Save Me From My Self Destruction. (Frerard)

Chapter 5- This Is Gonna Cost Me But I'm Broke

This Is Gonna Cost Me But I'm Broke:

I didn't bother leaving my room that morning, as I didn't get any sleep that night. Whereas normal people dream or have the occasional nightmare, my unconscious thoughts are filled with the memories that I force out of my mind when I am conscious. It's like a living nightmare, a nightmare that would not make a good horror movie.

If my life was a movie, I'm pretty sure everyone would leave. My life was nothing but an abundance of boring moments and I was nothing but a bad influence. I was nothing special, my life is shit and all I do in my spare time is smoke and think.

"Gerard," Someone's fist collided with my bedroom door, "Someone is here for you." I groaned and got off my bed. I was still in my pajamas and I just wanted to sleep. I wasn't in the mood to deal with the frequent searchings or the questions by the staff in this hell hole.

When I stepped out of my room, shirtless, messy hair, and pajama pants on I instantly regretted it. It wold have been different if it was one of the staff or kids or whatever, but it wasn't. That someone was Frank, and here I was, a mess.

"Nice look." He commented with a chuckle, obviously picking up on the fact that I was sleep deprived and cranky. "Sorry I look dead." I yawned, rubbing my eyes in the process. He had that stupid smirk on his face, the same smirk from last night.

"I'll be back." I said, swallowing air from the sheer embarrassment I was feeling. I turned on my heel, not even waiting for his response, and marched right back up to my room. I got changed, put on a shirt, and ran a brush through my hair. I tried to look presentable, well, at least better than I did just 5 minutes ago.

I had shoved my usual pack of cigarettes in my pocket along with my phone, making a mental note to talk to Zack about getting another pack. I definitely did not want to run out of smokes, if I did I would have to wait for more. And that meant withdrawal and my horrible fucking attitude. I wouldn't have anything to distract me from the world, I would be forced to look at everything completely cigarette-less.

"I didn't think you would be back." I said truthfully as I, once again, greeted Frank in the facility's living room. He was looking at the other kids, the pictures on the wall, everything. He studied the whole place, like it was foreign to him. It was as if he didn't know that Foster Facilities even existed. And in a way, I guess that was possible and understandable.

"Why wouldn't I?" He asked confused. In the back of my mind, I had an answer. Of course I had an answer, I had lived through one of the biggest goodbye's and lies. Deep down, I knew that when someone said goodbye they weren't coming back, and that was my answer.

"No reason." I lied, leading him out the facility doors. I didn't bother telling any staff, they could tell I was going. I mean, if you lived in a foster facility and someone your age came to visit, wouldn't you want to go somewhere else to talk? No one wants to hang out in a damn foster facility. Do you know how depressing that is?

"Where are we going?" Frank ran to catch up with me. I stopped in the front yard of the facility, looking over at Mikey who was playing with that girl from the Ferris Wheel yesterday. "Mikey, I'll be back." I smiled, I always let Mikey knew that I was leaving, and I never said goodbye.

Mikey never really asked questions or talked about our parents, he was just a happy kid. He didn't let the absence of our parents bother him. Of course, like the usual kid would, he did ask questions at first but then he just stopped. So if there is any shred of possibility that Mikey thinks the same thing about goodbye's like me, then I would never say goodbye to Mikey.

"Okay Gee!" He waved at me, slightly glancing at Frank who was standing to my right with a smile on his own face. I waved back at my younger brother and then continued to walk down the street, headed to the abandoned building. The one that I almost died in.