Insanity is the Best Form of Happiness || Frerard

13.) Hang 'Em High

-Gerard's POV-

"Gerd, Gerd, Gerd, Gerd," a small man was trying to awaken me. I opened my eyes to see that I had fallen asleep on the couch last night and Frank was jumping up and down on my stomach in an attempt to wake me up.

"Oh hey there," I grumbled, trying to sound as joyful as possible but fuck it was morning.

"I have more plans today," he squealed.

"Oh, alright," I said, as excitedly as the morning could possibly be.

"Yeah so you should go shower." I sighed.

"When's the last time you showered?"

"Actually, Gerard, I showered this morning while you were asleep." Damn it.

So I got up and showered and wore my same everyday clothes I always wear.

When I walked out to the living room, Frank was still sat on the couch so I sat down next to him, picking him up and sitting him on my lap.

"So, this place isn't anywhere local, really," Frank paused. "It's about an hour drive so since it's already 2, we should leave in about two hours. I nodded.

"What are we gonna do for two hours?"

"Well, since you just showered, I'm guess sex is off the list."

"Damn it, Frank. Kinky little shit."

"How about we start season 2 of American Horror Story?"

"Deal!" And with that we sat on the couch and watched the first three episodes of American Horror Story: Asylum.

~Minor Time Lapse~

"Frankieeee, are we there yeeeet?" I whined like a 3-year-old.

"No." I slammed my head back against the headrest in boredom. I would've brought a Death Note issue with me if I didn't get carsickness from reading.

When we finally arrived, the restaurant was large and kind of fancy, kind of casual. It reminded me of Olive Garden.

A waitress approached us, ordering us to follow her. She lead us to a small table in the corner, set for two. We got seated, ordering drinks and picking up a menu.

"Ooh, chicken Alfredo," I spoke.

"I'll take it I know what you're getting." Frank half-laughed. I just smirked a little.

The waitress returned, taking our orders. I looked at Frank over the small basket of breadsticks.

"So, Frankie, what's up?" I questioned in attempt to make small talk.

"Same shit as every day." Again, silence. So much for that.

When the waitress returned with our dishes, I was starving. She put our plates on the table, walking away.

I picked up my fork almost immediately, twirling the pasta around it. It was surprising how good it was.

"So, Gerard, how's your pasta?" Frank teased, stabbing his fork into a lettuce leaf.

"Terrible," I said, smiling a little. Quite honestly, I was starting to get full already.

"Hey, look, two fags!" someone shouted, seeming too close for comfort. "You know what we do to guys like you."

The man pulled a loaded handgun out of his pocket, pressing it against my head. I almost pissed myself as I was trying to calm my heartbeat.

"Come on, man. Can you just let him go? We'll just leave and you'll never have to see us again."

"I look at it as I'm doing the world a favor. One less fag." I heard a bullet fly out of the gun, preparing myself for a blackout. Instead, I turned around to see a bullet hole in the wall.

The lady at the table behind us had smacked the gun out of the guy's hand. She was on the ground, trying to stand and scream for help but as she got up to run away, the man reached ahold of the gun, shooting a hole straight through her kneecap.

His eyes met with mine. "Bang, you're dead," he half-whispered, shooting me right in the chest.

The bullet went straight out my back as I flew off the chair I was sat on. Blood pooled out across the floor as my vision started to fade to black.

No, not now.