I stare at my father completely disbelieving. He has got to be kidding, right? There is just no way that he can possibly-

“Excuse me,” my voice sounds much calmer than I’m currently feeling, “I probably misheard you. You said you were doing what, Dad?”

My father tries to hide it, but I can see the slight flash of hurt right there in his eyes. Serves him right.

“Frankie,” he sighs sadly.

“My name is Frank,” I cut him off firmly, starting to lose my cool a bit. “I’m not a fucking kid, anymore.”

“Frank,” he straightens up, manning up to the argument. Finally. Now it feels like at least a bit of a challenge. “Your mother has been gone for a very long time, now. I know you miss her – we both do – but I owe it to myself, and to you, to move on.”

“Don’t give me any of your holier than though ‘just looking out for your best interests’ bullshit. Call a spade a fucking spade. You’re sick of being all alone, and empty hook-ups don’t keep you warm at night. You just want a safe place for your fucking dick.”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” he screams. It seems I’ve finally cracked the shell. “Just who do you think you are talking to me like that?! You are my son, still living under my roof, and you have to live by my rules – whether you like it or not.”

“You are such a cock,” I sneer. He is being a totally unfair, dictating, piece of shit.

“FRANK!”

“NO!” I growl, jumping up from the seated position he had me in to tell me the ‘big news’, “How long have you even known this ‘Ashley’ woman? Do you seriously think you’ve dated her long enough to just wanna get married right away? I mean, I’ve never even met her fucking sons, for fuck’s sake! Did you even consider me when you decided this! Huh, did you?”

Fuck. Now I’m crying like a total pussy.

“No, you know what?” I wipe tears from my eyes, “Sometimes I wish Mom was the parent who had survived.”

Before anything more can be said, I practically bolt out of the room, feeling the rage buzzing under my skin. I know that was a bunch of very cheap shots, but I really think my father is being inconsiderate. Aren’t parents supposed to care about how their fucking kids feel? I can’t wait to move out of his fucking house.

I reach my bedroom, slamming my door as hard as I can. I press play on the music I had been listening to earlier, skipping to the next (much louder and angrier) track, and cranking up the volume. Normally the music would calm me right down, but right now it’s only leaving me feeling more on edge. I feel it pumping through my system, along with my rage, and I just know I’m really gonna need some kind of release.

“Fuck.”

I throw myself onto my unmade bed, covering my face with my arms, trying to regulate my breathing somewhat, with no success.

“Asshole,” I mumble under my breath, tears spilling from my eyes now, as my heart aches for my Mom.

I really wish she were here. I wish Dad didn’t feel the need to replace her. I wish Ashley Way wasn’t so fucking nice and sweet. I wish I was never born. I wish I was happy.

Beginning to hyperventilate, I realise I’m really gonna have to take the edge off somehow. I feel like I’m suffocating. My clothes are beginning to feel like they’re smothering me, so I quickly wiggle out of everything – leaving me clad only in my favourite pair of Batman boxers. I rub my flat palms over every inch of newly exposed skin as much as possible – just like Mom always used to do when she was still alive.

I really miss her smile, and how soft her hands always were. I miss how she was always able to stand her ground firmly against Dad, even though she never stopped being a proper lady. I miss how she was always able to make us smile.

And I just really wish she were here to support me right now. I really need her right now, because I think I might be gay, and I really don’t think that’s something someone should be left to figure out alone – without support.

I could just talk to my Dad, but whenever he’s not working he’s always busy with Ashley. I should be grateful that he works to support me, and that he’s happy with his girlfriend (well, fiancé, now) – and I really am. It’s just that my mother was always a lot better at being a parent than my Dad. It just came naturally to her – like she was just born to be a mother. Well, at least she lived long enough to accomplish that then.

With a sigh I get up from my bed to turn my music down, Stopping the assault on my ears. I’ll probably calm down better without the heavy pulse of the drums and bass riling me up like that.

Just as I lie back down on my (still unmade – and now cluttered with the outfit I wore to school today) bed, there is a soft knock at my door. Not my father’s knock.

“Come in,” I tell Ashley.

I figured she’d come by eventually.

“Hey, Frankie,” she smiles, poking her head through the door, “can I come in?”

Shit. I’m suddenly so overcome with guilt. Ashley is such nice woman, always caring and wise and generous. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered her losing her patience with anyone, not even once, in the entire time that I have known her.

“Yeah,” I nod at her, sitting up, pulling my legs up to my chest.

I don’t really want to make eye contact with her as she makes her way over to my bed, sitting down next to me – not even bringing up the state my room is in.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter under my breath, still trying to avoid meeting her eyes, but I know she can hear me.

“Oh, honey,” I can hear the soft smile in her voice – she sounds like a Mom, “Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s perfectly normal to freak out when something this huge is sprung on you.”

“Yeah?” I ask, chancing a glance at her.

“Of course, sweetie,” she smiles at me with understanding in her voice, gently touching my shoulder. “When I told my boys earlier, Mikey punched a hole through my kitchen door, and Gerard didn’t stop sobbing for four hours straight.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

“Oh, hell, no! It’s true. They said they felt as if they
weren’t good enough for me anymore, so I’m just getting myself a new “better” family.”

I look away, a little uncomfortably, not really knowing how to respond to that.

“Hey,” she whispers, “I would actually like for you to meet them soon – like, tomorrow, maybe? I know it should have happened a while ago, but…”

She doesn’t even need to finish that sentence. I know I might have come across a little accusatory towards my father about never meeting them before, but I’m actually probably the one to blame for that. Not exclusively, of course, because apparently Gerard and Mikey had been reacting the same as me, but still.

“I’d like that,” I smile at her, half shocked to realise it’s not a total lie.

Maybe being an actual fucking family for a change would do us some good.

Notes

Hello everyone! I hope you all are as psyched for this as I and my lovely co-writer *pixiewayro* are!
I will be managing this fic here and on mibba while she does AO3. So thank you to all of you who read and please leave us a comment and let us know what you think! Love you all!!!

- Venomous Kiss