Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > But No One Sees the Gnashing Teeth of My Heart [Frerard]
"Why do you let him talk to you like that?" Gerard asks gruffly, checking the activity behind him as we pull out of town. I shrug, not feeling up to having much of a conversation, but this doesn't seem to slide with the driver.
I watch as his jaw sets hard and he grasps the steering wheel tightly so that his knuckles turn a sickly white. This new side of Gerard is a part of him I could never have guessed was in existence. He isn't being violent, or aggressive. He's acting... authoritative. Like a fucking parent; someone that clearly knows better and has no reservations about saying so. And I don't actually mind at all.
"He's just a prick. They all are." I mumble under my breath while a part of me wishes that the subject could just be dropped. To my surprise, Gerard simply nods and reaches between us to twist the radio's tuner over to the right in an attempt at picking up a station.
"My parents are going to murder me." I say harshly. I look out the window as if the answer to all of my problems will be lying on the street waiting for me to spot it. I hear a bitter laugh and turn to see what Gerard's sudden change in mood is all about.
"Are they really that bad, Frankie?" he asks. His tone is far from patronizing, but for the first time in my life I actually feel guilty for hating them the way I do. Like hearing it spoken by someone else was the wake up call I needed.
"They could be worse. But they're certainly not the best." I decide with, hoping just maybe he'll understand. And judging by his softened expression, it seems he really does. Relief hits me like a force so strong I could fall backwards if not for the seat behind me. The atmosphere in the car takes a turn for the comfortable and I'm able to breathe in the scent of his vehicle and him and not worry about the shit I'll have to face in a couple of minutes.
"I could stall..." Gerard offers, but it's clear we both know that would only make matters worse. I offer a Thanks but no thanks kind of statement that really brings out the scared child in me. I try to put it out of my mind and really breathe through what's about to happen. My iPod's going to be taken for sure, this time indefinitely. I didn't even get to listen to it first...
"Well, it looks like we're here. L-let me know how it goes, okay?" Gerard says briefly, the frail nature of his voice making me want to reach over to him, if only for a moment. I can hardly control the thoughts racing through my mind, but among them all, my most tolerated is the image of us holding one another like we had down at the church. It's almost taboo, and undoubtedly sick of me to think such a thing, but I honestly can't help it. It's like falling into him was an instinct I would have been stupid to deny. Like for an instant, he was what kept me from the world like a shield.
"I will." is the sentence I leave him with. Once I shut his door and watch the car pull away, a nauseating sort of anticipation fills my mind and makes me feel like I've been fed a current of energy. I take a few brave steps before pulling at the door handle. For a moment, I'm confused as to why it won't open, and then the thought hits me that I'll need my key because they left it locked. Which could only mean... that they aren't home. They aren't here, and Matt hasn't stopped by, and he'll more than likely come to terms with my leaving as going home with a friend as if it was a set agreement made with my mom before she dropped me off. And suddenly it's like I've been sent to Heaven early because I can breathe again, and the nerves in my stomach are disintegrating at an alarming speed. I search my left pocket for the house key before using it to let myself in. Every single thing has a new light about it; this is happiness. This... this pathetic fucking feeling is happiness. This is what I've been missing out on. And then it occurs to me that the reason this moment feels so fucking great is because I was terrified just moments earlier. I realize that happiness and relief are no good unless they're serving as a replacement for the sickening feelings we have; the ones that make you want to vomit and wish you were dead. Is that really all joy is? A decent stir of feelings because things aren't as bad as they could be? Thoughts on the Human Experience come flooding into my brain, practically playing a game and fucking with me so slyly. Like the entire packaged deal of human emotions has just been revealed to me as a total scam, and sadly I'm hardly surprised. The good feeling is gone now, and I'm really left with nothing but my usual discontented smirk as I shut the door behind me and head upstairs with no dinner, or even a goodnight. I'm alone, just as I love to be. And I've taken home not one, but two victories tonight because I've also realized that nothing is worth getting worked up over, because it doesn't fucking matter in the end.
x-x-x-x-x
The week goes by smoothly, which comes to me as a shock. Little to no homework every day, and hardly any unnecessary conversations with my parents. Gerard was happy to hear that my parents hardly even bothered to listen when I told them for good measure that a friend had taken me home from youth. In fact, they didn't seem to care. Maybe it's because I'm growing up, or maybe it's because they don't want to deny me the little things when they can put more energy into taking away the large ones. Either way, I simply sit in the midst of these emotions that should be pleasant and wait for shit to hit the fan like it always does when I finally decide that I'm in a good place. But nothing remotely horrible happens, not even on Saturday when I have to donate some of my time down at the church to help with raising money for this Summer's children's camp admission fund. It's on Sunday when I realize I've come down with something that I start to really feel bad, and by now it's hardly fixable without the aid of a doctor because my throat's on fire and my sugar seems low.
"Frank? Honey?" my mother says over the phone once church has let out. They actually let me stay in for the first time in months so I could get a decent night's sleep on Saturday and well into Sunday afternoon.
"Yeah?" I ask, hardly having to put stress on my condition as my cracking voice does it all for me. My mom goes through the process of telling me every detail of the morning service before offering to get me a box of cider packets for home. I agree and thank her before hanging up to try and catch another hour of sleep, but my energy has come to stay and so I'm apparently ready to begin my day.
I climb out of bed and walk down the hallway for a moment, wondering what I was after in the first place. Then the image of cough drops comes to mind and I make my way to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen to see if I can spot them. After putting one in my mouth and a few extras in my pocket, the front door opens and it dawns on me that my dad had probably worked this morning, forcing him to miss a day of church. So this was his lunch break and the official death of my "euphoria".
"Frank? You really need to stay out of your room. Go outside on the porch swing and try to get some Vitamin D, why don't you?" my dad says sternly, lifting a snobby nose to the fact that I'm still dressed in my pajamas.
"Dad, it's forty-five degrees outside," I say, looking at the thermometer suction-cupped to our window outside. "I'm not going out there to freeze to death." and with that, I turn for my room to try and avoid him for the next half hour he has to be here.
The avoidance works until he's off the job around dinnertime and my mother's made it home from her social hour at church. They both demand for me to come out and look for the humidifier since it's obvious I'm doing myself no good by staying in a "hot, stuffy room". I roll my eyes but obey and bother with searching the entire linen closet only to find that the filter is broken so I can't put it to good use anyway.
"Then step out of the room like I told you, son! You deprive your body of sunlight and your immune system is going to be horrible! This is what you have to look forward to all Winter if you don't clean up your act. I'll take that door off myself if I have to." my father threatens, and I sigh because I know he really means it. But his words of warning aren't quite enough to make me pitch out my privacy, so I stay inside and sleep uncomfortably through the night as the sound of my coughing wakes me up every hour or so.
I miss school the next day, the thought making me cringe even through the satisfaction I receive from not having to wake up at an ungodly hour for once in my life. Everything is peaceful for a while before my mother goes on a rant about my being a hermit. This lecture is conveniently timed for right as my dad comes home from work, which only makes him start in on me about my apparent malnutrition and lack of sunlight. Their points could so easily be seen as scared words of worry, but I know them better than that. Right now, the only thing they're worried about is allowing me to fall out of line in a way that could be detrimental to their reputations or my relationship with Christ.
"Please, will you both just let me go to sleep?!" I shout loudly enough to make them listen. My father's face scrunches up in anger but my mom is quick to calm him down.
"Fine. Just go to bed and tell us how you feel in the morning." she says as calmly as she can. Despite my resentment toward her for starting it in the first place, I'm extremely thankful that she had sense enough to keep the fight from progressing. I walk up to my room and wait to hear the rebellious click of my door as it shuts behind me. Upon sliding under the blankets, I decide it won't matter how I'm feeling in the morning: I am going to school.
I watch as his jaw sets hard and he grasps the steering wheel tightly so that his knuckles turn a sickly white. This new side of Gerard is a part of him I could never have guessed was in existence. He isn't being violent, or aggressive. He's acting... authoritative. Like a fucking parent; someone that clearly knows better and has no reservations about saying so. And I don't actually mind at all.
"He's just a prick. They all are." I mumble under my breath while a part of me wishes that the subject could just be dropped. To my surprise, Gerard simply nods and reaches between us to twist the radio's tuner over to the right in an attempt at picking up a station.
"My parents are going to murder me." I say harshly. I look out the window as if the answer to all of my problems will be lying on the street waiting for me to spot it. I hear a bitter laugh and turn to see what Gerard's sudden change in mood is all about.
"Are they really that bad, Frankie?" he asks. His tone is far from patronizing, but for the first time in my life I actually feel guilty for hating them the way I do. Like hearing it spoken by someone else was the wake up call I needed.
"They could be worse. But they're certainly not the best." I decide with, hoping just maybe he'll understand. And judging by his softened expression, it seems he really does. Relief hits me like a force so strong I could fall backwards if not for the seat behind me. The atmosphere in the car takes a turn for the comfortable and I'm able to breathe in the scent of his vehicle and him and not worry about the shit I'll have to face in a couple of minutes.
"I could stall..." Gerard offers, but it's clear we both know that would only make matters worse. I offer a Thanks but no thanks kind of statement that really brings out the scared child in me. I try to put it out of my mind and really breathe through what's about to happen. My iPod's going to be taken for sure, this time indefinitely. I didn't even get to listen to it first...
"Well, it looks like we're here. L-let me know how it goes, okay?" Gerard says briefly, the frail nature of his voice making me want to reach over to him, if only for a moment. I can hardly control the thoughts racing through my mind, but among them all, my most tolerated is the image of us holding one another like we had down at the church. It's almost taboo, and undoubtedly sick of me to think such a thing, but I honestly can't help it. It's like falling into him was an instinct I would have been stupid to deny. Like for an instant, he was what kept me from the world like a shield.
"I will." is the sentence I leave him with. Once I shut his door and watch the car pull away, a nauseating sort of anticipation fills my mind and makes me feel like I've been fed a current of energy. I take a few brave steps before pulling at the door handle. For a moment, I'm confused as to why it won't open, and then the thought hits me that I'll need my key because they left it locked. Which could only mean... that they aren't home. They aren't here, and Matt hasn't stopped by, and he'll more than likely come to terms with my leaving as going home with a friend as if it was a set agreement made with my mom before she dropped me off. And suddenly it's like I've been sent to Heaven early because I can breathe again, and the nerves in my stomach are disintegrating at an alarming speed. I search my left pocket for the house key before using it to let myself in. Every single thing has a new light about it; this is happiness. This... this pathetic fucking feeling is happiness. This is what I've been missing out on. And then it occurs to me that the reason this moment feels so fucking great is because I was terrified just moments earlier. I realize that happiness and relief are no good unless they're serving as a replacement for the sickening feelings we have; the ones that make you want to vomit and wish you were dead. Is that really all joy is? A decent stir of feelings because things aren't as bad as they could be? Thoughts on the Human Experience come flooding into my brain, practically playing a game and fucking with me so slyly. Like the entire packaged deal of human emotions has just been revealed to me as a total scam, and sadly I'm hardly surprised. The good feeling is gone now, and I'm really left with nothing but my usual discontented smirk as I shut the door behind me and head upstairs with no dinner, or even a goodnight. I'm alone, just as I love to be. And I've taken home not one, but two victories tonight because I've also realized that nothing is worth getting worked up over, because it doesn't fucking matter in the end.
x-x-x-x-x
The week goes by smoothly, which comes to me as a shock. Little to no homework every day, and hardly any unnecessary conversations with my parents. Gerard was happy to hear that my parents hardly even bothered to listen when I told them for good measure that a friend had taken me home from youth. In fact, they didn't seem to care. Maybe it's because I'm growing up, or maybe it's because they don't want to deny me the little things when they can put more energy into taking away the large ones. Either way, I simply sit in the midst of these emotions that should be pleasant and wait for shit to hit the fan like it always does when I finally decide that I'm in a good place. But nothing remotely horrible happens, not even on Saturday when I have to donate some of my time down at the church to help with raising money for this Summer's children's camp admission fund. It's on Sunday when I realize I've come down with something that I start to really feel bad, and by now it's hardly fixable without the aid of a doctor because my throat's on fire and my sugar seems low.
"Frank? Honey?" my mother says over the phone once church has let out. They actually let me stay in for the first time in months so I could get a decent night's sleep on Saturday and well into Sunday afternoon.
"Yeah?" I ask, hardly having to put stress on my condition as my cracking voice does it all for me. My mom goes through the process of telling me every detail of the morning service before offering to get me a box of cider packets for home. I agree and thank her before hanging up to try and catch another hour of sleep, but my energy has come to stay and so I'm apparently ready to begin my day.
I climb out of bed and walk down the hallway for a moment, wondering what I was after in the first place. Then the image of cough drops comes to mind and I make my way to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen to see if I can spot them. After putting one in my mouth and a few extras in my pocket, the front door opens and it dawns on me that my dad had probably worked this morning, forcing him to miss a day of church. So this was his lunch break and the official death of my "euphoria".
"Frank? You really need to stay out of your room. Go outside on the porch swing and try to get some Vitamin D, why don't you?" my dad says sternly, lifting a snobby nose to the fact that I'm still dressed in my pajamas.
"Dad, it's forty-five degrees outside," I say, looking at the thermometer suction-cupped to our window outside. "I'm not going out there to freeze to death." and with that, I turn for my room to try and avoid him for the next half hour he has to be here.
The avoidance works until he's off the job around dinnertime and my mother's made it home from her social hour at church. They both demand for me to come out and look for the humidifier since it's obvious I'm doing myself no good by staying in a "hot, stuffy room". I roll my eyes but obey and bother with searching the entire linen closet only to find that the filter is broken so I can't put it to good use anyway.
"Then step out of the room like I told you, son! You deprive your body of sunlight and your immune system is going to be horrible! This is what you have to look forward to all Winter if you don't clean up your act. I'll take that door off myself if I have to." my father threatens, and I sigh because I know he really means it. But his words of warning aren't quite enough to make me pitch out my privacy, so I stay inside and sleep uncomfortably through the night as the sound of my coughing wakes me up every hour or so.
I miss school the next day, the thought making me cringe even through the satisfaction I receive from not having to wake up at an ungodly hour for once in my life. Everything is peaceful for a while before my mother goes on a rant about my being a hermit. This lecture is conveniently timed for right as my dad comes home from work, which only makes him start in on me about my apparent malnutrition and lack of sunlight. Their points could so easily be seen as scared words of worry, but I know them better than that. Right now, the only thing they're worried about is allowing me to fall out of line in a way that could be detrimental to their reputations or my relationship with Christ.
"Please, will you both just let me go to sleep?!" I shout loudly enough to make them listen. My father's face scrunches up in anger but my mom is quick to calm him down.
"Fine. Just go to bed and tell us how you feel in the morning." she says as calmly as she can. Despite my resentment toward her for starting it in the first place, I'm extremely thankful that she had sense enough to keep the fight from progressing. I walk up to my room and wait to hear the rebellious click of my door as it shuts behind me. Upon sliding under the blankets, I decide it won't matter how I'm feeling in the morning: I am going to school.
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