Frerard- Wingless

1-Intro

Franks p.o.v

All the pain slowly flooded out of me as the blade touched my skin. It felt so good. It relieved the pain better than any of the drugs or alcohol I'd tried. But I kept using that stuff anyway just so I remained within my group. None of them were my friends but it kept me safer from the bullies calling me a fag and beating me till I'm unconscious. However my 'group' didn't help all too well as they would beat me as bad as the bullies. They were alright though, when they were drunk. But I couldn't risk being seen as a loner too so for my image I stick with them.

A few drops of blood drip on to my floor and stain the black carpet. I've done this for so long now that there's brownish spots all over the ground I could tell a stranger it's the design. Not like anyone will come in here though, not even my own mother. She's an alcoholic, and a really bad one like constantly, with serious problems. She's incredibly abusive to me and just generally hates me. It's her who's made me do this since I was 12, a year after my dad... That's why she became an alcoholic and that's why I self-harm. It makes it just a bit more bearable.

I was currently home alone so there was no sounds of breaking bottles or screaming or my mother yelling at me such compliments as "fag" or "mistake". I stayed in my room for my house was horrible. Some would say my room seemed like a mess with the curtains drawn 24/7, misfits CDs scattered around my desk along with my eyeliner, some blood stained tissues covering my blade, and everything else just not neat. The only thing in my room that was perfect is the guitar in my corner. She remains perfectly white with the shining letters spelling pansy in perfect condition along her edge. In truth she's my prize possession. But outside my door were bigger blood stains then in here along with much broken glass, garbage, sick and other crap (that could be literal I don't really care).

Gerard's p.o.v

Under the jacket the large scars on my back were bleeding again. It had been a month now and there was no sign of them healing much. My wings were removed by my father just before he kicked me out. I'm not exactly sure what I'd done but I think it had something to do with me coming out to him. Although he's (supposed to be) a guardian angel, for many generations our family fitted in with the surrounding 'normals' as he called them. I guess this made him a very human like man, a very homophobic man as well. But I never expected him to rip the wings from my back! The pain had been unbearable and two days later he told me to pack my stuff and leave. I was homeless for a while. Despite losing my wings I was still considered a guardian angel as I still held all the other 'powers' like extreme agility and mind reading, no more like mind talking therefore I wasn't exactly living on the streets as on the rooftops.

I had got myself a job at my favorite comic store and it was pretty easy considering I was a regular so I already got on with the owner, I had an enormous knowledge of all the comic books and ,as people would tell me, I had a naturally stunning charisma and charm but that's just another guardian angel thing. I was enjoying it there but still didn't have enough money for the house I was planning for. No I had roughly a couple more months to go before then but I was doing ok. Especially since I didn't need much food.