Riot Princess

Chapter 7

When I say trigger warning, I mean it gets really fucking bad please be careful loves <3

Gerard walked into the cafeteria the next day, feeling excited and confident. Frank and him had made up and everything was okay. After Frank had stopped crying, Gerard took him home and they cuddled on the couch for a little while until his dad came home. Gerard had to sneak out once his dad came home, but that was okay because he really liked Frank.

Gerard strolled over to Frank and... Pete.. And gently tapped Frank on the shoulder. Gerard had worn one of his favourite outfits to express how happy he was today, even Lynz picked up on it, he had a white pleated skirt and a black misfits shirt on top. Suddenly, Frank jerked his head around and groaned at Gerard.

"What do you want now, fag?" Frank asked, rolling his eyes. What? Pete began laughing at Gerard.

"W-what?"

"Are we really going to go through this again, Gerard? Because I don't like repeating myself."

"Hold on-"

Frank sighed deeply and turned around, going back to his conversation with Pete. Frank felt a sharp pain at the back of his head and then footsteps slowly getting quieter ad they ran off. Then it hit Frank. Gerard's cuts.

Frank knew quite a lot about blood loss, since he was always an idiot and fucked himself up. He's an idiot, really, getting himself hurt all the time. It's not like he can help it, the adrenaline just kicks in and he lives off of it. Frank had never self harmed, not on purpose at least. He never thought it was a good way to deal with his problems so he never resorted to it. Frank had seen Gerard's scars last night, the fresh cuts leaving marks on his skin, there were so many he was surprised that Gerard hadn't passed out. Gerard, Frank thought, getting up and quickly apologizing to Pete, then running out the door of the cafeteria faster than he had ever run.

Gerard's POV
Frank Iero is a fucking liar. He's a liar with no heart and no soul, he's a judgemental asshole who doesn't know how to properly deal with problems. Not that I knew how to properly deal with problems. Here I am, running down the hallway, skirt flowing everywhere and tears dripping down my face, on my way to the bathroom to slice ugly permanent scars down my skin. I pushed the boys bathroom door open and ran into the first stall, locking it behind me. I always kept my little purse on me, it was my favourite purse/bag that I had owned. It was a little black coffin with a white cross on the top with sparkles going down the sides. It was perfect. I unzipped my bag, pulling out some of the basics, deodorant, makeup bag, hand mirror, until I had reached the bottom and realized I had no razors in the bag. Then it hit me, my pencil sharpener has a razor. I unzipped my pencil case and set my binder on the floor by my feet. I searched through the coloured pencils for a moment, clanking them together, until I had finally found the pencil sharpener.

Trigger warning

I popped the blade out of the plastic Crayola covering and pressed it to my scarred wrist. I began to make lines, slicing and slicing until I heard someone enter the bathroom. My skirt was stained with my blood, making it look kind of cool, actually.

"Gerard?" Someone had called out. I couldn't recognized the voice at first, it was heavy and the boy was panting. It couldn't have been Lynz, he never ran anywhere.

"Gee answer me I know you're in here, fuck." He panted out, his voice slowly turning into a sob. A sob I had learned far too well from last night. Why the fuck is Frank here?

The boy that lead me to slice my skin, the boy that lead me to cry myself to sleep, who scared my friend out of talking to others, is here. Why? Probably to make fun of me. To encourage my pain. To cheer me on as I continued to slice lines into my milky skin. To bully me. Laugh at the now pink looking skirt that was once white and elegant. He wasn't here to help me. To kiss my scars and tell me that'd I'd be okay, because there's no beauty in pain. There's no beauty in being fucking mentally ill. People glorify it, wanting this pain but all it is is darkness, a void of hate and suicide, pills become your pupils because all you can think of is that bottle of Xanax your dad keeps at the back of the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. Your irises become razors, piercing your eyes, making your cry from the pain because that's all that floods your vision, your tears are people's cheers. Each one meaning something new. Once the tears have started, they won't stop. They pile on, you drown in your sorrows, only hearing the cheers running down your cheeks but as soon as they drop to the ground they fade. They fade away into nothing until it becomes nighttime and you can take off the gun that you call your smile. You can wipe it away, like it was some dead bee on the floor. Every word that leaves your mouth is a gun shot. Someone will be shot every time because that's what they're looking for. One simple gunshot to make you the target. Their words are arrows, firing through your chest, at first its painful but then you get used to it. You have to. The big red target over your heart is aimed at every time someone walks past you and laughs at you in the hall. You don't know what you said earlier but obviously the gun shot was loud enough for everyone to hear. The powder from your gun is inhaled by everyone. This happens every day until you take the gun and shoot yourself. Thats what they want, right? Their arrows aren't enough, so they try to fire at you but that bulletproof vest that you wear to school everyday saves you from their gunshots. You can't understand why you're the only one with a bulletproof vest but you realize that it represents your strength. Because even though it's barley there it still lives. You can't take those bottles of Xanax because you're too strong. Or at least that's what you tell yourself. You can't lose that bulletproof vest, or you lose yourself. You fall into a limbo of pills and booze and self hatred, but nobody makes it out of limbo alive. Because that one last gun shot that you fire, isn't at the person who told you to kill yourself in the hallway yesterday. That gunshot is aimed at yourself.

Franks POV

Thud.

"GERARD?" I screamed out. I knew he'd be in here, I knew he was, I didn't know he'd ignore me this long. I checked around myself, looking around and trying to figure out where it had come from. Slowly, I looked down to see a pool of Crimson red blood, piddling around the stall and a milky white arm poking out of the blue stall door. Yelling for help, I climbed on the sink, pulling myself over the stall to see the scariest thing I had ever seen in my entire life. Gerard was passed out on the floor, his clothing stained red from his blood. His head seemed to have cracked, blood dripping from a small hole in his forehead.

What the hell have I done?

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YO IM SO SORRY THAT THIS IS SO SAD OMG I DIDNT MEAN TO MAKE IT THIS SAD BUT IM IN A REALLY SAD MOOD FOR PERSONAL REASONS SO THIS CAME OUT OF IT.

pls don't hate me

-xoShan