Book Wørm (Frank Iero AU)

Come Clean

We lie in bed, side by side, on a Saturday afternoon. Both of us staring at the ceiling.
"So..you want to know it all?" Frank begins.
"Yes, start with your parents."
"O-okay.." He twiddles his thumbs as he thinks.
"I don't really know where to start.."
"I guess I'll start off with my dad. He was into alcohol and he used to shoot up, it took me awhile to realize why he was such a shit person. I maybe figured it out at fifteen, but I always hated him. He had no morals. And what made me mad was that my mom was doing her best, and she stayed with him no matter what he pulled, and I mean no matter what. My dad would hit me, bad. When I got old enough to swing back, he got scarier. With every punch I laid on my father, he got sicker."
"I'm sorry Frank" I whisper as he pauses.
"Then, the day of his death, the worst happened. Besides hitting me whenever I tried to make things happy at home, besides leaving for months at a time, besides me having to think my father was missing when in reality, he was partying and living in motels."
"Father son camping trip, with my dad's friend he found somewhere I didn't care to remember, it was supposed to be bonding, a group of guys together in the woods. I'm at the mature, non-shit-taking age of eighteen. He starts drinking from his stash, I throw his whole bag of booze into a lake, he flips shit. There was always drama when him and I were around each other, I don't know if he was on something, or if he had already gotten drunk. By now it doesn't matter. Whenever my father and I were home alone the year before, he'd always call me a "little faggot". Because I was obsessed with fixing the family, I was always watching everything, always sympathizing with everyone's feelings, I was always on edge. You can only take being called a certain name for so long, one night, I lost it. Dad and I in the back yard, eleven thirty or so, I knocked dad out, ma came home, saw all the blood and my dad lying on the grass and nearly had a stroke. That..terrible pairing of words, pisses me off beyond belief.
Alright, so, back to camping, where it all came to a peak. After I threw his booze into the lake, he lost his shit, more than I saw him before. Along with his beer bellied sweaty friend yelling "kick the boy's ass" and laughing, dad was yelling about all the money I wasted, how I was an over dramatic, ungrateful faggot. That word struck me hard again, so I went to show him a lesson. And, as usual, my dad fought back, but he was old and always on something, so I got him down on the ground, but his over weight buddy decided to waddle over and take me on as well. The guy had to have two hundred pounds on me, he grabs me, gives me a few punches to my head, then wraps his hands around my throat, both him and my father chuckling, until I fell on my knees."
Frank pauses and runs his hands through his hair.
"Then..he pushed me into the floor, where I fell, face first, choking for air.
God, I haven't relived this in awhile."
He clears his throat and grows more uncomfortable, but continues:

"Then, I hear a few mumbled sentences from the almost complete stranger, both my dad and him laughing as my dad grabs my arms and pins them to the ground, my dads friend growling something about a "lesson" and "humiliation". The fucker starts forcing my jeans off of me, then unbuttoning his. I knew what was gonna happen and I started kicking and screaming. "You're a pretty little faggot, aren't you?" Fatty yells. "Or should I call you, my bitch?" My heart starts beating in my ears as I kick my legs as hard as I can, then it's just a blur, the only words I keep hearing being: "pretty faggot". The second I feel him grab the waistband of my boxers, one of my horrified kicks knocks him right in the teeth, leaving him on the ground, spitting out four or five teeth. I get one of my hands free from my dad, and force one of my thumbs into his eye, sending him screaming on the ground. As for the fucker that was about to rape me, I knelt on his chest and strangled him. Running to the bottle of lighter fluid, I drenched my still conscious father in the stuff, then lit a match and watched it happen. I saw it as all finally coming to an end, I wasn't sad, I didn't even feel like I was in my own body. I felt like I was watching myself do it in third person, and damn, was I proud.
He screamed but then gave in faster than I thought, fatso wasn't moving next to him either. I grabbed dad's car keys from the ground, where they conveniently fell, and walked away as the flames engulfed our camping equipment. I drove home, thinking of what I would do when I got there. And then, I found a solution. I roughly walked into the kitchen, grabbed a butcher knife, and slid the handle underneath the back of my belt. I walked to my parent's room, where my mother was folding clothes.
"Frank?" She said, confused.
"Why are you here? Where's your dad?" I said nothing, I just walked up to her and hugged her, which she accepted, even though she was confused. My poor mom. She was just an extra, an accessory. I loved her, I love her. But I had to kill her. She couldn't bear to find out that her son was a murderer, she'd turn me in like a good citizen, she couldn't trust me, so I had to end it for her, to make things easier. As we left each other's embrace, she smiled at me. I drew the knife and stabbed her in her chest."
He closes his eyes and shakes his head back and fourth like he's saying "no" as he continues his story.

"She looked down at the knife in her body, silent, with her eyes wide open. I took the knife out and she fell onto her back on the floor. Then I stabbed her again, and one more time."
He hesitates again before continuing in a shaky voice:
"I..I cried. I fell on the ground next to her and cried. Why did I have to kill my mom? Why would I do that? Was it just adrenaline from my first victims? I don't even fucking know."
I try and attempt an answer but his whole story is still leaving me speechless.
"Then, there came the bodies, as for my dad and his rapist of a "friend", they burned up before anyone even smelled the fire. My mom is a different story. I buried her in the backyard, she deserves it. She deserves peace, not my Goddamn father."
"As for the rest of the shit you want me to spill, I can't. You're gonna have to give me more time. If you even want to give me more time."
He rolls over on his side and stares into my eyes, his eyes welling with depression and bad memories, and says nothing.
I move close to him and kiss his lips, which he readily accepts, running his hand through my hair.
"You know what, Frank?" I say, leaning my forehead on his.
"Hmm" he sniffles from the few tears he shed earlier.
"There's something about you that makes me want to give you all the time I can."