covered with comics, or his guitar Pansy and her case in the corner near his bed. Just really nice couches and ottomans, an occasional painting, and fancy looking rug at the foot of the bed.
Ah, shit... Frank tugged his hands through his dark locks and run down his neck until they ran over some sort of cloth material. He tugged at it and with a soft tear it came falling off. A gauze? An ace-bandage? Whatever it was it had blood soaking a good portion of it. Frank stared wide-eyed at it. Holy shit... did he actually take a fork to the neck?
Frank strained, upsetting his headache further, trying to get himself to remember what could make his neck bleed like this and end up in a totally different bed and in a totally different room, and a probably a totally different house. Must have been some party last night... was all Frank could think. No. No, no it couldn't have been a party.
Frank shook his head. His headache throbbed angrily, but he had to remember.
Like he said, it couldn't be a party. He would remember getting drunk and taking a fucking fork to the neck, if that's what happened. No... he remembered his boss, the fucking prick. Giving him hell for no reason, just because he filed the wrong papers in the wrong files or some shit like that, whatever it was it was a stupid reason. Frank shook his head, fast forward through all that, he remembered walking home in the night and running into this tall dark figure. He remembered how strong he was when he grabbed him then he fucking took a huge chunk out of his neck.
At the thought Frank timidly let his hand trace up and down the side of his neck. He could feel scabs and scars beginning to form and faint traces of blood that barely covered his finger tips. When he pulled back to examine the blood he felt this strange thirst come over him. The blood on his fingers suddenly looked appetizing. Frank blinked and shook his head, what the hell? And he wiped the blood on his shirts; the thirst only relented a little but he was still thirsty. He shivered, he made himself think of thirsting for water or a beer, and pushed that aside.
He recalled that he was dropped and that the man and this huge dog got into this fight that he lost. He remembered being lifted from the ground by who he was assuming the dog's owner and carried away.
Frank's eyes widened. That's right! He passed out but came to a few minutes later, he couldn't open his eyes; too weak, he could only hear.
Frank felt his body being dropped on a hard wooden table and heard something crash to the ground. "What. The. FUCK?" Someone had shouted.
"Sorry Mikey, but Ray and I were coming back and we saw this kid get attacked."
A soft voice murmured, "Probably a vampire."
"Fucked up his throat and we're pretty sure that he's only has so much blood left before he's done for."
"That was my dinner though...." this so called Mikey complained.
"We have a kid who's been sucked within an inch of his life and all you care about is your dinner?" The once soft voice raised. Even though Frank was drifting in and out, he felt a little annoyed that a dinner was more important than his own fucking life; he'd be screaming too.
There was a frustrated huff and then a more relaxed sigh, "Okay, sorry, sorry." This Mikey person said, "Ray, I'm going to need you to get me my medical kit and find some kind of tubing. It has to be the thinnest you can find or else this might not work. Bob, I'm going to need you to go down into the basement, where the cooler is and get a couple of blood packets, O negative, from there and bring them back here. Quick."
There was hurried footsteps and a slamming of a door. Mikey had hurriedly walked around the kitchen table and pulled a hand towel from a drawer. He came back around again and applied pressure to the wound. "Hang in there, man."
The door reopened but it wasn't the two men Mikey had been talking too. It was a totally different man, but Frank couldn't see that but he could hear the difference in the voice, "Mikey? What's going on? Why are Ray and Bob running around?"
He had moved out of the way to let the man see Frank laid out on the table. The man's eyes widened. "Ray and Bob saw him get attacked by a vampire they guess, and got to him before the vampire could kill him. They're getting stuff I need." He explained quickly as the doors swung open again and the two men came in with the supplies Mikey had asked for.
"Is there anything I can do?"
Mikey instructed Ray to keep pressure on the wound as he opened his medical kit, "No."
"Oh..." the new voice sounded hurt.
"I didn't mean it like that, Gerard. I'm just going to be dealing with a lot of needles here. I don't need you passing out."
The new voice, Gerard, bit back, "I won't pass out."
"Yes you will," Mikey took out a needle in one hand and the tubing Ray miraculously found in the other. He noticed Gerard visibly still when the needle glinted in the light, "Out Gerard."
"I want to help." He insisted.
"You'll just--" Ray cut Mikey off, annoyed.
"In case you two haven't noticed there's a kid bleeding out here on the table."
Bob turned to the man, voice stern, "Gerard." There was a moment of silence then a frustrated sigh. A door opened and slammed closed. Bob sighed, "Christ, you two..."
"I'll apologize later," Mikey said as he finished making the blood transfusion, the crimson blood sloshed in the bag, "Hold this up," he handed the bag for Bob to hold. He pinched the tubing to keep the blood from dripping out, made sure there was a sizeable vein present in the arm, and stuck the needle into Frank's arm.
It hurt like hell, yes, but the feeling wasn't too unfamiliar. After all he had over a million tattoos covering his body so he could say he grown immune to the pinch of a needle. Plus he's been in and out of hospitals ever since he was a little kid because his immune system was shit.
"How long do I have to hold this up?" Bob inquired like he was already getting tired of holding the bag of blood.
"I'll get something for it later," Frank felt something warm press over his neck and it felt nice. "Just let me just tend to his neck..."
And that was all Frank remembered really until he slipped back into unconsciousness again. The one prominent thing he remembered from hearing what was going on all around him was the word 'vampire'. Vampires weren't real. They were just made up creatures of the night that he pretended to be when he was a kid and watched horror movies about them when he was home alone at night. He was an adult now. The only "vampires" he has heard about were those sparkling Twilight, pixie tools and the ones off that shitty diary series. What was it called again... Vampire journals? He didn't know nor cared.
Frank huffed and flung himself back into the soft sheets just as the door to the room opened. A head peeked through looking straight at the bed. Frank sat up. The man smiled, "Looks like someone's finally awake."
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