Convicts - Frerard

Chapter 2

Gerard never returned.

They labeled the incident as a 'Mental Breakdown'; Franks protest were ignored.

Of fucking course.

Frank was truly alone now.

He felt like a hollow shell; a ghost just drifting through the routines.

It was a type of numb pain that couldn't be eased.

Three days later, they came to clean out Gerard's bunk.

Frank practically begged the guard to let him keep the reading material and sketchbook; they were just going to throw them in the trash anyway.

Eventually, the woman caved and allowed Frank to take what he wanted.

The books provided a distraction from the hell around him.

Mark 'visited' every week faithfully. 

Frank had tried to avoid him by going to the court yard with everyone else; but the sly bastard nailed Frank in the bathroom instead.

The guards didn't seem to give a fuck what Frank said.

 That night was the night he had attempted suicide... in prison- his third time total in his entire pathetic existence.

Frank had used his teeth to rip the orange jumpsuit and use that as a noose. He tied it to the top bunk and then around his neck. Unfortunately, in Frank's opinion, the guards found him before it was too late.

Frank didn't leave the medical section of the prison for a whole week.

He was malnourished from refusing to eat; he was deemed a risk to himself and potentially others.

He suffered from flashbacks of his stepfather.... and recent events. He was pretty sure that he was losing his mind and the guards seemed to think so as well.

...

It was a beautiful day in May in Frank's opinion. It was cloudy and cold outside. 

To others it'd fall under the 'nasty weather' category but to Frank, it was perfect.

Frank shifted uncomfortably in his shackles. The two guards looked at him instantly, making sure that he didn't try anything before slightly relaxing. The van came to a stop after about an hour of driving. The back doors were opened and the officers yanked him roughly out of the van.

Frank's dead and dull hazel eyes scanned over the letters of the building in front of him. 'Morntry's Mental Institution'. Fucking fantastic.

 "C'mon psycho," the officer grumbled, pushing Frank forward. 

Frank simply obeyed when the workers from the institution injected him with a sedative to make sure he didn't flip out when the cops removed the shackles.

Frank had no plans in fighting; but if injecting him with their medicine made them feel better, then what the fuck ever.

Everything was a blur from that point on.

When he woke up, he was in a bedroom.

 The room was made of a small window that was covered by bars, two plain white beds, dull light blue walls, and a white tiled floor like a hospital's.

He could still feel the sedative in his system, making his eyes heavy and his brain sluggish.

Frank wasn't alone when he had woken up, much to his dismay.

 There was a nurse sitting in a chair at the end of his bed, "Hello Mr. Iero," the lady smiled. 

Frank didn't respond, he just sat up and rubbed his eyes, "Get changed into these and I'll show you around. My name's Jane," she smiled, stepping outside to give him some privacy.

He sighed, wishing for jeans and a Black Flag t-shirt; but nonetheless, he was happy to be out of that orange jumpsuit.

Orange was totally NOT his color.

He pulled on the dark grey sweatpants and the white v-neck shirt. He allowed his eyes to drift around the room to get a better feel now that he felt slightly more awake.

Frank had woken up on the bed on the left, but the bed on the right was empty. On the wall were beautiful paintings and drawings.

 They reminded him a lot of Gerard. 

Creepy bastard.

He dropped his eyes to the floor and shuffled out of the room. 

He was just a messed up soul in this disgusting vessel and he knew that it would take people around here awhile to understand that.

The nurse showed him around the facility and forced him to eat half of a sandwich.

After being given the run down of how things worked, she led him back to his room.

Much to his relief and surprise, the books and sketchbook he had kept were waiting on his bed; the woman guard at the prison had kept her promise to send them.

He flopped onto his new bed and picked up the book he still hadn't finished reading.

He turned to the next page, gasping as he was met with a sketch of...himself?

It was a piece of paper that had been shoved inbetween the pages of the book.

His lips twitched upwards, a gesture he hadn't made in weeks.

He made a mental note to ask for tape to hang it up, before tucking it safely back in the book. 

His head was still swimming slightly.

Frank sighed, abandoning the plan of reading in favor for putting the belongings under his bed and laying down.

He tugged the pure white blanket over his head and let his mind drift.

...

When Frank woke up later that evening, he didn't want to move.

 He was so warm in his little fort, hidden from the world underneath the covers; he was actually comfortable.

He knew he couldn't hide here forever, so with a heavy sigh he pulled the covers down.

He rolled onto his back, immediately noticing a figure sat in the corner. 

At first he thought it was Jane but as he drifted his eyes to the side he froze.

A man sat on the other bed, red hair blocking his face from view as he worked on whatever was in his hands.

Frank bit on his lip nervously, feeling his social anxiety kicking in.

 He sat up slowly; the movement catching the mans attention, his head snapping up. 

Frank locked eyes with those familiar hazel eyes.