needles • frerard

fourteen

Both of them wore a secret little smile all day Saturday. Frank couldn't believe that Gerard wasn't disgusted by his body, or thought he was worthless like everyone else did. Gerard didn't push him, didn't coax him into anything. It still made Frank blush to think that all Gerard wanted to do last night was make him feel good. The sugarcoating would wear off soon, though. But for now it was quite nice. Half of his trauma was buried, deep down. Frank couldn't help but feel dirty after last night, though he wasn't sure why. He didn't feel threatened last night, he only felt pleasure.

And Gerard honestly just couldn't get over how cute Frank was. Sure, it was a more shallow take on the situation, but he still found himself replaying the little moans and whimpers from the smaller boy. Frank really was beautiful, with his vibrant tattoos and milky skin, soft hands and soft thighs. Gerard felt almost honoured that Frankie let him do what he did, that he felt comfortable enough with Gerard to do that.

And as if Saturday couldn't get any better, Frank got a call, from an audition he went on the previous week to do backup vocals and guitar for a local band.

The drive back seemed much shorter than two hours, and just like that, they were back at Frank's place. 

Frank
"What th-the fuck?" I groan upon seeing the movers carrying boxes of stuff out of the house. I step out of the car. "Uh, what the h-hell are you g-guys doing?"

"Are you the owner?" One man replies. "Not t-technically, n-no."

"Squatter?"

"I-It's my e-ex's house, he's i-in jail."

The guy raises an eyebrow. "Ah, alright... Well, it's been foreclosed. So all of this is going into storage, and I'll give you the address, you can pick up whatever's yours."

Gerard looks at me with a little smirk. "Guess you'll finally have to move in with me."

"Oh, Gee, you d-d-don't have t-"

"Frankie, we practically live together anyways. What, you think I'll get tired of you? Never."

I laugh softly. "F-Fine. Uh, what's th-the address?" I turn to the guy, who hands me a business card.

  SELF STORAGE UNITS OF AMERICA
                    20 MILL STREET
                    BELLEVILLE, NJ
                            07109

After a quick detour to pick up a box of my clothes, we finally returned to Gerard's- well, I guess it's sort of our apartment now.

- - - - - - - - - -

With him only paying half the rent, Frank was able to afford a few therapy sessions per month.

tw// heavy themes and descriptions of sexual abuse

"Frank, I think it's time we tackle some bigger topics. You're holding on to a few different events and you won't be able to heal from them if you don't accept that they happened and you survived them." The therapist says, clicking her pen. Nervously, Frank nods. "O-Okay."

"How many of the sexual assaults from your ex-boyfriend can you recall?"

"Uh..." He counts 4 on his finger.

"F-Four, I th-think."

"You think?"

"Well, m-most of the t-time I was h-h-high, so..."

"Ah, alright. Well let's just stick with those four for now. Do you blame yourself for what he did?"

"I-If I w-wasn't f-fucked up, he probably wouldn't have done it." Frank mumbles.