I Remember You - Frerard

Three

"Please." I begged them. "Please, don't do this." Why was it me. Why did they always pick on me. Why did they choose me to be their punch bag. I slowly tried to raise my hand to my face, because of the warm, sticky feeling I felt, like a substance was slowly making its way down. Down from my eyebrow, to my cheek, chin and down my neck. Blood, presumably.

My hand was quickly slapped away by a red gloved hand. "Oh shut up, faggot. You're so whiny. I think I'm going to hurt you more than I planned on." Frank and his friends snickered and my eyes widened in fear. Why didn't anyone help me? Could they not hear my screams of fear and pain? Or did they simply just not care about the whiny emo faggot... Probably that.

Why would they care. I'm fat. I'm depressed. I always lock myself out of every conversation by drawing absentmindedly in my sketchbook, which had become a diary, containing the way my days went, my thoughts, my feels, drawn in small, one paged comics.

No wonder nobody loved me. Not even my brother loved me like a brother was supposed to. My mother always left me alone with tons of pills, in the hope I would break and finally overdose myself.

Father left ages ago, my brother was 4 and I was 8. Mother turned into an alcoholic after he left. She always turned abusive.

My head hit a locker hard, the liquid running from the back of my probably matching the color of the lockers.

"Listen, faggot. I need a new tattoo design. You know what that means, right?" Frank spat in my face, his elbow pinning me against the locker, just beneath my throat. I swallowed hard and nodded as good as I could.

"What do you want me to draw?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, yet it shook with fear.

"I want you to draw me Holy Maria. Only then, demonic." He declared. I nodded and he spat "I want it tomorrow." one last time before throwing a punch at my jaw and letting me slump down, leaving me all alone. Bleeding. Badly bruised.

---

I pealed my shirt off of my skin, the bruises from the kicking already were forming nice, purple shades on my stomach and chest. The cut on my eyebrow from Frank's ring had just stopped bleeding.

The kicking at my thighs caused my cuts from last night to re-open, leaving a dark stain on the gray jeans. I decided to wear something light one day and then this happens. Ain't it fun.

I stepped into my private shower, washing off the dried blood.

I started to think. About mom, Mikey, Frank, Ray and Bob -Frank's minions- and all the people that could've helped me today. Frank always fascinated me. He was very kind towards his friends -not towards the minions. He always sneered at them-, he was a shoulder to lean on for them. I could know, he was around my house a lot. He was friends with Mikey and even though Mikey didn't particularly like me, he didn't bring Frank home as often as he would like, because of me. Frank's girlfriend, Jamia, can truly call herself lucky with a good looking boyfriend who would always look after her and stand up for her.

Yes, I was attracted to Frank. This was one of the reasons he beat me up. This was why he called me a worthless faggot.

I reached over to the shampoo bottle in the corner of the cell and picked it up. My razor still there. "Tomorrow." I snorted to myself. "Graduation." I snorted once again. It was truly a miracle I passed my exams.

IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED, STOP HERE AND SKIP UNTIL I SAY SO

I picked up the razor blade. Twisting it between my index finger and thumb. It sliced my thumb and clattered onto the floor.

I moved in a way the water was no longer blocked from hitting the cuts on my thighs. I hissed in pain, but did not move. I deserve pain.

I am fat, anti social. I'm a freak. Even my mom tells me. I can hear her call in my memory. "Hey freakshow. Shouldn't you go back to the circus?" her drunk voice slurred in my memory. I'm fat, even my little brother tells me that. I am gay. The whole school rubs that in nicely. I am worthless, according to the most perfect person I've ever seen, Frank. I don't deserve a life. I don't deserve the oxygen running through my veins. I deserve the daily beat up. I deserve the stinging pain I am currently feeling.

I want to die, but I simply can't bring myself to actually overdose myself. I can't. After high school, it'll be better.

I raised the razor and put it softly against the skin of my lower arm, close to the elbow.

I pressed on it harder. "One for being fat." I muttered and sliced my arm. I moved it lower. "One for being worthless." And lower again. "One for being anti social. One for being ugly. One for being a waste of space. One for having no friends. One for dad, who left because of you. One for all the meals I could have easily skipped. Three for liking Frank." I sliced one last time, slowly blacking out.

---

YOU ARE ABLE TO CONTINUE

When I awoke again, it is dark. Presumably night. The water coming down was now cold, but luckily it was the last day of the month. Tomorrow there would be new, if mom didn't forget to pay the rent. I quickly cleaned my arm under the cold water. I cleaned my razor and picked up the shampoo bottle. A cold shower it is.

After drying myself off and shaving my stubbles, I remember the task Frank had given me after the punching and kicking. The bruises and cuts went numb because of the shower. I quickly sat behind my best friend, my desk, and grabbed a clean sheet of paper.

After an hour of work, the drawing of a demonic Maria was finished. I even colored it. I folded it neatly and placed it in the pocket of my leather jacket. I laid down on bed and drifted off to a quite light slumber. One more day in hell.

---

Frank liked the picture I drew him and decided not to punch me at the last day. My speech was horrid. I stuttered the whole time due to my fear of speaking in public. When I held up my diploma in the air, my sleeve slightly slid down. I moved my arm downwards again. Not a single glimpse of happiness was shown on my face that day, neither was it the following three years and the past year.