The World is Ugly (Frerard)

4: Family Portrait

I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming

Am I too lost to be saved?

Am I too lost?

Gerard's POV

I park my motorcycle in front of Frank's house, and am a little surprised to see he's not already outside. I check my phone to see if he's tried to reach me, but he's written nothing, so I guess I'll just wait.
I just get off my motorbike and wander around his beautiful garden, admiring the way the variety of blooming flowers and bright green leafs fill it with color. I smile at myself, since I know how much he loves his garden and how hard he's worked on it over the years.
I wish I was as good at something as Frank is, but I never am. To be honest, I don't even know why he talks to me, he deserves much better friends. If only I were good enough...
"Gerard?" Frank says, emerging from his house. I can't help but notice how something about his distracted gaze seems off.
"Oh hi" I say, trying my best to pull off a convincing smile, which isn't that hard when you're looking at a short ball of cuteness like Frankie wrapped in layers of fluffy, black clothes.
He heads towards me, walking so weirdly I have to bite my lip to keep myself from laughing. Then I notice how his right foot is wrapped in bandages and drags, and how his features tense in pain whenever he takes a step forward. The worst part of it all is that I can see him try to hide it from me, and he's doing an awfully terrible job. I hate that he feels like he needs to be strong around me, when really I am not strong myself.
"Are you okay, Frankie?" I ask, truly concerned.
"Yeah, I am, why'd you ask?" He says, his face contorting again as he shifts his weight.
I stare at him in disbelief. "Your foot" i say, pointing my chin to it "what happened to it?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Nothing important. Just stepped on something. It was quite stupid, really" he makes his way to the motorcycle.
He holds out his arm, impatiently waiting for me to hand him my backpack, which I hesitantly do.
I know him too well to believe there's no story behind his bandaged foot. However, I also know him well enough to know when to stop asking, and now is definitely one of those times.
I sigh and climb in front of Frankie, passing him the old helmet.
"Ready?" I ask Frank.
"Yeah" he answers.
This time, I try not to drive rekclessly. I feel like today, it's the least I could do to cheer him up. I don't like seeing my tiny Frank sad, but I still don't know how to comfort him.
I've never been one for listening and pamperimg, but in this case, that's all I want to do.
I just want to see Frank smile.

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Frank's POV
*flashback to that same morning*
I wake up to a throbbing pain in my foot's sole. Still not thinking clearly because of the time, I lazily remove the covers to see what's causing it, and what I see makes me scream.
Blood.
A lot of blood. It stains all my Batman sheets and soaks my whole bed, making me wonder how didn't I notice it while I was sleeping.
Then it all comes back. The bottle. My mother. The screaming. The knives. Then the tub... I can't believe I went back to resorting to suicide. I really thought I had gotten better, but now I see maybe not.
"You okay kid? I heard screaming..." A voice says from the doorway.
I immediately cover my bleeding foot and turn to my mother. She's wearing dark shades so I can't see her expression, but I can tell she's hungover.
"Yeah, I am" I reply, avoiding her shaded gaze. She raises an eyebrow inquisitively. "Just bad dreams, that's all" i say, shrugging it off.
She nods slowly twice. "I made you breakfast, by the way. Vegan hot cakes with maple syrup, just how you like them." She says proudly. "Or used to like them, I don't know..." She adds with a tone of sadness.
I know what she's thinking about. When I was a young boy, my father used to play with me while my mom cooked hotcakes for us. She used to hum while she did that, and I remember loving her beautiful voice.
Then, we'd all sit at the table as a family and I'd ask her to sing for me as I ate. It was all so perfect.
But then, tragedy struck. My father lost his job at an important position. He had to resort to working as a cashier in a supermarket, but he obviously earnt a lot less. Bills started to come and money became scarce. I then got used to sitting against my bedroom's door, crying as I listened to my parents fight over everything. I didn't understand what was happening. I just noticed my father's smile fading away gradually.
Then one normal day, I came back from school with a smile on my face, after passing a hard exam. I entered the house and ran to my mom to brag about it, but the look she gave me was terrifying. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying but still were able to glare daggers at me. I asked what was wrong and she looked away, refusing to answer.
I looked around the house, wondering what made her act like that until I saw my dad. I saw his feet dangling from the ceiling, and I wondered how come I didn't see him before. His body was limp and spinning around slowly. When his face turned to me, his expression was engraved in my brain. I stared at him and he stared back with dead eyes, in more than one way. His mouth was slightly open and his lips were purple. Somehow, I understood what had happened. I'd never see my daddy again.
In the days afterwards, my mommy wouldn't talk to me. She just stayed in that same spot, staring at her dead husband. I thought it was my fault. After a week or so, she decided to finally get rid of the body, and I began to smell something else besides the stench of a corpse: alcohol.
My childhood became grim since then, and I never saw her cook or heard her sing again.
The worst part is, I don't even remember my father.
The sharp pain stings again, as if reminding me to do something about it. I turn to the door to speak to mom, but she's already gone.
She obviously remembers something, but it's a first for her to actually feel sorry. I notice the knives are not on the door anymore, and I realize that may be the reason behind her regret. She had never tried to kill me before. Yelled at me, yes. Hit me, yes. Beat me and locked me up in her closet for three days straight, yes. But she'd never thrown knives at me. She's right to feel sorry.
I painfully walk to the kitchen, where we have all out medical stuff, and pick some painkillers and a roll of bandage.
I take three pills, for good measure and wrap the bandage around the wound. It doesn't hurt as much. Good. I put on my shoes with difficulty and finish my breakfast quickly, realizing how late I am as I run through the main door. I find Gerard distractedly looking at my garden, a little smile on his face, and I can't help but to wonder what he's thinking of.
"Gerard?" I call him, taking him off his head. He turns at me and his smile widens.
"Oh hi" he says, and I begin to walk to him. Although I feel my feet moving awkwardly, I think I'm doing a pretty good job at hiding it. I don't want Gerard to worry.
"Are you okay, Frankie?" He asks. Damn. He noticed. I decide to play stupid and reply:
"Yeah, I am. Why'd you ask?"
His face looks puzzled. "Your foot. What happened to it?"
I shrug and make up a quick excuse before taking his backpack and walking past him. I hope that makes it clear for him that I don't want to talk about it.
He follows suit and we climb on his beloved vehicle.
"Ready?" He says.
"Yeah"
Then he starts the motorbike.

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Sorry. shitty chapter, I know.
I just had to get you to know Gee a little for the next part... Anyway, now you know Frank's back story. I hope you still don't hate me for doing that to him, but it's necessary. If it helps, it broke my emo little heart to write it.
I love ya
-meh
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P.s.: this is also the first chapter with no reference in the title whoops