One Night And One More Time (Chapter 13)
Title:One Night And One More Time
Author:whitechinadoll
Pairing:Frank/Gerard
POV: First, Gerard
Rating:R
Summary:Frank and Gerard need to talk about what's been happening. But Gerard doesn't want to...
Disclaimer: It's all a figment of my over-active and deranged imagination.
Author Notes: Link goes to my journal. This chapter is dedicated to mcr_angelbaby , for reminding me that people wanted this updated... >.<
Beta: The wonderful talents of: gee4president and degrassi_luvr17
Warnings:angst, self-harm, depression, suicidal thoughts, character death, suicide attempts, drug use.
Previous Chapters: listed here
Fifteen minutes before we needed to leave, everyone had already arrived at the bus and was ready to go. I guess the driver had also arrived, because at 2:57 the bus pulled out. Bob and Ray were talking in the kitchen area, and I could hear the TV going, just softly enough that I was unable to distinguish what was being watched. I don’t know where Mikey was. I didn’t care. That’s not true. You do care. That’s why you’re blocking him out…he was there for you before, he should be here for you now, right? Except that last time, there was something actually wrong, and this time he’s perfectly justified in hating you. Frank hadn’t spoken to me since we’d arrived at the bus. I turned over and shut my eyes. I wanted to look out of a window, see the world flashing past too quickly for anything to actually be noticed, too quickly for me to leave an indelible mark upon where I’d been.
My iPod was blaring half in my ear, one earphone having already fallen out, me not caring enough to replace it, when I heard someone knocking on the wall next to my bunk. I sat up, blinking blearily, and ruffled one hand through my hair. I attempted to speak, but my voice was hoarse from lack of use, so I simply pulled the curtain open a small way, sticking my head out. Frank’s smiling face looked down at me, and he reached into my bunk, grabbing hold of my hand.
“C’mon, Gerard. We’re playing video games, and you’re on my team.”
“You don’t need teams to play video games.”
I pulled my hand away from his, and instead went to pull the curtain back. He sighed impatiently.
“I know that. I was just trying to be subtle about telling you to haul your ass out of bed so you could come chill with us.”
I looked at him for a moment, then drew the curtain closed.
“Gerard!” His voice whined from the other side of the curtain. I put my earphones in and turned my iPod up.
“Gerard, you’re not allowed to do this! I’m supposed to look after you.”
I frowned and pulled out the earphones, then yanked the curtain open again.
“I already told you. I don’t need anyone to look after me. I’m fine.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
He glared at me, challenging me to compete, or to give in.
“Oh Frankie, you’re so right.”
I put my hands to my face, faking a sob.
“I need help, Frankie…Oh please, help me!”
I looked up at him, glaring, then pulled the curtain shut again. I lay back down fully, and turned towards the wall, closing my eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. You have nothing to cry about you stupid wimp. You just want pity, want him to come back and hold you…well, that’s never gonna happen. You already know that. You face this world on your own, and you shouldn’t go around searching for sympathy. Just suck it up and pretend it never happened, never affected you, was never real. I took a deep breath and wiped my hand across my eyes, then bit down sharply on the inside of my cheek. Not going to fucking give in.
There was a sudden noise as I heard someone open the door to the bunkroom. I sat up on my elbows, wary of the sound.
“Fuck off.”
The curtain to my bunk was pulled open, and Bob glared down at me.
“Fuck off.”
“Unlike Frank, I don’t actually care if you hate me.”
I opened my mouth, but Bob simply reached in and grabbed hold of my arm. By the time the, ‘Ow,’ of protest had made it from my mouth, I was sitting on the floor, sprawled where he’d yanked me out of my bunk.
“I hate you.”
He chuckled. “I know. I don’t care.”
He walked out of the room, leaving the door open so that I could hear the soundtrack to the video game. I sat for a second, before slowly standing up. I leant against my bunk, resting my head on the mattress of Ray’s bunk, the one above mine. I let the absolute misery I felt, the horrible numbness, show across my face for only a few seconds, then rearranged my face into a neutral look, and walked out of the room, joining the others. Bob and Ray were sitting on the couch, Mikey on a chair and Frank on the floor. As I walked in, Bob, Ray and Frank all looked at me for a second, and then back at the television screen, though I did see Frank flash a grateful smile to Bob. Mikey, however, continued to be absorbed in the game, not even looking at me. Like you even deserve it. I just stood there for a few seconds; before Frank leaned towards me and grabbed my hand, pulling me down to sit next to him on the floor.
I sat on the floor next to Frank for the next two hours, watching the others play. Occasionally, one of them would speak, but it was always related to do with the game, and it was never directed at me. It was good, I suppose. It allowed me to realize just how insignificant I was to them, and I finally started to realize that it wasn’t just Mikey, that none of them liked me, that none of them cared, and that none of them wanted to know about it. I felt better, that I was no longer deceiving myself as to just how useless I really was.
Every so often, when he wasn’t playing, Frank would lean into me a little, and rest his head on my shoulder. It confused me. I couldn’t understand why he was doing it. I already knew that he didn’t care, and that he didn’t want to comfort me. Besides that point, I didn’t need to be comforted. No. You just need Frankie to leave you alone for long enough that the prescription in your pocket can be filled. Yep. It was infuriating, that he wouldn’t leave me alone, wouldn’t let me die. Why couldn’t he let me be happy? I flicked my eyes to look at him, and found him already staring at me. I scowled, and pushed him away from me, announcing that I was going to bed. He got up to follow me.
“I don’t need a fucking baby-sitter, Frank.”
“You gave up any right to make demands when you tried to down all those pills, Gerard.”
I turned sharply, and left the room with Ray and Bob in a sort of stunned silence. As I was leaving, I heard Ray mutter something to him, about not, ‘needing to upset me.’ Mikey still just sat there, staring at the TV.
I didn’t bother changing into my pajamas; I just collapsed onto my bunk, pulling the curtain shut again, and curling up under the blankets. I tried to simply lie there, to go to sleep, to just forget. Everyone said it was what I should do, and maybe they were right, I mean…physically damaging yourself to make yourself happy…that’s fucked up, right? How can it not be…it’s just so fucking wrong. And here I am, living proof that actually, it works. Pity. It would be so much better if you were dead proof. I know… I turned to the side, trying to escape my thoughts, but they wouldn’t leave me, kept pushing themselves to the forefront of my brain, and all I wanted was to fucking relax, to just sleep. I had only just reached into my pillowcase to get out the blade I kept there, when the curtain to my bunk was pulled open. It was Frankie. His face was blank, but when he realized I was sitting up with my hand buried in my pillowcase, his eyes flashed, before he gave a slight smile.
“Just though I’d let you know, you’ve got a phone appointment with Bruce tomorrow at eleven.”
I nodded, turning away from him, attempting to hide what I was so obviously doing. He watched me sit there, pathetic and hopeless, for a few seconds before he spoke again.
“Also, that I’m glad that all cutters seem to be predictable.”
I recoiled at his use of the term ‘cutter’. I had never been labeled as that before; at least, not to my face. It was this unspoken agreement, while I ignore it, nothing’s wrong with me…if I don’t admit it, nothing can be wrong with me, right? But then, Frankie’s here with his stupid accusations, his stupid words that just need to stop, just need to let me alone, to leave me in my bunk with only my thoughts, allow me to hide away from the world with a smile and a razorblade.
His smile widened slightly, showing his teeth, and wasn’t it just wrong that he was smiling at me like this? “Meaning, I already searched your pillowcase, and removed the two blades you had in there.”
No. No, I just want to be alone here, let me just forget, make it go away. I didn’t turn my head, didn’t let him see the tears pouring down my face. Instead I shrugged, keeping my face turned away from him. “That all?”
There was a slight pause, and when he spoke again, he’s voice was lower, more numb. “Yeah. Night.”
I nodded, and he shut the curtain, leaving the room. I waited until he was gone, then placed my pillow on the wall and slammed my fist into it over and over and over again. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to know; why did he have to stop me? Tears were slipping out of my eyes and down my face as I moved from punching the wall to simply dragging the nails of my right hand down my left arm over and over again, until the skin was gone, and it was bleeding and oozing, and the tears had stopped, and the pain had receded into a small ball that burned in my stomach. Then I lied back down and went to sleep.
Author:whitechinadoll
Pairing:Frank/Gerard
POV: First, Gerard
Rating:R
Summary:Frank and Gerard need to talk about what's been happening. But Gerard doesn't want to...
Disclaimer: It's all a figment of my over-active and deranged imagination.
Author Notes: Link goes to my journal. This chapter is dedicated to mcr_angelbaby , for reminding me that people wanted this updated... >.<
Beta: The wonderful talents of: gee4president and degrassi_luvr17
Warnings:angst, self-harm, depression, suicidal thoughts, character death, suicide attempts, drug use.
Previous Chapters: listed here
Fifteen minutes before we needed to leave, everyone had already arrived at the bus and was ready to go. I guess the driver had also arrived, because at 2:57 the bus pulled out. Bob and Ray were talking in the kitchen area, and I could hear the TV going, just softly enough that I was unable to distinguish what was being watched. I don’t know where Mikey was. I didn’t care. That’s not true. You do care. That’s why you’re blocking him out…he was there for you before, he should be here for you now, right? Except that last time, there was something actually wrong, and this time he’s perfectly justified in hating you. Frank hadn’t spoken to me since we’d arrived at the bus. I turned over and shut my eyes. I wanted to look out of a window, see the world flashing past too quickly for anything to actually be noticed, too quickly for me to leave an indelible mark upon where I’d been.
My iPod was blaring half in my ear, one earphone having already fallen out, me not caring enough to replace it, when I heard someone knocking on the wall next to my bunk. I sat up, blinking blearily, and ruffled one hand through my hair. I attempted to speak, but my voice was hoarse from lack of use, so I simply pulled the curtain open a small way, sticking my head out. Frank’s smiling face looked down at me, and he reached into my bunk, grabbing hold of my hand.
“C’mon, Gerard. We’re playing video games, and you’re on my team.”
“You don’t need teams to play video games.”
I pulled my hand away from his, and instead went to pull the curtain back. He sighed impatiently.
“I know that. I was just trying to be subtle about telling you to haul your ass out of bed so you could come chill with us.”
I looked at him for a moment, then drew the curtain closed.
“Gerard!” His voice whined from the other side of the curtain. I put my earphones in and turned my iPod up.
“Gerard, you’re not allowed to do this! I’m supposed to look after you.”
I frowned and pulled out the earphones, then yanked the curtain open again.
“I already told you. I don’t need anyone to look after me. I’m fine.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
He glared at me, challenging me to compete, or to give in.
“Oh Frankie, you’re so right.”
I put my hands to my face, faking a sob.
“I need help, Frankie…Oh please, help me!”
I looked up at him, glaring, then pulled the curtain shut again. I lay back down fully, and turned towards the wall, closing my eyes. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. You have nothing to cry about you stupid wimp. You just want pity, want him to come back and hold you…well, that’s never gonna happen. You already know that. You face this world on your own, and you shouldn’t go around searching for sympathy. Just suck it up and pretend it never happened, never affected you, was never real. I took a deep breath and wiped my hand across my eyes, then bit down sharply on the inside of my cheek. Not going to fucking give in.
There was a sudden noise as I heard someone open the door to the bunkroom. I sat up on my elbows, wary of the sound.
“Fuck off.”
The curtain to my bunk was pulled open, and Bob glared down at me.
“Fuck off.”
“Unlike Frank, I don’t actually care if you hate me.”
I opened my mouth, but Bob simply reached in and grabbed hold of my arm. By the time the, ‘Ow,’ of protest had made it from my mouth, I was sitting on the floor, sprawled where he’d yanked me out of my bunk.
“I hate you.”
He chuckled. “I know. I don’t care.”
He walked out of the room, leaving the door open so that I could hear the soundtrack to the video game. I sat for a second, before slowly standing up. I leant against my bunk, resting my head on the mattress of Ray’s bunk, the one above mine. I let the absolute misery I felt, the horrible numbness, show across my face for only a few seconds, then rearranged my face into a neutral look, and walked out of the room, joining the others. Bob and Ray were sitting on the couch, Mikey on a chair and Frank on the floor. As I walked in, Bob, Ray and Frank all looked at me for a second, and then back at the television screen, though I did see Frank flash a grateful smile to Bob. Mikey, however, continued to be absorbed in the game, not even looking at me. Like you even deserve it. I just stood there for a few seconds; before Frank leaned towards me and grabbed my hand, pulling me down to sit next to him on the floor.
I sat on the floor next to Frank for the next two hours, watching the others play. Occasionally, one of them would speak, but it was always related to do with the game, and it was never directed at me. It was good, I suppose. It allowed me to realize just how insignificant I was to them, and I finally started to realize that it wasn’t just Mikey, that none of them liked me, that none of them cared, and that none of them wanted to know about it. I felt better, that I was no longer deceiving myself as to just how useless I really was.
Every so often, when he wasn’t playing, Frank would lean into me a little, and rest his head on my shoulder. It confused me. I couldn’t understand why he was doing it. I already knew that he didn’t care, and that he didn’t want to comfort me. Besides that point, I didn’t need to be comforted. No. You just need Frankie to leave you alone for long enough that the prescription in your pocket can be filled. Yep. It was infuriating, that he wouldn’t leave me alone, wouldn’t let me die. Why couldn’t he let me be happy? I flicked my eyes to look at him, and found him already staring at me. I scowled, and pushed him away from me, announcing that I was going to bed. He got up to follow me.
“I don’t need a fucking baby-sitter, Frank.”
“You gave up any right to make demands when you tried to down all those pills, Gerard.”
I turned sharply, and left the room with Ray and Bob in a sort of stunned silence. As I was leaving, I heard Ray mutter something to him, about not, ‘needing to upset me.’ Mikey still just sat there, staring at the TV.
I didn’t bother changing into my pajamas; I just collapsed onto my bunk, pulling the curtain shut again, and curling up under the blankets. I tried to simply lie there, to go to sleep, to just forget. Everyone said it was what I should do, and maybe they were right, I mean…physically damaging yourself to make yourself happy…that’s fucked up, right? How can it not be…it’s just so fucking wrong. And here I am, living proof that actually, it works. Pity. It would be so much better if you were dead proof. I know… I turned to the side, trying to escape my thoughts, but they wouldn’t leave me, kept pushing themselves to the forefront of my brain, and all I wanted was to fucking relax, to just sleep. I had only just reached into my pillowcase to get out the blade I kept there, when the curtain to my bunk was pulled open. It was Frankie. His face was blank, but when he realized I was sitting up with my hand buried in my pillowcase, his eyes flashed, before he gave a slight smile.
“Just though I’d let you know, you’ve got a phone appointment with Bruce tomorrow at eleven.”
I nodded, turning away from him, attempting to hide what I was so obviously doing. He watched me sit there, pathetic and hopeless, for a few seconds before he spoke again.
“Also, that I’m glad that all cutters seem to be predictable.”
I recoiled at his use of the term ‘cutter’. I had never been labeled as that before; at least, not to my face. It was this unspoken agreement, while I ignore it, nothing’s wrong with me…if I don’t admit it, nothing can be wrong with me, right? But then, Frankie’s here with his stupid accusations, his stupid words that just need to stop, just need to let me alone, to leave me in my bunk with only my thoughts, allow me to hide away from the world with a smile and a razorblade.
His smile widened slightly, showing his teeth, and wasn’t it just wrong that he was smiling at me like this? “Meaning, I already searched your pillowcase, and removed the two blades you had in there.”
No. No, I just want to be alone here, let me just forget, make it go away. I didn’t turn my head, didn’t let him see the tears pouring down my face. Instead I shrugged, keeping my face turned away from him. “That all?”
There was a slight pause, and when he spoke again, he’s voice was lower, more numb. “Yeah. Night.”
I nodded, and he shut the curtain, leaving the room. I waited until he was gone, then placed my pillow on the wall and slammed my fist into it over and over and over again. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to know; why did he have to stop me? Tears were slipping out of my eyes and down my face as I moved from punching the wall to simply dragging the nails of my right hand down my left arm over and over again, until the skin was gone, and it was bleeding and oozing, and the tears had stopped, and the pain had receded into a small ball that burned in my stomach. Then I lied back down and went to sleep.