Turn Off The Dark (Frerard)

Part Thirty-Three

Hey guys. So, I know I've written in some self harm before, but I just want you to know this particular chapter is going to include a severely graphic and very detailed description, so right now, trigger warning, I repeat, TRIGGER WARNING. If you are someone who is easily triggered please do NOT read the portion of text written in italics like this okay guys? Just trying to look out for you.

Love always,

~Morgan xoxo

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-Frank's POV-

When I awoke, it wasn't yet daylight. I listened to the hypnotic pattern of Gerard's shallow breathing, and tried to fall back to sleep.

Unfortunately, my senses caught up with me, and I began to feel the soreness intensify throughout my body. I winced a little, attempting to readjust accordingly, but it didn't quite work out. More powerful pain manifested itself in certain areas, but I wasn't complaining. The night with Gerard had been magical. Beautiful. Not perfect, but the little imperfections were exactly what made the experience what it was.

I yawned and tried to settle back into him, and when I did, my hand ghosted over his bare belly. But.. Something about it didn't feel right. Investigative, I rested the pads of my fingers firm on his skin. There it was, the odd, defined feeling of some patchy areas. Curiosity piqued, I rubbed my hand gently across his belly and felt like I was going to be sick as realization hit me.

Scars.

Little lines, faded but still raised and present, separate of the untouched softer skin, slightly rougher and more firm than the rest. I whimpered quietly, remembering all those blades I had taken from him. How many had there been, now? Fifteen? More?

I fall back asleep, but if don't find peace. I find nightmares.

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A vision. Gerard, stumbling into the bathroom, face tear-streaked and twisted up in wretched pain; his misery knows no bounds tonight.

With trembling hand he reaches for the cabinet, extracts a shiny two-inch long blade. The metal glints flatly in the dim lighting.

Gerard pulls his shirt off with some difficulty, sinks to the cool tile floor.

He presses the sharp edge flush to the skin on his left wrist first. Puts some pressure on it, and the new blade draws a couple dots of blood. That's all it takes for Gerard to lose his patience.

He slices, firm and deep, across the length of his wrist, and he gasps quietly from the pain, bites his lip so as to make no more noise. The wound is gaping, but clean, and already dripping darkest red to the floor below it.

The smile on Gerard's face is terrifyingly genuine and yet still contorted with hurt and betrayal, towards whom, it is unknown.

He drags the blade once more across his wrist before moving up his arm.

Slice.

Pouring blood.

Down to his belly.

Slice.

The red river now flows from his middle as well.

Gerard feels a little faint. There's so much blood pooling on the floor, sticking to his legs, creating the smell of rusting metal in the air.

He makes do with smaller, shallower cuts criss-crossing his belly, before lying back, dizzy-numb and unbearably happy, watching the blood congeal and thinking maybe he should open his skin more often before passing out like that, alone on the unforgiving tile.

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I woke up in tears.

Gerard stirred and I brought my lips against his collarbone, feeling every bit as miserable as he'd looked in my nightmare. I couldn't get his pained expression out of my head, burned into my mind as a horrid reminder.

I wound my arms tight around him, evidently squeezing him too hard because with a small squeak he was awake as well.

"Frankie? What's wrong?"

I couldn't say, couldn't bring myself to do much other than whimper desperately, at which point he shushed me with a small kiss.

I sighed against his chest and he sighed as well, but more out of exhaustion.

"I love you" I whispered, thinking maybe he'd fallen back asleep. But he'd heard me, and turned his head to look at me straight on, all frizzy sleep hair, sexy sleep voice and pretty pretty eyes.

"Wh- what?"

"I said I love you," I replied, a little louder, "and I mean it. Honest, I love you."

I'd never been able to say that to someone in my life so earnestly, felt weird and foreign rolling off my tongue, but.. it felt.. Nice. Good.

I felt good.

Evidently Gerard did as well, because he squeezed me tight and kissed my forehead before sleepily mumbling, "I love you, too."