Hail of Bullets
Part 2
“We will be allowed inside, won’t we? What do you think will be our prize in capturing him?” Travis says. Jake chuckles.
“We’d be allowed.” Jake murmurs. “And I hope something good. Also, we’d definitely be allowed in with HIM.”
“You think I can’t hear you, well I can. Why does he want me so much?” I growl, glaring icily at them both. They don’t say anything; just exchange a knowing look with each other. They creak open the front door and I take in the surroundings as they quickly show me around. I see an exceedingly tall ceiling. Crown moulding, a table in the centre, which is made from clearly the finest of woods, there is two flights of spiral staircases going up to the second floor and there are probably more going up to more floors, the ground is ceramic tile. There are expensive items all over the place. The kitchen is quite nice. The counter top is marble. And there are at least eight bedrooms, and obviously more, clearly for his servants.
“You will soon know what servants’ rooms look like, so no need to show you them,” Jake sniggers. I shake my head, wishing I’m somewhere else, despite how beautiful this place is. “We’ll take you to Sir’s room now.”
I think they’re going to take me to a staircase – which will be a mountain to climb as Frank’s room is most probably on the top floor – however, they don’t. They swerve slightly from the staircase and to these fine metal doors. An elevator. I would say I’m lucky; however, I’m really not. We all step inside the elevator; it’s a spacious and large elevator. It only jolts a single time as it begins to fly up, rapidly. The bell dings and the two automatic doors slither open. My legs wobble a little bit as the men keep on barging my shoulders, therefore, I would move forwards. What would Frank look like? I take in deep breaths, and finally we meet a vast, arched doorway with a grand, frowning knocker on. Travis’ hand reaches up and he knocks once.
“Who is it?” A smooth New Jersey accent queries. New Jersey. Frank comes from where I come from.
“Travis and Jake,” Travis answers.
“Is that it?” The voice replies, as if he’s expecting someone else.
“And… Gerard Way,” Travis mumbles, quietly. It’s like he doesn’t want me to hear. Wait – how do they all know my name? My face scrunches up at this.
“Good. You may enter,”
I stare at the pretty tiled floors as we stride in. I can’t look up. I can’t bring myself to face the man who I hate. I feel the two men walk backwards, however, they don’t leave. They keep by the door, awaiting for their reward of capturing me.
“Oh, sweetheart, please do look up,” Frank purrs. It should make me feel sick, however, his voice is really smooth; therefore, I don’t mind that much. I still don’t look up. I don’t want to. “I told you to look up!” Frank raises his voice, and it makes me jump back, because he had moved from wherever he was standing, right in front of me. I snap my head up, staring straight at him.
Oh. Wow.
Frank is so… Attractive, in a way. He has deep, dark, stunning hazel irises that pierce right through your soul, a petite nose that has single silver ring hooked through it and delicate, annoyingly-inviting lips, that are red like rose petals. His bottom lip has a metal ring attached to it, like his nose. Half of his hair is a shadowy, jet black colour; the other half is shaved and bleached a yellowish colour. He has strong, angular cheekbones and chipped, rough looking hands, which have art sprawled across them, much like the rest of his body. He’s short, shorter than me. However, I am not going to laugh at that, because he looks fucking terrifying. And those two muscular men are scared of him.
Stupid, stupid mind of thinking that he’s attractive. He is. It’s a FACT. However, I hate him. And my feelings are not going to change from that. HATE. HATE. HATE.
“Gerard Way,” My name falls off of his tongue, and he makes it sound like a spell, like a wish. He makes it sound like I’m worth something, though; he thinks the opposite of that. Frank reaches out a hand, and runs a finger along my jaw, but I snatch my head away from his touch. I don’t like it – I don’t like the fact that it feels nice – but most importantly, I don’t like who is touching me. “I don’t like people who don’t obey me, Gerard,” Frank begins to pace up and down his room. I observe his room.
There are arched windows, with black lace curtains that have the warm, welcoming glow from outside shining through. His bed, which is sitting comfortably in the corner, is huge, however, it’s plain. Plain white with black plump pillows. A black, squashy-looking sofa with a few random cushions as well. There is a stereo, with albums that I recognise, such as, Misfits, Iron Maiden, Smashing Pumpkins, etc. A wooden desk with a comfy seat and more items are around the room. I wonder if he has a Mistress, a wife, a girlfriend. I can see him being bi sexual, that’s if he isn’t so judgemental. I expect he likes girls, though, just by how he acts. I don’t know.
“And I don’t like people who don’t LISTEN to me,” Frank growls, suddenly, I stop examining the room and I fix my eyes on the floor. “Well, I’m going to have to tell you my rules again, aren’t I?”
I nod, not daring to speak, at ALL.
“Here are the things I hate; people who don’t obey me, people who don’t listen, people who cuss, people who speak when I don’t ask them to, people who try to escape, people who get angry at me, people who cry, people who latch themselves onto me like a lifeline…-”
“I get the point. You don’t like much.” I whisper, not really wanting to hear anything else from him. I hear the two men behind me suck in a sharp breath. I manage to peek up to see Frank giving me the most horrifying glare ever. I shift, uncomfortably.
“And, you know what,” He stops pacing and walks right up to me, hitting my chin up hard, so I stare at him in the eye. It hurt when he hit my chin, because I accidentally bit my tongue. “I don’t like people who answer back and people who interrupt me.” He finishes in a harsh whisper, then turns on his heel sharply, and begins to circle me, like I’m some sort of prey.
“Aren’t you going to tell him about not coming into your room without knocking, sir?” Jake questions.
“No. He will not have to follow that rule.” Frank announces. Travis and Jake appear shocked. My eyebrows furrow together. Why? Why do I not follow that rule? “He is a different kind of servant.”
“What kind, sir?” Travis enquires.
“The servant who will wake me up, the servant who will cook me dinner if I want him to, the servant who will make me coffee every morning, the servant who will do literally everything I say,” Frank clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth then lifts his head. “The chief manservant of this house,”
“Why him?” Jake scoffs.
“Don’t ask any more questions, or there will be trouble,” Frank hisses. Silence settles, and I just stand there, dumbly, my tangled, long black hair falling in front of my face. “And for that, you can leave, both of you.” Frank adds. They both nod, curtly, and leave. I know they’re thinking ‘what about the reward?’ it is obvious, however, neither of them say anything, and the oak door slams shut. I swallow, hard. I’m alone with HIM.
“Now,” He continues. “You must call me Master, understand?”
“Yes, okay,” I mumble.
“What’s my name?” Frank asks, his voice going higher at the end.
“Your name is Frank-” Before I could finish, Frank grabs my wrist and yanks me close to him. I gulp. Frank grips my face in his tattooed hand, digging his fingernails in and leaving crescent moon shaped marks. I can feel bruises forming already.
“It’s Master to you,” Frank snaps.
“Why not sir?” I ask, as Frank releases his grip on my face. “Everyone else calls you sir? That’s better than Master. You’re not my Master. You’re not the boss of me.”
Frank strikes me right across my face, leaving a bright red mark on my cheek.
“You do not,” He pauses and forces my head up, making me meet his intimidating glare. “Under any circumstances, ask questions like that.” He breathes heavily, clearly furious with what I had said.
“Sorry,” I whisper. Frank looks at me, expectedly, raising his hand again. “Sorry, Master.” I quickly add. After I say that, a smirk spreads across his face.
“Good. Now go make me some coffee, I have a lot of paperwork to do. I have my own personal kitchen, it’s through the left door,” Frank points to the passage leading to his own kitchen. I nod, and go to his large, posh kitchen, creating a steaming, piping-hot coffee – how I would do myself one. My favourite method. I return to Frank, and place the coffee on his desk, which he is now sitting at, and signing some papers. He looks up from his sheets, and sips his coffee, having a tiny taster to see if it’s okay. His eyes brighten and he gulps down a large mouthful. I want to smile, because I have done something good, however, I don’t. Why would I? I force myself not to. I will never smile here. Not in this place.
“Is there anything else you would like, Master?” I ask, politely.
“You’re getting the hang of it already, well done.” Frank drums his fingers on his desk. “I will dismiss you. You may go to your room. You shall here me when I order you to come here, I will call your name a single time, and you will hear me because there are speakers in your room.” Frank claps his hands twice and the door opens, a tall, skinny man stood there. “Take him to his room, instantly.” Frank orders. The man nods and I follow him. It turns out my room is only 10 steps away from Frank’s. I was counting. The man unlocks the door, and then leaves.
My room is of reasonable size, with a coffee machine, a desk, a double bed, and my own bathroom. A SHOWER!
“Finally! A shower!” I exclaim. “I need one and clothes…” I trail off when I instantly see a note on the drawers. Okay, I already have clothes apparently. I go through the drawers, and stop myself from smiling. It’s just black jeans, black shirt, red tie. Most of the time. I pick black jeans and black shirt, no red tie. I don’t want that on yet. I drag my body to the bathroom, switch on the shower, and strip down stepping underneath the warm water.
After showering and slipping on my new clothes – which oddly fit perfectly – I sit on my desk, and rip out a random blank piece of paper from one of the books on it. I start drawing, until…
“Gerard.” It’s Frank. I stand up, and leave, walking the 10 steps to his room. I open the door, and then close it again.
“Um,” I say, loudly. Frank stares at me, and grins lopsidedly.
“Wearing the clothes that I got you already? They suit you,” He compliments. I don’t know what to say, therefore, I don’t say anything. I just blink, a little shocked that he had just complimented me. “Anyway, how do you think your room is?” Frank questions, as he scribbles down some things on a piece of paper.
“It’s nice,” I say, quietly. I’m tempted to say ‘but not as nice as home’ out of spite, however, I decide against it. This misery is going to kill me. Frank looks up, and catches the wistful look of sadness on my face.
“You’ll get used to being here,” Frank smirks. “You’ll end up forgetting and thinking that this is home,”
“No.” I say. “No, I won’t. I have people back home. I have family. I have a brother. I have friends who I’d give everything to see.”
“Aw, such a shame,” Frank says, sarcastically, and I just want to punch him right around the face. However, of course I don’t. He’s way stronger than me.
“You’re probably saying that because you don’t know what it’s like to love someone,” I spit. Frank’s pencil led snaps, loudly, echoing, bouncing from wall to wall in his bedroom.
“What did you just say?” Frank snarls, screeching his chair back.
“I- Nothing… I’m sorry.” I whisper. Frank just walks closer and my heart starts to race out of fear. “I’m sorry!”
“You are bittersweet,” Frank growls. “You’re so kind and helpful one minute, but then you just throw it all back in my face,” He looks at the work on his desk and purposely knocks all his papers on the floor, glaring right at me.
He’s hurt.
I can see it in his eyes. And it’s not hurt because I shouted at him; it’s hurt because of what I had said. I feel terrible and regretful. I look at the papers that swiftly land on the floor, and drop to my knees, attempting to carefully pile them up again. Frank just falls back onto his bed, not saying anything, not even watching me. Once I’ve piled them up, I place them neatly on his desk, and grab his pencil, sharpening it for him. I move my gaze onto him; his chest rises and falls in an unsteady rhythm.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, meaning it completely.
“Put on music,” Is all Frank says, not accepting my apology. “Smashing Pumpkins, Greatest Hits. It’s the white-”
“I know. I listen to the same music as you.” I say, quietly, striding over to the large stereo and putting in the CD he wants. I turn to him. “I’m so sorry, I really am, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” But I did. I know I did. I meant to say something that would hurt him because he hurt me. Multiple times. Then why do I feel so horrible and disgusted with myself?
“Just leave, Gerard. You’re dismissed.” Frank speaks, calmly. I stand there for a little while, however, Frank never moves from his position. His eyes glowering at the patterned ceiling, his hands spread out beside him. I frown to myself. Why should I feel so bad? I hate him. So much. I tell myself that as I step towards the door, unaware that Frank had counted the seconds I stood there, waiting. The seconds to see if I actually cared. But, I didn’t know that.
I know nothing about Frank.
I close the door behind me, and take 10 steps to my room. I sit on my bed and sigh.
Why do I care?
Why do I feel so guilty?
Why do I feel as if I should make it up to him somehow?
He’s my abductor. He deserves it. He deserves every single bit of hate he gets from me. He’s a selfish asshole who only cares about himself. It shows clearly whenever he hits me. Whenever he shouts. I don’t care. I WON’T care. I CAN’T care. I don’t like him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
I hate Frank Iero.
Notes
pretty dramatic!! please vote, comment and subscribe it would mean a lot to me thank you!!
@TragicWithACapitalT
thanks dude !! xo
10/4/14