...well you can hide a lot about yourself, but honey, what're you gonna do? And you can sleep in a coffin but the past ain't through with you...
We joked happily on the way back.
"It's a good thing Kate decided to go on to the next concert without us and wait for us there. She'd be really pissed if she saw me right now," I laughed, seeing in my mind the face she made when Frank had made fun of her.
"Pff, big deal; she's always pissed off, Ithink it's her natural state," Frankie replied, rolling his eyes.
Halfway to Emma's house, Frank and Mikey had to trade places with Emma and help me the rest of the way home.
My head was killing me and I was dizzy. Seeing Frank and the others had momentarily eased me from the effects of alcohol, but now they were kicking in again.
When we arrived at the house, Ray and Bob weren't there yet. Mikey had told me that they had gone driving around in Emma's car looking for me.
They set me down on the sofa in Emma's living room. Frank sat next to me but Emma went to go make me some coffee; Mikey went to go "help" her, leaving me and Frank alone to be able to talk abit.
"We should get your cuts fixed up," Frank said, turning so he was facing me.
"We can do that later, it's no big deal," I said. "Where... where did you go when you left?"
He looked down at his hands, suddenly very interested in them. "I took Emma's car and... drove. I didn't really go anywhere. Just drove."
I nodded. "I did the same... except I went walking. Didn't really know where to go or what to do."
"I turned and came back when I realized what I had done," he said, looking up at me, his face filled with sorrow. "I know you said its okay and that it doesn't matter, but it does matter. Ileft you when you needed me and I'm sorry, Gee, I'm so sorry. Wait - let me finish. I just wanted to say that it won't happen again. Ever. I promise." To end on a lighter note, he finished, "Trust me," offering a tentative smile.
I smiled back at him. "You know I trust you."
He nodded and shifted nervously, getting ready to say what he had been trying to erase from his memory for as long as he could remember. "Gee... the thing I didn't want to tell anyone... remember I told you that there was something in my past that was hard for me to face?"
I nodded slowly, realizing how hard it really was for him.
"Well, it's about my... stepfather. You know my dad died in a car accident when I was 8, but after a few years my mom got married again, to that asshole. When I was just a kid, he did some stuff that... that was really fucked up. He used to always go to a bar and get drunk... then he'd come back home... he was always really violent when he was drunk - when he wasn't drunk he was violent too, actually - and well, he used to..."
His voice started getting thicker; it was getting harder and harder for him to talk. I sat waiting for him to finish, worried for him, but I was also embarrassed because I had just gotten drunk myself.
"He used to... physically abuse me, but Ididn't really care about that, I could take it... but what I couldn't take was that he also... sexually abused me."
He was looking down but he glanced up to see my reaction, which was utter shock and horror.
"I knew he was gay... sometimes when my mom wasn't home he would bring guys home... he even made me watch the two of them fuck a few times, and if I tried to look away or close my eyes, he'd knock me across the head..."
His eyes were filled with tears, the awful memories flooding his mind and forcing him to relive the past. I scooted over to him and put an arm around his shoulder, telling him to shush, that he had said enough.
"I need to get it all out," he coughed out, quickly wiping away a tear that had fallen down his cheek. "Not only was he afag that brought guys home that he found at the bar, but he used to call /me/a fag! When he couldn't find anyone to bring home, he'd take it out on me, saying that I was a fucking fag and that he'd give me what I deserved... that if I wanted to be a faggot then he'd give me what I deserved..."
He gulped in air.
"I was just a kid! A fucking kid/!And he would fuck me in the ass and call me fag over and over again, telling me it was what I deserved, when /he was the one that picked up guys at the bar!"
He was getting hysteric, tears streaming down his face as he tried to fight them and swipe them away.
It was so terrible to think that all that could have happened to anyone... to my Frank! I was getting as upset as he was, but another feeling was also growing inside of me: anger. I wanted to find that asshole and rip his beating heart out and show it to him right before he died.
"The worst part was that my mother didn't believe me, she /couldn't /believe me. I told her a million times and she always told me to stop making things up. She was afraid of him. Terrified. Hell, I was too. She hated him, but she wouldn't divorce him because she thought he would do something to her... or to me."
He suddenly looked angry; his fists tightened and he glared at his stepfather in his mind. "I should have killed him," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I should have killed him and saved my mother. Instead, I ran away from home. Remember when I ran to your house and asked to stay when I was 15? I never wanted to talk about it and now you know why."
"She's the one that told me to run away. One night, when the asshole had gone out, she told me to run away. She finally admitted that she knew what he had been doing to me but couldn't do anything to stop it, she was too afraid. He had never hit her or anything... until the day Iran away."
I opened my mouth in shock and Frank looked disgusted with himself.
"He beat her up... he asked her where I was when he got home and she wouldn't tell him. I went home the morning after I had run away to see her... and she was all bruised up and bleeding. I took her to the hospital and she had a broken rib and a cut on her head from where she had hit it on the floor when he was beating her up. It was all my fault! If I hadn't left her... she would have been fine..."
He was openly crying now. He raised both hands to cover his face, ashamed of what he had done.
I remembered the night he ran away from home like it was yesterday. My heart went out to him when I opened the door and saw him there, soaking wet and shivering from the rain. He didn't have any clothes or anything with him except for what he had on. Mikey and I asked him what had happened and he only said he couldn't take living at home anymore and asked if he could stay at our place until he could find some where else to stay. Our mother loved Frankie like another son and agreed that he should stay at our house. He got himself a job cleaning tables in a restaurant for after school which he hated, but he ended up staying at our house until we bought a van and started driving around, trying to get gigs wherever we could.
The idea of forming a band came from one of our late night chats, and it ended up saving us all. Who knew?
Even though he ran away from home, I never thought all those terrible things had happened to him. "What happened to your mom?" He never liked talking about his family so I really had no idea of anything he was telling me. I assumed Mikey was the only one that knew. I had heard Frankie crying in Mikey's room a few times; Mikey is great at listening.
"She survived that... she was tough, but lung cancer got her in the end. As for the asshole, last I heard he was living in some trailer in New Jersey still. That bastard..."
"I can't believe I never realized... I mean Inever saw any bruises on anything... I should have been able to see that something was wrong!" I said, frustrated and confused.
He shook his head, gaining control of himself again. "He never left marks on my face or arms or anything, and Ialways wore jeans. Most of the bruises were on my back, legs and stomach. You couldn't have noticed. Nobody did."
I scooted closer again and hugged him. "I'm sorry for everything that happened to you and your mom, babe... you didn't deserve it at all. I wish I had known... hell, I would have killed him myself."
He accepted my hug but didn't hug back; he simply leaned his head on my shoulder, the few tears he had left in him escaped his eyes, soaking my hoodie.
We sat like that until my arms ached and Ihad to let go.
I finally knew the truth about why he was so afraid of admitting the feelings that I knew he felt. He couldn't forget his past and I completely understood him. It was terrible and yet I was happy to know the truth, as ugly as it was.
I felt closer to him than I ever had.
"That guy... his name was John...?" I asked him after I finally let go of him.
He nodded and wiped away the remainder of the tears from his face. "John Thompson... why?"
"Oh, nothing. I was just wondering," I lied.
Emma poked her head into the living room to see what we were doing, and entered with coffee. Mikey followed her in and we all had a cup.
Ray and Bob got back to the house shortly afterwards, and after an exchange of happy cheers and bear hugs, they had a cup of coffee themselves.
We all went to sleep afterwards, accommodating ourselves in the living room with air mattresses and the big sofa.
The guys went to sleep almost instantly, but I laid in bed thinking... and making a plan.
...so, tell me all about your problems; I was killing before killing was cool. You're so cool, you're so cool, so cool!
Sign up to rate and review this story