Our Memories Defeat Us [1/10?]
Title: Our Memories Defeat Us [1/10?]
Author: myhagridromance
Rating: 13
Pairing: Frank/Mikey, past Frank/Jamia
POV: Frank
Summary: Frank wonders if he will ever be the same again after a thoughtless drunk driver tears his life apart.
Disclaimer: Not real, never happened, I only own the plot. The title is from 'Early Sunsets Over Monroeville' by My Chemical Romance.
Author Notes: I hope people like this... I'm freaking out cos I've never posted a chaptered story before, or an MCR one. I realise it's kid of different and not really clear at first so ideas for improvement are welcome, please be nice :] and also if anyone is willing to be my beta I'd be very grateful.
I crouched in the grass silently. Not moving from this position was becoming easier. It was the very edge of night, the time when dusk slowly turns to twilight. The light in the polished, stained glass window had been switched off almost an hour ago, but I had to be sure. I hadn't slept in days but I wasn't tired. I was so focused, so completely gripped on what I had to do.
Stare. The large wooden door reflected the little light that issued from the outside lamp. Twitch. My hand wasn't the only part of me that longed to open that door. Squint. I raked my hand through my hair. The waiting got harder. There was not an inch of guilt running through my ice cold veins. All I knew was that if I didn't leave the house tonight without doing what I had to do, I would slowly drive myself insane until I did it. I loved the adrenalin. I felt a smile that wasn't normal, it was twisted and tormented. It was a smile that told my brain don't worry, the clock is about to stop ticking.
I didn't have to look at my watch to know it was exactly time. I stood up so incredibly carefully that I could even hear an insect crawling beneath me. Don't rush this. I walked with extreme care until I was on the path down to that irresistible door. The object in my pocket bumped against my leg as I walked. I tightened my fist around it, the metal cold even through the material.
A few seconds later and I was in the house. I couldn't turn on any lights. My sharp eyes were able to pick out the dark shapes and the right way to where I wanted to go. My hand flew along the banister. I was fast, but not too fast. Again I smiled, wider than before, happy that I knew exactly what I was doing. I scanned every room individually, thinking back to which window the light had appeared at. Third time lucky.
There he was, mumbling in his sleep, curled up on a pile of pillows. The half-open curtains threw light across his face. I looked away, not wanting to see. I knew if I did, there would be no doubt that I would get angry. I would make things a lot worse and it would all happen too fast. First step. Second step. He didn't stir, as I expected. I slid the object out of my pocket. This was always the part that I couldn't take slow; it was pulled to my face in less than a second. And now it was time. Now it was time for the revenge I had ached for since the day I knew what this thoughtless bastard had done. I had lost everything. And he was about to. He'd better be having a nice dream, 'cos it's the last one he'll ever have.
It was time. The hands on the clock didn't show it. The stirs and mumbles in his deep slumber didn't show it. The burn from deep in every bone in my brutal body showed it with every stab of anger, adrenaline, ache to end this. I leaned over his face, gritting my teeth and trying not to think of what every wrinkle set in his skin, every strand of his mousey hair brought into my mind. Breathing gently onto his face, letting the bitter scent of my breath circle him. I counted down the seconds until I could grab his face... I did it with such satisfaction, so cold and cruelly that I couldn't help laughing triumphantly to myself. His eyes blurred open and I knew at last I could act fast.
The light flicked on. His face changed from sleepy to shock and fear. I smiled showing all of my teeth, hoping that I would leave a lasting impression on his mind - after all, it was the last thing he would ever see. Before he could properly react I pulled the trigger. There was no sound like the smashing of an enemy's skull. Blood everywhere. For a few seconds it was all I could see. I could see it, feel it , taste it soaking my face, hands, chest. In a moment of pride and madness I licked his blood from my face, exploring the taste. There was nothing more satisfying than seeing that man as a mess surrounded by covers and walls splattered with his insides. Splintered bones. Organs rolled off the bed where pools of bloodstains had already settled. I turned the light off again, smiling to myself, feeling the silent atmosphere, the smell of death, the sense of victory. That's for breaking my fucking heart.
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