I'm Not Okay (I Promise) | My Chemical Romance

Two

It's just as bad as the last one.

Frank's shoes screeched as he ran into the school building and down the corridor, slamming into the toilets. He leans against the door and wiped his eyes.

He was not alone.

Five pairs of eyes, dark and slightly menacing, stared at him.

"What do you want, asshole?" an older boy asked, threateningly.

Don't go in the bathrooms alone.

His hand, slick with sweat, crept around the door handle and, before any of the older boys could lunge for him, slipped out into the corridor.

There were about a dozen other students lounging around the corridor, gossiping at lockers, but not one of them took any notice of Frank.

Not one of them cared.

"Fuck them, fuck them all," Frank whispered to himself, walking down the hall. There was no way he was going back outside, the safest place for him was in class, under the watchful eyes of a teacher.

He had biology next, not his best subject, but he'd have to try.

Frank spent the remainder of lunch searching for the right classroom and loitering outside it. Soon after the bell rang, signalling the start of lessons, another teacher walked toward the door.

She was middle-aged and skinny, with greying hair and angled cheekbones that made her look almost skeletal. Spotting Frank, her dark eyes skimmed him, glaring slightly at his hair and piercings.

"You're the new kid, are you?" she asked stiffly.

"Uh," Frank said, clearing his throat. "Um, yeah. Frank. Frank Iero."

She raised a dark eyebrow.

"Well, Mr. Iero-"

But just at that moment a group of students skidded around the corner, pushing past Frank to enter the classroom. The woman stopped Frank when he finally reached the door.

"Take a seat at the front, Frank."

He swallowed, knowing she already didn't like him, and took his seat.

"Settle down, people!" She called to the class. "Now for the benefit of our new student here, I'm Miss Sharpe, your biology professor. Who would like to recite to Mr. Iero what we have been studying this semester so far?"

Nobody spoke.

"We have been studying the control of gene expression, remember people?" She was already walking through the tables, her voice loud and firm. "Or are you still not paying attention? Now, you'll be following on from last--"

But just at that moment the door was pushed open and a student swaggered in, late.

"Mr. Way, why are you late to my lesson again"

Gerard looked at the teacher and smiled sweetly.

"Oh, I am sorry Miss Sharpe," he said, his tone of voice so sickly it was obviously fake. "I had to get something from my locker-"

"What did you have to get?"

His smile widened, and he held out his hand, where a bar of chocolate lay.

"It's for you Miss."

And Frank could see the surprise and suspicion clearly in the dark depths of her soulless eyes. She didn't believe it for a second, surely this was some bluff, some trick.

"It's just chocolate," Gerard said.

"Sit."

He blinked once, before turning and slumping into his seat at the back of the classroom. After a moment of looking the bar over suspiciously, Sharpe finally set it down.

"You can follow on from last week. Mr. Iero....you can go in a group with Mr. Dale here."

Jonathan Dale was the last person anyone would want to work with - especially a new kid. Even more so a new kid who had already show weakness. Dale smirked as Frank dragged his chair over.

"You gonna keep up faggot?" he hissed. "Or will it be so hard you'll have to run to the toilets in tears like a lickle ickle baby?"

~

When the last bell rang, students leapt up, running outside. They jumped on each other, screaming or laughing with their friends. Frank made his way slowly towards the large iron gates, his legs black and blue, dappled with bruises from where Dale had secretly kicked him during biology. Frank hadn't bothered to bring it to Miss Sharpe's attention - it was obvious she favoured Dale, saw him as a saint.

When Frank turned the corner, he was slammed into the wall. His natural instinct kicked in quickly; he sank to his knees and raised his hands over his head, ready to be kicked and abused.

"Hello? Frank?"

He looked up, peeking through the gaps between his fingers.

It was Gerard and a tall, skinny boy.

Slowly, Frank stood up, lifting his bag off the floor where it had fallen.

"What?" He asked, then looked over the stranger. "Who this?"

"Frank, this is my younger brother Mikey," Gerard answered. He lowered his voice: "we saw what happened at lunch."

"What, and you're here to laugh at me and about it?" Frank had finally snapped, pushing past the two boys and speed-walking down the street. "I've had it of people laughing, I've had it of people bullying! If you wanna do anything like that to me, don't even fucking bother trying! Okay? I had all of that fucking bullshit back at my last school, it was meant to be better here but oh no it fucking wasn't!"

And when he heard their feet on the path, chasing after him, Frank picked up his speed and got home, locking the door behind him. He fled up the stairs, into his room and slamming the door shut behind him, sinking to the floor and stifling a sob that was beginning to rise in his throat.

Fuck them. Fuck them all.

Instinctively, his eyes flickered to the dark space beneath his bed. That was where he kept it - the Box. His box of secrets. A few blades, lighters, the odd bit of weed for when he was feeling really low.

No, he told himself. Don't give in. Not again. You don't want to go back There again, not back to the White Room, not ever...