Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Calm Before The Storm

Chapter 7

by ScreamingNinja93 2 reviews

Those eyes . . . so familiar . . . who are you?

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG - Genres: Angst - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way - Published: 2012-12-13 - Updated: 2012-12-13 - 3467 words - Complete

Mikey’s POV

I stare at my closed bedroom door, the sound of Gerard’s hurried footsteps growing quieter and quieter; he’s going back to that house. He’s going back to that house. I feel little goose bumps rise up on my arms. That house was strange to say the least, and spooky. It most definitely is haunted by something, no matter what Gerard says, there’s something in that house. And now Gerard has gone back there, to collect something; what on earth could he have left behind?!

I still can’t work out what happened with that book and the door, it’s just so creepy. The thought sends a chill down my spine. There’s something hiding in that house, and whatever it is, it didn’t want us to find out. Fuck, I should have gone with Gerard, I should have just got up and followed him regardless. I wring my hands together and glance at the clock on my bedside table; 2:36pm

I should have gone with him, I don’t know why, but I feel like I should have gone with him. Fuck. I snatch my phone up off the bed side table and stare at it; he said he wouldn’t be long, Perry Street isn’t too far from here. I sigh a little and glance back at my clock; 2:37pm

I’ll give him half an hour; if he’s not back within half an hour, I’ll call him. Or better yet, I’ll go out and look for him. I tighten my grip on my phone, sighing and laying back on my bed, keeping my eyes on the clock

Gerard’s POV


A dull ache throbs in my head as I try and move. My limbs feel heavy like lead s I try and move, tingling slightly as the blood comes rushing back. My ears are flooded with a constant ring. Opening my eyes, my vision is badly blurred, funny black shapes floating in front of my eyes as I try to focus. The ache in my head gets stronger, as the ringing in my ears begins to subside. I scrunch my eyes shut tightly for a moment, before blinking them open again. My vision is still slightly fuzzy as I try to look around, try and focus on something; anything

A face; my vision clears a little more. A pale face, streaked with marks; dirt. Scruffy dark brown hair, sticks up at slightly odd angles, pale pink lips, dry and cracked. Eyes; those eyes . . . . . I’ve seen them before. My heart jolts, as I remember those hazel eyes, as I sit bolt upright, my body protesting as my vision clouds again, as the annoying ringing floods back into my ears, my head feels like it’s on fire, as I scurry backwards. My stomach churns, making feel nauseous and light-headed again. My back hits something hard; a wall. My heart beats furiously against my chest as I glance up at the mysterious person

They stare back at me, eyes wide, filled with fear and worry. The person doesn’t move, just stares at me. I gulp slightly, looking around the room I’m in; it’s unfamiliar. The space is fairly big, the ceiling slopes; this must be the attic. There’s a mattress, covered in a series of blankets that look worn. There is an odd item of clothing on the ground near the mattress. There’s a small table, that’s piled with empty wrappers and bottles, as well what look like books and candles. I also spot a guitar case, not too far away, along with a back pack nearby. I look back over to the person, who is still watching me carefully. Fuck, fuck, fuck!! I just want to go home. My head aches even more, as my stomach still churns, but I feel my heart stop, as the mysterious person stands up from his spot. Oh God! What if he’s going to hurt me even more? He stares at me a second, before walking away over to the door. He bends down and picks something up. I feel my body tense up, as he turns around and looks at me. He walks the short distance; it feels like my heart could burst out of my chest any second at the rate is beating

I stop breathing for a second, as he crouches down in front of me, and holds something out in his hands; my sketchbook! I stare at it for a second, before looking up at the mysterious guy, his eyes holding my gaze steadily, watching and waiting. I blink before looking back at my sketchpad and reach a shaky hand out towards it. Taking a firm hold of my sketchbook, I pull it away from his grasp, and pull it close to my chest

“W-w-who are you?” I whisper, my voice shaking slightly. The guy narrows his eyes at me. I swallow thickly, and flinch as the guy stands back up

“What were you doing here last night?” his voice is quiet, but hoarse. His eyes relax a little, but still hold that fear, tainted with worry

“U-uh, I-I I, um,” I stutter, trying to form words. I still feel sick, my stomach still doing back flips. The guys stares at me more, before letting out a sigh

“Me and my friends were dared to spend the night here,” I mumble out. The guy raises an eyebrow at me

“Dared?” the guy questions

“Uh, yeah; someone said this house was . . haunted, I didn’t believe them, s-so they dared me . . . . . to stay here, for the night.”

The guy shakes his head, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as if he was going to smile, but he holds a straight face. My head throbs even more. I touch a hand to the back of my head, and wince, as I brush my fingers against the bump that has formed there. Guilt flashes across the guys face. He turns and walks over to the back pack laying on the floor, picking it up and rummaging around inside it, before pulling out a half filled water bottle. He lets go of the bag and it lands with a thud as it hits the wooden floor. He moves and sits back down in front of me, holding out the water bottle. I take it tentatively, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip of water

“Frank.” I blink stupidly at him, pulling the water bottle away from my mouth

“Huh?” he chuckles a little

“Frank, that’s my name.” I nod and immediately regret it as my head aches more

“Gerard.” Frank smiles slightly at me. I screw the cap back onto the bottle after taking another sip, and hand it back over to Frank


“No problem, I’m sorry though, for hitting you,” Frank apologies quietly, his gaze dropping to the ground and his cheeks blushing red

“It’s fine, I’d probably have done the same,” I said. My stomach begins to settle down, as my heart rate begins to slow back down to a normal pace again. Frank simply nods his head. An awkward silence fills the room. I glance at Frank, who is sat playing with his fingers. He looks relatively young, can’t be much older than Mikey, in fact, he looks like he should still be in school. What is he doing here anyway?

“Why are you here?” I ask. Frank’s head snaps up, his eyes locking on mine. Shit, that came out a bit rude

“I mean, why are you here in this house? Don’t you have a family to go to?” I asked. I watched, as a whole wave of emotions flickered through his eyes; his eyes becoming slightly glassy

“Shit, I’m sorry! I-I mean, crap, I shouldn’t have asked,” I stammer out. I feel my heat face up. I look at Frank, who looks at me and shakes his head a little, before he lets out a sigh

“Family. What family,” he mumbles out, staring at the ground again

“I have no family,” he whispers out. An orphan?


“DON’T,” Frank cuts across me. I close my mouth as he looks up

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Frank speaks softly, his voice tainted with sadness. His shoulders slump down; he looks so small

“What happened?” I ask. Frank looked at me for a second

“You really want to know?” I hardly take any interest in anyone I don’t know, but for some reason, as I look at Frank, something tugs inside of me; curiosity

“Only if you want to tell me,” I answer back. Frank nodded his head, falling silent for a moment

“I used to live in Kearny, with both of my parents. We used to be such a happy family. My mom used to make me and my dad go to church, every day. She was strict catholic. My dad was catholic too, but was a lot more relaxed about it.” Frank shuffled a little in his spot, getting a little comfier

“My dad loved his music. Mom wasn’t so keen on it. Said it was just pointless noise. If you ask me, a church organ is just noise,” Frank chuckled. I smiled a little

“Anyway, my dad started playing drums. He loved it. He was really good at it. He used to let me play on his kit sometimes. Mom would get cross with him whenever he did let me play on them. It was silly really. On my 10th birthday, my dad decided to buy me a guitar. Needless to say, it didn’t go down too well with mom. She shouted at him, said that my school education was far more important than wasting my time trying to learn something that wouldn’t get me anywhere in life. I guess that’s where all the arguments started.”

Frank looked away, and began to pick at a thread on his sleeve. He looked back up after a moment of silent

“The arguments started to get more frequent. My dad had joined this little jazz band. They were really good. They used to play a lot around New Jersey. They started moving about the place after a while, first going to New York. That’s where they really got recognised. My dad loved it. I loved seeing him so happy. He let go with him a few times, to watch him.” Frank smiled, his eyes reflecting happiness, before it slowly started to fade away again

“When I was thirteen, I woke up, in the middle of the night to the sound of something breaking. That’s when I heard their voices; screaming at each other. I got up and headed downstairs. My mom was screaming at my father. Said he was useless. A lousy good for nothing. Said he could never do anything right and that he was a bad father. HE wasn’t a bad father.”

Frank’s fists clenched slightly as he looked up at me

“My dad couldn’t take it anymore. Said that he wasn’t going to stay here if all he got was abuse. I didn’t blame him. He pushed past his mother, pulled me into a hug, before he marched out of the door, never to come back.”

Frank’s eyes went all glassy again, as he stared past me at the wall. The poor guy

“Everything went downhill after that. I was so miserable. All of my mother’s family hated my dad and I never got to see any of my dad’s family as my mom cut us off completely from them. School life was horrible. I got bullied as it was for being small and the freaky looking kid. Kids used to push me around and beat me. I could never stand up for myself, whenever I tried I would just get beaten down to the ground. My mom barely spoke to me; whenever she looked at me, it wasn’t with the loving eyes she used to look at me with. They were cold. She would shout at me if I didn’t do something right. Would slap me if I swore.”

Slapped him?! My mom never dared to hit me or Mikey when we were kids; said nothing good ever came out from slapping a child

“My dad sent me a letter once, just after my fourteenth birthday. Told me that he was touring around America, playing music, doing what he loved. Said that he missed me. He told me that he had set up a bank account in my name. Sent the card in that letter too. He was putting about $30 in there every month. Said that the money was for me, and not my mom. He told me that I should follow whatever dream I may have. Not to let my mom hold back. I never heard from him after that.”

“My mom hated the fact that I still played guitar, said it was a waste of time and that I was no good at it. I didn’t care. It was my escape. It still is.”

Frank’s eyes dart over to the guitar case lying on the floor

“My mom hated me even more when I finally decided to come out of the closet.” Frank looked at me warily, the worry returning to his eyes as his body tensed a little. He had just admitted that he was gay to me; of course he’s going to look worried; heck I looked petrified when I told Mikey that I was gay. I gazed back and smiled softly at him as a way of reassurance. Frank relaxed and smiled back

“To say my mom hated me was an understatement. She made my life a living hell. She forced me into church. Tried to make me repent. Make me pray and beg for forgiveness. I laughed at her most of the time. She would hit me, and we’d argue, whether it was at home, in church or out in public. She’d make it known that I was a failure. Make sure everyone knew that I was a ‘filthy faggot’ and to stay away from me.”

Frank fell silent. His fiddling hands stilled in his lap

“It was a few months before my fifteenth birthday when I ran away from home,” Frank whispered

“It had been a relatively calm day. My mom had avoided me and not spoken a word to me, though I knew it wouldn’t be long. Sure enough, as the evening came in, I did something silly; I caught my toe on one of the kitchen chairs. It hurt, so I swore under my breath, but my mom just had to hear it.”

“She exploded at me. Said that I’ll go to hell for the things that I have done. She grabbed hold of me, her nails dug into my skin. It started thundering outside, a real nasty storm. Word after abusive word was thrown at me. She called me worthless, just like my dad. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed her away from me, making sure she crashed into the wall. I kicked the chair over, before storming past her out into the hallway. She threw a glass at me. It smashed against the door frame. I picked up her most beloved vase that was sitting on the table out in the wall way and threw it against the wall. She screamed at me more.”

Anger flashed through Frank’s eyes, as well as hurt, his eyes welling up slightly

“I screamed at her. Told her that I hated her. I stormed upstairs as she told me how much of a disgrace I was. Told me how I really was like my father. I said I’d rather I was like him than her, before I slammed my door. My mind was set on leaving. So I packed, packed the things I knew I needed. That’s when she shouted that she wish that I had never been born.”

I felt a chill run down my spine as Frank spoke those last words, his eyes locking with mine

“I stopped in my tracks, with what I was doing. The words hurt more than anything she had ever said. I felt more worthless than I had. I hated her even more. When I finally went downstairs with my back pack and guitar, I said that I wish I was dead. As I left, running out into the rain, she told me never to come back. I never plan on going back to her.”

A single tear rolled down Frank’s cheek. I could feel a lump forming in the back of my throat

“I ran and ran. In the rain. I felt so cold and so numb. I didn’t want to live anymore. I just wanted to end my life then and there. I wasn’t loved. I didn’t know where my dad was. I knew the rest of my family wouldn’t want thing to do with me,” Frank choked out. My heart clenched s he ducked his head down, wiping the few more tears that had slipped down his cheeks away

“I ran for miles, I didn’t want to be in Kearny anymore. I just kept going. I reached an alleyway and collapsed there. I had no energy what so ever. I was unwanted and alone in this cruel world. I passed out in that alleyway. My only thought was that I would be better off dead.”

Frank looked back up, his cheeks a rosy red, his eyes shining bright, filled with tears. His lower lip quivered

“When I finally woke up in the alley after passing out several times, my chest hurt so much. I’ve got such a shitty immune system. I knew I couldn’t just lay there in that alleyway, so I got up and walked. I just kept walking, into I crossed in Belleville. People pushed past me, not giving a damn. I wondered the streets for about an hour, my legs hurt so much and I could barely breathe with my chest hurting so much. I staggered my way into this street, and found this house. I didn’t care if anyone in the street called the cops on me for breaking and entering. I just wanted somewhere to stay for the night.”

A few more tears slipped down Frank’s cheeks, his voice cracking and breaking now as he spoke

“I made it into one of the bedrooms, and just collapsed onto one of the beds. I felt sick. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with myself. A part of me just wanted me to end my life, right there and then. No one would have found me. No one would have ca-cared. But the o-other part of me wa-was s-screaming out for my dad. I just w-wanted my dad. I-I-I miss h-hi-him!”

And with that, Frank burst into floods of tears. I could feel my own eyes start to water at the sight. Frank pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in them, crying his heart out, sobs wracking through his body. Man do I feel guilty. It’s my fault he’s crying and my fault for asking him. The poor guy. I can feel my heart aching as he sobs even harder. Sighing shakily, I stretch my hand out and touch his arm gently. He raises his head to look at me, tears pouring down his cheeks. So much sadness. He looks so lost

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, even though he doesn’t want me to say it. His bottom lip trembles, as fresh tears pour down from his eyes. I place my sketchbook down on the floor next to me, before holding my arms out. Without hesitation, Frank crawls forward into my arms, and clings onto me tightly. I slowly wrap my arms around him, and hold him close, letting him cry into my chest. I feel a single tear slip down my cheek as Frank continues to sob into my chest.


So I've posted this chapter a day early as I completely forgot that I was baby sitting Friday night, so here it is!! I am sorry now, if anyone does get a little upset while reading this, I will admit that I managed to make myself cry, while writing this O.o I am very tired this week and still feel a little unwell, and I'm missing someone too
ANYWAY I hope you guys do like this
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