FicWad

The voice. It’s always there, whispering in your ear, making you hate yourself. It follows you everywhere you go, a dark shadow only you can see and hear. You can feel the cold radiating off its body, choking you in its vicious embrace. It rips through you like the razor blade cuts through skin or a bullet tears through your brain. It gets stronger as you go along, the childish remarks becoming cruel, ruthless insults that penetrate your subconscious. When it finds you, you only belong to It. You are It’s and only It’s. It destroys your relationships, severing any form of sanity and trust between those you love.

I can’t even look in the mirror anymore without it’s voice commenting on my every flaw.

You’re so fat, who would want to see you naked? You should be ashamed of your body. Jamia hates your body, she doesn’t even want to touch you. Look how your stomach sags and flops. You look like a fucking whale. It’s destroying the beautiful tattooed artwork that once covered your skin, turning into awkward splashes, unable to be identified as anything. You’re gross. Look at your face? Do you see all those wrinkles? You’re old. You’re fucking ancient. No one wants to be seen in public with you, they’re too embarrassed. All those people that tell you you’re attractive? They’re lying, but let’s face it, no one does that anymore. Cherry and Lily are ashamed to be seen in public with you. They get made fun of in the halls. You really are everything the whispers say. They ignore it, but it’s starting to get to them too.

It taunts you until you can’t take it anymore, and you’ll do anything just to shut its damn voice up. Even if it means dragging that blade across your wrist until all you see is red rivulets dripping down, staining your skin crimson. You start buying bigger and bigger long sleeve shirts to cover your cuts, feeling worse and worse about yourself. Because everything it says is true, and you believe every single word.

I was sitting on the hard wood floor in the basement, just staring at my guitars. I haven’t played one in ages. What’s the point? I suck at that too. My stomach rumbles slightly, but it’s a sound I’ve become familiar with. When’s the last time I ate? Two days ago? Three? Four? I don’t remember. I pull my sleeves further down, the hem touching the middle of my palm. My cuts itch, but I can’t itch them.

My guitars seem look back at me, calling out to me to play them, but I cannot. My fingers refuse to touch the strings, It has convinced them that they are too worthless to play anything so beautiful and sacred. The instruments have become a shrine to the man I once was, the man I’ve learned to hate. How could have my beautiful wife fallen for such a moronic man? Bouncing around onstage as if he was actually good at what he did. Ha! The thought! I must’ve looked like a fool up on that stage, and everytime I thought the audience laughed at something I was said, they were laughing at how stupid I looked, the fat jiggling on my arms and how out of place I must’ve looked. They paid to see the fool with the guitar.

The familiar feeling of guilt turns my stomach into knots, making me nauseous. Gerard, Mikey, and Ray could have had so much better, but they stuck with me because they pitied the fool that I am. What value could I ever be to them? Gee must’ve felt bad for me because I was sick, and stuck around after because he felt empathetic. Pathetic. That’s exactly what I am. I’m just an empty waste of space. The man I used to be was killed long ago, It got to him.

I turn around when I hear his voice, looking up into his hazel eyes. I stand up, hot embarrassment flooding my cheeks. I hold on to the ends of my sweater and cross my arms, a feeble attempt at covering my fat stomach and my legs. They must looks so huge right now—as always. Why would I expect anything different. But he reaches out and unfolds my arms, his huge hands wrapped around my wrists. How do they fit? The diameter of my wrist must be much bigger than his hand. He slowly rolls up my sleeve and runs his fingers over the healing cuts first, then lightly touching the still bleeding wounds. I gasp and jump away, quickly pulling my sleeve back down and not letting him touch me again.

How could I be so stupid to let him see that? He probably thinks I’m even more of a freak!

He does, look at how disgusted he looks. He thinks you’re a freak, Frank. You’d be better off dead.

I know it’s right. Gerard’s voice comes again as fresh tears fall on my cheeks.

“What happened to you Frank? Where’s my brother? The Frankie I used to love?”

I want to tell him everything, open up to him. I want him to save me like he saved me all those years ago. But if I tell him It might get him too, and that’s a punishment worse than death. I love him too much for him to suffer this torture. I shake my head, feeling my body trembling. It’s as if it was scared to be in his beautiful presence. I study him. His masculine jawline, his beautiful golden green eyes, those huge, talented hands and that skinny torso. He sighs and I lower my head in guilt, seeing my blood on his finger tips. I open my mouth to speak, but It talks before I can.

Don’t you dare open your mouth, Frank. That’s why Jamia left you and took your daughters, because you opened your goddamn mouth.

I quickly shut my lips, and look back up at him, shaking my head once more.
“Frank, talk to me. I need you back. Jamia needs you back, your kids, Frankie! They need their father!” He was yelling now, he looked angry. I understood why, everyone should be angry at me, they all should hate me. I deserve it. I shrunk into myself, feeling fresh tears fill my eyes. I feel his hand on my jaw, forcing me to look up at him and suddenly my mind is overtaken by when It took over and being touched became a crime.

We were at some club, celebrating our 10 year anniversary as a band.

“Gee, I’m gonna go smoke, I’ll be right back.” The music was loud, so I shouted and he nodded, waving to show he heard me. I weaved through the club and made my way out the back door, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, taking a deep breath. I can’t believe we’ve made it to over 10 years.

“Whatcha’ doin’ out here, prettyboy?” A man walked into the light, wearing all black and a black mask was covering his features. I didn’t even get a chance to reply before he had me pinned against a wall, pistol to my face and a hand around my throat. “Fight back and I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out, got it?” I nod, reaching in to my pockets, but he throws me to the ground. “I don’t want your fucking money.” He jumped on top of me, gun in a holster around his waist. He ripped my pants off and flipped me over, putting the head of the gun to the back of my skull. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I realized what was going to happen to me.

Suddenly, he was inside me and I nearly screamed in pain as he pulled out and thrusted back in. I could feel blood covering me, him using it as lube, and it felt like it was never going to end. A hot pain had spread over my body, making me nauseous and dizzy. He was screaming insults at me now, and because of the position I was in, they hurt worse than ever.

“You’re a fuckin’ faggot now, Iero. You’re pretty wife’s never gonna look at you the same way again! She hates your disgusting body anyways…” I tried to tune the rest of them out, not wanting to think about how much Jamia’s going to hate me. Everything was becoming a blur. I silently prayed to a god I didn’t believe in to let in end soon and I was surprised when I felt his movements slow and a low moan to exit his lips. I felt him pull out and heard him pull up his pants, a bloody condom landing next to my face. I gagged. He flipped me over again and I did everything I could to not make eye contact, but he harshly grabbed my jaw and forced me to meet his brown eyes, leaning down to whispering in my ear.

“It’s gonna get your now, Iero…and it ain’t never gonna leave you ‘lone again. It will destroy you worse than I have, and ruin everythin’ you love.” I didn’t even realize I was sobbing until now and he slapped me, silencing me for the moment. My attacker then stood up and turned to two other men who I didn’t even realize were standing there. “Get im’. Don’t kill im’, just knock ‘im up a little bit.”

I barely even felt the blows, I was still in so much pain from the rape. I did feel them pull my pants up and I heard them walk away. I began coughing, the metallic taste of blood soon filling my mouth, so I spit it out. I sat up and leaned against a wall, pulling my knees to my chest and sobbing, hearing a little voice whisper in the back of my mind.

“Hello, Faggot.”

My breathing sped up as Gee’s eyes soon changed into those awful brown orbs that I saw in my nightmares.

“Frankie…calm down…hey…talk to me!” He begged, but all I saw were those dark irises and somehow, the world went black.
****
I woke up in my bed to Gee’s gentle sobs, trying to remember why he was here and what happened. He had my notebook in his hands and I knew he read it. I wrote down everything that happened, sharing my thoughts, getting them out of my head and making me feel slightly more sane, but no one was supposed to read it.

“G..Gerard..” I stammered out, terrified of what he was going to do. I looked down at my body, seeing I was only in a pair of boxers and started crying. What did he do to me? He looked up and quickly sat next to me pulling me in for a hug, which I fought, but was too weak to accomplish anything. He stroked my back lightly, letting me cry into his shoulder. I could hear him mumbling to me, but I couldn’t understand him. The voice was screaming at me, telling me to get out of his grasp, but I couldn’t.

He knows, Frank. He thinks you’re a freak. He just feels bad for you. He doesn’t love you. Who could love a faggot like you.

“No…no…no! He does love me! You’re wrong!” I shout, knotting my fingers in my hair and pulling my knees up. “Please…shut up…”

“Who are you talking too, Frankie?" I look up into Gerard's beautiful eyes, feeling sick to my stomach. I grabbed the diary from his hands and opened it, seeing nothing but empty pages.

"No...No! These were full! I wrote in them all!" I jump out of bed and begin looking everywhere in my room for the real book, but finding nothing.

He took it, Frank. He destroyed it. He doesn't want you to be crazy, but he knows you are. He's a faggot too, he just wants to hurt you just like that man. I knot my fingers in my hair, then look up at Gerard.

"What the fuck did you do with it! Where did you put it?!" I scream at my terrified friend he shakes his head.

"Frank...I didn't do anything. I brought you a new one...you said at practice a while ago that your notebook was full." He stammers out and I felt tears creeping down my cheeks, my heart torn in two.

He's lying to you, Frank.

"Fuck you, Gerard! Fuck you!"

He's going to hurt you, Frank. Get him out of your house, get him out of your life. I collapse to the floor, knotting my fingers in my hair again. It was long now, I don't even remember the last time I cut it.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" I scream, but It just laughs, and I hear Gerard walking closer and look up at him through my dark hair. "Don't fucking touch me."

Gerard nodded and took a few steps back, hazel eyes wide and terrified. I was breathing heavily, feeling dizzy again. I feel something warm dripping down my nose and reach up to touch it, seeing blood on my calloused fingertip seconds later. I look back at the beautiful man standing in my room, and then, there's nothing.