Chapter 14

Gerard/Frank

Gerard

Frank and I haven’t spent much time together for a few days after that art class due to all sorts of tests Frank has to do at the Monroeville County Hospital. I think it’s to make sure he’s detoxing correctly. I spend the majority of my time holed up in the art room drawing and sketching with the shitty supplies to keep my mind off the absence of my boyfriend.
I draw everything. I draw the way Ray’s eyes crinkled when he smiled. I draw my arm, in all it’s disgusting pockmarked glory. I draw the artificial light that seeps under the cracks of my room’s door at night when I should be sleeping but my head is too filled with white noise to slumber. I draw Officer Peterson’s car driving off a cliff. I draw Lindsey’s smirk and her fingers clutching my pillow, about to throw it back to me. I draw what I imagined Ray’s friend Nia would have looked like. I draw her smiling and alive, and I draw her bleeding and dead. I draw myself as the monster, for we are one and the same.
But most of all I draw Frankie. His hazel eyes that held so much pain, but also hid happiness in their shining. His perfect cracked and pink lips that taste like the smell of rain and his wintergreen toothpaste. His head thrown back, pale neck exposed and mouth open in ecstasy from that day that the events of still cause my face to heat up. His hands, slightly smaller than mine and fingers just as slender.
My thoughts tend to wander as I illustrate the random moments in my life back to my life after leaving Bert but before ending up here. My period of nothingness, of limbo, of floating without purpose. Not that I’ve ever had a fucking purpose to begin with anyways. It’s mostly a haze of heroin with vague brick walls of alleyways I slept in interspersed, but there is one night that I can clearly remember.
It must have been a few weeks...or was it months? It doesn’t fucking matter. It had been a while since I had left Bert and they days and nights had started to bleed together into one big, uncaring sob story. I had gone to a different dealer, anyone but Bert for my fix, and… no. No. NO. Get the fuck out of my head. The past is done.
I shake my head, as if that will clear my repressed memories, and push my chair back with a jerk of my legs as I stand up. I bend my knees a few times to unstiffen them from their bent up position and gather my strewn papers. Confident all my illustrated secrets are gathered safely in my arms, I walk out of the art room.
After putting my drawings into the growing pile of papers under my bed, I sit on my bed and lean my head against the wall.I stare at the stains on the ceiling for a while, trying to form animals and shapes out of them like a child with clouds. Growing bored, I turn and knock on the wall behind me, calling out softly, “Frankie, are you there? It’s me. Gerard, I mean.”
Well of course it would be you, you idiot. Who else would be in this fucking room? You sound pathetic. I wait for a reply, but am met with silence through the thin wall. He’s not there. I throw myself down on the bed with a dramatic sigh, absentmindedly scratching at my gross forearm. Realizing that I probably shouldn't be irritating it more, I push myself to my feel and stride out of the room, trying to escape my own bored and warped mind.
I wander around absently, not having anything or anyone to do. Hahaha. So fucking funny. Not.
I ride up and down in the elevator for a few minutes, before slumping to the floor in the corner and letting the elevator take me with it’s commands from other patients with an actual destination. I ride in awkward silence with other people I might have seen in group therapy, or the cafeteria at some point, to different levels of the building. I eventually slink out after someone on the floor that I think is mine, ground floor, and meander to the bathroom. Maybe I’ll be able to get high sniffing hand soap. Eh, it’s something to pass the time.
I splash water on my face, trying to distract myself. I study my face, practicing smiles. Mikey always said I never smiled enough. They all turn to grimaces and I blow my hair out of my vision angrily. It falls back in my eyes, and I resolve myself to get a hold of some scissors and tame the fucking black mess obscuring most of my face. I plant my face in my hands, just annoyed with everything at this point.
There is a creak behind me, and I glance backwards to see what made the noise.
My eyes connect with those eyes. Light green. His search mine for a second, and then are filled with anger and spite. I spin around to try to back away, only to be reminded that there is a sink behind me and I can’t. My heartbeat speeds up exponentially, and I start to breathe rapidly.

Bert.

He is close to me, far too close in a short moment, and his hand brushes the hair out of my face, an oddly tender gesture that clashes horribly with his face twisted with malice.
“You. It was you who fucking tipped them off, wasn’t it? It’s your fault I’m stuck in this shithole,” He hisses at me.
His few inches height advantage now seems like he’s feet, miles taller. I walk sideways, but it’s the wrong way, because I end up pressing myself into the corner of the bathroom. I can’t look away from his eyes burning with anger. His hands are on either side of my shoulders, blocking my escape and trapping me in. I turn my face away, trying to block him out of my mind and vision, but I can feel a bony knee stab me in the stomach and one of his hands grabs my chin to make my face him, fingernails digging in roughly to my skin.
Tears form in my widened eyes, and he spits his words in my face, “I’m gonna kill you, I swear to fucking god. Someone gave the cops an anonymous tip where I was living. They took it all, my entire stash. My whole fucking business, Gone!”
He digs his knee farther into my stomach and I yelp in pain. I try to get words out, but I can’t. Memories from the last time something like this happened are resurfacing. “And I used that shit too. Where the fuck am I gonna get my high? That was nine hundred fucking dollars, Gerard. This is your fucking fault and you’re gonna pay, bitch.”
He is silent for a second, and I stupidly hope he is going to leave with just that warning, but he speaks again, a blood curdling smile forming on his face, “You know you never did pay me for your last fix…” He trails off and looks me up and down lustfully.
A red hot ball of fear lights in the pit of my stomach and I find my voice finally. “I didn’t tip anyone off about your dealing, let the fuck go of m-” It sounds shaky and weak and I am silenced by Bert’s hand around my throat, cutting off my air.
“Shut the fuck up!” He says roughly, slamming me harder against the wall. My head hits against the wall with a sickening crack sound and I am gone, crying. No, sobbing. It’s just like the last time this happened. He unzips his pants and I black out in horror, completely gone in the flashback.

Couldn’t pay Bert’s prices.
Looked around, found a new dealer, cheaper high.
He found out.
Angry.
Dependent.
Slammed against a wall.
Kicked.
Kicked all over.
Crying.
Sobbing.
Screaming out.
Slapped.
Gagged.
Struggling.
Breaking free.
Running.
Caught.
Dragged into alley.
Thrown down.
His boot on my chest.
Pants unzipped.
“Suck”.
Recoiling.
Slapped with his….
“SUCK”.
Crying.
Sucking.
Licking.
“Please, just beat me up”.
“No”.
Hand in my hair, pulling me forward.
Choking.
Gagging.
Thrown back.
Flipped over.
Crying.
Kicking out.
Can’t stay still.
Clawing at the wall before me.
Trying to get leverage.
To get up.
To run.
Didn’t work.
He unzips.
…
Pain.
White hot pain.
Screaming.
Fingers, a hand in my mouth.
Keeping me quiet.
Thrust.
No.
Thrust.
Stop.
Thrust.
Help.
Thrust.
Bleeding.
Thrust.
Crying.
Thrust.
Humiliation.
“Fuck, so tight.”
Thrust.
Rough.
Thrust.
Sobbing.
Thrust.
Why.
Thrust.
Why me?
Thrust.
Kill me, please.
Thrust.
Thrust.
Thrust.
…
*Spurt*
…


Frank

Finally, they let me out of that fucking hospital. If I see another fucking IV strip today, I’m going postal. I card a hand through my disheveled hair and try and find my way through the mess of nondescript hallways in this rehab to an area I’m familiar with. I duck my head into the art room, expecting to find Gerard hunched over a sketch in the corner. I am only met with an empty room and silence, so I go to the hallway mine and Gee’s rooms are located and knock on his door. After being greeted by silence again, I frown and rest my head against the door. If I were a cute, emotionally damaged, drug addict artist and overall dork where would I be? I find no answer sent down by the heavens so I wander around some more, looking for my boyfriend.
Passing by the bathrooms on the east wing of this floor, I hear a crack and a muffled cry coming from the men’s bathroom. I am a bit hesitant to check the source of it, because I know that checking mysterious noises in a rehab surrounded by hundreds of mentally unstable addicts is a definite no-no. But my curiosity and concern wins out, and I push open the door.
At first I don’t understand what I’m looking at. There is a figure hunched over in the corner and a man pinning him down, and I think that I’ve walked in on a couple doing something I shouldn’t have seen. But I soon realize the man pinned down is being choked and has seemed to pass out. And his hazel eyes are wide in fear and pain. I’d recognize that shade of hazel anywhere. Oh my god, Gerard!
It only takes me a second to realize what is happening here, and my heart races with fear. I look around for something, anything to stop this guy. My eye is drawn to the light glinting off an empty toilet roll hanger in the second stall, and I rush to grab it. It takes me mere seconds to unscrew the aluminum holder, but each second seems like hours because I know that only a few feet away the man I love is being violated by some scumbag.
I finally detach the metal bar and without thinking smack Gerard’s violator repeatedly as hard as I can in the head with it. He falls to the ground, unconscious. Gerard seems to awaken from his state of immobilization and slides down the wall, shaking violently. I kick the violator aside distractedly, too worried about Gerard. I crouch down next to him, stroking his face gently. He looks at me with wild eyes, and starts to cry. He is crying with no reservations whatsoever, like a baby. The sight breaks my heart, and I slowly pull him into a hug. My movements are all cautious and slow, because I honestly can’t tell if he is looking at me or looking through me.
I feel his arms hesitantly snake around me, and i tighten my grip on him and smooth his hair with my hand, whispering calming nonsense into his ear. “Shh, baby, everything’s alright, he’s gone, I won’t let him hurt you, I love you, so much, it’s okay Gerard, this is me, this is Frank. I’m so sorry this happened, I should have gotten here faster. Everything’s fine now...”
His crying slowly subsides, and he pulls away from my embrace. I kiss him on the cheek, and his eyes finally seem to register that I’m in front of him. He is silent, his eyes searching mine.
“Th-thank you,” He whispers. The horribleness of this whole scene is too much for me and I have to bite my lip hard enough to draw blood to refrain from crying. I lick the blood off my lip and glance at the still unconscious man laying on the ground. I can see his face now, and it is long and narrow with stubble peppering his chin and jaw. His long black hair is tangled.
I sit across from the obviously deeply traumatized Gerard, not wanting to push conversation until he recovers more. After a long silence, he speaks without prompting. “That’s Bert,” He says in a shaky and cracked voice.
White hot hatred bubbles up and rises within me. Gerard must see this in my face, because he puts his hand on my knee. “Don’t,” He croaks out, as if reading my violent thoughts.
I pull him into another hug, feeling his heart beat against my chest, reminding me he is still alive. He weakly hugs me back, and I realize how scared and weak he must be feeling. I whisper into his ear, “Let’s get you back to somewhere he can’t touch you, okay?” He nods slightly. I sit next to him with my back against the wall and put his arm over my shoulders, using the wall to awkwardly bring the both of us to our feet. I fill a paper cup laying by the sink with water and grab some paper towels, stuffing them into my pockets with the intention of cleaning up Gee as soon as we are safely in his room. I let him prop himself up against the counter as I do this. I button his pants back up too, fighting the urge to smash Bert’s skull in.
I resume my position as his crutch and we slowly make our way out of the bathroom. Just before the door closes behind us, I glance back to where Gerard as fallen to the ground. My eyes burn and start to fill with tears.

Just as I expected. A puddle of blood and what looks to be semen.

Notes

This is horrible. This is disgusting. I hate myself, and I am so sorry.
I don't like writing my hero getting raped twice on the same chapter at all. I'm sorry.
TRIGGERTRIGGERTRIGGERTRIGGERTRIGGER in general.
This is a dark story.
I have nothing against bert mccracken irl, i'm sure he's lovely and would never do this .

on a side note, ive been going through a very dark time recently.
Like silently sobbing to the song how to save a life by the fray at 3 am and wondering how i got so low.
trying not to relapse into self harm. i want to cut. so bad.
4 months. almost 5.
kthnks bye,
XXX Mourning-Glory XXX