Just Two Outcasts [Frerard]

Caves Of Ice [Frank]

I woke up later that day to the sound of running water. I felt the other side of the bed for Gerard and my hand met nothing. I sighed softly, thinking about what we had done last night. It had come back gradually in large portions throughout the day. I felt awful. I had known Gerard for a day and was already latching onto him like some kind of lovesick puppy. I sighed, knowing that my family wouldn't wondered where I was.

As I listened to the shower run, I examined my fingers, taking in all the scars from the times I had purposely sliced my fingers open with scissors and burned them with my lighter. I usually wore hoodies with thumb holes cut into them, or had my fingerless gloves over them. I had always felt horrible about doing so afterwards, but it felt wonderful doing it, the pain coursing through my fingers and shooting up my arm. It always felt good when I was doing it, but I always felt disgusting afterwards. Especially having to clean up the blistered or blood covered skin. I especially felt bad because I kept it from my half brother. My mom was a whore. My dad was awesome, but long gone. My half brother, Patrick, was probably the only friend I had. Until I met Gerard anyway.

Patrick was short, but taller than me. He had mousy brown hair, big blue eyes that were framed by black glasses, and he was probably the best person I knew. He and I were practically the same per so, except he was nice and had four friends, including me. I had Patrick, and that had been it. I loved him to death. He had been hanging out a lot lately with a guy who we met over the summer, Pete. He was a really cool guy, but I was slightly scared of almost everyone I talked to. But he and Patrick had clicked almost immediately. I could tell Pat wanted to hang out with him, so I told him politely that I had some homework to do and for him and Pete to hang out. Pat had been unsure, but I waved his concern off, wanting him to be happy. He had agreed happily after that, running off with Pete to do who knows what. Pete had then introduced him to his friends, Joe and Andy, and they had all hit it off. Patrick had never left me, even though he had much cooler people to hang out with. That's why I loved him. Unlike m other brother.

Brian had always been a prick. He had always taken our mother's side, trying to please her, even if it meant giving Patrick, my sister, Jordan, and I a beating everyday. Hell, my mom had helped him! He was cruel and cold and awful. He sold drugs on the street. He had told Jordan, Patrick, and I on many occasions to go and "kill ourselves, you awful faggots and faggotette." Jordan had stayed with Patrick and I that night, and I had held my baby sister as she cried and said awful things about herself that Brian had obviously told her, and that weren't true. Jordan was four years younger than Patrick and I, had long black hair, a similar color to mine, and beautiful blue eyes. She had always loved to spend time with Patrick and I, even if it meant disobeying Mom's direct orders to stay away from us. She had insisted that we were her brothers and she had every right to be near us. Neither of us had argued, as we both loved hanging out with her. She had been staying at a friend's house for the last week. Mom was awful pissed about it. She sent Brian on Patrick and I the day before I met Gerard to beat where Jordan was out of us.

I felt myself grow pale. Patrick. Jordan. God, I hoped they were alright. I never went anywhere, so I never had to worry about anything happening to them when I wasn't there to stop it. I held my hand in front of my face to find that I was shaking violently. Just then, Gerard came out of the shower, black hair still dripping with water. He paused by the bed and asked softly: "Frankie? What's wrong?" The way his voice rasped from sleeping drove me insane. I took a shaky breath and said softly: "I'm just worrying about my brother and little s-sister..." He sat down next to me and exclaimed: "I didn't know you had any siblings!" I nodded sadly. "Brian is the oldest. He's an abusive dick, constantly beating us up for our mom, and selling drugs on the street. Patrick is my half brother, the same age as me. He's really cool and nice. He hangs around with Pete Wentz, you know him, right?" Gerard nodded. "Yeah, is he the one with the glasses and the hat?" I nodded, smiling as I remembered Patrick's love for his black fedora. "That's him. And my baby sister, Jordan. She's four years younger than I am. She gets beaten an awful lot, Gerard, and I'm so worried about them..." He nodded understandingly. "I get that, Frank. Do you want to drive over to your house and see if they're okay?" I nodded numbly, not wanting to risk an encounter with my mother, but being too worried about my best friends to care.

Gerard helped me up, grabbing my hand tightly. I tried my best not to scream out in pain as his fingers gripped a healing burn. I simply stood up and walked stiffly outside to Gerard's car with him. We drove to my house slowly, Gerard glancing worriedly over at me every so often. We finally pulled up into the driveway. I noticed that my mom's car was gone and I sighed in relief. Brian's car was there, but he was most likely sleeping, as it was Sunday, and he probably partied with his druggie buddies all night last night. I unlocked the front door nervously, my hands shaking. I walked inside silently, refusing to let my feet make any noise against the tile. I called out very quietly: "Patrick? Jordan?" A muffled sound came from my and Patrick's room. I walked back there very carefully and cracked open the door slightly. A familiar boy and girl were sitting on my bed, the girl crying softly. I immediately threw open the door and ran over to my brother and sister. "Jordan! What happened?!" I whispered harshly. My sister sniffed and sobbed out: "B-Brian's being m-mean to me, F-F-Frankie..." I could feel my heart shattering. I tilted her face up towards me and gasped. Several large bruises formed on her cheeks, making the cuts on her lip and over her eye very noticeable. I swore loudly, not caring anymore. I looked at Pat to see him in a similar position, his eye blackened. I immediately took each of their hands and whispered harshly: "Pack a bag, each of you. We're finding somewhere new to stay." Patrick and Jordan looked at each other and then nodded.

I waited until they came back out with their bags. I told them to wait outside the front door and I would lock it again. They did as I asked and I sighed. I went to my room to see that Patrick had packed me a bag already, full of my few valuables and my clothes. None of us had much, so our duffel bags could fit our things. I picked up the heavy bag and walked out of that pit of hell for good. I locked the door behind me and walked over to Gerard, who was standing next to his car. I murmured to him as I walked by: "Can we stay at your house for a while?" He nodded hesitantly, but seemed sure of himself about a second. He helped me load our bags into the trunk and then we all drove back to his place.