Like Driving Toward the Morning Sun || Frerard (COMPLETED)

Chapter 4- mental institues for sain people

The familiar feeling of adrenaline and rage filled my blood.

Things like this happen a lot. Whenever I'm under stress or if I've been having a bad day or bad week or even bad month. If anyone- and I repeat anyone- does anything remotely annoying (no matter how small it is), I loose my shit. And I don't just mean 'get a bit annoyed and shout' I'm talking 'foaming at the mouth like a dog with rabies and putting my fist through anything that'll break' angry.

This happens at least once a month.

I was at home, in my room alone, when mom came in and told me to go downstairs for a 'family meeting'.

These 'meetings' always put me in a bad mood and were often pointless.

I went anyway.

Mom and dad sat at one side of the table and I sat on the other, looking at them.

"Frank," mom started, "we got an email from Anna."

Anna? Oh, Shrink. She has a name.

"She's saying your therapy sessions aren't going so well."

I huffed. "So?"

"She thinks.. She thinks you might need a different sort of intervention to get you somewhere."

I stared at her.

More intervention? I swear, I have had it up to here with intervention. It's just one referral after another. And, of course, I never get anywhere or they decide I'm fine.

Until I get angry again. Then it's another referral.

"What sort of intervention?" I asked, putting my hands into fists under the table.

"Anna suggested maybe sending you to an institute. Frank, it's bad. It's-"

"An institute?" I found myself screaming, standing up and staring at her, "the bitch wants to send me to a fucking-"
The vase on the table shattered into a million pieces on the floor.
"-mental institute?"

"It'll only be for two weeks. It might help."

"I'm not going to a mental institute! She can't make me!"

My dad looked at me, "actually, she can."

"Oh so you just want to send me to a mental institute? I'm not mad! I'm fine! I'm fucking fine!" I screamed, running my slightly sweaty hand through my hair, pushing it out of my eyes.

"Frankie-"

"Don't you 'Frankie' me!"

"It might help.." Mom said quietly.

She's helpless. Good. I have control.

"It won't help! Being chucked in with insane people isn't going to help me! In what universe would that help?"

Silence from both of them.

I stormed upstairs, smashing anything breakable in my path. Photos in frames, a mirror, screaming all the time.

I didn't bother turning the lights on in my room. I just sat in a dark corner, suddenly feeling drained, the adrenaline gone, leaving me shaking all over and sobbing.

The dark was both horrible and nice. It made me feel completely alone, which meant I could cry properly, no one could judge me.

I put music on very loudly, The Misfits today, because I felt like it.

I lay on the floor, closing my eyes, trying to breathe again. It felt like the aftermath of a panic attack, when you're all shaky and everything seems a bit too loud and vivid.