Heaven Help Us / / [Frerard]

One: This Sucks

Heaven Help Us // [Frerard]

Chapter One: This Sucks

There are many things that a boy my age does not want to hear. Some are a hell of a lot worse than others.

For example, 'no, I will not date you' is nowhere near as bad as 'hey, your mother is dead'.

But there is one thing that comes number one in the list of phrases that sixteen year old boys do not want to hear and that is seven words long.

"I'm sending you to a catholic school," my mother said, her chin tilted up slightly, disgraced at her own offspring that just happened to be me (yay).

I blinked twice at her.

"What?"

Surely she was joking.

No.

My mother does not joke. In fact, jokes covers the entire top ten of her list of phrases that she does not want to hear.

And I doubt she will speak something that she despises so strongly. Then again, she does speak my name perhaps on a daily basis.

"Frank, your behaviour is out of control,"

I rolled my eyes. My behaviour is always out of control, according to her.

I leave the toilet seat up; I'm out of control.

I forget to wash the dishes; I'm out of control.

I'm five minutes late to church; I'm out of control.

I go to an Anti-Flag concert, get high, bring some dude home and fuck him in my mother's bedroom for her to walk in us both butt-naked engaging in unspeakable acts; I'm out of control.

Okay, I'll admit that the last one is slightly more extreme than the others but the feeling is still there, right? Basically, I am the gay son of an overly-religious homophobic widow who somehow loathes me more and more with each passing second.

"It was one time," I mumbled.

She took in a sharp breath, her pointed glasses balancing on the tip of her nose.

"One night," She corrected, "the way you said 'one time' makes it sound like there was only one sin. I believe that many sins took place that night, Frank. Too many for me to repair alone. That's why I've had this epiphany."

She stepped slowly towards our wooden table, a crucifix perched proudly in the centre, and grabbed some important looking papers with her broad back facing me.

Her brunette hair was slightly curled and finished just below her shoulders.

"These," She spoke sharp but calmly, "are the official papers for this new catholic school you shall be attending. It's in England."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, using every single muscle I possessed to not beat the shit out of my own mother.

"It's a boarding school?" I said surprisingly and equally as calmly as her, not helping the wave of betrayal linger upon my voice. My own mother was sending me to a boarding school in England? I was leaving my comfy New Jersey home to travel halfway across the globe? Just for some shitty religious school?

"Yes, hopefully they will know how to keep someone like you under control. I can't see you being an easy test subject, however."

My own mother just called me a test subject.

Seems legit.

"Yeah," my voice sounded timid and broken.

"They'll manage to squeeze this whole 'homosexual' idea out of you, though. With a little help from the Lord, you should be perfectly perfect this time next year," She explained, a tiny smile creeping upon her equally as tiny features as she imagined me coming back home, straight and religious, "oh, and it's not all-boys. I thought an all-boys school would be a bad way to go for someone like you. There will be lots of good Christian girls there that you can meet and maybe marry."