Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > #1) It's Not Your Fault
#1) It's Not Your Fault
Frankie can't sleep... It's been 14 days and he's only had about 24 hours of sleep total. He needs sleep! Are pills the only answer? Sex eventually, this is just the beginning.
?Blocked
Frankie lost it. It'd been two weeks, TWO weeks, and he'd probably only had 24 hours of total sleep. This was way to much for one guy to handle. He was only 22, he didn't need this shit! Frankie searched his shirt pockets for his cigarettes and sighed. He was out.
He held his hands out in front of him. Black, chipping finger nails, fingerless skeleton gloves. Ratty, torn, black jeans, and old wife beater and a black dress shirt over it. His hair hung limply over his mascara and eyeliner smudged eyes. He smelled, he needed a shower...he needed.../sleep/. But, obviously, that was way to much to ask for. Frank sank to the floor of the bathroom. He's was tired. Beyond tired, even!
His dark, hazel eyes flickered to the medicine cabinet. Gee. Gee had pills, old ones, back when he'd been depressed and all. May be...no!
Frank Anthony Iero, shut up now!
There it went. The voice in his head. That stupid voice that annoyed the shit out of him! He didn't need this shit anymore! Frankie forced himself to his knees and reached one shaky hand out towards the medicine cabinet. He pulled it open and felt around inside. No, no, no, yes! He grabbed for it, bringing it close to his chest, nuzzling it to his face.
"Please, please work..." He whispered to himself as he twisted off the white cap.
Knock. Knock. Knockknockknock! What the hell?
"Shut up voice." Frankie mumbled. Was it just him or was someone knocking. "Uh yeah?" He managed to say as he poured some old Paxil into his hands. He counted the pills. 1, 2, 3, 7, 10, 12...
"You done in there yet, Frank?" It was Ray. Damn him. "Frank?"
"What the fuck do you want Ray?" He didn't mean to yell. It just came out. Ohgodohgodohgod.
"Jesus, Frank. What the hell has been up your ass lately? Oh, I know, nothing!" Ray bit his lip. He hadn't meant to say that. He'd promised Frankie that he'd never bring up his sexuality. And he just did.
Frankie felt like Ray had just sucker-punched him in the fucking face. "What did you just say?" He asked, his voice barely audible.
"N-nothing. Frankie, I didn't mean-"
"What did you fucking say!" He yelled. Frankie growled in frustration. He didn't need this. He turned the sink on and dropped the pill bottle, hoping that Ray heard it. Heard what he was doing, and would think he'd caused it. He'd feel bad now. How dare he shove this shit in his face?
"Fuck, Frankie! What the hell are you doing!?" Ray shouted through the door. Frankie heard the knob turning frantically. He leaned his head down to the sink and swallowed some water, then put the pills in his mouth, and swallowed more. "Frankie!"
Frankie turned the sink off and leaned against the door. He heard crying. You fucked up this time, Frankie. You fucked up!
"Shut up!" Frankie yelled at the voice. "I just want you to shut up! Please..." He felt himself crying. "Please, God, just shut up...just shut up..." He sank to the floor. Ray was crying, and he heard Ray slide to the floor also, his back pressed against the door, too.
"Frankie...please." Ray whispered. Frankie didn't listen. He didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear Ray beg, and didn't want to feel bad. He just wanted some GODDAMN sleep!
*
What the hell was that? Frankie heard the voice, low, mumbling, complaining. What the hell happened!?
Wait, that wasn't the voice. It was too high pitched, to non-Frankie. Gee? Frankie wanted to open his eyes, Frankie wanted to sit up, Frankie wanted to be awake. Was he asleep? Finally... He let his incoherent thoughts drift off and away. He was sleeping. And it never felt so good.
*
Frankie jerked, feeling thousands of volts shooting through his chest. He felt pain, tried to grit his teeth. Nothing moved, nothing worked. What the fuck? He just wanted sleep!
"Fuck off!" He heard himself say...or at least whisper. "I want...to...sleep..." He could feel himself drifting back into a deep sleep. Then more pain. More volts, more shocks. Then nothing. Was he even breathing. He didn't care. He was asleep.
*
"Jesus Christ!" Frankie shot up in bed, sweat pouring from his face, his whole body shaking. "Oh god..." Frankie fell back into the bed. But something was different. This wasn't his bed. This wasn't his room. Where were the black pillows, dirty laundry, posters on the walls, his T.V., the play station? He was...He was...His head fell back and his eyes closed again.
"Frankie?" He heard that voice. His voice. The damn voice in his head.
"Shut up!" Frankie groaned, putting his hands to his ears. "Please, I wanted you to leave...I wanted you to disappear." He whimpered.
He felt hands on him, he felt arms try to hold him. "Frankie...please, listen to me." Why the voice trying to reason with him? It wasn't going to work. "Frankie, it's me, Ray." Now it was just trying to get him to listen. Well, he wasn't going to fall for that. He wasn't stupid. Frankie swung out. His fist contacted with something. That something didn't pull away.
It just held his hand, pulled him close, and cried. Frankie almost let lose, almost gave in. Almost, but not quite. He let the something that was a supposed Ray hold onto him...he let himself fall asleep.
*
Frankie opened his eyes and blinked. It was so damned bright in here. Why? Did Bob freaking take his curtains down again? No. It was too white in here, to /clean/. Frankie groaned as he pushed himself to sit up, his arms almost buckling underneath him.
What the hell.
He wasn't home. He wasn't anywhere near home. He was in a hospital. Ohgodohgodohgod. He groaned and let himself fall back onto the bed. He now could hear the quiet clicks and beeps of the monitors around him. The steady beep of a heart monitor, the click, shush release of the I.V.. He sighed, loudly, hoping someone would hear him and explain to him what was going on.
The only thing that stuck out the most to Frankie was that fact that he felt great. He felt rested, energetic, perfect. He wasn't tired.
"Frank?" Frankie winced. Not the voice again. Please. "Frank, it's me...Ray." He felt a hand on his arm and gentle squeeze. Frankie looked up into brown, Hispanic eyes, big lips, and fluffy red hair. Ray smiled down at him.
"Hey." Frank said.
"God, man!" Ray exclaimed, leaning down and trying his best to hug Frankie. Frankie pushed the little button on his bed to raise it up that pulled Ray into a brotherly hug.
"What's going on?" Frankie asked once Ray had released him and pulled up a chair. Ray gave him a questioning look.
"Frank, do you seriously not remember?" Ray said, his voice getting low, almost pained. "Frankie...god, man..."
Frankie reached out towards Ray and tussled his thick hair. "Just tell me, dude. Please."
"Okay..." Ray blew out a puff of air and Frankie knew better than anyone that Ray was thinking he needed a cigarette right now. Anything to preoccupy his hands with, so it'd make talking easier. Frankie reached out and took Ray's hand, in a friendly gesture. Ray took it, rubbing Frankie's hand with his thumb. "Well, about a week ago, yes it was that long ago...You got angry. And you took a bunch pills Frank. You killed yourself, literally. They brought you back."
"But, why-" Frank started asking. He couldn't remember a Goddamn thing! "Why-"
"You were mad at me." Ray mumbled. "I said some shit I shouldn't have."
"Ray, nothing you could say to me would make me want to kill myself." Frank reassured him. Ray just shook his head.
"Frank...I..." Ray squeezed Frank's hand then reluctantly let go of it. "I asked you what had been up your ass lately. Then I was like, oh yea, nothing." He looked up at Frankie. Frankie was shocked. Why the hell would ray bring up his sexuality. Had the others heard?
What if they had? Now everyone knew he was a fag, a fucking pixie dust fairy. Goddamn it Ray!
Frankie glared at Ray. "Get the Hell out, man." Frankie said calmly. "Get the fuck out."
Ray hung his head and stood. He turned around and began to leave the room. "I'm sorry, dude." Frank just flipped him the bird.. Ray felt sick, oh so sick. If Frankie only know that Ray hadn't meant it! He was just...
God! And the problem was...he fucking loved Frankie. He loved him more than he should ever fucking love any boy. Ray wasn't gay...He just... Ray shook his head and slipped his hands into his pockets, searching for his cigarettes. He walked out the front door and practically ran through the parking lot to his car. He had a cigarette lit up and halfway smoked by the time he was pulling through the second stop light.
God damn you, Frankie. Ray thought to himself. It's not your fault that you're that way. And it's not your fault that I fucking love you...
He held his hands out in front of him. Black, chipping finger nails, fingerless skeleton gloves. Ratty, torn, black jeans, and old wife beater and a black dress shirt over it. His hair hung limply over his mascara and eyeliner smudged eyes. He smelled, he needed a shower...he needed.../sleep/. But, obviously, that was way to much to ask for. Frank sank to the floor of the bathroom. He's was tired. Beyond tired, even!
His dark, hazel eyes flickered to the medicine cabinet. Gee. Gee had pills, old ones, back when he'd been depressed and all. May be...no!
Frank Anthony Iero, shut up now!
There it went. The voice in his head. That stupid voice that annoyed the shit out of him! He didn't need this shit anymore! Frankie forced himself to his knees and reached one shaky hand out towards the medicine cabinet. He pulled it open and felt around inside. No, no, no, yes! He grabbed for it, bringing it close to his chest, nuzzling it to his face.
"Please, please work..." He whispered to himself as he twisted off the white cap.
Knock. Knock. Knockknockknock! What the hell?
"Shut up voice." Frankie mumbled. Was it just him or was someone knocking. "Uh yeah?" He managed to say as he poured some old Paxil into his hands. He counted the pills. 1, 2, 3, 7, 10, 12...
"You done in there yet, Frank?" It was Ray. Damn him. "Frank?"
"What the fuck do you want Ray?" He didn't mean to yell. It just came out. Ohgodohgodohgod.
"Jesus, Frank. What the hell has been up your ass lately? Oh, I know, nothing!" Ray bit his lip. He hadn't meant to say that. He'd promised Frankie that he'd never bring up his sexuality. And he just did.
Frankie felt like Ray had just sucker-punched him in the fucking face. "What did you just say?" He asked, his voice barely audible.
"N-nothing. Frankie, I didn't mean-"
"What did you fucking say!" He yelled. Frankie growled in frustration. He didn't need this. He turned the sink on and dropped the pill bottle, hoping that Ray heard it. Heard what he was doing, and would think he'd caused it. He'd feel bad now. How dare he shove this shit in his face?
"Fuck, Frankie! What the hell are you doing!?" Ray shouted through the door. Frankie heard the knob turning frantically. He leaned his head down to the sink and swallowed some water, then put the pills in his mouth, and swallowed more. "Frankie!"
Frankie turned the sink off and leaned against the door. He heard crying. You fucked up this time, Frankie. You fucked up!
"Shut up!" Frankie yelled at the voice. "I just want you to shut up! Please..." He felt himself crying. "Please, God, just shut up...just shut up..." He sank to the floor. Ray was crying, and he heard Ray slide to the floor also, his back pressed against the door, too.
"Frankie...please." Ray whispered. Frankie didn't listen. He didn't want to listen, didn't want to hear Ray beg, and didn't want to feel bad. He just wanted some GODDAMN sleep!
*
What the hell was that? Frankie heard the voice, low, mumbling, complaining. What the hell happened!?
Wait, that wasn't the voice. It was too high pitched, to non-Frankie. Gee? Frankie wanted to open his eyes, Frankie wanted to sit up, Frankie wanted to be awake. Was he asleep? Finally... He let his incoherent thoughts drift off and away. He was sleeping. And it never felt so good.
*
Frankie jerked, feeling thousands of volts shooting through his chest. He felt pain, tried to grit his teeth. Nothing moved, nothing worked. What the fuck? He just wanted sleep!
"Fuck off!" He heard himself say...or at least whisper. "I want...to...sleep..." He could feel himself drifting back into a deep sleep. Then more pain. More volts, more shocks. Then nothing. Was he even breathing. He didn't care. He was asleep.
*
"Jesus Christ!" Frankie shot up in bed, sweat pouring from his face, his whole body shaking. "Oh god..." Frankie fell back into the bed. But something was different. This wasn't his bed. This wasn't his room. Where were the black pillows, dirty laundry, posters on the walls, his T.V., the play station? He was...He was...His head fell back and his eyes closed again.
"Frankie?" He heard that voice. His voice. The damn voice in his head.
"Shut up!" Frankie groaned, putting his hands to his ears. "Please, I wanted you to leave...I wanted you to disappear." He whimpered.
He felt hands on him, he felt arms try to hold him. "Frankie...please, listen to me." Why the voice trying to reason with him? It wasn't going to work. "Frankie, it's me, Ray." Now it was just trying to get him to listen. Well, he wasn't going to fall for that. He wasn't stupid. Frankie swung out. His fist contacted with something. That something didn't pull away.
It just held his hand, pulled him close, and cried. Frankie almost let lose, almost gave in. Almost, but not quite. He let the something that was a supposed Ray hold onto him...he let himself fall asleep.
*
Frankie opened his eyes and blinked. It was so damned bright in here. Why? Did Bob freaking take his curtains down again? No. It was too white in here, to /clean/. Frankie groaned as he pushed himself to sit up, his arms almost buckling underneath him.
What the hell.
He wasn't home. He wasn't anywhere near home. He was in a hospital. Ohgodohgodohgod. He groaned and let himself fall back onto the bed. He now could hear the quiet clicks and beeps of the monitors around him. The steady beep of a heart monitor, the click, shush release of the I.V.. He sighed, loudly, hoping someone would hear him and explain to him what was going on.
The only thing that stuck out the most to Frankie was that fact that he felt great. He felt rested, energetic, perfect. He wasn't tired.
"Frank?" Frankie winced. Not the voice again. Please. "Frank, it's me...Ray." He felt a hand on his arm and gentle squeeze. Frankie looked up into brown, Hispanic eyes, big lips, and fluffy red hair. Ray smiled down at him.
"Hey." Frank said.
"God, man!" Ray exclaimed, leaning down and trying his best to hug Frankie. Frankie pushed the little button on his bed to raise it up that pulled Ray into a brotherly hug.
"What's going on?" Frankie asked once Ray had released him and pulled up a chair. Ray gave him a questioning look.
"Frank, do you seriously not remember?" Ray said, his voice getting low, almost pained. "Frankie...god, man..."
Frankie reached out towards Ray and tussled his thick hair. "Just tell me, dude. Please."
"Okay..." Ray blew out a puff of air and Frankie knew better than anyone that Ray was thinking he needed a cigarette right now. Anything to preoccupy his hands with, so it'd make talking easier. Frankie reached out and took Ray's hand, in a friendly gesture. Ray took it, rubbing Frankie's hand with his thumb. "Well, about a week ago, yes it was that long ago...You got angry. And you took a bunch pills Frank. You killed yourself, literally. They brought you back."
"But, why-" Frank started asking. He couldn't remember a Goddamn thing! "Why-"
"You were mad at me." Ray mumbled. "I said some shit I shouldn't have."
"Ray, nothing you could say to me would make me want to kill myself." Frank reassured him. Ray just shook his head.
"Frank...I..." Ray squeezed Frank's hand then reluctantly let go of it. "I asked you what had been up your ass lately. Then I was like, oh yea, nothing." He looked up at Frankie. Frankie was shocked. Why the hell would ray bring up his sexuality. Had the others heard?
What if they had? Now everyone knew he was a fag, a fucking pixie dust fairy. Goddamn it Ray!
Frankie glared at Ray. "Get the Hell out, man." Frankie said calmly. "Get the fuck out."
Ray hung his head and stood. He turned around and began to leave the room. "I'm sorry, dude." Frank just flipped him the bird.. Ray felt sick, oh so sick. If Frankie only know that Ray hadn't meant it! He was just...
God! And the problem was...he fucking loved Frankie. He loved him more than he should ever fucking love any boy. Ray wasn't gay...He just... Ray shook his head and slipped his hands into his pockets, searching for his cigarettes. He walked out the front door and practically ran through the parking lot to his car. He had a cigarette lit up and halfway smoked by the time he was pulling through the second stop light.
God damn you, Frankie. Ray thought to himself. It's not your fault that you're that way. And it's not your fault that I fucking love you...
Sign up to rate and review this story