The World is Ugly (Frerard)

8: The Only Hope for Me

I just need enough of you to dull the pain

To get me through the night

Frank's POV

I lie on my bedroom's floor, my bare back touching the cool wood. I don't even remember how I lost my shirt, but I don't care. Last night was amazing, and from what I recall (a.k.a.: absolutely nothing), I'm pretty sure involved a LOT of alcohol. That'd explain the smell. I feel my back pockets, looking for my phone, but find something smaller. I take it out, curious about the unidentified object. It's tiny, pink and fits in my hand.

Gerard's present, I remember. I put the Hello Kitty knife back where it was and hope that I won't have to use it today. Or ever, for that matter.

I get to my feet and wince a little as I shift my weight to my right foot, that has not yet healed completely, and survey the room. It's not as much of a mess as I'd thought it would be, but I still struggle to find a decent shirt that doesn't smell of puke. Did I throw up yesterday? No, I don't think so. I run my tongue over my teeth, searching for that bitter aftertaste that doesn't leave your mouth until you've brushed the hell out of it. I don't find it. Of course I didn't puke, I never do.

But then who did? I let that thought haunt me as I struggle to avoid all the smelly shirts. I finally decide upon a plain black sweatshirt and slide it on.

I put on the first shoes that I can find and not successfully do I attempt to comb my rebel hair. Actually, I think mane is the word I'm looking for. I sigh, completely dissatisfied with the look of the guy staring back at me. However, there's nothing I can do about it, so I hesitantly exit my bathroom.

I almost bump into my mom as I race out of my room.

"Hey, I found this on the kitchen counter" she says, holding my phone like it's toxic or something.

"Thanks" I awkwardly say and take it, avoiding her touch. I assume that's all she has to say, so I keep walking and dodge her in order to cross the hallway.

"And ummm..." she speaks again, grabbing my shoulder. I turn around on my heels.

"Yeah?" I ask, putting my best fake smile on. It's almost funny how easily I can do that lately.

She bites her lower lip and stares at her foot. "Happy birthday, son" she cringes as she says the last word, but I don't really care. All I care about is the fact that she actually said it.

I can't recall the last time she akcnowledged me as a son while sober, so it's kind of a big deal for her to call me that. No matter how fake it sounded, she called me her son, and it takes me back to the times when we used to hang out as a family. I let my lips curl up into a smile and am about to lean closer to hug her when she opens her mouth again.

"Also, Frank have you seen my beer? I can't find it anywhere". She turns her head around, as if it would magically appear in the hallway if she did that. I let my smile falter. Of course she wants something. Why else would she help me find my phone and be kind to me? I snap out of my fantasy. Fantasies are for fairytales, and I most certainly don't live in one.

I feel my brain boil in anger as I walk away from her, stepping as loudly as I can.

"Frank? Did you take my beer?" she asks, raising her tone all of a sudden. I stop in my tracks.

"YES I DID!" I snap at her "And you know why? Because I actually try to be a good son and I don't like to see you reduce yourself to... this!" I say, looking her up and down and pointing as I do. "And what do you do? You scream at me and try to bring me down with you, because apparently, not even losing a father is enough misery for a faggot like me, is it? Because you were right: I deserve to go to and burn in hell for it. You'd like that, wouldn't you? And let's just not talk about the multiple times you've hit me, beat me, or locked me up, because then I could talk for years. Oh! and let's not forget about the time I was crying in the bathtub because you were stabbing the fucking door, trying to kill me! And you know what I did then? I carried you to your fucking room, foot bleeding and everything, because I'm stupid enough to care about you even when it's painfully clear that you don't!" I sigh. "So yeah, I threw all your beer away" I say as soon as I finish ranting.

"Why did you throw my beer away, Frank?" She replies with an angry tone, shutting her eyes and clenching her hands into fists.

"BECAUSE FUCK YOU!" I scream and storm outside, not even bothering to find my backpack. She's unbelievable. Fucking unbelievable.

I slam the door behind me and stride away from the house and towards Gerard, who's already waiting there for me. He frowns in concern and I approach him.

"Hi, Franki-" He begins to say, and I slap him. I don't know why I do that, but I do. And it feels good, so I slap him again.

If he were my mother, I'd undoubtedly do the same. Once again, I slam the back of my hand against his cheek, and I feel proud when it starts to turn red. I then aim for his stomach. This is for missing my football games. I start to hear the beat of the impacts. This is for beating me up . One. This is for calling me faggot. Two. Gerard just stands still and does nothing as I hit him. This is for never being there. One. This is for all of the bruises. Two. This is for all of the screaming. One. This is for letting me down. Two. This is for ruining my life. I deliver one final blow and take a step back, exhausted.

"Frankie?" Gerard says. I look at him and his worried expression and I come back to reality. I just punched Gerard.

"I... I'm sorry, Gerard" I say. "I didn't mean to... I mean, that wasn't for you" I stutter.

He shakes his head and comes closer. "Don't worry, Frankie. I know" He says reassuringly and pulls me into a hug. I bury my face in his shoulder and start crying.

I literally cry. Snot and everything, like a baby. Pathetic.

"I'm sorry" I repeat. "I'm so sorry, Gerard. I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that, Frankie. You're breaking my heart." He says lightheartedly, holding a single finger to my lips. I sob even louder and he gently wipes off a tear with his thumb.

"Wanna tell me what happened?"

I shake my head.

"I just... you know my mom" I explain vaguely. He nods, probably picturing what happened.

He keeps on hugging me for a long while, and I wish I could tell him how much that gesture means to me, but I'm crying too much to do that. Plus, it'd be awkward to explain, even if I could speak.

"Feel like skipping school?" He asks, my head still pressed against his chest. I shake my head again.

"We've been doing that too much lately". To be honest, I'm planning on smoking the hell out of today, but I'm keeping that fact to myself. He doesn't need to know.

"Okay, then. Climb on, Frankie." He smiles at me and I smile back. I take his backpack and helmet and get on the motorcycle, behind him. I take a moment to wipe off the remaining tears and squeeze his arm to let him know I'm all set.

I just keep thinking about how he did nothing as I punched him. I really don't believe I deserve a friend as good as him. And really,

What would I do without him?

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Okay, okay soo...

I did get internet, in case you were wondering haha. And I'm still kind of in a creative breakdown, but I've made myself write this because Ily and I'm too in love with this fic to leave it for even a day. It's my baby, you know. And one doesn't simply leave babies unattended.

I sound like a psycho cat lady, but whatever

next chapter will be intense, I' telling you

As always, votes/comments are appreciated but not required :)

peace out

-meh

Also, this chapter goes to GisellexWay and bobbryar4life for being my only readers haha

thanks guys,

you rule

\m/