What If I Fell To The Floor? Chapter 2.
Title: What If I Fell To The Floor; Couldn't Take This Anymore?
Author: runawaycharis
Pairing: Frank/Gerard AU
Rating: NC17
Warning: Violence, non-consensual sex, cutting, adult themes, language, sex, OMC/OFC death, etc.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and if I did, I'd be doing far more productive things than writing about them.
Summary: The past six years of Frank's life have been hell. One night, it becomes to much for him, and he flees to the serenity of the quiet local park. He's not afraid of death anymore - but should he be afraid of what's lurking in the shadows? Meanwhile, Gerard tries to find an escape from his 'job' - but what's the price to pay for it?
Beta: drdeath_defying
This chapter doesn't contain much action, but it does contain some information that, without, the rest of the story wouldn't make sense. I've got a shitton of coursework to do right now, but in a couple of days my holidays begin so I should be able to write some more then. xo
Chapter 1.
Frank’s POV.
I lay there on my bedroom floor for hours, sobs racking my lacerated, broken body. It wasn’t until I’d run my tears dry that I lifted my hands away from my bruised face, and uncurled my battered legs. I gazed into the darkness of my bedroom; the room which I should’ve felt safer in than anywhere else.
Instead, it terrified me.
I have to get out of here, I thought. The emotional trauma this place held for me was unbearable, and I needed to get out.
Clutching the mirror to guide myself up, I stumbled tentatively on my unsteady feet. I staggered towards my bed, and picked up the clothes that had been so carelessly tossed there earlier. I slid on my boxers and jeans, my hands shaking from more than just the cold night air. I slipped my grey t-shirt over my head, the rough, threadbare material rubbing against my chest and reopening the painful slashes.
I hissed in pain, my eyes stinging and knees shaking as the dark, sticky liquid seeped through my t-shirt. My legs buckled, and I slid helplessly onto the floor, wrapping my fragile arms around myself in solace. I removed my hands and hesitantly placed one on my chest, only to withdraw it and see that it was carpeted in blood.
Cautiously stand up again, I slipped on my tattered Vans, and headed for the door of my bedroom. I clasped the cold handle roughly, and pulled the door open, before slipping into the hallway. I high-tailed it downstairs, yanked open the front door, and disappeared into the night.
I wrapped my shivering arms around my chest and hugged myself whilst I ran, trying to ignore the quaking of my body. I really needed another layer, but no way I hell was I going back there.
I ran and ran, my feet pounding the pavement and stumbling occasionally as I hurtled through the enveloping darkness. My footsteps slowed, and finally ceased, when I reached the local park. It used to be a haven for little kids, who’d come here every day with the loving parents, playing together on the swing sets and slide.
I was never one of those kids, I couldn’t help but think. I never had loving parents.
However, parents had stopped bringing their kids here a few years ago, when it surfaced that people had begun to disappear sometimes. I didn’t care though, that’s how far gone I was; at this point, any form of escape from my current life I welcomed with open arms.
I slumped down beside the rusting, neglected slide, tucking my quivering legs beneath me as I rested my head in my arms on the cold asphalt. I ignored the persistent throb of pain in my chest and the damp, sticky feeling of my blood-soaked t-shirt pressing against the lacerations.
As I settled into the darkness, I closed my weary eyes and slipped into unconsciousness, ignoring the gentle thud of footsteps behind me.
Gerard’s POV.
I sighed wearily as I exited my house and made my way down the gravel driveway to my old, beat-up car. Slipping into the driver’s seat, I thrust the key into the ignition and started up the car, backing out of the driveway.
Today was a work night.
I fucking hated my job.
I shivered in the cold interior of my car, my breath ghosting as I reached over for the heating and turned it up to full.
This was never the life I had wanted; going out at God knows what hour, to pick up strangers and take them back to him. God knows what he did to those poor souls.
Well, actually, I did know; I just preferred not to think about it. My job was simply to get them, subdue them and then drive them to him. That way, I could afford to live. I could keep living, even if it meant living an existence I hated.
It’s not like I could simply quit my job - if you wanted to call it that - and find another.
No, it wasn’t that easy. See, when I was younger, he had saved me once. About 6 years ago, when I was 12, I’d been a street urchin; he had taken me in and let me stay with him. About once a week, he’d always disappear at night, and re-appear in the morning. Sometimes when he returned home, he’d be sweating and dirty. Other times, his shirt or his hands would be bloodstained.
I’d always wash his clothes for him. Sometimes the blood came out. Other times, it didn’t. We’d have to bin the clothes those times.
I never questioned his whereabouts those nights. As it turned out, I didn’t have to; when I turned 15, he took me with him one night. I sat silently in his car as he waltzed across a local park, to where a drunken boy of around 17 sat on a decaying old bench.
I observed him chat to the boy for a few minutes, before the two walked towards our car. I sunk lower in the backseat, aiming to make myself invisible to the boy. The two slipped into the car, before the engine was started and we drove off into the night.
The journey was filled with idle chatter between the two, littered with innuendos and obvious passes. Eventually, we pulled up to a beaten-up old shack that I’d never seen before. As the pair stepped out the car and made their way up to the house, I observed my surroundings as best
I could in the haunting darkness. I didn’t recognize anything, because there was nothing to recognize. From what I could see, we were just in a shack, in a desolate field somewhere.
I gingerly made my way up to house, stopping outside a window and peering in.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight I was faced with.
A metal bed frame stood in the corner of the room, the mattress stained with what looked like blood, amongst other bodily fluids. The drunken boy we’d picked up lay in the centre of it, stripped bare and with his hands and feet handcuffed to the metal frame.
His eyes were wide with fear, his bottom lip trembling as his terrified gaze frantically searched the room. He visibly stiffened, as did I, as I saw him enter the room, a sadistic smirk plastered across his chapped lips. He was wearing only his boxers, his translucent, tattooed skin on full display. His hands twirled behind his back, his dirty hands clutching something.
My eyes widened and I suppressed a scream, as he strutted towards the foot of the bed, giving me a full view of what he was holding.
A long, silver knife sat in his hands, the blade having lost its shine from over-use.
I shuddered at the thought of what he had done with that knife - and how many times.
The next half an hour was a mixture of sweat, screams and blood. I forced my eyes shut, clamping my hands over my ears as I tried in vain to erase the images of him forcing himself upon and inside that boy from my mind. His screams rung out into the silent night, but they were lost to the darkness.
I tried to ignore the way his blood splattered the sheets as he drove the knife into him, again and again, deeper and deeper. The way he dressed afterwards without a care in the world, and the way he bundled the lifeless body into a shower curtain afterwards. The way he forced me into the car as we drove to the nearby river, and the way he casually tossed the young boy’s mutilated body into the freezing water.
The way he sat back in the car, leaned over to me and whispered, “you’re gonna help me from now on. Or, it’ll be your body I’m dumping next time.”
I shuddered at the haunting memory as I pulled my car into the parking lot of the local park.
The very same park I first started picking kids up, I couldn’t help but think. I shivered, from more than just the cold, and turned off the ignition.
I glanced at my phone, the bright screen illuminating the lingering darkness of the interior of my beat-up car. 1:07AM The little screen read. I sighed; I was perfectly on time.
I stepped cautiously out of the car, my dirty-white Vans scuffing the muddy tarmac. I quietly closed the door of my car and locked up, and proceeded to pick my way across the grassy slopes and of the park. It wasn’t fairly big, or too small; it was the type of place you could easily imagine kids and their parents sitting in the sweet sunlight, giggling happily and playing together, comforted by each others’ presence.
However, since he’d decided this was a good spot for picking kids up, parents had stopped bringing their kids here, petrified of what the darkness held. And so they should be, I thought.
After the parents had abandoned the park, it had become neglected and miserable. The only visitors it received now - apart from myself, of course - where the drunk, stoner kids, who figured that it was a good place to get plastered without their parents finding out.
You should be more afraid of what’s out here in the darkness, than any punishment your parents could give, I thought to myself.
However, tonight was silent - no howls of laughter, no vile sounds of underage kids chucking their guts up into the nearby bushes. There was... nothing.
In some ways, I was thankful - no kids available meant that no one was going to meet their pitiful end tonight. However, the part of my mind I liked to generally ignore knew better than that. If I didn’t pick any kids up here, I’d simply have to look someplace else until I did find someone.
Otherwise, I shuddered to think, he’d be using me.
It had happened once before, after all.
I subconsciously touched my hip where the small, jagged scar resided. About a year and a half ago, I’d searched frantically all night, but to no avail - I hadn’t managed to find a kid, and had had to return to him empty-handed.
He’d flown into a bloody, violent rage; hence the scar. I was fortunate enough that he’d spared me the horrors of rape - instead, he’d just forced me down onto my knees and pushed my head toward him. After I was done, he’d pushed me backwards until I fell, and gashed my hip with one of his smaller knives. A reminder, he said it was, of what would happen if I didn’t do my job properly.
I shuddered at the memory, shaking my head in an effort to erase the thoughts from my mind. They’d always be in my memory, but that didn’t mean I wanted to bring them up. Ever.
Since I was there,I decided that I might as well look around the park. I’d sometimes come across kids up trees, for fuck’s sake, so I thought it might be worth the effort.
I trudged through the overgrown grass, the fallen leaves crunching softly beneath my sneakered feet. As I climbed up the cracked concrete steps to the play area, something caught my ear; harsh breaths cracked the silence of the night.
I stopped dead in my tracks, and peered around into the darkness - in what little moonlight there was, I couldn’t see anyone; but that didn’t mean no one was there.
I tiptoed up the remainder of the steps until I reached the asphalt that seated a decrepit roundabout, several desolate-looking swings and an old slide. My gaze was drawn towards the latter, where, even in the darkness, I could make out the small figure of a teenage boy, curled up broken on the floor.
Author: runawaycharis
Pairing: Frank/Gerard AU
Rating: NC17
Warning: Violence, non-consensual sex, cutting, adult themes, language, sex, OMC/OFC death, etc.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and if I did, I'd be doing far more productive things than writing about them.
Summary: The past six years of Frank's life have been hell. One night, it becomes to much for him, and he flees to the serenity of the quiet local park. He's not afraid of death anymore - but should he be afraid of what's lurking in the shadows? Meanwhile, Gerard tries to find an escape from his 'job' - but what's the price to pay for it?
Beta: drdeath_defying
This chapter doesn't contain much action, but it does contain some information that, without, the rest of the story wouldn't make sense. I've got a shitton of coursework to do right now, but in a couple of days my holidays begin so I should be able to write some more then. xo
Chapter 1.
Frank’s POV.
I lay there on my bedroom floor for hours, sobs racking my lacerated, broken body. It wasn’t until I’d run my tears dry that I lifted my hands away from my bruised face, and uncurled my battered legs. I gazed into the darkness of my bedroom; the room which I should’ve felt safer in than anywhere else.
Instead, it terrified me.
I have to get out of here, I thought. The emotional trauma this place held for me was unbearable, and I needed to get out.
Clutching the mirror to guide myself up, I stumbled tentatively on my unsteady feet. I staggered towards my bed, and picked up the clothes that had been so carelessly tossed there earlier. I slid on my boxers and jeans, my hands shaking from more than just the cold night air. I slipped my grey t-shirt over my head, the rough, threadbare material rubbing against my chest and reopening the painful slashes.
I hissed in pain, my eyes stinging and knees shaking as the dark, sticky liquid seeped through my t-shirt. My legs buckled, and I slid helplessly onto the floor, wrapping my fragile arms around myself in solace. I removed my hands and hesitantly placed one on my chest, only to withdraw it and see that it was carpeted in blood.
Cautiously stand up again, I slipped on my tattered Vans, and headed for the door of my bedroom. I clasped the cold handle roughly, and pulled the door open, before slipping into the hallway. I high-tailed it downstairs, yanked open the front door, and disappeared into the night.
I wrapped my shivering arms around my chest and hugged myself whilst I ran, trying to ignore the quaking of my body. I really needed another layer, but no way I hell was I going back there.
I ran and ran, my feet pounding the pavement and stumbling occasionally as I hurtled through the enveloping darkness. My footsteps slowed, and finally ceased, when I reached the local park. It used to be a haven for little kids, who’d come here every day with the loving parents, playing together on the swing sets and slide.
I was never one of those kids, I couldn’t help but think. I never had loving parents.
However, parents had stopped bringing their kids here a few years ago, when it surfaced that people had begun to disappear sometimes. I didn’t care though, that’s how far gone I was; at this point, any form of escape from my current life I welcomed with open arms.
I slumped down beside the rusting, neglected slide, tucking my quivering legs beneath me as I rested my head in my arms on the cold asphalt. I ignored the persistent throb of pain in my chest and the damp, sticky feeling of my blood-soaked t-shirt pressing against the lacerations.
As I settled into the darkness, I closed my weary eyes and slipped into unconsciousness, ignoring the gentle thud of footsteps behind me.
Gerard’s POV.
I sighed wearily as I exited my house and made my way down the gravel driveway to my old, beat-up car. Slipping into the driver’s seat, I thrust the key into the ignition and started up the car, backing out of the driveway.
Today was a work night.
I fucking hated my job.
I shivered in the cold interior of my car, my breath ghosting as I reached over for the heating and turned it up to full.
This was never the life I had wanted; going out at God knows what hour, to pick up strangers and take them back to him. God knows what he did to those poor souls.
Well, actually, I did know; I just preferred not to think about it. My job was simply to get them, subdue them and then drive them to him. That way, I could afford to live. I could keep living, even if it meant living an existence I hated.
It’s not like I could simply quit my job - if you wanted to call it that - and find another.
No, it wasn’t that easy. See, when I was younger, he had saved me once. About 6 years ago, when I was 12, I’d been a street urchin; he had taken me in and let me stay with him. About once a week, he’d always disappear at night, and re-appear in the morning. Sometimes when he returned home, he’d be sweating and dirty. Other times, his shirt or his hands would be bloodstained.
I’d always wash his clothes for him. Sometimes the blood came out. Other times, it didn’t. We’d have to bin the clothes those times.
I never questioned his whereabouts those nights. As it turned out, I didn’t have to; when I turned 15, he took me with him one night. I sat silently in his car as he waltzed across a local park, to where a drunken boy of around 17 sat on a decaying old bench.
I observed him chat to the boy for a few minutes, before the two walked towards our car. I sunk lower in the backseat, aiming to make myself invisible to the boy. The two slipped into the car, before the engine was started and we drove off into the night.
The journey was filled with idle chatter between the two, littered with innuendos and obvious passes. Eventually, we pulled up to a beaten-up old shack that I’d never seen before. As the pair stepped out the car and made their way up to the house, I observed my surroundings as best
I could in the haunting darkness. I didn’t recognize anything, because there was nothing to recognize. From what I could see, we were just in a shack, in a desolate field somewhere.
I gingerly made my way up to house, stopping outside a window and peering in.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight I was faced with.
A metal bed frame stood in the corner of the room, the mattress stained with what looked like blood, amongst other bodily fluids. The drunken boy we’d picked up lay in the centre of it, stripped bare and with his hands and feet handcuffed to the metal frame.
His eyes were wide with fear, his bottom lip trembling as his terrified gaze frantically searched the room. He visibly stiffened, as did I, as I saw him enter the room, a sadistic smirk plastered across his chapped lips. He was wearing only his boxers, his translucent, tattooed skin on full display. His hands twirled behind his back, his dirty hands clutching something.
My eyes widened and I suppressed a scream, as he strutted towards the foot of the bed, giving me a full view of what he was holding.
A long, silver knife sat in his hands, the blade having lost its shine from over-use.
I shuddered at the thought of what he had done with that knife - and how many times.
The next half an hour was a mixture of sweat, screams and blood. I forced my eyes shut, clamping my hands over my ears as I tried in vain to erase the images of him forcing himself upon and inside that boy from my mind. His screams rung out into the silent night, but they were lost to the darkness.
I tried to ignore the way his blood splattered the sheets as he drove the knife into him, again and again, deeper and deeper. The way he dressed afterwards without a care in the world, and the way he bundled the lifeless body into a shower curtain afterwards. The way he forced me into the car as we drove to the nearby river, and the way he casually tossed the young boy’s mutilated body into the freezing water.
The way he sat back in the car, leaned over to me and whispered, “you’re gonna help me from now on. Or, it’ll be your body I’m dumping next time.”
I shuddered at the haunting memory as I pulled my car into the parking lot of the local park.
The very same park I first started picking kids up, I couldn’t help but think. I shivered, from more than just the cold, and turned off the ignition.
I glanced at my phone, the bright screen illuminating the lingering darkness of the interior of my beat-up car. 1:07AM The little screen read. I sighed; I was perfectly on time.
I stepped cautiously out of the car, my dirty-white Vans scuffing the muddy tarmac. I quietly closed the door of my car and locked up, and proceeded to pick my way across the grassy slopes and of the park. It wasn’t fairly big, or too small; it was the type of place you could easily imagine kids and their parents sitting in the sweet sunlight, giggling happily and playing together, comforted by each others’ presence.
However, since he’d decided this was a good spot for picking kids up, parents had stopped bringing their kids here, petrified of what the darkness held. And so they should be, I thought.
After the parents had abandoned the park, it had become neglected and miserable. The only visitors it received now - apart from myself, of course - where the drunk, stoner kids, who figured that it was a good place to get plastered without their parents finding out.
You should be more afraid of what’s out here in the darkness, than any punishment your parents could give, I thought to myself.
However, tonight was silent - no howls of laughter, no vile sounds of underage kids chucking their guts up into the nearby bushes. There was... nothing.
In some ways, I was thankful - no kids available meant that no one was going to meet their pitiful end tonight. However, the part of my mind I liked to generally ignore knew better than that. If I didn’t pick any kids up here, I’d simply have to look someplace else until I did find someone.
Otherwise, I shuddered to think, he’d be using me.
It had happened once before, after all.
I subconsciously touched my hip where the small, jagged scar resided. About a year and a half ago, I’d searched frantically all night, but to no avail - I hadn’t managed to find a kid, and had had to return to him empty-handed.
He’d flown into a bloody, violent rage; hence the scar. I was fortunate enough that he’d spared me the horrors of rape - instead, he’d just forced me down onto my knees and pushed my head toward him. After I was done, he’d pushed me backwards until I fell, and gashed my hip with one of his smaller knives. A reminder, he said it was, of what would happen if I didn’t do my job properly.
I shuddered at the memory, shaking my head in an effort to erase the thoughts from my mind. They’d always be in my memory, but that didn’t mean I wanted to bring them up. Ever.
Since I was there,I decided that I might as well look around the park. I’d sometimes come across kids up trees, for fuck’s sake, so I thought it might be worth the effort.
I trudged through the overgrown grass, the fallen leaves crunching softly beneath my sneakered feet. As I climbed up the cracked concrete steps to the play area, something caught my ear; harsh breaths cracked the silence of the night.
I stopped dead in my tracks, and peered around into the darkness - in what little moonlight there was, I couldn’t see anyone; but that didn’t mean no one was there.
I tiptoed up the remainder of the steps until I reached the asphalt that seated a decrepit roundabout, several desolate-looking swings and an old slide. My gaze was drawn towards the latter, where, even in the darkness, I could make out the small figure of a teenage boy, curled up broken on the floor.