Forget About The Dirty Looks.

Frank's POV
"Go on then, open the door.. We haven't got all day, and I'd really like to start today, if you don't mind.." His voice has made a sudden contrast, he was dark and evil a second ago, now he's... Excited? I gingerly reach out my hand and push open the door. The room is dark, but there's enough light so I can see. I don't particularly want to see, though. The walls are lined with implements of torture. There are hammers of different sizes, two saws, knifes, whips and... and a familiar piece of leather. The belt. He's kept the fucking belt. I about break-down right there. The feeling of wanting to die comes back, strongly. My knees buckle and I have to grab a hold of the door to stop myself from falling.
"You like that, Frankie?" The smirk is back, and I decide that any part of me that could have loved him, because he is my dad, after all, dies completely. All I feel is complete hatred for the man. He ruined my life, he took me from Gerard, he is going to hurt me and my mom, he has already hurt us... The feeling I have must show in my eyes, because his smirk sets into a hard line. His eyes show hatred, too. He grabs my shoulder and pushes me in the room, locking it behind him. I gulp and my body tries to make me look as small as possible.
He turns to the... To the things he has on his walls. I look too, hoping that he doesn't pick the belt, anything but the belt. One side of his mouth lifts up, and he stares at something. I follow his eyes. He's looking at.. I don't know what it is.. He gets it off the wall and studies it from different angles. It has a blade on it, and a screw? It's about as big as my forearm, and the blade looks sharp.
"This, Frank, this is called Torqueo. It means torture in Latin.. I don't know what it does yet, but I guess we'll find out now, won't we?" My eyes go wide, and I shake my head, slowly walking backwards. My knees knock against a table or something. I turn around to see what it is, and I see that it's a bed. A bed with restraints attached to it. I feel a push from behind, and I land onto the 'Bed'. I'm on my stomach, so he turns me over. My mind is telling me to fight, and I start kicking, shouting and hitting. I bite something, and I think it's his hand.
"You little fucker! Stop.. Fucking.. Struggling!" He hits me around the face and in the stomach, and I stop. If I don't, then the punishment will get worse than it already is. He smiles down at me, patronizingly, and straps me in. The straps catch on my wrists, opening the partially closed wounds. I hiss, and close my eyes. When I open them, he's standing above me, but this time he has the, the thing in his hands. He's deeply intrigued by it, and I don't think he genuinely knows what to do with it. He turns it this way and that in his hands, and all I can think is that I want him to get on with it. He could just be prolonging the suffering, trying to get a reaction out of me. He lets out a frustrated noise and throws it to the side. I flinch at the sudden movements, my heart beating fast. He frowns and scans the walls again. His eyes reach The Belt, and he smirks, the frown disappearing from his face. He lets out a small chuckle and basically skips over to where it's hanging.
"Remember this, Frankie? Great times, eh? Back when everything was good and fine. When we were a family.." His hands ghost over the belt, not quite bringing himself to touch it, and he's staring at it like it's an ancient relic. He finally picks it up, and slowly walks over to me. I can hardly breathe, I'm that frightened. I feel like I'm going to piss myself at any second. I close my eyes and count to ten. I get to six, and I hear leather hit leather. I jump, but I can't move anywhere, because I'm strapped in. He smiles at me, and releases my arms and legs. Confused, I lie there for a second, and he snaps at me to get up. I scramble to do so, not wanting to make him angry.. Or angrier.
I stand, hunched over, my legs unsteady. I sway slightly and pray to God that I don't fall over. I don't thankfully, and I regain my balance somewhat, and I wait for what he's going to do to me.
"Turn around." His voice cuts through the tense atmosphere, and it rings out sharply. I slowly turn around, not fast enough for his liking, and I get a kick to my leg, it narrowly misses my shin.
I stand, my back to him, apprehensively waiting. I can remember this very well, only now I know what's definitely coming, and I'm shit scared. I can just feel the searing pain that fucking leather belt has given me, and the thought makes me want to cry. Only now do I notice that my whole body is shaking. I could be having a fit, if you took me to hospital and showed the doctors, they'd probably be very concerned. I can't hear him behind me, and I want to check if he's left me standing here, shaking. Before I can check, I hear the swish of something moving fast in the air. I flinch and tense up. The belt strikes the chair beside me, and he chuckles at me.
"What's the matter? Don't you like this? I think it's...", He stops himself, and I hear the swish again, and this time pain follows it.
"Fun. I thought it would be fun.." He laughs then, his proper laugh, not the stupid chuckles he been doing. I almost fall to the floor. I stumble forwards, gripping the chair. The pain is worse than I remember, and I think I already had cuts and shit on my back from earlier. I feel warmth on my back and I immediately know it's blood. I let out a pained gasp and my torso kind of folds into itself, so I'm bent over. I can't breathe, and it's only the first hit.
Another swoosh of air, another; another; another. I loose count of how many, all I can focus on is the pain and the amount of blood I'm loosing. By now, I'm on the floor, crying. The pain shoots down, up and everywhere. Why can't he just kill me? Why can't I just die?
Finally, all is quiet, apart from my not-so-muffled cries. I hear his heavy breathing, and I can basically smell the smugness radiating off him. He laughs again, but this one is... sinister; malevolent. I hear shuffling, like when your looking for something in a drawer. What is he going to do to me now?
"Hey, I got nostalgic earlier, and I though about the cigars I used to have. I loved them, they were my favorites, did you like them, too?" His voice has more of a malicious, teasing edge to it. The cigars? Not them, too.. Please no..
I hear the rustle of a packet being opened. I can't bring myself to move, to look at him. I don't need to look, I can hear and smell what's he's doing perfectly fine, anyway. He's lit one, I can smell the acrid smoke. I hear him inhaling deeply, and I know he's taking a drag. Maybe he won't use them on me, and he'll just smoke them instead? Yeah, okay, and I'll get to see Gerard in the next hour, fat chance..
I feel him crouch down next to me, and he reaches his arms. I flinch, but don't try to move away from him. I simply don't have the energy for it. He pinches my cheeks in his palm and lifts my head up. My back screams in protest, but all I can muster up is a small groan. The grip he has on my face is tight, really tight. The cuts and bruises on my face hurt more now, and my hatred just keeps building and building for this man.
He lifts his other hand up, and in the corner of my eye, I see the cigar, burning brightly in his hand. My eyes widen, and I try to back away, but the grip he has on me is too tight. All I can do is slightly shake my head, eye's wide, tears filling my vision. He brings his hand closer to my arms, and then quickly moves it away. He's teasing me, trying to make me even more terrified..
He does it again, and again. He goes to do it again, but notices the cigar has gone out. He cusses, and gets up. I breathe a sigh of relief, and I hang my head, relaxing slightly. He finds his lighter and walks back over. Instead of lighting the cigar, he sits down besides me and starts to flick the lighter on and off. Each flick and he gets closer to my arms. He doesn't break eye contact with me at all, all he does is stare at me, a slight smirk playing on his lips. He gets closer and closer to my arms, and I can feel the heat. The flame dances and jolts with every movement, and it singes off the hairs on my arms. A bit closer, and it starts to burn me. I cry out, jerking my arms away. His mask flickers for a second, his expression turning stormy. He grabs my arm, making it impossible to get away. The pain starts off small, but it gets worse and worse. I'm constantly crying out in pain, my arm literally on fire. I'm shaking, tears are escaping and he smiles at me. There is a big patch of dark red skin by the time he finishes, and black spots cloud my vision. The pain is getting worse by the second, and he's stopped now. I cry harder, not knowing how to handle everything that's being thrown at me. I can't talk, I can hardly breathe. I pass out, for what must be the twentieth time today. I welcome the unfeeling darkness, trying to remember to dream of Gerard.

Notes

New chapter! Poor Frankie... There's more to come! Hope you like it, sorry if it's too dark or whatever... Comment and shit?xo