Frankie's Suicide (Frerard)

"Kill yourself, emo faggot!" yells John in the school parking lot as he throws me to the asphalt. His mate, Liam spits in my face and kicks me in the stomach before they leave me to my dark thoughts and intense pain. I try to take a deep breath but a shooting pain cripples me further. I think I have a broken rib. The fuckers. Sometimes I fantasies about John and his bastard friends being tied up and being able to beat the crap out of each and every one of them. I can take the physical pain, it's why they do it that really gets to me, just because I don't dress like them and like better music than they do.
Standing up is painful but I push through the it and begin the short walk home. I put my earphones in and blast the Misfits. Ugh, I don't think I can bear another year of this. Another year of constant beatings and slander. I've just started year 12 but to be honest, I don't think I'll make to the end of the year. I do my best to keep my head down and be invisible but I just can't take it anymore. The early mornings, the hours of study and homework, the beatings and not to mention my dad.
The walk home takes a lot longer than it should. I always dread going home. I always dread going to school for that matter. Now that I think about it, I never really look forward to anything. My life is one meaningless, dreadful waste.
I open the front door to the sound on my dad screaming at my mum about money.
"Where the fuck have you been, boy? And why are you walking like that?" He slurs at me. Jesus Christ, it's not even 3pm and he's been drinking.
"Dear god, would you look at you? You're such a disappointment to us all Frank, get the fuck outa my sight before I rip those goddamned piercings outa your face!" Aaand that was my queue to go to my room.
I drag myself up the stairs, lock my bedroom door and flop onto my bed.

I roll over and open my eyes. My clock says 1am. Shit. The memories of yesterday come flooding back, and with them, possibly every bad memory I have had, ever. Everything hurts. I can't do this. And what's the point anyway? Why am I even trying? So I can work my ass off in a job I hate for 5 days a week with crap pay until I'm 65, that's why. That is far from worth going through all this emotional pain. How does anyone do it? How do normal people even cope without wanting to kill themselves every second of the day? I guess tonight's the night.
I find the note I'd written months ago and put it in the middle of my desk. I make my bed and tidied my room, throwing all my dirty clothes that littered the floor into one corner. I get my favourite book from my bookshelf and bring it to my bed and crack it open. I'd hollowed it out with a Swiss Army knife, within it lies my stash and my razors. I take out the coke and line it up on my desk. After a few hits, I get the newest razor from my book, and then put my stash away. I get changed into my favourite ripped black jeans and a plain black tshirt. I bring my razor with me to the bathroom. I fill the tub with hot water and get in, fully clothed, while it's still running. The heat feels soothing on my aching body.
Alright Frank, it's now or never. I turn off the tap and bring the razor to my left wrist. Do it. Do it Frank. No one will miss you. Give them what they want. Don't think. Just do it. They'll be sorry. Tears start falling down my face. Damn it Iero! For once in your life, don't be a pussy! I let out a sob, grit my teeth and press down. My hands are shaking but slowly, I start to dig the razor further into my wrist and slide it towards my inner elbow at the same time. The pain is excruciating. The razor leaves a trail of white and yellow flesh thats quickly replaced with the pooling blood. The blood starts dripping into the water, creating swirls of crimson that disperse into nothing. Every instinct in my body is trying to force me to stop but I can't stop now. It takes everything I have to drag the blade down my arm and to keep pressing. Hard. The blood starts flowing. As I bring the blade further up my arm, there's a small spurt of blood That shoots out of my arm and the worst pain I have ever felt. I reflexively pull the razor away from my wrist and let out a small yelp along with the breath I had been holding. The water is now pink and the bloods still flowing. My breathing is rapid and my heartbeat is racing. I can barley feel my left arm but I swap the razor into my left hand anyway. I pause before bringing the razor to my other wrist and just watch the blood for a moment. I watch as it drops into the water, the clouds of red swirling and blending into the pink water. I feel so weak. My head feels like it's filled with air but I press the razor into my right wrist anyway. It's no where near as deep and the other, my whole body is shaking despite the heat of the bath so it's all I can manage at this point. My hands are shaking so badly and I can barely grip the razor properly. My visions blurry. I've made it about half way up my wrist when i start seeing black spots. I can't do anymore. Why do I feel so calm? I let the razor fall out of my weak hand and relax into the water. This is it. This is happening. It'll all be over soon. No more pain. No more pain. They'll all be sorry. My eyes flutter before they close without my permission.

Notes

This is my first fic! I hope you like it so far, it's a bit short but feel free to leave any comments and rate it. I'll be updating soon.
March on MCRmy <4