A Day In The Life Of Misery - 8
Title - A Day In The Life Of Misery
Author - consistant
Rating - R/NC17
Pairing - Frank/Gerard
Status - Chapter 8
Summary - Sequal to the stand alone Obey Thy Father . Gerard is now 16 and goes to school with Frank. When they first meet it's clear they are attracted to one another, but Gerard is frightened of getting involved with Frank because his father might find out and worsen the already terrible nightmare he lives in.
POV - Frank (may change at times)
Disclaimer - Don't own, don't know, don't sue. This is completely and totality fictional.
WARNING - This story contains child rape, abuse and a shit load of suicidal thinking. If you think this will offend/disturb/upset you in any way shape or form, i implore you not to read.
Previous Chapters -
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
----------------------
A Day In The Life Of Misery - Chapter Eight
Frank’s pov
We stayed in bed all day, just listening to each other’s breathing and occasionally voicing what we’d do if someone found us here. I tried not to think about that. I tried not to imagine what would happen if my mom came in unexpectedly and found Gerard sprawled across my chest. She didn’t know I was gay. I should really tell her sometime.
It felt comfortable, just being there and not having to think about school or Chris, but something was on his mind, I could tell when he talked that he wasn’t really concentrating on what he was saying. He’d zone out occasionally, gazing off into the distance as though the walls of my bedroom weren’t there at all. Sometimes I’d see tears welling up in his eyes, but when I tried to ask what was wrong he turned over and faced away from me.
I supposed that he must be thinking of the rape, and I couldn’t exactly blame him for doing so. I bet he was still mighty sore, both physically and mentally. But I just wished he’d talk to me, confide in me and let me make it better. I knew I could somehow.
“Are you hungry?” I asked him as the digital clock bleeped to indicate a new hour.
“No.” he answered shortly and quietly, his eyes fixed elsewhere.
“Gerard you haven’t eaten all day and it’s 2.00PM.” I said exasperatedly, rolling over on my side and slinging an arm over his waist, my fingers curling over his flat stomach.
“I don’t feel like eating right now.” He said softly, batting his eyelashes very slowly as he spoke, as though he was tired.
“You wanna sleep?” I ventured, reaching up and brushing the hair off his forehead and away from his pretty eyes.
“I’m not all that sleepy.” He replied.
“You look it.”
“Well I’m not.”
He sat up, his legs swinging over the side of the bed and put his head in his hands. I watched him, worried, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he took a deep calming breath, held it, the let it go in a loud resounding sigh. I studied the ridges of his spine move beneath the scruffy grey shirt he was wearing. I found it slightly saddening that I could see every curve of his body. It wasn’t natural.
“Gee?” I said gently, reaching out and laying a hand on his back.
He flinched away from my touch, which came as a surprise, as he’d never been afraid of me before. He dragged his messy black hair through his fingers and shook his head silently, not uttering a word.
“Gerard you’re scaring me.” I said shakily, crawling over and resting my chin on his shoulder, my arms coming round to entwine his waist. His midriff fit snugly in my embrace, as though it was meant to be that way.
“I’m scaring myself.” Gerard whispered. “Please, don’t.” he added, shoving my hands off his middle and standing up, his body unfolding like a leaf as he stretched and sighed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, making to stand up too, but he stopped me with a look and I kept my place. His eyes were red and bloody, marked by all those tears he wouldn’t let me see before.
“I’m going to the bathroom.” He said after a moment. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” I nodded, “Out the door, first on the left.” I instructed, pointing to the corridor visible through me open doorway.
“Right.”
His voice was so low I could hardly catch it, and this fact worried me. His face seemed paler than usual, and his pink lips were tight, like he didn’t wanna speak anymore. I watched him walk steadily out the door and flopped back upon my bed, my eyes dithering on the cracks in the white washed ceiling.
I should have known, but I didn’t.
Gerard’s pov
Frank’s bathroom was very different to mine. For one it was clean, for another it was big, and lastly it was going to be witness to something I’d never dreamt of doing in my own bathroom.
I closed the door softly behind me, waiting until I heard it click shut before turning from it and staring forwards at the sink and spotless mirror set in the far corner. My eyes wandered to a small white cabinet bolted to the left and I went to it, opening its tiny plastic doors and examining what it held. Several brown pill bottles (mostly empty), some rolled up tubes of toothpaste, multicoloured brushes with worn down bristles, sanitary towels and tampons (these I tried not to look at) and lastly what I had been hoping to find. A box of razors.
I reached up and took the box down off the shelf, holding it carefully in my cupped hands and looking down on it with something bordering respect. As I tread softly over to the pristine white sink my mind wondered to something Bert had been singing the previous day, how had it gone again?
‘A box of sharp objects, what a beautiful thing…’
I smiled weakly as my mind conjured up those words. I think Bert was probably right about that. Sharp objects were beautiful, at least to my teen angst eyes. To drown out any painful gasps I may utter, I turned on both of the sink’s taps, so that the sound of churning water echoed around the bathroom. The boiling water mixed with the tepid cold and soon the mirror in front of me was misted over with condensation. Good. I didn’t want to see this.
I wanted now more than anything to just die, and to die quietly. I didn’t want people to hear me scream in agony or witness my body hitting the floor with a loud smash. There was no point wasting people’s precious time by making my death a poorly played daytime drama. I wasn’t worth the air time anyway, they have proper actors for that sorta soap opera suicide.
So many thoughts whizzed pell-mell through my mind as I took out one of the razors and stared at it curiously, my head cocked slightly to the side, my mouth closed to stop my lungs wasting the air others were meant to breathe.
Maybe the world would be better without me? I think so. I mean, I’m hardly a valuable asset to anyone, I’m more of a drain than anything. I’m nothing to my father, my mother and a pain to my baby brother. Perhaps when I’m gone father will get his act together and finally be the loving dad to Mikey he always should have been. Maybe if I die right now God will make me clean again. I wanna be as spotless as this bathroom. I don’t want to be dirty anymore, I don’t think I can stand it.
I ran my forefinger down the razor’s edge and winced a fraction as it made a paper thin slit in the pad of my finger. The blood rushed to fill the minuscule space and I felt slightly sick watching it. I didn’t like the sight of blood, even if it was my own, I hated it. But this had to be done if the pain was going to stop, so I braved it. I didn’t wanna hurt people anymore, especially those I loved.
How would I do this? A quicker way to make the agony and the blood disappear faster would be my first choice. I angled the blade and dragged it through the air mere millimetres from my flesh, not pressing down as yet. Across looked simplest, but it would kill me slowly, I knew enough to know that. I switched the blade around and let it run ever so lightly from wrist to elbow, leaving a tiny pink scratch line vertically down my forearm. Splitting a vein from top to bottom would most likely be the quickest way, sure it would be slow and painful but at least it wouldn’t take as long. At least it would drain my worthless blood.
I lifted the razor yet again, hovering it over the blue tinge in my skin which told me a vein ran beneath. The churning swirl of the boiling water was rumbling in my ears as I watched steam lick the very edge of the razor. My skin was hot. Soon it would be cold.
I didn’t hear the bathroom door creak open or the footsteps clattering across the tiled floor. I only knew he was behind me when I felt his body pressing into the small of my back. His hands reached round, one circling my waist, the other prising the tantalising metal from my craving fingers, drawing the cutter away from my waiting wrist.
The sounds of the running water seemed to grow louder as he rested his chin on my shoulder and wrapped both arms over my middle. We were silent as the grave, the heat of our bodies mingling. I wasn't cold, as I had wanted to be. I was warm and alive because he stopped me from making the mistake many other lonely people have made.
He stopped me from dying a fizzy movie screen death and I loved him all the more for it.
My broken hazel eyes met his chocolate swirl and he gave me a sad smile, as though to tell me all the hurt he felt. I looked away, down into the sink and stared fixedly at the water, watching it spiral down into the inky black plug hole.
One tiny word broke our silence, and it stung like a prick of an IV needle.
“Why?”
In that moment I wanted to tell him everything, to let him know each and every sordid secret of my life, to let him in where I’d never let any one before. As I turned, the rim of the basin digging into my back, his chest pressing up to mine and his hands hot on my tiny waist, the words I so longed to spill stuck in my dry throat and I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t tell him.
My cheeks flushed scarlet as his eyes raked my ravaged features. I felt so small.
“Tell me.” He coaxed, rubbing his hand up my side, spreading a delicious warmth right through me.
“Frankie…” I whispered, my voice choked up as tears swamped my vision. “I’m…”
“Don’t say you’re sorry.” He cut in gently, his breath ghosting across my pale face. “Never say you’re sorry for this.”
“I just feel so…” A tears snaked down my cheek, sinking into an open cut, the salt within it burning.
“How do you feel?” he prompted, his leg pushing in between my thighs so his knee pressed up towards my crotch. I closed my eyes. I moistened my lips.
“Like I’m everybody’s plaything.” I said at last, feeling his finger running along the waistline of my jeans. It stopped the second I voiced these words.
“Do you feel that way right now…?” Frank asked calmly, his warm palm pressing into my stomach, the grey fabric of my shirt bunching up around his wrist.
“No.”
“Then why take a razor to your wrist?”
“Because…”
His nails lightly scratched the bottom dome of my ribcage. It felt encouraging.
“Because…?”
I opened my eyes, letting the tears wash my cheeks and run down my neck, purifying the bruises evil men had branded upon me. When I looked up into Frankie’s fresh, clean face my heart beat a little faster. He was crying too, softly, gentle tears creeping out to cling to his eyelashes. He looked so innocent when he cried. I saw kindness in his eyes.
“Because I’m not meant to be alive at all.” I whispered. “I’m nothing. I’ve never existed. I’m a joke and, Frankie, I’m tired…oh so tired…” I sighed softly, letting my head fall forwards to mask my sorrow.
His warm hands moved and surprise gripped me as he tugged at the hem of my shirt. I looked up at him and saw that his lips had curved into a soft, understanding smile. I felt heartened by this and nodded, allowing him to continue.
Very slowly, he pushed my shirt up my body, revealing my torso to his eyes for the very first time. I felt slightly ashamed that my skin was so pale and that my bones stuck out, but the way he looked at them made that shame dissolve away. I raised my arms, allowing him to tug the shirt over my head, ruffling up my already messy hair.
My cheeks turned pink as he returned his hands to my waist and stared curiously upon my uncovered chest. Purple bruises bloomed here and there, the edges corrupting into a yellowish green. I bowed my head, looking away, not wanting him to see how incredibly small and disgusting those bruises made me feel.
I felt his fingers trail up my side, run over my chest, my neck, to rest upon my chin. He rubbed his thumb over the indent bellow my bottom lip and tilted my face up to meet his. His chocolate brown eyes fixed on my diluted hazel and a wash of heat spread from my gut to my every limb. Those eyes.
“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, “You really, really are.”
He tilted my head to the side and let his lips find the exposed crook of my neck. He planted a delicate kiss upon it, his warm lips sending a shock bursting through my core. His hair tickled bellow my chin but I didn’t mind at all, because his fingertips were taking my mind of it. They were dancing across my rib cage, exploring the dips and hollows with delicate curiosity.
I’d never before felt so wanted in my life.
As his hands shaped my body and his lips found mine in a gentle shower of kisses, I knew he was for real. At last, someone in my life was for real.
He took me by the hand and pulled me coaxingly from the bathroom, whispering that I was more special than I could ever know, and we went back to his room and stayed there, his sensual words falling over me like a pleasant downpour of rain.
“Gee…”
“Yeah…?”
I was lying with my back against his chest, his arms around my waist and our legs tangled together under the crimson duvet.
“Tell me you wouldn’t have…” he trailed off and his voice was lost to slow, steady breathing.
“I can’t.” I said. “Because I truly think I would have.”
There was a pause of maybe 3 seconds before he finally replied, and they were the longest 3 seconds of my life.
“I love you.”
*More soon lovlies <3*
Author - consistant
Rating - R/NC17
Pairing - Frank/Gerard
Status - Chapter 8
Summary - Sequal to the stand alone Obey Thy Father . Gerard is now 16 and goes to school with Frank. When they first meet it's clear they are attracted to one another, but Gerard is frightened of getting involved with Frank because his father might find out and worsen the already terrible nightmare he lives in.
POV - Frank (may change at times)
Disclaimer - Don't own, don't know, don't sue. This is completely and totality fictional.
WARNING - This story contains child rape, abuse and a shit load of suicidal thinking. If you think this will offend/disturb/upset you in any way shape or form, i implore you not to read.
Previous Chapters -
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
----------------------
A Day In The Life Of Misery - Chapter Eight
Frank’s pov
We stayed in bed all day, just listening to each other’s breathing and occasionally voicing what we’d do if someone found us here. I tried not to think about that. I tried not to imagine what would happen if my mom came in unexpectedly and found Gerard sprawled across my chest. She didn’t know I was gay. I should really tell her sometime.
It felt comfortable, just being there and not having to think about school or Chris, but something was on his mind, I could tell when he talked that he wasn’t really concentrating on what he was saying. He’d zone out occasionally, gazing off into the distance as though the walls of my bedroom weren’t there at all. Sometimes I’d see tears welling up in his eyes, but when I tried to ask what was wrong he turned over and faced away from me.
I supposed that he must be thinking of the rape, and I couldn’t exactly blame him for doing so. I bet he was still mighty sore, both physically and mentally. But I just wished he’d talk to me, confide in me and let me make it better. I knew I could somehow.
“Are you hungry?” I asked him as the digital clock bleeped to indicate a new hour.
“No.” he answered shortly and quietly, his eyes fixed elsewhere.
“Gerard you haven’t eaten all day and it’s 2.00PM.” I said exasperatedly, rolling over on my side and slinging an arm over his waist, my fingers curling over his flat stomach.
“I don’t feel like eating right now.” He said softly, batting his eyelashes very slowly as he spoke, as though he was tired.
“You wanna sleep?” I ventured, reaching up and brushing the hair off his forehead and away from his pretty eyes.
“I’m not all that sleepy.” He replied.
“You look it.”
“Well I’m not.”
He sat up, his legs swinging over the side of the bed and put his head in his hands. I watched him, worried, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he took a deep calming breath, held it, the let it go in a loud resounding sigh. I studied the ridges of his spine move beneath the scruffy grey shirt he was wearing. I found it slightly saddening that I could see every curve of his body. It wasn’t natural.
“Gee?” I said gently, reaching out and laying a hand on his back.
He flinched away from my touch, which came as a surprise, as he’d never been afraid of me before. He dragged his messy black hair through his fingers and shook his head silently, not uttering a word.
“Gerard you’re scaring me.” I said shakily, crawling over and resting my chin on his shoulder, my arms coming round to entwine his waist. His midriff fit snugly in my embrace, as though it was meant to be that way.
“I’m scaring myself.” Gerard whispered. “Please, don’t.” he added, shoving my hands off his middle and standing up, his body unfolding like a leaf as he stretched and sighed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, making to stand up too, but he stopped me with a look and I kept my place. His eyes were red and bloody, marked by all those tears he wouldn’t let me see before.
“I’m going to the bathroom.” He said after a moment. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” I nodded, “Out the door, first on the left.” I instructed, pointing to the corridor visible through me open doorway.
“Right.”
His voice was so low I could hardly catch it, and this fact worried me. His face seemed paler than usual, and his pink lips were tight, like he didn’t wanna speak anymore. I watched him walk steadily out the door and flopped back upon my bed, my eyes dithering on the cracks in the white washed ceiling.
I should have known, but I didn’t.
Gerard’s pov
Frank’s bathroom was very different to mine. For one it was clean, for another it was big, and lastly it was going to be witness to something I’d never dreamt of doing in my own bathroom.
I closed the door softly behind me, waiting until I heard it click shut before turning from it and staring forwards at the sink and spotless mirror set in the far corner. My eyes wandered to a small white cabinet bolted to the left and I went to it, opening its tiny plastic doors and examining what it held. Several brown pill bottles (mostly empty), some rolled up tubes of toothpaste, multicoloured brushes with worn down bristles, sanitary towels and tampons (these I tried not to look at) and lastly what I had been hoping to find. A box of razors.
I reached up and took the box down off the shelf, holding it carefully in my cupped hands and looking down on it with something bordering respect. As I tread softly over to the pristine white sink my mind wondered to something Bert had been singing the previous day, how had it gone again?
‘A box of sharp objects, what a beautiful thing…’
I smiled weakly as my mind conjured up those words. I think Bert was probably right about that. Sharp objects were beautiful, at least to my teen angst eyes. To drown out any painful gasps I may utter, I turned on both of the sink’s taps, so that the sound of churning water echoed around the bathroom. The boiling water mixed with the tepid cold and soon the mirror in front of me was misted over with condensation. Good. I didn’t want to see this.
I wanted now more than anything to just die, and to die quietly. I didn’t want people to hear me scream in agony or witness my body hitting the floor with a loud smash. There was no point wasting people’s precious time by making my death a poorly played daytime drama. I wasn’t worth the air time anyway, they have proper actors for that sorta soap opera suicide.
So many thoughts whizzed pell-mell through my mind as I took out one of the razors and stared at it curiously, my head cocked slightly to the side, my mouth closed to stop my lungs wasting the air others were meant to breathe.
Maybe the world would be better without me? I think so. I mean, I’m hardly a valuable asset to anyone, I’m more of a drain than anything. I’m nothing to my father, my mother and a pain to my baby brother. Perhaps when I’m gone father will get his act together and finally be the loving dad to Mikey he always should have been. Maybe if I die right now God will make me clean again. I wanna be as spotless as this bathroom. I don’t want to be dirty anymore, I don’t think I can stand it.
I ran my forefinger down the razor’s edge and winced a fraction as it made a paper thin slit in the pad of my finger. The blood rushed to fill the minuscule space and I felt slightly sick watching it. I didn’t like the sight of blood, even if it was my own, I hated it. But this had to be done if the pain was going to stop, so I braved it. I didn’t wanna hurt people anymore, especially those I loved.
How would I do this? A quicker way to make the agony and the blood disappear faster would be my first choice. I angled the blade and dragged it through the air mere millimetres from my flesh, not pressing down as yet. Across looked simplest, but it would kill me slowly, I knew enough to know that. I switched the blade around and let it run ever so lightly from wrist to elbow, leaving a tiny pink scratch line vertically down my forearm. Splitting a vein from top to bottom would most likely be the quickest way, sure it would be slow and painful but at least it wouldn’t take as long. At least it would drain my worthless blood.
I lifted the razor yet again, hovering it over the blue tinge in my skin which told me a vein ran beneath. The churning swirl of the boiling water was rumbling in my ears as I watched steam lick the very edge of the razor. My skin was hot. Soon it would be cold.
I didn’t hear the bathroom door creak open or the footsteps clattering across the tiled floor. I only knew he was behind me when I felt his body pressing into the small of my back. His hands reached round, one circling my waist, the other prising the tantalising metal from my craving fingers, drawing the cutter away from my waiting wrist.
The sounds of the running water seemed to grow louder as he rested his chin on my shoulder and wrapped both arms over my middle. We were silent as the grave, the heat of our bodies mingling. I wasn't cold, as I had wanted to be. I was warm and alive because he stopped me from making the mistake many other lonely people have made.
He stopped me from dying a fizzy movie screen death and I loved him all the more for it.
My broken hazel eyes met his chocolate swirl and he gave me a sad smile, as though to tell me all the hurt he felt. I looked away, down into the sink and stared fixedly at the water, watching it spiral down into the inky black plug hole.
One tiny word broke our silence, and it stung like a prick of an IV needle.
“Why?”
In that moment I wanted to tell him everything, to let him know each and every sordid secret of my life, to let him in where I’d never let any one before. As I turned, the rim of the basin digging into my back, his chest pressing up to mine and his hands hot on my tiny waist, the words I so longed to spill stuck in my dry throat and I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t tell him.
My cheeks flushed scarlet as his eyes raked my ravaged features. I felt so small.
“Tell me.” He coaxed, rubbing his hand up my side, spreading a delicious warmth right through me.
“Frankie…” I whispered, my voice choked up as tears swamped my vision. “I’m…”
“Don’t say you’re sorry.” He cut in gently, his breath ghosting across my pale face. “Never say you’re sorry for this.”
“I just feel so…” A tears snaked down my cheek, sinking into an open cut, the salt within it burning.
“How do you feel?” he prompted, his leg pushing in between my thighs so his knee pressed up towards my crotch. I closed my eyes. I moistened my lips.
“Like I’m everybody’s plaything.” I said at last, feeling his finger running along the waistline of my jeans. It stopped the second I voiced these words.
“Do you feel that way right now…?” Frank asked calmly, his warm palm pressing into my stomach, the grey fabric of my shirt bunching up around his wrist.
“No.”
“Then why take a razor to your wrist?”
“Because…”
His nails lightly scratched the bottom dome of my ribcage. It felt encouraging.
“Because…?”
I opened my eyes, letting the tears wash my cheeks and run down my neck, purifying the bruises evil men had branded upon me. When I looked up into Frankie’s fresh, clean face my heart beat a little faster. He was crying too, softly, gentle tears creeping out to cling to his eyelashes. He looked so innocent when he cried. I saw kindness in his eyes.
“Because I’m not meant to be alive at all.” I whispered. “I’m nothing. I’ve never existed. I’m a joke and, Frankie, I’m tired…oh so tired…” I sighed softly, letting my head fall forwards to mask my sorrow.
His warm hands moved and surprise gripped me as he tugged at the hem of my shirt. I looked up at him and saw that his lips had curved into a soft, understanding smile. I felt heartened by this and nodded, allowing him to continue.
Very slowly, he pushed my shirt up my body, revealing my torso to his eyes for the very first time. I felt slightly ashamed that my skin was so pale and that my bones stuck out, but the way he looked at them made that shame dissolve away. I raised my arms, allowing him to tug the shirt over my head, ruffling up my already messy hair.
My cheeks turned pink as he returned his hands to my waist and stared curiously upon my uncovered chest. Purple bruises bloomed here and there, the edges corrupting into a yellowish green. I bowed my head, looking away, not wanting him to see how incredibly small and disgusting those bruises made me feel.
I felt his fingers trail up my side, run over my chest, my neck, to rest upon my chin. He rubbed his thumb over the indent bellow my bottom lip and tilted my face up to meet his. His chocolate brown eyes fixed on my diluted hazel and a wash of heat spread from my gut to my every limb. Those eyes.
“You’re beautiful.” He whispered, “You really, really are.”
He tilted my head to the side and let his lips find the exposed crook of my neck. He planted a delicate kiss upon it, his warm lips sending a shock bursting through my core. His hair tickled bellow my chin but I didn’t mind at all, because his fingertips were taking my mind of it. They were dancing across my rib cage, exploring the dips and hollows with delicate curiosity.
I’d never before felt so wanted in my life.
As his hands shaped my body and his lips found mine in a gentle shower of kisses, I knew he was for real. At last, someone in my life was for real.
He took me by the hand and pulled me coaxingly from the bathroom, whispering that I was more special than I could ever know, and we went back to his room and stayed there, his sensual words falling over me like a pleasant downpour of rain.
“Gee…”
“Yeah…?”
I was lying with my back against his chest, his arms around my waist and our legs tangled together under the crimson duvet.
“Tell me you wouldn’t have…” he trailed off and his voice was lost to slow, steady breathing.
“I can’t.” I said. “Because I truly think I would have.”
There was a pause of maybe 3 seconds before he finally replied, and they were the longest 3 seconds of my life.
“I love you.”
*More soon lovlies <3*