Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Mirror, Mirror
Mirror, Mirror
Chapter Ten
Okay Tumbleweeds here is the next chapter. It's a bit of a dark one compared with some of the others but we finally get to hear Frank's story! It made a nice change for me to write in first person and this chapter practically wrote itself because of it. Hope you enjoy it (as much as you can enjoy Franks story) and look out for the next chapter which fingers crossed will be up next week. Things will be looking up for Frank in the future chapters ahead. Guess he had to get this off his chest first. XO
P.S. We'll be seeing quite a bit more of Gee very soon. Well, Frankie will anyways...
Frank's Story
The pair stayed silent as Frank began to collect and organize his thoughts in his head. He opened and closed his mouth like a confused goldfish, trying to get the words out but failing miserably. Frank took a deep breath as he stared Lolita straight in the eye, trying to make it seem as if he was unafraid to tell the truth. The truth he hadn't told anybody before. He lowered his eyes almost immediately. It briefly flitted across his mind why he wasn't telling Gerard first but now seemed like the time to do it and Gerard wasn't there to listen right then. Lolita seemed to realize his distressed state and put an hand on his shoulder. "It's okay Frank, you don't have to tell me" she said as she noticed his big eyes fill up with water, ready to brim over. Frank crumpled into a pitiful posture at the gesture. She was trying so hard to help make him feel comfortable, to be friends with him. If he told her his story would she still want to be friends? There was only one way to find out.
"Really Frank it doesn't matter, we can talk about it some other ti.."
"My brother killed himself."
Lolita was cut off by Frank's blunt response. She stared for a while. "I'm sorry" she said softly. "I...I had no idea."
Frank heaved a deep breath. "It's okay, you couldn't have known." he looked down at his shoes shaking his head softly. Just then a tear collected at the corner of Franks eye and fell to the floor with a small plop. 'Damn gravity!' He thought, trying to distract his mind.
"Frank we don't have to talk about this if it makes you uncomfortable" Lolita repeated
Translation: I don't want to talk about this.
But Lolitas eyes told a different story where she implored him to go on.
And so Frank told his story.
"It was in the summer three years ago. We lived in Maine then. His name was Drew and he was four years older than me. My parents back then never argued because we all seemed happy together. They'd go to work and me and my brother would go to school. No trouble at all. Sometimes my parents would go out on the weekend and my brother would look after me. We had such a great time. Most people think it's a bore having a big brother but mine was..mine was fun y'know? He took me to concerts, he introduced me to decent music, he helped me with my homework. Hell, he did everything for me. I just wish I could've done something for him.
He was depressed you see. But I didn't realize it at the time. Some people are really good at hiding it. They'll act like their happy when they're around you, but when they're on their own, they're an entirely different person.
He started cutting himself when I was ten.
I didn't get the big deal at first. I walked in on him cutting once and he asked me... No...Begged me not to tell my parents. He was crying. I promised him I wouldn't. I didn't get the big deal. People cut themselves all the time right? I mean, not purposely but like on knives, or wire or something. I just thought that it was the same principal. It didn't matter. Only the day before I'd been to the A&E because I'd cut my head after falling out of a tree.
But ever so slowly, he began to drift away from me. He wasn't my real brother anymore, not how he used to be. He used to spend time with me, listening to music, watching movies, just generally hanging out. He didn't do any of that anymore. He just spent his time holed up in his room, cutting himself with his music on full blast so my parents wouldn't hear him crying.
A few weeks later, mom discovered his razor blades. Not the full thing that you'd use for shaving but just the single blades. She demanded to see his arms and legs and after a huge fight he gave up and showed her. Well, she went mental. She called dad to come home immediately and I was sent to my room. My brother was sent downstairs and there was a huge argument about it for hours. I waited for my brother to come back upstairs that night and when he did, he looked like someone had just died. His face was swollen from crying, his eyeliner had left grey streaks down his face and he just looked so... pathetic. And you know what he did? He hugged me! Me! He was the depressed one. I should have been hugging him. It's just a sign that he had always been there for me I guess.
When I woke up the next morning, It was my mom taking me to school instead of my brother.I asked why. She said he had to be somewhere and he wouldn't be picking me up either. I worried about it all day. I was worried my parents had gotten rid of him. That they didn't want him anymore. When I got home, he was in my room. So was all his stuff. My dad took me aside and told me if I ever saw him cut himself again, I was to say right away. But I never did see him cut again. My parents had booked him into therapy sessions that week which my mom drove him to after work. And he improved. He really did. It seemed that he had gotten over what ever had made him depressed in the first place and my parents let him stop going to therapy after a year and I got my brother back again.
A year later though he spiraled back. Only this time it was worse. He started to take drugs. Began injecting himself with heroin. I don't know where he got it from. I came across it once when he was high and he went crazy. My parents were out and he had me backed into a corner. He hit me. Multiple times. When my parents came back my brother had come down and they never found out why I was covered in bruises. I didn't give him away. He felt terrible after that and asked me to help him. He had started cutting again too. I never saw him doing it but fresh scars appeared on his arms weekly. He needed help getting off the drugs but we couldn't let my parents know about it. They were angry enough when they found out he was cutting. I don't know what they would have done if they knew he was on drugs. He was already addicted after just nine or ten takes. He couldn't buy it that often without my parents noticing the fifty dollar amounts disappearing at regular intervals either. He spent his entire savings on the stuff. And part of his college fund. He was a mess. And he came to me for help. I didn't know what to do. But we got through it. That was when he told me he was gay.
Things started getting back to normal as the year progressed, he slowly reduced the heroin usage. He found a boyfriend too. obviously our parents didn't know, they're not homophobes but they're not the most understanding of people. And he seemed happy again. He seemed to have a lot of ups and downs. He was like a yo-yo. He and this boy were dating for a while, at least six months before my brother finally decided to tell our parents. Well that didn't go well at all. He brought his boyfriend around to meet the family, thinking our parents wouldn't make a scene if there was a guest in the house. But they did. It escalated into yet another huge argument and they made Drew's boyfriend leave the house. His boyfriend dumped him the next day, saying he couldn't deal with the pressure.
After school that day, he came home crying. The boys at his school had discovered his scars whilst in the changing rooms. He usually skipped sports but I don't know, maybe he wanted to feel physical pain, thinking it was his fault his boyfriend left, or maybe it was an accident I never found out but they taunted him and he got into a fight with a few of them. He lost. He came home with bruises covering his arms and ribcage and my dad told him to man up. He screamed that he wanted to kill himself. No one believed him. Everyone says things they don't mean when they're angry.
He came up to our room, we were still sharing since my dad put him there three years ago and hugged me, sobbing into my shirt. That night before I fell asleep he told me he loved me. In a brotherly way I mean. I didn't know why he was telling me this but I said the same back. The next morning was like nothing had never happened. My parents went out to work and my brother walked to school with me before leaving me at the gates. He headed to the building he was in and I headed to mine. It was a normal day. When the bell rang for the end of class, I waited for my brother outside for half an hour but he never turned up. I had a key for the house by that point so I figured I'd walk by myself, maybe he had to catch up on some homework or a detention or something. I got home and it was quiet. Everyone was out. I was hungry so I made myself a sandwich and headed upstairs to my room, planning on practicing my guitar for a bit.
I opened the door and..and...and he was...just...hanging...there.
He'd come home from school early and found some rope in the shed. He'd tied it around the bunk bed..and...killed himself. The police found about a years worth of anti depressants stashed in the drawer unused. He hadn't been taking them. He'd never taken them by the looks of things. At the inquest the papers from his psychotherapy file came up. The doctor in question said that he had a mental illness called clinical depression. But that didn't mean anything. He died and all the state was bothered about was ticking the reasons behind his death into a box for the records.
He killed himself because he couldn't take not being accepted for who he was. His own parents wouldn't accept him. I was the only one who had. Maybe if I had been more supportive he wouldn't have done it. Maybe he still would have, I don't know. It came to my attention too that he had been bullied at school for longer than I thought. Ever since he had been introduced to metal and started to dress in black. It got worse when he finally felt confident enough to express his sexuality. They beat him down, both metaphorically and physically sometimes. He had a really hard time.
My parents won't even talk about him anymore. Maybe its because they find it difficult to cope with, but I don't think it was. I just think my dad is too proud to mention it. See at the inquest, the bruises on my brothers body came up. The police thought it was my parents abusing him that led to his depression and ultimately his suicide, but it wasn't. I don't like my parents but they would never hit us. It took a while before the police even took Drew's fight at school into account. The stupid school didn't want to release information saying that several of their pupils may have led to the death of another.
Anyway, once it was resolved, the police apologized to my family, but my dad is just too big headed to talk about him anymore. He just makes it about him whenever anything close to the subject comes up. It's like Drew never existed in our household. They go on like nothing has happened. They don't even act like they've lost a son. It doesn't seem all that important to them anymore. But something important happened to me. I lost my brother.
And now I feel I'm going the same way. I feel depressed, I get bullied, I cut, I drink, I smoke. And now I think I'm gay too. I don't wanna die but I don't want to be miserable anymore. I knew my brother was cutting and I didn't help him because I was too damn stupid to tell anyone. Maybe he would be alive today if I had just told someone who could have helped him. Maybe he wouldn't. But my brother had someone there to accept him and support him and he still killed himself. Whats going to happen if there's no one there to support me?"
Frank broke down and sobbed into his hands as he finished his story.
Lolita held him in her arms, protecting him from his pain, cradling him like a lost baby. She shushed soothingly.
"I'm here for you" She says simply.
And that's that! Okay what I really need from you guys now is some rates and reviews. I'm getting kinda worried that my writing or just this story is getting kinda lame :/ I just want to know whether you guys still like it? Oh and don't worry about Frank and Lolita. I set her up to be a nice character, like a friend for Frank. Don't know what your thoughts on her are but I hope I haven't written her so she seems like a bitch :/ FEAR NOT. You came here for some hot Frerard and so hot Frerard I shall give. In the very near future chapters.
If you or someone you know is severely depressed or suicidal, talk to someone. Call your national suicide hotline. Be yourself and don't take anyone's shit. You're all beautiful.
Chapter Ten
Okay Tumbleweeds here is the next chapter. It's a bit of a dark one compared with some of the others but we finally get to hear Frank's story! It made a nice change for me to write in first person and this chapter practically wrote itself because of it. Hope you enjoy it (as much as you can enjoy Franks story) and look out for the next chapter which fingers crossed will be up next week. Things will be looking up for Frank in the future chapters ahead. Guess he had to get this off his chest first. XO
P.S. We'll be seeing quite a bit more of Gee very soon. Well, Frankie will anyways...
Frank's Story
The pair stayed silent as Frank began to collect and organize his thoughts in his head. He opened and closed his mouth like a confused goldfish, trying to get the words out but failing miserably. Frank took a deep breath as he stared Lolita straight in the eye, trying to make it seem as if he was unafraid to tell the truth. The truth he hadn't told anybody before. He lowered his eyes almost immediately. It briefly flitted across his mind why he wasn't telling Gerard first but now seemed like the time to do it and Gerard wasn't there to listen right then. Lolita seemed to realize his distressed state and put an hand on his shoulder. "It's okay Frank, you don't have to tell me" she said as she noticed his big eyes fill up with water, ready to brim over. Frank crumpled into a pitiful posture at the gesture. She was trying so hard to help make him feel comfortable, to be friends with him. If he told her his story would she still want to be friends? There was only one way to find out.
"Really Frank it doesn't matter, we can talk about it some other ti.."
"My brother killed himself."
Lolita was cut off by Frank's blunt response. She stared for a while. "I'm sorry" she said softly. "I...I had no idea."
Frank heaved a deep breath. "It's okay, you couldn't have known." he looked down at his shoes shaking his head softly. Just then a tear collected at the corner of Franks eye and fell to the floor with a small plop. 'Damn gravity!' He thought, trying to distract his mind.
"Frank we don't have to talk about this if it makes you uncomfortable" Lolita repeated
Translation: I don't want to talk about this.
But Lolitas eyes told a different story where she implored him to go on.
And so Frank told his story.
"It was in the summer three years ago. We lived in Maine then. His name was Drew and he was four years older than me. My parents back then never argued because we all seemed happy together. They'd go to work and me and my brother would go to school. No trouble at all. Sometimes my parents would go out on the weekend and my brother would look after me. We had such a great time. Most people think it's a bore having a big brother but mine was..mine was fun y'know? He took me to concerts, he introduced me to decent music, he helped me with my homework. Hell, he did everything for me. I just wish I could've done something for him.
He was depressed you see. But I didn't realize it at the time. Some people are really good at hiding it. They'll act like their happy when they're around you, but when they're on their own, they're an entirely different person.
He started cutting himself when I was ten.
I didn't get the big deal at first. I walked in on him cutting once and he asked me... No...Begged me not to tell my parents. He was crying. I promised him I wouldn't. I didn't get the big deal. People cut themselves all the time right? I mean, not purposely but like on knives, or wire or something. I just thought that it was the same principal. It didn't matter. Only the day before I'd been to the A&E because I'd cut my head after falling out of a tree.
But ever so slowly, he began to drift away from me. He wasn't my real brother anymore, not how he used to be. He used to spend time with me, listening to music, watching movies, just generally hanging out. He didn't do any of that anymore. He just spent his time holed up in his room, cutting himself with his music on full blast so my parents wouldn't hear him crying.
A few weeks later, mom discovered his razor blades. Not the full thing that you'd use for shaving but just the single blades. She demanded to see his arms and legs and after a huge fight he gave up and showed her. Well, she went mental. She called dad to come home immediately and I was sent to my room. My brother was sent downstairs and there was a huge argument about it for hours. I waited for my brother to come back upstairs that night and when he did, he looked like someone had just died. His face was swollen from crying, his eyeliner had left grey streaks down his face and he just looked so... pathetic. And you know what he did? He hugged me! Me! He was the depressed one. I should have been hugging him. It's just a sign that he had always been there for me I guess.
When I woke up the next morning, It was my mom taking me to school instead of my brother.I asked why. She said he had to be somewhere and he wouldn't be picking me up either. I worried about it all day. I was worried my parents had gotten rid of him. That they didn't want him anymore. When I got home, he was in my room. So was all his stuff. My dad took me aside and told me if I ever saw him cut himself again, I was to say right away. But I never did see him cut again. My parents had booked him into therapy sessions that week which my mom drove him to after work. And he improved. He really did. It seemed that he had gotten over what ever had made him depressed in the first place and my parents let him stop going to therapy after a year and I got my brother back again.
A year later though he spiraled back. Only this time it was worse. He started to take drugs. Began injecting himself with heroin. I don't know where he got it from. I came across it once when he was high and he went crazy. My parents were out and he had me backed into a corner. He hit me. Multiple times. When my parents came back my brother had come down and they never found out why I was covered in bruises. I didn't give him away. He felt terrible after that and asked me to help him. He had started cutting again too. I never saw him doing it but fresh scars appeared on his arms weekly. He needed help getting off the drugs but we couldn't let my parents know about it. They were angry enough when they found out he was cutting. I don't know what they would have done if they knew he was on drugs. He was already addicted after just nine or ten takes. He couldn't buy it that often without my parents noticing the fifty dollar amounts disappearing at regular intervals either. He spent his entire savings on the stuff. And part of his college fund. He was a mess. And he came to me for help. I didn't know what to do. But we got through it. That was when he told me he was gay.
Things started getting back to normal as the year progressed, he slowly reduced the heroin usage. He found a boyfriend too. obviously our parents didn't know, they're not homophobes but they're not the most understanding of people. And he seemed happy again. He seemed to have a lot of ups and downs. He was like a yo-yo. He and this boy were dating for a while, at least six months before my brother finally decided to tell our parents. Well that didn't go well at all. He brought his boyfriend around to meet the family, thinking our parents wouldn't make a scene if there was a guest in the house. But they did. It escalated into yet another huge argument and they made Drew's boyfriend leave the house. His boyfriend dumped him the next day, saying he couldn't deal with the pressure.
After school that day, he came home crying. The boys at his school had discovered his scars whilst in the changing rooms. He usually skipped sports but I don't know, maybe he wanted to feel physical pain, thinking it was his fault his boyfriend left, or maybe it was an accident I never found out but they taunted him and he got into a fight with a few of them. He lost. He came home with bruises covering his arms and ribcage and my dad told him to man up. He screamed that he wanted to kill himself. No one believed him. Everyone says things they don't mean when they're angry.
He came up to our room, we were still sharing since my dad put him there three years ago and hugged me, sobbing into my shirt. That night before I fell asleep he told me he loved me. In a brotherly way I mean. I didn't know why he was telling me this but I said the same back. The next morning was like nothing had never happened. My parents went out to work and my brother walked to school with me before leaving me at the gates. He headed to the building he was in and I headed to mine. It was a normal day. When the bell rang for the end of class, I waited for my brother outside for half an hour but he never turned up. I had a key for the house by that point so I figured I'd walk by myself, maybe he had to catch up on some homework or a detention or something. I got home and it was quiet. Everyone was out. I was hungry so I made myself a sandwich and headed upstairs to my room, planning on practicing my guitar for a bit.
I opened the door and..and...and he was...just...hanging...there.
He'd come home from school early and found some rope in the shed. He'd tied it around the bunk bed..and...killed himself. The police found about a years worth of anti depressants stashed in the drawer unused. He hadn't been taking them. He'd never taken them by the looks of things. At the inquest the papers from his psychotherapy file came up. The doctor in question said that he had a mental illness called clinical depression. But that didn't mean anything. He died and all the state was bothered about was ticking the reasons behind his death into a box for the records.
He killed himself because he couldn't take not being accepted for who he was. His own parents wouldn't accept him. I was the only one who had. Maybe if I had been more supportive he wouldn't have done it. Maybe he still would have, I don't know. It came to my attention too that he had been bullied at school for longer than I thought. Ever since he had been introduced to metal and started to dress in black. It got worse when he finally felt confident enough to express his sexuality. They beat him down, both metaphorically and physically sometimes. He had a really hard time.
My parents won't even talk about him anymore. Maybe its because they find it difficult to cope with, but I don't think it was. I just think my dad is too proud to mention it. See at the inquest, the bruises on my brothers body came up. The police thought it was my parents abusing him that led to his depression and ultimately his suicide, but it wasn't. I don't like my parents but they would never hit us. It took a while before the police even took Drew's fight at school into account. The stupid school didn't want to release information saying that several of their pupils may have led to the death of another.
Anyway, once it was resolved, the police apologized to my family, but my dad is just too big headed to talk about him anymore. He just makes it about him whenever anything close to the subject comes up. It's like Drew never existed in our household. They go on like nothing has happened. They don't even act like they've lost a son. It doesn't seem all that important to them anymore. But something important happened to me. I lost my brother.
And now I feel I'm going the same way. I feel depressed, I get bullied, I cut, I drink, I smoke. And now I think I'm gay too. I don't wanna die but I don't want to be miserable anymore. I knew my brother was cutting and I didn't help him because I was too damn stupid to tell anyone. Maybe he would be alive today if I had just told someone who could have helped him. Maybe he wouldn't. But my brother had someone there to accept him and support him and he still killed himself. Whats going to happen if there's no one there to support me?"
Frank broke down and sobbed into his hands as he finished his story.
Lolita held him in her arms, protecting him from his pain, cradling him like a lost baby. She shushed soothingly.
"I'm here for you" She says simply.
And that's that! Okay what I really need from you guys now is some rates and reviews. I'm getting kinda worried that my writing or just this story is getting kinda lame :/ I just want to know whether you guys still like it? Oh and don't worry about Frank and Lolita. I set her up to be a nice character, like a friend for Frank. Don't know what your thoughts on her are but I hope I haven't written her so she seems like a bitch :/ FEAR NOT. You came here for some hot Frerard and so hot Frerard I shall give. In the very near future chapters.
If you or someone you know is severely depressed or suicidal, talk to someone. Call your national suicide hotline. Be yourself and don't take anyone's shit. You're all beautiful.
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