Runaway Scars - Frerard

Chapter 5

Scars. That's all Frank could think about when he began to come to. He didn't know why; it was as if his conscious brain had just walked in on the middle of a conversation with between the rest of him and someone else. His was pounding as he slowly and carefully sat up, finding himself in his room. Still, he thought of scars. So many scars...

Finally, Frank stood up, wobbling out of his room carefully to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and gasped at his own reflection. His hair was, as expected, a mess, but it framed a very bruised face. There was still a glob of blood just below his left nostril, telling him his nose must have bled a lot.

Only then did Frank wonder what time it was. He went back to his room and read his alarm clock; 5:00 am. Great. He had to be up in an hour. Oh well, he decided; might as well STAY up, especially since he had to try to find a way to convince his mom, (who probably hadn't eve checked on him when she got home) that nothing happened last night; that he DIDN'T get steal his moms beer; that he DIDN'T get drunk, and that he DID know what happened after that. Because he, for the life of him, couldn't remember.

But as Frank continued to get ready, and let his mind drift off while putting cover up on some of the more gruesome bruises, things did start to clear up. The scars were beginning to make sense. He saw someone with scars on their arms just before blacking out. At least...he THINKS so.

He also recalled a LOT of yelling. A lot of loud yelling, too; man, he sure hated people yelling. His drunk self must have been pissed. He remembered that too; he WAS pissed. And scared. And sad. He was so sad...

Suddenly, Frank looked in the mirror and he was ready. He couldn't quite cover up his black eyes, (yes, both eyes) but it simply looked like he hadn't had enough sleep. His eyes usually looked like that anyways. He fixed his hair, straightened and everything, and he looked like the normal, sober emo kid he really was. He shook his head at himself.

If you're gonna run away, don't do it like that, he told himself. It's just lazy and painful.

Frank left the mirror and checked the time again. 6 already? And he didn't have to start walking for another hour. So, as he always did, Frank laid down, put his headphones in, and left the world.

***

Frank hesitated, but went to his locker anyways. Gerard stared at Frank for a long time, and Frank noticed, but tried to ignore. He shoved some stuff into his locker, took some stuff out, and when he slammed it shut, Gerard was still there, looking quite puzzled.

"H-how are you feeling?" Gerard asked nervously.

Frank narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Why?"

Gerard looked as though he'd suddenly understood and shook his head, forcing a small smile. "No reason."

He started to turn away, but without thinking, Frank ran after him and took his arm, pulling him back. "Hey, why'd you ask? What'd you hear?!" Frank demanded.

Gerard's eyes got wide, not hiding his fear like he usually tried doing. He stuttered and searched for words frantically, still tight in the hold of Frank's hands. "I—I was—I don't know—you seemed mad yesterday and—"

"I'm always mad." Frank interrupted him. With that, he let go and turned away from him.

He was half way down the hall when he heard a familiar yell exert from someone behind him. He spun around to see Gerard surrounded by a group of guys; a very familiar group of guys, that was. They had beaten up Frank more times than he could count, but not too long ago, Frank had had enough of it and kicked THEIR asses. And now it looked like Gerard was in for it.