Stomachaches (Frerard Fanfiction)

Chapter Four

"Ah, shit."

Frank sniffled and cussed before slowly sitting up. He blinked a couple times before angrily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His vision was blurred and his head was pounding. His sides were very sore, so was his back and throat.

It wasn't until after Frank had sat up when he started to become aware of his surroundings.

He had fallen asleep next to a fucking toilet.

He grimaced, looking down at the filthy floor he had fallen asleep on before he scrambled back up on his own two feet, using the sink for support.

Frank stared at his reflection in the mirror in front of him. He got a good look at himself, noticing just how fucking awful he looked at the moment. His hair was sticking up in every direction, there were dark circles underneath his eyes, his skin was pale, he had some scruff now, his entire white outfit was all wrinkled with little noticeable stains here and there, and his black tie was now lying on the floor by the bathroom door.

What the fuck happened last night that caused him to look like absolute shit?

Frank groaned and rubbed his eyes again with the heels of his hands, trying to remember. He grimaced once more after getting a whiff of his morning breath. He refused to let himself think any further about the events from last night without taking a shower and brushing his teeth first.

Frank stripped, removing every piece of clothing on him before turning the water on and waiting for it to get hot. He stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain shut.

He just stood there under the shower head with his eyes closed, letting the water trickle down from his head to his toes and down into the drain. He could feel every warm little droplet hit against his skin.

After Frank had washed his hair and scrubbed last night's filth and sweat off, he turned off the water and got out of the shower. Frank grabbed a towel out of the small closet in the bathroom. He dried himself off with it before wrapping it around his waist and walking to his bedroom.

After he had changed into clean clothes, Frank ventured downstairs to make a pot of coffee.

He leaned his back against the counter and sighed, running his fingers through his wet hair while waiting for the coffee to be done. That was when the memories from last night hit him like a wave.

He remembers hurling and almost missing the toilet, stumbling out of the bar and into his car, him singing along loudly to Drain You by Nirvana as it blared from the car radio, the way the town's bright lights looked in the pitch black night, the man at the bar with a pointy nose and greasy black hair, who was dressed in a black tuxedo vest, a long sleeved white button down shirt with a red tie, black dress pants, and black leather shoes. And those stomachaches. Those damn stomachaches.

Frank could practically feel the pain erupting in the pit of his stomach again just from the thought of it. It's been very long since the last time Frank had dealt with these excruciating aches. He knew that he didn't have the best immune system. He had a lot of trips to the hospital when he was a little boy because of them. He remembers his mother always being so exhausted yet by his side during those times.

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by the sound that the coffee pot made when the coffee was done. Frank grabbed a mug from the cabinet above the coffee pot before pouring himself a cup.

He sipped the hot drink a little too soon, it scalding his tongue a couple times.

He looked over at the countertop across from him and noticed his cellphone laying on top. He set his mug down and walked over to it to pick it up. He had only two missed calls; a call from around two thirty in the morning and another call from around five this morning. They were both from Gerard.