Heaven Help Us / / [Frerard]

Two: Someone Save Us

Heaven Help Us // [Frerard]

Chapter Two: Someone Save Us

To say that I was tired was a huge understatement - I was undoubtedly, unmistakably, completely and utterly drowning in waves of lethargia. After all, I had been up since three to fly all the way to Manchester from Newark, just to find out that the school was actually in Cornwall. It had been a full twenty-four hours since I woke up but I forbade myself from closing my dreary eyes, as we were only a mere ten minutes from the school. Instead, I kept my gaze firmly focused on the sloppy raindrops dribbling down the transparent glass window (though the rain kind of defeated the transparency since I couldn't see out), indulging myself in The Misfits booming through my earphones.

I was on a private coach from Manchester; I, being the only passenger, felt extremely bored and tired, yet pleased that I never had to extra burden of socialising with other students.

My mother? She wasn't with me. In fact, she never even accompanied me on the plane ride here. I mean, she travelled to the airport with me, sure, but she never got on the plain nor spoke a single word for me. There was no goodbyes. She simply drove me there because she needed me to get there somehow. It was kind of sad that I was going to leave her for so long and her last words spoken to me were so insulting and degrading that I could barely look at her. I preferred to not dwell on it- I decided to put behind my past troubles and completely try to reinvent my washed up self.

Sike.

Reinventing yourself demands enthusiasm and persistence: Two qualities that I have never or shall ever possess.

Besides, no way could I be more depressed being here than I was with my mother.

I wasn't a genius or anything but I do know that some things are just completely and 100% impossible. If I looked on the bright side, I thought that maybe this could be a chance to actually make friends.

But that spark of hope soon faded as I realised the sad truth: I don't want friends.

Too much pressure to socialist and friendship requires helping each other, right? Nah, I would make a shit friend and, as much as I hated the entirety of the human population, I didn't really wish to put someone through the struggle of having a bad friend.

I wasn't a dick.

That much was fairly certain.

No.

Frank Iero may be an ignorant jerk, a complete piss taker and a plain depressed little punk rock boy but he had never been a dick.

Before I could even process the thoughts that were swarming around my brain, the bus abruptly halted, causing my head to jerk forward and almost hit the back of the seat in front of me. I ripped my earphones out my own ears and started shoving my iPhone deep inside my black jeans' pocket.

"We're here, kiddo," The bus driver said happily as I cringed at his new nickname for me. I could hardly be described as 'kiddo'.

He was about fifty years old, fairly friendly looking, with white hair and matching stubble. He had a round shape but his appearance was more 'jolly giant' because of his tall manly frame.

"Yeah, thanks," I mumbled, standing up and attempting a small smile as I walked down the aisle of the coach to around where he stood.

He have me a concerned look, something that I had never been given since I was very young.

"Don't worry, kid. I know it's tough getting transferred and that but you'll be fine. Trust me, I've seen a lot of kids like you and they're all happy as larry now."

I noticed that he had a British accent, not posh but more slang type British. Obviously, I couldn't quite understand the dialect since I was American and all but he had a friendly voice. I only hoped that everyone else sounded as friendly as him; His voice seemed fairly calming for my nerves.

I gave him one last smile before climbing off the bus, him following closely behind so he could remove all my suitcases and bags to carry inside the school.

Thankfully, the rain had stopped pelting down down a few minutes ago and there was nothing but moist grounds and murky puddles left in memory of it. Kinda sad, really.

"You should go into the school," he advised, placing a wrinkly hand on my shoulder, "there will be someone waiting to meet you when you first go in. They will show you the way to your dorm and stuff will be there for when you wake up."

"Thanks," I yawned, getting far to excited for collapsing in my bed and sleeping.

"One last thing," He said just as I started turning away, "good luck, kid."

I don't think I had smiled as widely as this in weeks. I'm not sure why. Probably because that was something that every boy my age and younger got told a thousand times, yet I had never once had I heard those words directed at me.

"Thank you."

Finally, I spun around to face my school for the first time, feeling a surprisingly strong connection to that mysterious friendly bus driver, despite how stupid it sounded.

I never really had a proper look at the school, since my eye were burning with tiredness and it was too dark to see clearly anyway, but I could tell that it looked pretty old-fashioned and very posh.

A man stood inside the school, near the doorway, it's his hands behind his back and his head tilted upwards slightly. I already didn't like him. He seemed about the same age as my bus driver, with the same white hair, but he never had the little stubble and he had a slightly slimmer frame and his hair was more neatly combed than ruggedly messed up. He wore a black suit.

"Welcome to Cornwall Catholic School, Frank. I'm your head teacher," He said, forcing a smile and putting a hand out (which I reluctantly shook). I had learned from books that a head teacher is basically the English name for a Principle. "My name is Mr Hallowfield. I imagine you are severely tired from the flight so you will have your introduction tomorrow morning with the school priest, Father Gerard, at 10am sharp."

10am?

It was already quarter to four in the morning.

I hate this school.

"You're sharing your dorm, by your mother's request, with a female. We were reluctant at first but hearing your little situation, we were more than happy to go through with the process. Her name is Stephanie Moore and she's the same age as you, Frank. I'll show you up there now."

He started leading me away and I gritted my teeth from behind him. A girl? Seriously? Thanks, mother, yeah.

I still never took in my surroundings I was too angry. too tired and too sick of everything to even bother looking up from my feet.

"Here we are and here is your key," he handed me a silver piece of cold metal, "you're Dorm 17, by the way. You need to remember that, but if you forget, you can pop by my office and there's a list on the wall outside of it. Good night and remember the appointment with Father Gerard at 10am. He most certainly will not be pleased if you arrive a second late. Father Gerard is quite strict when it comes to time schedules. You'll be meeting where we met, just around the corner."

Father Gerard sounded like a prick.

Mr Hallowfield might have said something afterwards but my brain was far too tired to process it.

I can't even remember opening the door or crashing on my bed into a deep sleep.

I just remember waking up in the morning, confused as hell.

---

Two chapters in and still haven't properly introduced Gerard into the story yet ;) I swear to God I find Priest! Gerard so hot. This fanfic is far too long overdue but at least it's finally out. Also check out my other Frerard one called Nyctophilia.

Chapter Three should be up soon.

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