Not a Victim of a Victim's Life (Frerard)

Chapter One

Frank

I let my head slam onto the table, creating a loud thud in the quiet testing room. I instantly sat up, my hand trailing up to my forehead, feeling a bump and a sticky wet. Blood. I stood up and walked to the tissue box, wiping the the thick red juice from my brow. I looked around, sighing as all the kids in the room went back to their tests. I sauntered over to the teacher.

“Yes, Mr. Iero?” I kept myself from shivering at the cold, boring voice. I shifted as his grey eyes burrowed into mine. Just the homophobia at this school…...

“May I go to the bathroom please, Mr. Bordon?” I almost spit out the last three words. He turned back to whatever he was doing with a wave of his hand. Taking it as a cue to leave, I quickly walked out of the room, letting the door slam.

I made my way down the corridor to the bathrooms.

I walked into the dank room, my converse squeaking against the faded tiles. I always got paranoid when it came to public bathrooms, always expecting someone to jump out of one of the stalls.I looked in the cracked mirror above the sink. Damn. A bruise, followed with a medium gash, still dripping blood. I grabbed a wad of toilet paper from one of the stalls and wet it, flinching as the cold water touched my throbbing skin. I wiped the rest of the blood from my skull, leaving a bruised surface to deal with.

I went and stood on one of the toilets, hoisting myself onto the stall, reaching to a loose ceiling tile. I pushed it up, revealing a dusty plastic bag. I grabbed it, jumping down and running to the mirror. I pulled out the contents of the bag. I applied the foundation, letting it cover the bruise. I grinned and went to put the bag away. I heard the door slam open.

“Hey, look who we got here. It’s our little fag friend. What’re you doin’ here faggot?” He shoved me up against the stall door, making me drop my bag. He looked at the bag, then at me, and smiled. Not a friendly smile, but more a smirk, telling me that I was going to regret ever being born.

The jocks, Justin, and two of his friends. Justin hands me over to his pals and reaches for my bag, me whimpering as a sharp pain in the gut topples me over. He snatches the plastic Walmart bag and dumps the contents onto the floor. Then he starts laughing, a big booming laugh. Then he stands up, his face suddenly becomes serious, then another grin. He kicks the emergency makeup kit all over the bathroom floor.

“You poor, pathetic little faggot.” He punches me, first in the face, then in the gut, my foundation rubbing off onto his knuckles. Then he stands up. “Let’s go.” His friends drop me and they walk out, leaving me again to humiliating isolation. I look up and the hovering mirrors, tears welling up in my eyes at the face I see.

My body tenses up, my face becoming a frown, my mind and heart filling with hatred and anger. I cover my face with more of the cosmetic and walk out, ready for when they come back.

Notes

starts out kinda slow, srry please rate and w/ver