Not Good Enough

Frank's POV


Frank waved goodbye to Gerard and stepped out into the night air, smiling to himself. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad. He strolled along the sidewalk, humming to himself. Things would get better, he could feel it.

But as if the universe wanted to prove him wrong, a car pulled up by the sidewalk, creeping along at walking pace beside him. He looked over, seeing it was full of drunk straight guys from his school.

"Heyyy is that Francine? Hey girl wanna come back to my place?"

Frank ignored them, keeping his head down and continuing towards his house.

"Come on babe this is a once in a lifetime offer. I'll fuck you so hard you can't stand."

"I'll pass." Frank muttered to himself.

"Well fuck you, slut, I didn't want it anyways!" The guy's drunk buddies all laughed and the car sped away, but not before one of them chucked an empty bottle at Frank. He stepped aside and it shattered on the sidewalk beside him.

He stood there for a few minutes, glaring at the spot where the car had disappeared from view, fists balled up and teeth clenched in anger. Fucking assholes! He hated his classmates so fucking much.

Finally he snapped out of his trance and kicked at the glass shards on the sidewalk before heading home.

As soon as he got in the front door of his house he ran up to his room, slamming the door behind him and locking it.

Even though he knew he shouldn't let them, those comments were really getting to him. He wasn't a fucking girl, was that so hard to understand? He suppressed the urge to scream and tripped over nothing in his haste to put some music on. He chose a random song, and 30 Seconds To Mars came on. Close enough. He could feel tears coming on and flopped down on his bed, sobbing quietly. He was never going to be right. His body was never going to be fixed. He was never going to have a dick, nice narrow hips, a deep voice, fucking nothing. It was funny how quickly his thoughts jumped to suicide whenever he stopped blocking thoughts of his body out of his mind. But no, he didn't have the guts...but he did have the guts to do something a little less drastic. Hopefully his family was downstairs ignoring him as usual. He got up, pausing his music, and slipped through the hall to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He thought he could his hear his mom calling him as he made his way to the drawer that held his blades but he didn't care, until he opened the drawer.

"...the fuck?" He mumbled to himself, frowning. The drawer was empty except for a note that simply read:

'Come downstairs and talk :) -mom'

His eyes widened and he could feel more and more tears coming until he couldn't see the paper in front of him. The sound of his mom calling him got louder and he could hear her footsteps on the stairs. He quickly wiped his eyes, slipping out of the bathroom and back into his own room, locking it securely.

This was bad. This was really bad. If this 'talk' went south, he would spend the whole night trying to sleep while his parents tried to break down his door with their fists and sickly sweet words of wisdom. He ran his fingers through his hair, desperately trying to think. He could...he could go to Gerard's? Maybe? Would Gerard be okay with that? He quickly realized it didn't matter. That would probably be his only option. He took a deep breath, stuffing his school backpack with some extra clothes, his hairbrush, and whatever else he could find that he might need, then opened his window, tossing it down by a tree in his front yard.

Suddenly there was a loud knock at his bedroom door and he quietly shut the window, going to unlock the door.

"Francine, sweetie, come out and talk." He could see right past his mom's fake smile, especially given her iron grip on the door, keeping him from shutting it on her.

"...kay." He slunk out of his room, following her down into the living room, where his dad was seated in his favorite armchair. Judging from past experiences, his dad was going to sit in that chair and not say a word until Frank tried to leave. Then he'd try to make him sit back down with force.

"Francine, honey, what are these?" His mom held up a plastic baggie with his razors. He tried to see if he'd left any blood on any of them. Fuck, he had. He cursed himself for not being more careful about cleaning them.

"They're razor blades." He answered simply as if the answer was obvious.

"And why is there blood on them?"

"How am I supposed to know?" He studied his torn Converse intently. This was bad, this was really bad.

"Well, we didn't put it there."

When Frank didn't answer she continued to speak.

"Frank, I'm not an idiot. I know what teens these days are doing!"

"Well then, what are 'us teens' up to 'these days'?" He scowled at the ground.

His mom's smile flattered for a second. "They're...they're cutting their wrists!"

Ouch, way to put it bluntly, mom. "Yeah, so?"

"Frank all the signs are here. Just admit it."

"And why would you care?"

"I knew it!"

"What, you want a fucking prize?" He grumbled, kicking at the ground.

"Francine Antoinette Iero we do not use that word in this house!"

"Well too bad!" Frank was surprised at himself, but he was really just so sick of their shit. "It's time you've heard it! You're shitty parents who tried to raise a son like a daughter. And you've ended up losing both of them because she doesn't exist and you don't mean a thing to him!" He screamed at them, immediately realizing his mistake and turning on his heel, running out the front door. Fortunately his dad seemed too shocked to follow him so he quickly gathered up his backpack and headed to Gerard's house.

Notes

I really have no clue where this thing is going anymore I'm kind of just letting it do it's thing.