Stockholm Syndrome (Frerard)

11: Toxic

TW - Alcohol??
Media: Frank and Gerard - art by my friend happy_humbug76 on Instagram

"Frank, please talk to me." Gerard said. I was sitting on the couch now, staring at the spot on the floor where the blood used to be. It made me wonder how many other surfaces in this house have been soaked in blood. Gerard had cleaned up since the incident. I had watched him scrub the hardwood floor with bleach as the chemicals burned my nostrils, and despite his efforts, there was still a faint red shadow soaked into the floor. "Frank." I blinked slowly and turned my gaze away from the floor to look at him, but I didn't say anything. I pulled my knees up again and looked down.

"I wasn't planning to let you see something like that again after your little anxiety attack or whatever in Monroeville, but I had no choice. He was trying to hurt you." He explained. I think I was too traumatized to feel any emotion right now, I couldn't even think straight. It wasn't every day that someone got stabbed multiple times right in front of your eyes. "Frank, please." I wasn't not talking to him on purpose, I just couldn't form words. I opened my mouth to speak, but it was short-lived and I shut it again. He must've seen my attempt because he reached forward and placed a hand on my thigh. "It's okay..." He stroked his thumb lightly over the fabric of my jeans, just rubbing circles. That was the second time he'd touched me now, apart from violence. It was a nice feeling, and it was probably just what I needed right now. A living, breathing human to talk to.

"Okay. You know what? Fuck feelings and fuck everything. I don't do mushy. I don't know how to erase it from your mind but I know what can help, at least for a little while." He was already up and out of the living room by the time he finished his sentence. I heard the fridge open and close, and he came back with a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses. It was only then that I realized how much I missed the burn of alcohol and the warm fuzzy feeling I'd get that led to complete nonsensical bullshit. My dad always had bottles and bottles of vodka and other hard liquors and the only time we ever really bonded was when we got high or drunk together. Maybe that's how I can get into Gerard's mind.

I perked up immediately after seeing the bottle, sitting up straight and bringing my legs down to let my feet rest on the floor instead of on the couch. He shot me a small smile, seemingly entertained by my sudden interest.

"Ya drink?" He asked, and I nodded. "Been a while?" I nodded again. He just smiled and sat on the couch beside me again, placing a shot glass on the coffee table in front of me, still holding his own glass along with the bottle in his hands. "Me too." He twisted the cap off and poured some of the clear liquid into the small glass, then passed me the bottle. I poured myself a shot then placed the bottle on the coffee table, and looked back at Gerard.

He raised his glass slightly and I did the same, before tilting my head back and downing the liquid in one swift movement. I closed my eyes as the burning sensation took over my throat and body.

*****************

"Fff- Frank," Gerard said after downing the eighth shot, to which I only took five and half. I guess you could say I was a lightweight because I could already feel it hitting me.

"Hm?"

"You're gonna look hhhot." He slurred, bending over and grasping at one of the bags that were still on the floor. He picked it up and opened it, pulling out the hair dye we had bought. "Can we do it now?" The bottle slipped from his fingers and he dropped it in his lap, then picked it up again.

I laughed through my nose, thinking about the outcome of letting him cut and dye my hair while drunk. It didn't seem like his motor skills were all up to par right now. I shook my head no, and he just laughed and put the bottle back in the bag, then placed the bag on the floor.