Ghost // Frerard

1: Burden

Linda and Franklin knew something was wrong with their son. He had been a lot less talkative these past few weeks which had somehow turned into months and was currently at half a year.

Half a year watching their son slowly tear himself apart from the inside, hurting and feeling like complete utter shit constantly, but his parents didn't know what it would lead to.

Thoughts crossed their minds, and yes, they had booked an appointment for Frank to see a therapist next week, but that appointment seemed years away to Frank, and too close all the same.

The appointment was a little late, not that Frank was exactly enthusiastic about it, but he wouldn't make it anyway if this all went smoothly. And even if he did go to that appointment, he wouldn't say what he was thinking, he never would, no one needed or deserved to know.

He knew he was a burden to his family, to the therapist he hopefully won't be seeing next week, to everybody. He was unwanted to everyone, especially himself.

A million thoughts were speeding through Frank's mind as he stood at the counter, watching his exhausted expression in the mirror, hating what he saw.

He hadn't gotten any sleep, his thoughts keeping him up, his thoughts that went deeper and darker and soon he found himself out of bed and felt his feet pad against the rough carpeted floors and then finally the tiles of his bathroom at four in the morning.

He had been planning this for over a month now, stealing pills from unused bottles, eventually collecting enough, far too many in his opinion, but he wanted to be sure that this would work.

He didn't like pills though, and death by an overdose wasn't the way he wanted to go, but his parents had rid the bathroom of razors and sharp objects. It was a minor thing they didn't mention to Frank, but he noticed.

Frank was destructive but not in the way of piercing his skin with a metal blade, no, he was more into that of ripping out pieces of hair and starving himself, which his parents had noticed, feeling even more concerned, they thought that he thought that he had weight issues but he didn't think he was fat he just wasn't skinny enough.

But he wanted to leave an ugly corpse, he wanted blood to trickle down his arms as he took his finally breaths and heard his heart beat for the last time, it would be like some sort of confirmation that he had done this and it was all over.

But then he saw it, a smooth clean blade lying on the side on the counter, his father's razor. He must have left it there when he went to shave this morning, and Frank suddenly felt excitement yet nerves fill up in his chest and twist his stomach.

He looked at his, quite large, bag of pills and bit his lip before sneaking back to his room and stashing them away in his underwear drawer, before returning to the bathroom.

He closed the door to the bathroom before rushing toward the sink and picking his fathers razor, admiring the three blades it held.

Breaking the razor was easy even though the blades cut his fingers, not that he minded. It hurt of course, he expected it to, but it would hurt more when he actually started.

He held the blade the his wrist with a shaking hand, looking up to the mirror, taking another look at his face before dragging to cool metal across his pale skin, drawing blood instantly.

-

Headaches.

It was all Frank could feel right now.

He wondered if this was what death felt like, a constant headache, is that all this was, nothing more? Just constant pain?

But then he opened his eyes.