He's Not Dead He Only Looks That Way

Things don’t prove any better the succeeding day. At first, Frank believes that everyone forgot about him and Gerard, either that or got used to their relationship. However, he is rudely proved wrong after gym class.
Gym is the period before lunch, so Frank is taking his time showering and getting dressed. In fact, most of the boys are, emerging naked from the showers as the bell rings.
Frank is the last to come out, towel clinging to his wet hips and water dripping down his back. Stopping in front of his locker, he drops his towel, stepping into a striped pair of briefs.
It’s at that moment that he hears the locker room door open loudly. He initially brushes it off as nothing; boys frequent the locker room at all times of the day. It’s when he’s grabbing by the neck and shoved up against the locker that he starts to worry.
“Remember us, freak?” a voice growls in his ear.
Frank’s throat tightens, and he asks, in a small voice, “The… the guys from yesterday?”
“Be more specific, you fucking retard,” the boy spits.
“In… in the parking lot,” Frank recalls. “I… you guys gave me a wedgie.”
“Yeah, and then your asshole boyfriend Gerard came over and fucked everything up,” he snarls. “But we got him; we were beating that little shit’s ass into the ground. Then you… you had to fuck up everything.”
“What… what’d I do?” Frank stammers.
“Like you don’t remember.”
Frank struggles to recall what had actually happened. All he can retain is Gerard mentioning Frank hitting that kids head against the ground and swearing at him. As he strains to remember, the details begin to come into focus, the sound of his fists against the boy’s jaw, the sickly thump of his skull against the ground, the smell of blood on his hands…
“You gave him a concussion, y’know,” one of the boys speaks up. “You fucked him up bad, Iero.”
“I’m sorry, I really am,” Frank insists.
“Bullshit you are!” the main kid snaps, slamming Frank’s forehead against the locker.
Frank’s head begins to throb, and he resists the urge to press a palm to the pain in his skull.
“What are we going to do to you to level the playing field?”
“Eye for an eye,” another cuts in.
Frank screws his eyes shut. He’d rather take a wedgie at this point. “Fucking get it over with.”
“What was that, Frankie?” he sneers.
“Enough with the fucking suspense, what do you think this is, the Sixth Sense? Just do whatever you’re going to do,” Frank barks.
“Fair enough.”
Frank’s pried from the lockers, immediately having his arms pinned behind his back. He suddenly feels very exposed with his arms incapacitated and thighs bare, naked spare a thin piece of cloth. He is literally taking these boys on in nothing but his skivvies. He better get some sort of medal for this.
“Fuck you guys,” Frank curses. Craning his neck to search for help, he notices that everyone from his class has either left or is quietly watching.
The boy who must’ve been pinning Frank grins, punching him in the gut in a swift uppercut that knocks Frank up onto his tippy toes.
Frank’s shoulder is grabbed, rooting him to his spot as he is punched several more times in the stomach. He can see the skin getting red and swollen already.
He’s then hit in the nose, which makes him start to cry as the blood runs, pooling on his lower lip and chin. Another blow to the eye brings him quickly to his feet, despite one of the boy’s efforts to keep him standing.
Hunched over, clutching his face blindly, Frank is kicked harshly in the ribs, making him crash to his stomach. He rolls into a fetal position, ducking his head as he’s kicked by all of the boys.
“Beg us to stop, faggot,” one of them calls. “We’ll stop when you whine for it.”
Frank does no such thing, sobbing as he’s kicked over and over.
“Fucking beg for it, pussy,” another curses, kicking Frank in the side of the head. Frank yelps, further curling into a ball.
“He won’t,” another scoffs, giving up. “Fuck you, Iero.”
“Tell Gerard we said hi,” another chimes in, also ceasing.
The last boy delivers a few more kicks to Frank’s side, then balling up Frank’s clothes, which had been sitting folded on a nearby bench the entire time. Taking his garments with him, he drops them a ways down the hall, whilst another boy empties the trash over Frank.
Frank slowly climbs to his feet, realizing he’s totally alone in the large room. He’s still crying, but not as a physical consequence of his injuries. He strides over to the sink, where he washes the blood from his face, noting that his eye refuses to open fully.
He wraps a towel around his waist and faces his problem head on, limping slightly into the hallway to collect his clothes. Only a few teens spot him from inside the cafeteria, and he hobbles as quickly as he can back into the locker room to get dressed.
He’s so late to lunch that everyone’s already been served, so he opts not to eat. Gerard insists that Frank take some of his food, but Frank declines, replying, “I’m not hungry.”
Gerard frowns, sighing, “Look, do you want to stay home from school tomorrow? I mean, I know tomorrow’s Friday and all but, the way things are going, you might not make it to the party.”
Frank nods. “That’d probably be best.”
“Who did this?” Gerard demands. “Was it the assholes from the parking lot?”
“Gerard, don’t worry about it,” Frank begs. “Please? It’s not worth it.”
“I’m fucking walking you to the car,” Gerard grumbles. “I’ll meet you at your locker, okay?”
“Alright.”
Gerard sticks to his promise, practically escorting Frank out to his car. Once inside, they’re sure to lock the doors. They head out, and Frank finds himself angry, pissed off at those teens for making a fool out of him, humiliating him not only in the parking lot, but also in the locker room. He knows that Derek is the indirect cause of all of this, and he’s counting down the hours until he finally gets his.

Notes

Thanks so much for reading!! Please comment, rate, and subscribe!