Fight Fire with Fire (Frerard)

8. Beautifully So Disfigured

A week and a half. That's how long it took for Frank to piss my parent's off to the point of no return.

While we stacked the bibles, I could feel the anger radiating off Frank's muscular body. He was pooling with anger and I know why. I know exactly why.

"I'm going out tonight. You can walk home alone, right?" He mumbles, trying to calm himself as he flicks through a bible.

I look over, almost dropping the bible in the process of shifting my body on the uncomfortable carpeted ground.

"Um, where are you off to?" Frank turns, looking at me with a cocked eyebrow.

"Why do you care?" He asks, my nerves making my hands shake.

I am always nervous in this place. Always on edge. For a place that brings so many people peace, it brings me the exact opposite.

"I-I don't." I shake my head, turning back to the bibles.

I feel Frank's eyes on me as I try to perfectly stack the bibles. "I-I am fine to walk home. Alone. I am fine walking home alone." I mumble, barely loud enough for him.

He smirks as my eyes flick to his. He is honestly very good looking. A perfect face. Just looking at him makes my head go all fuzzy and my stomach start's doing flips.

"I'm going to a house-party. A few guy's I've been hanging with at school are going and invited me. Wanna come?" He asks.

"I...I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"But mom a-"

He groans, dropping the bible out of his hand, "Fuck it. Live the way you want to live for once. Why are you so fucking scared of them? Don't you want to make some decisions for yourself? Don't you want to have fun on the wild side? You know, I love living the way I do."

I stay silent, biting my lip. He is right, I would love to be freed of the shackles. But a party sounds really scary.

"I-I don't know..." I mumble.

I feel pathetic. Like Frank's loser younger brother, even through we are the same age and not even brothers.

"Okay, you're seriously a pussy man. Parties are so fucking fun! Loud music, hyper-sexual drunk teenagers, booze, drugs. What more could you want?"

To be free...

"Stuff it, I'll come." I say, nodding my head to confirm my decision.

Nerves fill me to the brim as Frank looks at me with shocked eyes. I am guessing he wasn't expecting me to say yes.

"Cool. We will l-" Frank's voice get's cut off by the creaking door that opens.

My blood runs cold as Father John walks in with a smile.

"Hello boys. Almost done? You have about an hour left."

Frank nods, "Whatever."

I admire his courage to stand up for himself.

"Gerard, would you please come up to my office, I have a few chores for you. Frank, can you just continue on with this please." He smirks when Frank isn't looking.

I nod, silently dropping the bible and any hope of me being free.

As I lay, being filled with filth, it hits me; what is the point? What's the point of trying to be so good? I won't ever be 100% pure. I haven't been pure since Father John began...treating me differently.

And what's the point of freedom? I won't be free, ever. I can't be. Weather I like it or not, I am always going to be controlled by Father John. Even if he dies and this all stops, I will always be weighed down by the shackles of the PTSD and memories.

Why does life hate me? Just when I begin feeling hope for the freedom I might have had, life happens.

I give up. I finally give up.