There was a little blood on the floor, some bruising on his torso, legs and face, but his pride was intact. At least it seemed that way. It's not like he just sat there and let himself be punched. He did his best to throw a punch and when he did, walls would crumble. He was always kind of proud of himself for that. The only thing that bothered him without end was his short height. If only he had been taller, if only he had just a few inches, these guys that were beating the shit out of him wouldn't stand a chance. But of course genetics did a number on him and it was something he had to deal with. At least he could punch and at least he could take a punch. Or he was trying to at the moment. These guys though, were kicking and punching and hitting with everything they had in them. Sure, he was already used to it, but it kind of hurts when a group of jocks that are 10 times the men he ever was or will be.

It wasn't until the janitor came by the hallway and immediately shooed them away that they scrammed back to their cars to drive away like the real cowards they were. Frank, however, remained on the floor trying to find the strength within him to pick himself up again. Every limb of his body hurt and his head felt like it was on fire. Trying to get up was a battle, but with the help of the janitor, it was possible. This wasn't even that bad, compared to his first day here. He had to be sent to the hospital a couple of times after that with the excuse that he fell down stairs, hurt himself during gym or just plainly being mugged on the way home. He never admitted to anyone that he was being heavily bullied. The other students didn't even bother to ask what the hell happened to him when he showed up to class with a black eye or a busted lip or a bruised cheekbone. Rumors flew in and out of hallways saying that he was being abused at home, was a drug addict and his boss beat him mercilessly, or just the angry teenager that liked to pick fights. As if Frank wanted this. He hated not knowing what the hell he did to deserve it.

"Thanks.." Frank said quietly eyes tightening when he felt the pain on his ribcage. It was probably from one of the many times one of the fuckers kicked him with the point of their shoe. That was most likely the one that made him feel like the oxygen had been cut from the world. The bruise was gonna be lovely.

Before the janitor had time to ask any questions, Frank limped himself away from him to start his journey home. He stood on the corner of the sidewalk looking ahead at the ten blocks he had to walk. On a lucky day where he wasn't beaten up, which were very rare, this was no problem. But add some severe punching and kicking, then this felt like walking the Andes in the middle of winter after having fighting off a polar bear. Well, Frank wasn't sure if there were polar bears in the Andes. He figured no since they didn't really settle in mountains. He was puzzled. He didn't really pay attention to that in Geography. Or any class for that matter. It was the last thing he cared about. It's not like he flunked every class but he was a straight C student. His parents pushed him to do better, but in Frank's book if he was still alive to be able to walk home, C's were like A's. As long as he was passing and was breathing, that's all he really cared about.

People gave him weird looks at his messed up face. But it was only a busted lip and a soon to be very black eye. It was more his torso that was gonna look like a work of Van Gogh the next day. He sighed as he thought about that while walking back and instantly regretted it since his side was screaming bloody murder. It was hard to even breathe, but he was breathing. He was seriously hoping they didn't break a rib or something. There was nothing he hated more than going to hospitals. Being surrounded by people dying every five minutes was something he wasn't too fond of. Especially when he met up with kids his age that were battling cancer or something of that nature. One time in the hospital, he befriended this guy named Travis. He was so cool, rad taste in music, and was more of a friend than Frank ever had. He had Sarcoma. Frank was supposed to be hospitalized for 2 weeks. It was the time these assholes thought it was funny to push him down a staircase. He was lucky to be alive but he came out with a broken arm, bruised bone in his leg, some ligaments torn in his ankle and blow to the head that made the doctors worry severely if he was gonna make it. Luckily, Frank had a head harder than cement and that it landed on his back pack. He told Travis all of this one of the nights he was in there. Travis was the only one who knew about how bad Frank had it and was the only one who could relate to feeling so hopeless and feeling as if you were seriously meant to not be here. He helped Frank more than anyone had in his entire life and he had only known the guy two months before Travis met his tragic end.

The day before Travis passed away, Frank went to go visit him. He had told Frank that he wasn't so sure if they were gonna see each other again. Frank was one to deny these types of things and told Travis that he was going to be fine and that they'd see each other the next day. Travis just smiled at Frankie and let him believe that. At least Frankie had a smile and that's the only thing that mattered to Travis at the moment. But he told Frank something that he kept close to his heart. He said that life was always going to give us more than we could handle, it was just about balancing it all out and figuring out how to handle it to be able to get through it. He told Frank that he saw a lot of potential in him and that he could overcome everything that was thrown his way. He made Frank promise to keep fighting to get through it. Frank never broke a promise the 17 years he was alive. This was no different.

He really took it hard when Travis passed away. He didn't understand why life was so unfair to him. He kept asking the sky why they took his only friend away from him. He tried to see if clouds were the answers to his prayers but he never found anything usefull.

Frank kept fighting, though, after a year since Travis leaving. But, he could never find it in him to let himself trust someone. He wanted to, but at the same time he was very reluctant to the idea. It was like getting a bruise. It's there, right there, and sometimes there was this urge to just poke at it, but once you do it hurts so much. Well, at least that's how he saw it. He just shrugged to himself and figured he was probably the only moron who poked his own bruises. He was trying to figure out why he was thinking about Travis. He missed him. Missed him so much. He wanted to just sit with him again and discuss the pros and cons of punk rock music today. Frank had to remember that wasn't possible and was never going to be possible unless he was dead. But Frank promised to not give up on himself, no matter how many nights he was on the brink of doing so. Breaking a promise was harder to do than to trust someone for Frank. So, he just let his world fall apart around him and would eventually pick up the pieces later.

He quietly made it inside his house smelling the sweet aroma of his mother's italian cooking and smiled a bit. First time he smiled all day long. At least it was very pleasant to come home. He had his mom and dad to fall back on, thank god. So, not everything was bad. It just seemed to be that way to him every morning when he had to walk the walk of death and spend a day in hell and back. Despite having loving parents, he still felt very alone. His parents didn't blame him. They knew he was suffering and they do their best to try and get him to communicate with them but ever since Travis's passing, Frank wasn't the same. They knew that, even after a year, he was still trying to cope with his loss. So, they did what they could do. Just be there for him whenever he decided to come to them. Frank liked it this way. He liked that his parents didn't push him. That didn't mean he didn't feel guilty for not being able to talk to the two people that were always there for him. Frank sighed again as he let his backpack hit the floor next to the front door and made his way slowly to the kitchen where he greeted his mother with a kiss on her cheek. She, in returned, greeted him with a gasp.

"Frankie, what happened to you?!" She exclaimed dropping the wooden spoon she was using to stir the home made sauce she was making, on the floor.

"Stupid prankers from the neighborhood.." He lied but it was a good one. Lately, these punks have been going all around Belleville beating the shit out of civilians for pure entertainment. So, it was very believable and his mother, being so faithful to the 8 o'clock news, didn't second guess it.

"Sweetie, I'm so sorry...are you hurt anywhere else? Do you need me to take you to the hospital? I can grab my coat and we can go..." She said frantically as she was looking around the kitchen for her car keys and coats. Frank gently placed a hand on her arm and smiled a bit even though it was murdering his cheekbone to do so.

"I'm fine. I'm just gonna go to my room and lie down a bit. Wake me when dinner is ready?" he asked faintly just thinking about the comfort of his bed he had been longing for ever since the janitor pretty much saved his ass from another hospital trip.

Linda, his mother, simply nodded and told him that resting would make him feel a lot better. In fact, that was always her solution to everything. Rest. And right now, Frank believed it. After battling the stairs and shuffling to his room, his bed had never felt so comfortable in his life.

Frankie sighed while shaking a bit. He wasn't cold, but his eyes were welling up with tears. And he didn't hold them back. It wasn't worth the fight to not cry. So, he cried. It wasn't fair. Nothing ever was. All he wanted was to just stop being punished for being who he was. He wanted to be liked again and not ignored. He wanted someone to fucking gasp at school and ask him what the hell happened to him when he was bleeding from his eyebrow. He wanted...someone. He was so tired of being so alone and he cried over his loneliness. And then cried more over the fact that if someone were to come into his life and gave a fuck, he probably wouldn't find it in himself to trust them. He was too afraid. His tears stained his white pillow case, his nose became runny, his chest was hurting from the beating and the fact that he was breathing heavily from crying so hard, and his heart was aching. It wasn't fair. Nothing ever was and he was starting to believe that nothing ever would be. He was starting to question just how much longer he could keep his promise to Travis.

---------

He didn't remember when he had actually fallen asleep. But it made him feel better when he woke up and felt a bit rested. His sad thoughts were still present in his head, but at least he rested. He rubbed his eye gently and swearing in a whisper cause he had forgotten how badly they had hit him there. Frank sighed again and slowly pulled himself out of bed to stand in front of his full mirror. He bit his swollen lip, which was starting to look a bit better, and closed his eyes as he carefully removed the shirt he was wearing off of his body.

"Not that bad.." He muttered to his reflection as he saw a black bruise that started right at the end of his underarm and ended lining up with his belly button. He sighed again. "Not that bad..." he looked down at his hands which were bruised and a bit sore from fighting back but that was a pain he was so used to it didn't bother him anymore. He didn't know whether to find that as a good thing or a bad thing. He decided not to figure it out. He turned around a bit and looked at his back that just had two small bruises the size of fists on both shoulder blades. He's seen worse. "Three days...I'm good..." he told himself after turning around once again to look at his very tampered being. His face didn't bother him as much as that bruise on his side. He just repeated it wasn't that bad. It was the only thing he could do to not lose it.

A knock on his door startled him and he fumbled to get his tshirt back on which wasn't the smartest decision since it was stained with his blood from his busted lip. It hurt too much to sprint to his closet and pull out a clean one. Besides, he wanted to shower; not only to wash away the dirt from being plunged to the floor but to wash away some of his negative feelings and to see if he could manage to cleanse this day right off of him. He needed a shower.

"Come in..." he mumbled as he turned to see his dad's head popping in a bit. He was glad his dad was home.
"Hey dad.." He said as he lifted his hand a bit and waved.

"Frankie...hey, son.." His dad said frowning at the sight of his beaten up child. He opened the door more and took two steps inside. "Your mother told me what happened...you feeling okay?" he asked trying not to look or sound devasted over the way Frankie looked. He didn't do such a good job, but it was because Frankie knew his father so well. He just knew what he was feeling and thinking with just one look. Thank god it wasn't the other way around.

"M'fine, dad. I rested a bit and I feel better. It's okay. I just...wanna shower though. I feel gross." Frank said sincerely because he did. He felt disgusted and needed to get under hot water as soon as he possibly could.

His father, Frank also but went by just his last name Iero, nodded slowly understanding what his son meant. He took a step back and put his hand on the golden doorknob.

"Okay, son. You go on and do that, but try to make it a quick on. We have some...company downstairs and we need you downstairs." His father said with a look in his eye that screamed that something just wasn't right.

"Who?" Frank asked reading his father's facial expressions and knowing that now he was more than sure something wasn't right.

"Do you remember the Nestors?" His dad asked as he patiently waiting his son's reply. He knew that it was most likely Frankie wouldn't remember since it had been so long. And as he predicted, Frankie shook his head. "They were a family that lived right across the street from us until Greg got another job and decided to buy a bigger house and such. They had a little girl named Jamia...you and her used to play together all the time. Though it was years ago. Anyways, they just went through a tragedy...horrible...and they're about to discuss it. I think it would be great if you could come down and be with Jamia...she could...really use someone." His father concluded. Frank stood there wondering what could've happened to people he hadn't seen in years to suddenly come and ask for help. It must've been bad. And as he nodded to his dad saying he'd be right down and headed towards the bathroom, he was trying so hard to remember this Jamia. But he couldn't at all. He figured he'd remember her when he saw her.

It was gonna be hard though because his dad said she needed someone and wanted that someone to be Frankie. What his dad didn't know was that Frank too needed someone and probably didn't have the inner strength to be there for somebody else. But then he thought of Travis, as his body was bombared with hot water that came from the shower head. Travis wasn't strong enough to do anything, yet every day he stood by Frank to the best of his ablities cause he knew that Frank needed someone. He owed it to Travis to help this girl out.

After having changed into a black band tshirt, a hoodie with skeleton bones ironed on, ripped jeans and some worn out tennis shoes, typical Frankie outfit, he slowly walked downstairs to the eerie silence. Something just didn't feel right. In fact, that feeling never went away since his father told him about the Nestor family. Something told Frank he had to brace himself and he didn't know for what. But he prepared his mind for anything once he made it to the living room where his parents were sitting across from a man that was roughly the age of his dad and a girl that really looked like he was his own age. She still didn't look familiar but he did see something in her that reminded him of himself. Pain. Her eyes were dead, her expression was blank, her skin was so pale and he knew it was whiter than usual without ever having knowing her, well not recently, and she just looked lost. He knew that expression far too well. He swallowed hard because he could barely deal with himself, how was he supposed to help someone else if he didn't even have the answers to help himself?

"Come here, sweetie." Linda said as she patted the empty chair next to her and Frank simply nodded as he took the seat. He didn't want to disturb the silence.

"It's nice to see you again, Frank. You've grown so much...hasn't he, Jam?" The man, Greg, said as he turned to look at his daughter. She blinked herself back from her deep thoughts and raised her head to look back at him. She turned to look at Frank who felt so on the spot. He hated that feeling but couldn't help but look back at her. Her hazel green eyes just called for him. It sent a shiver down his spine. She, on the other hand, looked down at her fumbling hands and nodded slowly.

"So has Jamia..." Frank's mother said softly with a gentle smile on her face. Greg thanked her and Jamia said nothing. Frank didn't like that this girl barely talked. Not in a negative way, but in a worried way. Girls like her shouldn't be that hurt. Sure, he didn't know her but the fact that she looked as miserable as Frank was gave him enough reason to believe so. No one should feel as bad as Frank was feeling. He wouldn't wish it on anyone and sheere thought that this girl might have been feeling as hopeless as Frank felt made him very uneasy. He still kept quiet though.

"I can't thank you both enough for taking us in so out of the blue this way. It's been hard...Jamia here was just released from the hospital...and we had nowhere to go. Bless you both." Greg said as he tried to ignore the lump in his throat that begged him to cry.

Frank's eyes widened a little when he heard Jamia was in the hospital. It's when she noticed a burn on her hand. It was sort of extensive and it made Frank feel uncomfortable. He didn't know why. He thought maybe she had done it to herself and that...worried him. If he was on and off about self harm but never actually did anything, and then this girl had physically done something, God knows what was going through her head. Frank was starting to think that he was going to be useless to her, even though he felt like this every single day of his life. But he hated the thought of letting yet another person down. He let out a very quiet sigh.

"Please, Greg. Don't even worry about it. Stay for as long as you'd like. Anything Linda and I could do for you two, we'll be happy to help. I can't imagine what you've both been through, neither of us can. Just know we'll help you get back on your feet." Frank's dad said softly and nodding his head to reassure what he was saying. Greg, then, teared up. Jamia never looked up from her hands. That's when it hit Frank...her mother wasn't there. Something inside him cracked and made him go numb. There was only one reason Greg would be so torn up and Jamia would be so quiet. Something happened to her. Something tragic.

"There's still so much I have to do..." Greg groaned and hid his face in his hands to try and hide from his daughter that he was slowly breaking down. Linda picked up on this and knew she and her husband needed to help this man in need. She turned to Frank and smiled softly.

"Frankie, why don't you take Jamia to your room and hang out there listening to music?" She asked him quietly placing a hand on his knee. He looked at her trying not to show he was scared to do so but then looked at Jamia who was still in a completely different world in her head and thought it would be best to take her away from what was going to be a very painful and emotional conversation.

"Sure...um...uh..J-Jamia? Wanna...wanna listen to...some..some music? I have a bunch...of...like..records and...stuff..." Frank blurted out and hating himself for never being good at talking to people. Though he couldn't blame himself. People didn't really like Frankie so he never spoke to people. It was as simple as that.

He sat there nervously waiting for Jamia to answer. Instead, she leaned over to her father's ear and whispered something to him.

"Of course I don't mind, angel." Greg replied to her as he forced a smile onto his face. He then looked at Frankie with a look that just screamed 'thank you' and Frank nodded slowly. Frank stood up and started walking to the stairs looking back to see if Jamia was following along and she was. They were both out of ear shot from what was going on in the living room and Frank thought that it was good that they were cause from the looks of it, it probably would've been really hard for her to just sit there through it. She looked like she had been through enough.

Frank noticed how slowly she walked up the stairs, concentrating on each step she took and quietly wincing every once in awhile when she brushed her hand on something or stepped too much on her left foot. And Frank thought he was the one that needed to be careful. But she slowly made it to his room and once Frank closed the door behind them both, he turned to find her staring at herself in the mirror. He felt like this wasn't going to end well if she just kept staring that way so he gently took her wrist in his hand, basically trembling all over from the human contact he hadn't had that didn't turn into blood and tears, and made her sit down on the floor with him facing away from the mirror.

She looked at him blankly and decided to turn her attention to her injured hand. Frank wanted to ask her about it but it looked like something he needed to be curious about to himself. As if he would ever build up the courage to even ask her. His nerves were killing him and the fact that she wasn't saying anything at all wasn't making it better. Frank wasn't the type of person who started conversations. He's learned to just stay quiet and runaway from assholes. Jamia didn't seem like an asshole, though. She looked so innocent, and so scared. Frank bit his lip and took a breath. He needed to be her someone despite the fact that he didn't even have one of his own. His someone died a year ago.

"Um...my dad says that you and me...uh...used to play together a lot as kids...do you remember?" Frank said looking at her as she kept tracing the outline of her burn mark. She shook her head and didn't look up. Frank took another breath because this whole not talking thing was making it harder for him to continue. But he pulled it together. "I don't either...guess it was a really long time ago." Frank said shrugging softly and digging his hands into his hoodie pockets and hissing when he accidently brushed his side. Jamia's eyes looked up from her hand and narrowed in on Frank's face. She blinked a couple of times and bit her bottom lip because seeing those bruises on his face hurt her just by looking at them. He didn't blame her for not noticing right away. She was so involved in her own head she just barely realized she was in the Iero's household only moments ago. But now, seeing those wounds on Frank's face, she couldn't even imagine what it actually felt like...well..she could, sort of.

He blinked and looked up to meet her eyes for the second time that night. And again, he shivered. He had absolutely no idea why that was his reaction when she looked at him. He was so unused to being around people he didn't know, his body reacted in all types of way. He guessed shivering when Jamia looked straight at him was one of them. But he noticed that she looked concerned when it came to his beaten face. "It's...not that bad..." He started to explain making his eyes unglue themselves from hers. "Have...uh...you heard about that group going around town just beating the shit out of people?" He said as she nodded slowly now giving him her undivided attention. He just got ten times more nervous. Maybe it was easier with her looking down and not saying anything at all. Not that she was saying anything, but the way she looked at him said it all. If Frank was good at anything, it was reading people and knowing what they're thinking. Frank knew that she was thinking what the hell happened to him and that was a first for him. Even though he was about to lie to her, it didn't take away the fact that she actually cared about what had happened to his face. "Well...they got to me and fucked me up. I'm okay though...I can walk...it's cool..." He said softly and trying to ignore how his side was throbbing from breathing too much. She nodded slowly still looking at him concerned and Frankie couldn't help but look down and hide a small smile.

They were quiet for another moment, music completely forgotten, and Jamia hugged her legs. She started to sniffle a bit and Frank turned his head quickly to look at her. She was starting to cry. Frank didn't know what to do. He didn't really know how to handle someone crying and the only thing he could think of was scooting closer to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Jamia immediately buried her face in his chest and gripped his hoodie as if fearing if she didn't hold on, she would fall off the face of the Earth. It wasn't some soft, gentle, crying. This was heavy, painful and sorrowful weeping and it was killing Frank. It was killing him to see someone who looked so innocent and vulnerable cry this way.

He squeezed her softly and wrapped his other arm around her as they both leaned more against the bed that was behind them.

"Jamia...what...what is it?" He asked in a rough whisper getting worried that her crying wouldn't calm down. She shook her head against his chest. "Come on...talk to me..." Frank asked although it sounded more like a beg. Jamia looked up at him, tears streaming down her face and looked hopeless. Frank cringed at her face full of pain but in order for him to understand her and help her, she needed to start talking to him. But she shook her head again and before Frank could ask once more, she motioned her hands to say that she needed a pen and paper. Frank blinked and raised an eyebrow a little confused but ended up getting up from his spot and looking around his mess of a room to find a pen and a scrap of paper. Once situated next to her again and after handing her the supplies she asked for, she started to write on the empty piece of paper taking a pause to wipe her tears that kept falling. She finished writing something out and handed the paper to Frank as she looked to see what his reaction would be.

He blinked again and took the paper from her grasp making himself read the blue print which said, 'I can't talk to you as much as I want to. I have SM. I'm sorry.' He was even more confused than before. It was one of those moments he wished he had paid more attention in health class. It was like he new the initials yet his mind came to a blank when he tried to decipher it.

"What's SM mean?" He asked innocently placing the paper back in Jamia's shaking hands.

She wrote on it again, this time taking a little longer and handing it right back to him. This time the note said 'SM means Selective Mutism. It happens to someone when they've been through a traumatic event. A reaction to severe shock. I have it and I can't talk to anyone but my dad.' This time, Frank's jaw dropped a little. Here he was pushing someone who couldn't vocalize anything, to talk. He felt horrible but knew that it wasn't the thing to tell her.

He bit his bottom lip looking at her and thinking that she was more broken than he thought she was. He took a tiny little breath and tilted his head to the side a bit as he studied her expression.

"What..um...what did you go through that...um..made you have SM?" he asked scared about the answer but again passed back the marker and paper. Jamia shivered as she let the supplies rest on her lap. She knew he would find out eventually and also knew that she had to get used to saying it, or writing it.

She closed her eyes for a moment before picking up the pen and wrote out the reason slowly, taking her time and breaking down with each letter she wrote.

Once finished the message, she handed it back to Frank with her face buried in her arm that rested on her bent knees and continued to cry. Frank took it from her fingers and swallowed hard looking at her sympathetically before looking down and having his eyes almost fall out from his sockets by the message. The paper fell from his hands and he stared at her even though she continued to cry in her arms. Frank wrapped his arms around her again and whispered over and over that he was sorry.

The note said, 'I watched my mother die in front of me in the house fire.'

Notes

Dunno. You guys tell me. Continue or scrap? xo