25 Reasons Why I Hate You

„Keep it down,“ Frank half-heartedly yells when he passes by Lindsey and Gerard passionately talking about something. Or, well, yelling about something. Really intensely.
But he's not the only one that's caught on to that, because everyone seems to be looking at them and whispering. Frank doesn't really get what's that interesting about them, but he lets it go as he needs to be home soon or his mom is going to kill him.

He's about halfway there when he bumps into Jepha.

„Frankie, my man!“ Jepha yells from behind him, and Frank really, really doesn't want to turn around, just in case Bert is there with him, but he doesn't want to be rude, anyway. Jepha is actually kind of nice when he's all alone, without Bert or Quinn to whom he always has to show off. Quinn is actually kind of nice, too, now that Frank thinks about it. Maybe it's just something about Bert.

„Jepha! Long time, no see,“ he grins and is very surprised to be pulled into a bone crushing hug. Sure, he knows Jepha is an extremely touchy feely guy, but he figured that's one of the things he fakes when he's hanging out with Bert. Must be a character trait, then.

„How are you, little guy?“ Jepha teases and Frank swats at him, missing colossally but getting the point across. „Sorry, I mean little man.“ He grins and this time Frank actually hits him on the chest.

„I hate you,“ he smiles. “What brings you here?“

„Well, I was passing by and saw the shortest little person walking down the street, shuffling his sneakers down the sidewalk and I thought, who other than little Frankie Iero?“ Jepha ruffles Frank's hair and Frank huffs in annoyance.

„I seriously hate you,“ Frank adds, just to remind him. Jepha only smiles in response.

„That's part of my charm,“ he winks. „So, listen, there's this party tomorrow, my place? My dad is totally okay with it, he's pretty chill, I have permission and all that, but he promised he'd be out of the house sometime after I come back from school. Anyhow, I know you're not on good terms with Bert, per say, and trust me, I know he can be a brat sometimes-“ Frank scoffs, „- okay, most of the time, but there's gonna be booze and cigarettes and Quinn guaranties he will bring some weed along! You in? You won't forget it, I swear.“

Frank barely has time to nod before Jepha is crushing him in another hug.

„So, okay, have you heard about the happy couple?“ Jepha wiggles his eyebrows once he is fully detached from Frank and they are both sitting on the sidewalk, watching random cars pass by and sitting in front of someone's house, but like they care, seriously.

Frank shakes his head in response.

„Apparently, Bert and Gerard got together this Saturday.“

That's all Frank needs to hear before he's throwing up his barely existing lunch. All over Jepha's shoes.

*
„Honey, how was school?“ Frank grunts out a response to his mother because he really isn't in the mood for talking right now. He is also leaning against Jepha who offered to take him home, even though Frank refused to tell him what's wrong. Frank would also thank Jepha for doing this, but he might throw up again if he opens his mouth.

„Honey? What's wro-“ his mom cuts herself off when she comes out of the kitchen. „Oh, honey, what happened? And who is this lovely young man?“

His mom smiles at Jepha, Jepha smiles at Frank's mom and Frank feels like he might throw up again.

„Jepha,“ he breathes out when he is sure he won't projectile vomit everywhere as soon as he opens his mouth. „Can he stay for a bit? School buddy, biology test, need to study.“ Frank randomly selects a lie off of his long, long list (and unintentionally rhymes) but his mom buys it and watches them go up the stairs, then smiles deviously, which Frank catches in the corner of his eye and then she winks at him, and seriously, ew, as if he would ever.

Not that Jepha is not attractive. Mind you, he is- he's got nice hair, and nice tattoos and Frank likes his voice, but they're only friends, even though Frank would do him if he asked. Which doesn't really mean anything, since Frank's standards are not very high.

*

The next day at school is Hell. More so than other days of school.

Frank walks through the door and everyone is whispering and pointing and giggling at Gerard who is hiding behind Lindsey. Frank clicks his teeth, and thinks, what a coward, can't even deal with his own actions.

Bert looks as smug as ever, which is not that new, but he looks proud and he's glowing. Like Edward Cullen in Twillight, but gayer. Which Frank didn't think was possible, but hey, you learn something new every day, right?

*

Over time, seeing Frank also obviously becomes a giggling matter for anyone who sees him. Like, because it's sooo funny, because everyone knows about his „crush“ and now that is ruined, ha ha ha. Frank is not laughing.

Frank is close to crying, actually, because he's been called a fag before and he's been beaten up and he was stuffed in lockers and he can reassure you that nothing, nothing hurt like it did when Bert put his arm around Gerard and kissed his neck.

That was all Frank needed before he ran to the bathroom, and, well, here he is.

„You're pathetic,“ he tells his own reflection, voice wavering pathetically and, well, that just proves the point, „Miserable. Childish. Ugh.“
He punches the wall with his fist, as hard as he can, and regrets it about 2 seconds after that.

„Motherfucking cocksucker!“ he shouts, and now he's drawing attention to himself , but what the fuck ever because everyone is in class and if a teacher wants to deal with him right now, god save their bastard soul. „Fucking shit,“ he adds quietly, rubbing at his knuckles that are getting redder by the minute.

Fucking hell if he's gonna go to the nurse and explain the situation. He's been there many, many times and he knows there will be questions asked, and he's not exactly sure how to say 'I punched a wall and I think I broke my hand because it's bleeding and the knuckles are swollen are red, why, you might ask? because I'm a pathetic loser' without sounding like a, well.. pathetic loser.

He vaguely remembers Jepha telling him he has Biology somewhere around this time of the day and hopes the odds are in his favor today.

*

Evidently, it isn't, because Frank spends about 10 minutes jumping in front of the Biology classroom door, trying to get Jepha's attention.

He eventually gives up and just knocks on the door, hoping the teacher doesn't hear. Which, in retrospective, was a bad idea because now the teacher is coming for him. Like, seriously.

Frank hears him say something to the class and sees the figure bolting for the door, so he does the only thing that comes to mind at the moment; he opens the door to the Janitor's closet.

*

After 10 minutes, he concludes it's safe now, because the teacher stopped walking around and went back into the classroom.

Frank opens the door gently and walks up to the classroom once again. By now, the anger is mostly gone but his hand is still a bitch and he thinks he might cry if he doesn't get away soon.

Then he sees Jepha fiddling with his phone, and wants to punch a wall again, because, seriously, God. Frank really, really picked the wrong time to forget which century they live in.

from: me
to: Jeph

asshole. here's an interesting question; do u ever look out the window whilst in biology? or, hm, idk, maybe A DOOR. i'm wasting precious time on u. get out here

Jepha looks confused as he reads the message, Frank notes. He looks out of the window, back to the phone, then out the door, back to the phone again and then his eyes widen in realisation and Frank just slaps his own forehead.

When Jepha finally gets out, Frank slaps his forehead too and then Jepha sees Frank's hand and proceeds to freak out.

„Dude, what in the name of holy Hell did you do?“ He raises an eyebrow and Frank shrugs. Jepha sighs and puts Frank's hand down. „Well, if you don't want to tell me, I highly doubt you'd be willing to tell the nurse.“

Frank makes a face and Jepha just nods. „Exactly what I thought. C'mon, lover boy, I'm taking you home.“

*

„Jeph? Why are you home so early?“ Jepha's dad stands up from the couch as soon as he hears the door open and Jepha and Frank appear in the doorway. Frank looks around; it's a nice, clean, well-maintained house, which is weird because he knows Jepha only lives with his dad, but you know, fuck gender stereotypes, right?

„Hey dad, this is Frank. You know Frank, right?“ Jepha sits Frank down on the couch and goes to the kitchen, leaving Frank making awkward eye contact with the older man.

„The little Iero boy? I have heard of him,“ he smiles warmly and Frank is really glad he's not the type of guy who shakes hands because his hand is kind of trashed right now. Not a pretty sight.

„Yeah, so we'll be up in my room, yeah? Don't disturb,“ Jepha shouts when they're already halfway up the stairs, clutching an ice package in his hand and walking behind Frank, like Frank knows where the crap he's supposed to be going. If Frank was Jepha's dad, he'd most certainly think Jepha was gonna get lucky. Yeah, not happening.

Jepha leads him into his room, and, okay, cool, locks the door, sits down on the bed, pats the spot next to him, and when Frank sits down, presses the ice against his knuckles, and, blatantly ignoring Frank's hiss, says, „Okay, hobbit, spill.“

And Frank does.

*

Frank Iero doesn't get drunk.

He doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke, he definitely does not get high, and not with Bert Mc-fucking-cracken in the other room, probably making out with fucking Gerard or something.

Except for how he totally does, and it is what he is currently doing and he's already forgetting about his pain in the ass hand that is buckling because this is his fifth bottle of— what, vodka? wine? he's too drunk to even read it, let alone feel the shape of the bottle, and he is out of his mind right now.

So when he bumps into Bert, it is bound to end badly for at least one of them.

„What do you want?“ Frank slurs around his words, resisting the urge to take another swing from the bottle.

„Just wanted to see how pathetic you'd get,“ Bert smirks and drinks from his own red cup. „Heard you were gonna be here, so I stopped to see just how fucked up you would get over my boyfriend.“

Frank's blood freezes and he clenches his fist. Which, ow, bad idea, because his motherfucking hand is still really, really sore.

Bert sees Frank wince, un-fucking-fortunately, and trails his look all over Frank's body until he settles on his fist, and smirks.

„Oh? Did the baby throw a tantrum because nobody wants him? Poor wittle Frank Iero, nobody wants him around, not even his best friend.“

Bert's words hit Frank like a thousand bricks all at once and he realizes that he's not even wrong- it's true, Frank lost the one person he always wanted around him. And to who did he lose him to? To, to this guy, this god damn awful son of a bitch, who is still somehow better than Frank, for reasons unknown to the fucking (hu)mankind.

„Shut up,“ Frank whispers, but he knows Bert's not gonna stop, not until Frank cries or runs away or what the fuck ever- he just wants a reaction, and he's damn close to getting one.

„No, no- you know it's true, anyway. So here's a little news flash; why do you think your nice little b.f.f. Lindsey hangs out with Gerard now, and doesn't really pay attention to you anymore? Because she doesn't care- because you're a whiny little emo who slashed his wrists when his best friend left him, because obviously that's the best way to deal with things. Yes, I know all about your little self harm problem, you weak ass punk. You always think you're better than me, you know? But you're just a no-good, weak fag and it's about time someone said that to your face. You're a problem- a parasite, a virus, is what you are. Look around, why do you think people are nice to you? Out of pity. You're short, you're vulnerable, you're absolutely laughable, but there are still people who will be nice to you, because you're a kid and you're afraid to grow up. You'd be better off dead anyway, because you don't know how to deal with life and you'll cut yourself over my words but, hey, here's some advice- Nobody. Fucking. Cares. About. You. Welcome to the real world, Frank- we don't want you, we don't need you. Jepha doesn't, Lindsey doesn't, Gerard doesn't. Get over yourself.“

Frank has tears streaming down his cheeks by the time Bert is done talking. Gerard doesn't want you, Gerard doesn't need you, you're a problem, you're better off dead, Frank thinks before he's running away and he wants to tell Bert to go fuck himself one last time but by the time the thought reaches him, he's already edging closer towards the bridge.

*

Frank shuffles his sneakers along the edge and watches the dust fall down into the water. He's not exactly sure he can see it, but he knows it's there and it's happening.

He traces the edge of the bridge tentatively, but he's not changing his mind- this is it, this is the end, and he never thought it'd end like that, you know?

Usually, people leave a note. To the people they love the most, or the people who they are loved by the most, but Frank doesn't really think those people exist. Mom and dad, maybe. They will probably search through his room though, and he's got plenty letter there, so they'll be alright- they'll be fine, he's leaving no pain behind him, he's not chained to anyone anymore.

He briefly thinks about just letting go- just flying for a bit, and then crashing into the water and letting himself drown; inhaling the water, filling his nose and his lungs and emptying his mind, but it just doesn't feel right.

He takes out the pocket knife his dad gave him when he was 6 („You'll grow up to be a man someday, and you'll need this. It'll come in handy, promise,“) and twists it around in his hands, looking at the carved-in initials, F.I.

Frank sighs and decides, what the fuck ever, he'll be dead anyway, and slashes a cut across his wrist. It burns, it burns so good- it's not deep, it's not enough to break a vain, but he needs this, and he does it again, and again, and again, and again and a thousand times more, and then, even in his drunk state of mind he can make out the red liquid that is dripping down into the water.

He doesn't have the strength to do it to his other wrist, he just does one more on the left one and sets the knife down. The blade is coated in a thick layer of blood, hiding the initials and dripping down the handle.

He's about to let go- this is the moment where he thinks, fuck it, there's nothing else to lose- when two arms wrap around his chest; and they're tight, and uncomfortable, but they are exactly what he needed in this sterile, emotionless moment, and it's all he needs before he is being pulled over the railing and into the person's arms, sobbing loudly.

„Frank?“ he recognizes the voice as Ville's, and that only makes him cry more- because of course it had to be a friend, of course the only person to know about this couldn't have been a stranger. „Hey, can you hear me? You're losing a lot of blood, mate, I think we need to get you to the hospital,“ Frank whimpers and shakes his head frantically, „Or, okay, okay, we'll figure something out, just, we need to stop the bleeding, okay? Don't pass out on me, now, let me just-“ and that's all Frank remembers before his head starts buzzing and he can't hear Ville anymore, though he sees him so he's not passing out- he just feels like he's floating, like he doesn't exist as a person, rather just a force or an entity or what the fuck ever.

He gets his hearing back completely when they reach Ville's house, and of course he lives by the bridge because every God in this universe hates Frank. He's feeling mildly better- he's still under heavy influence of alcohol and a good looking guy is carrying him, what more can you ask for? Other than not bleeding wrists, but hey, you don't tap a horse gift on the back. Or something like that.

„Jesse? Jesse, please, for the love of God, help!“ Ville shouts as he kicks the door open, carrying Frank bridal style, and it would be funny, except for how it isn't. At all.

„Huh? What are you- Voi luoja, mitä vittua?!“ Must be a Finnish thing, Frank thinks to himself before he's got a face-full of hot dudes who just look really worried, what with their frowns and all.

„Hey, no need to worry, hot dudes, Frank is good, Frank is a-okay, man,“ he slurs and the two brothers exchange worried looks, and Ville sets him down on the couch.

„Frank seems to be a little out of it, don't you think?“ He smiles warily and then Jesse is back with towels and shit, so Frank just closes his eyes and smiles.

„Maybe a little.“

*

Honestly, his intention wasn't kissing Ville.

You don't kiss people when you're crying, you don't kiss people when your wrists feel like they've been violated fifty times in a row, you especially don't kiss people by talking about wanting to kiss other people.

But it happened, and Frank isn't sure what it is- desperation, being miserable, needing comfort- one of those things, but he is absolutely sure Ville is going to kick him out of the house and tell Gerard and the whole school or whatever.

What he isn't expecting, though, is for Ville to pull away gently and stroke Frank's shoulder.

„Hey, easy there, Tiger, I'm not sure I'm the right person for that,“ he smiles softly and hugs Frank, who just continues sobbing and apologizing and whatever else he's been doing for the last 30 minutes.

Notes

Well.. That was an adventure.

3000 words, also, W O W. I never thought I was capable of that.

Also check out all those song slash music references. I don't know if you can find them, I don't even remember most of them, but hey, I believe they are there.

Shout out to Google for teaching me all about Finnish profanities. Immensely grateful.

Still hope y'all don't hate me after this. Sigh.

ALSO, FUCKING SHITTIEST SUICIDE DESCRIPTION, SERIOUSLY.

-Rogue