Chapter 3- Frank
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I’m back in my old bedroom. I turn around slowly, surveying my surroundings. Nothing’s changed. My posters are intact, my cd’s on their shelf. Pansy sits in her open case in my closet, the guitar’s white chrome gleaming. I hear a noise behind me, and spin around, alerted. On my bed, is…Me?
That’s not possible. How can I be here and there at the same time? His- no, my back is turned. I stride to my bed, full prepared to interrogate this imposter. I make a grab for his shoulder to jerk him around. But my hand goes right through his shoulder. As if I wasn’t even real, or here, or both. My eyes widen in surprise and frustration, and I peer over the other Frank’s shoulder. His right arm is shaking visibly as he holds a spoon over a lit candle placed precariously on a book. A spoonful of yellowish-white powder is starting to melt into a yellow tinted bubbling liquid. He grabs a syringe off his bedside table and quickly draws up the liquid into it. He blows out the candle, emitting a puff of smoke, and knocks the spoon to the floor in his haste. Oh. I know what’s coming next. God, how I’ve missed this.I settle beside the other Frank and watch as he double checks the strip of t-shirt tied tightly around his arm above the elbow, making sure it is in place. He slaps the injection site a few times lightly to produce more feeling in the area. I pantomime with him as he thrusts the needle into the delicate skin in his inner elbow, pretending my finger is the needle. He counts quietly to himself. 1, 2, 3…7, 8, 9….14, 15. We both tip our heads back in pleasure as the high begins to kick in, me only grasping on to the memory of the feeling of my heart speeding up and the blessed emptiness in my head. So this is a dream, a recounting of a memory from some days ago. Oh well, at least I got a good one. I watch the me- from -the -past start to ride his high. His eyebrows fly up his forehead to the point where they are covered by his hair and he gets a goofy, blissed out smile on his face. He falls backwards, eagle spread on his bed and lets the feeling wash over him. I sigh at the memory. Damn, that was such a good batch. I’d do anything to get my hands on more of that shit.
I watch my past-self feel the pleasure for a few minutes, when suddenly a tight knot of cold dread forms in the pit of my stomach. Oh, fuck. Maybe this isn’t such a good dream after all. Other Frank is oblivious, unaware that any second his life is going to be ripped apart at the seams and lit on fire. I start to shake in fear and scoot to the corner of my room, next to Pansy. I wrap my arms around my legs and curl up into a ball, eyes and ears trained on the door. Oh god, any second now. Please let me be wrong. Please.
A faint thudding is coming closer to the closed and locked door. The past Frank takes no notice, still wrapped up in his high. I desperately run over to him, trying to get his attention by any means necessary. I can’t touch him though.
I whisper to him violently, painfully aware of the thudding sound of footsteps coming closer. “Frank, you have to snap the fuck out of it. Hide the spoon and the syringe; cover up your track marks, now. There’s not much time before-”
But it’s too late. There is a sharp rap at the door and my father’s voice booms through the door. “Open up Franklin, it’s time to pray. Come downstairs.” I run and hide back in the corner, bracing myself for what I know the past me is going to stupidly say.
He rolls onto his stomach on the bed and groans, his voice muffled by the covers on the bed. “Fuck off, Dad. I’m busy.”There is a silence on the other side of the door, and I know my father is standing stock still. He laughs nervously, an edge to his voice. “What was that, young man? It sounded like a cuss word on the great day of our Lord. Open the door, Franklin.”
He groggily flips back over onto his stomach and yells at the door, “I said, fuck OFF, Dad. Go pray to your God by yourself.” Bad, bad, BAD move Frank. Meth has always taken my sense of self control. I can’t say that I hadn’t wanted to say that to him. But oh god, the consequences. There’s a reason I always tiptoed around my parents.
My father is silent, and the footsteps recede. Past me flops back down on his bed, stupidly believing that was the end of the discussion. Oh no, it certainly isn’t. Things are about to get a lot more physical. I cover my ears and shield my eyes from the memory unfolding in front of me, but the scrape of a key turning in my old bedroom door seems deafening. In moments, my father marches in, grabbing the other Frank by the collar of his t-shirt and bringing him mere centimeters away from my father’s beet red with anger face. I am now glad I can’t be heard or seen. He screams in my past self’s face, flicks of spittle landing on his now fully alert face. “HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT ME, YOU FILTHY SINNER? You dare to insult me, your caregiver and protector, with derogatory language on the day of our Lord? YOU DISGUST ME .”
The past Frank’s eyes are full of fear as he’s thrown on the ground, my father towering over him as he begins to shout bible verses down on Frank’s cowering form. “Deuteronomy 21:18-21,If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother, and, though they discipline him, will not listen to them, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his city at the gate of the place where he lives, and they shall say to the elders of his city, ‘This our son is stubborn and rebellious; he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton and a drunkard.’ Then all the men of the city shall stone him to death with stones. So you shall purge the evil from your midst, and all Israel shall hear, and fear.”
Frank tries to get away; to crawl past is father and exit, but no such luck. My father continues mercilessly, pressing his foot into the me from the past’s abdomen. Fuck, I still have a bruise there. “ ‘Proverbs 29:15. The rod and reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself brings shame to his mother.’ Do you want to shame your mother, Franklin? Do you?!?”
My father is almost hysterical now, pressing his shoe into Frank’s chest and screaming. My mother stands in the doorway, watching silently and grim faced. I begin to tear up silently, watching the horrible memory unfold.My father suddenly goes quiet as he bends down to look more closely at Frank’s arm, a small pinprick-sized droplet of blood on it. He pulls me to my feet, not being able to meet my eyes. He scans the room and immediately sees the partially melted candle, spoon, and used syringe on my old nightstand. The other Frank begins to panic, breath rising and falling from his chest shallowly, realizing what has happened.
“Father, I can explain, I was just-” He is silenced by my father grabbing the back of his shirt and lifting him up by it, choking and gasping for hair. My eyes begin to leak freely as I remember my impossibly fast heartbeat and the feeling of suffocation. My father speaks quietly, perfectly calm. “Franklin Anthony Thomas Iero Junior. Are you abusing illegal substances?” He looks at me, emotion vacant.
“Father, I was-” Frank chokes out, face turning red from lack of air. “WHAT SUBSTANCES ARE YOU TAKING.” My father screams. About to pass out from lack of oxygen, Frank gives in to my father. “M-meth.”
My father’s face contorts in anger and unmask-able rage as he quickly bounds over to my closet door, opens it, and throws me in. My body hits the wall so hard the wall cracks slightly. Past Frank screams in pain as he gasps for breath, falling over into a heap. I sob uncontrollably, remembering the feeling of pain and who caused it. My father, my childhood hero and protector, now turned into an unrecognizable monster. He slams the door shut with inhuman force and locks it. “REPENT FOR YOUR SINS, DEMON. YOU ARE NO LONGER ANY SON OF MINE.”
He sprints down the hallway, dragging my silent mother with him, silent tears running down her face. But she is not crying because her son is locked in his closet, forced to pray to the ceramic portrayal of Jesus, but because she has birthed and raised a sinner. A filthy, worthless sinner. I hate religion with all my heart. It has brought out the demons in my parents. Frank stands and goes to the wall hanging, taking it down and cradling it in his hand. I know this because I lived it only a few days ago. He smashes it against the wall, glazed clay scattering everywhere. I know my father is downstairs, I can hear him. He is calling up the nearest possible rehab, and sending me there as fast as he can. Both I and past frank curl up into a ball, sobbing hopelessly.

My father’s words replay in my head. ‘You are no longer any son of mine.’
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I am shaken awake by Ray. He waits until I am partly conscious, and then looks at me concernedly. “Frank, are you alright? You were talking in your sleep.”
I blink at him, realizing it was just a memory in a dream, and sigh. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry if I worried you.”
He looks relieved and sits back. “I’m not worried if you’re okay. You know you can talk to me about anything, right Frank? I won’t betray you.”
“I know.” I say shortly, leaving it at that.
He waits for me to say more, and when I don’t, hands me clothes to get dressed into. I say my thanks, and he turns around to give me privacy as I change into day clothes.When I’m finished, I tap him on the shoulder and he turns back around, offering me a hand up off of the bed.He pulls me into standing, and I walk towards the door, following him to my first session of group therapy.
“Ray?” I ask hesitantly. He turns around, “Yeah Frank?” “... You said I was talking in my sleep. What was I saying?” I ask quietly, already having an idea as to what I said.
He refuses to meet my eyes. He speaks softly. “You kept saying one word, over and over. ‘Repent.’ ”
I nod, tears springing to my eyes, and we walk in silence to the therapy room.

Notes

Sorry for the wait, I hope to get another chapter started tonight and i'll update tomorrow. Feedback is always appreciated!
(*Authors notes* I am not against religion, but the ugly portrayal of religion is necessary for the plot, please don't be offended. I am also sure that Frank Iero and Linda Iero are nothing like this in real life, characters personalities are completely fictional.)
Kthxbye!
XXX Mourning-Glory XXX