Forget About The Dirty Looks.

Frank's POV
After that first night, it got worse. He pulled my mom out after that, and I could hear her scream down here. I've never felt as weak and as hopeless as I did in that moment. I ended up curled up on the ground, my limbs so tense that it took an hour trying to uncurl them. I didn't cry, all I could do is listen horrified for about three hours while he did horrible things to her. I couldn't cry.
When she got dragged down the stairs, screaming, I still couldn't cry. When she begged me to talk to her, I still couldn't cry. When she broke down, I still couldn't cry. When she fell asleep, having horrible nightmares, I still couldn't cry. But, when I thought of Gerard, I cried. My floodgates opened and I tensed up even more, not caring if my injuries got infected by the dirty floor. I didn't make a sound, I just lay there and cried. I cried for everything. For my mom, for Gerard, even for him.
I haven't shed a tear since, not even when he got the belt and cigars out again. That's the worst bit of it all, the numbness that I'm feeling. For everything I do, I have no emotion to give. I feel like a robot. The tortures he puts me through can't stir anything, apart from physical pain. But, even if it's immense pain, no tears leave my eyes. I hate it, I don't feel human. It's like I've been stripped bare of everything I had to give, and left like it. A blank canvas. No color, no pattern, no variety.
It's been six days, and I must have only eaten one meal since I last saw Gerard, which was the morning before this happened. My physical state is a mess, my mental state is a mess. Overall, I'm a mess, basically. The only thing he gives us that benefits either of us, is water, and occasionally a slice of stale bread or some rice.
He doesn't really get a reaction out of me anymore, so he just uses my mom for his little games. I still get chosen, almost everyday, but mom is his favorite. She's a mess, every time she gets thrown down the stairs from a session with him, she is always bloody and bruised and crying. It's scary to watch, she's been the one person in my life that I could always count on to be strong, but now she's like this? I get scared sometimes, I suppose, but the feelings are gone as quick as they came. I think of Gerard everyday, several times a day, but he's like a distant memory, a fading hope. I do wonder how he's doing, though. I hope he's okay, I think that if he isn't, and he's turned back to drugs, I would die completely inside. Gerard is the only thing that is keeping me slightly sane, and I need that to be able to actually cope.
The door opens and a dim strip of light shines through and on to the wall. I sigh, and stand up, knowing it's my que to get up there and into the stupid fucking room that he seems to be his happiest in. I tiredly stomp up the stairs, my feet dragging behind me as I walk. My stomach rumbles, and it physically pains me, it rumbles that hard. I ignore it, though, and walk through the stupidly white door.
He's sat in the middle of the room, on a black leather chair, like usual. I hesitate in the doorway, deciding on whether or not I should enter.
"Come in then, Frank..." His impatient voice rings out, making my mind up for me. I walk in, sighing. He beams at me, showing all of his rotting teeth. You can tell he's insane, just from the feral look in his eyes, but when he smiles, you know he should be carted off to a psychiatric ward, and never let out. I nod at him, my usual greeting. His grin falters a little and his eyes turn colder. He stands, his tall frame towering over my pathetic, hunched over one.
"Remember Gerard? Your little boyfriend?" My head snaps up and I nod my head frantically. I gulp, wondering what's happened to him.
"Well, I don't think he's in too good a shape. I've got a little.. note from him, thought you'd like to read it, maybe?" I nod again, not willing to utter a word to him. He reaches into his pocket and I immediately recognize Gerard's messy handwriting. He hands it to me, and it takes all of my self-control to not rip it out of his hands. It's titled 'Why?' I read through it, and I can tell by the first sentence that it's not written for me, but for a Dr Martin. Gerard, in the note, talks about why he's suicidal. It breaks my heart reading it, and for the first time in days, I feel tears prick at my eyes. I welcome them, happy to feel some kind of human emotion. His handwriting is messier than usual, and the paper is crumpled slightly.Gerard feels suicidal because of me, basically, and the weight of that crushes down hard on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. He's on the verge of overdosing on drugs, he's thinking about getting high and drunk. He's suicidal. Suicidal. And, he's tried it once before, though he doesn't mention why.
Who's Dr Martin, and why did he give this to my dad?
I look at my dad, the tears still rolling down my cheeks. I clear my throat and wipe my eyes.
"How did you get this?" My voice comes out strong and clear, just like I'd hoped.
"That is none of your concern." His voice is glacial, and he stares me in the eyes, as if silently challenging me to say something else. I stay silent and he smiles again. He rubs his palms together, bouncing on his feet.
"Let's get started then. What do you want to do first?" His tone has gone from icy cold to excited and happy. I swear he's bipolar, or at least suffering from a multiple personality disorder. I sigh and shake my head.
"Nothing. I want to talk about how you got this fucking note!" I shout at him, my anger boiling in my veins. "You better fucking tell me, right now!" He is startled by my sudden peak in anger, and his expression looks somewhat like a deer that has been run over many times, yet still holds the mangled wide eyes in place.
"You... Don't speak to me like that!" His voice is small compared to mine, and for the first time in forever, I see an expression of... almost fear on his face.
"Just fucking tell me! That's all I want to fucking know!" I'm literally screaming right now, and I can tell my face is crimson with anger.
"No! I'm the one that's in charge here, not weak little boy's!" I look him right in the eyes and spit at him. I look around quickly, knowing that I've only got a few seconds before he lunges at me. I grab the first weapon I can see, which is a very big hammer. He sees me grab it, and he sees the look on my face, and his complexion drains of all color.
"Now, you better tell me, or this hammer will be so far into your skull, it might catch a glimpse of your microscopic fucking brain." My voice is deadly calm and after not getting an answer I sigh.
"You have five fucking seconds. Five." He still keep his mouth shut.
"Four" I lift the hammer slightly.
"Three" A bead of sweat runs down the side of his face, and drops onto the floor.
"Two" Still no answer, so I lift the hammer higher, aiming.
"One" I bring the hammer down, and it collides with his hand, breaking at least three fingers. He howls in pain, and I grin, sadistically pleased with the fact he's hurt.
"I'm feeling generous. You having four fucking seconds to tell me, or the hammer really is going to pound your brains in. Four" I start the countdown again, and he is still clutching his fingers.
"Three" Why is he just letting me do this? He could easily stop me..
"Two" He looks up at me, and he grins. The grin. You know, the one that promises pain and everything?
"One?" My voice, so firm and confident before, comes out as an unsure question. His grin widens, and I lift the hammer up again, wanting more than anything to bring the hammer down onto his stupid teeth and watch his blood pour out of him and he writhes on the floor screaming and begging for mercy. So, I bring the hammer down, but it doesn't reach it's destination. Instead, his hand, lightning fast, reaches and grips the hammer handle. He pulls it out of my hands, and drops it onto the floor.
"You were saying, Frankie? Still gonna try and pound my brains in?" My mind fumbles for ways out of this, because I'm sure I'm going to get murdered, but it comes up blank.
"I thought you weren't. Now, let's get on with things. I thought today, we could use the hammer.." Oh, shit. He's going to murder me, I know he is. He pushes me over to the bed and forcefully lies me down. He straps me in binding my hands and legs tight enough to cut my circulation off.
"I'll be right back, I'm just going to find a bandage for my fingers, and then it's my turn for some fun..." He walks out of the the door, laughing like the maniac he is. I blindly scan the room, looking for anything that could help me escape. There's noting in the range of my hands, not even a piece of string. I wriggle my hands around, trying to find a weak point, but there's none. I try to calm myself and think rationally, but my thoughts are all jumbled up and I can't.
I'm going to die. I'm about to fucking die, of course my thoughts aren't going to be rational.
The hammer. Can I reach it? I stretch down, but the restraints on my arms are too tight for me to even move three inches. I hear whistling in the hallway, and the heavy footsteps of my father.
He's back.
"Hello there, Frank. Miss me?" I shake my head, but the smirk on his face gets wider.
"Okay, okay. Let's stop playing around now." His face turns serious. This is it.
"So, I thought that maybe we could start with you having four of your fingers broke by the lovely hammer, okay?" I try not to react to the words, but I wince. He laughs and bends down to pick it up.
"Which hand, Frank? Left or Right?" Neither. None of them, none at all! He gets fed up of waiting for me to answer him, even though it's only been ten fucking seconds, and swings, aiming for my left. I try to get it out of the way, but I can't. White hot searing pain travels down my arms, and it causes shivers to run down my spine. I scream out in pain and tears leak out of my eyes. I think he broke my hand, not just my fingers. My eyes are screwed shut so I don't see his hand making it's way over to my mangled hand. I feel it, though. It squeezes my fingers together, making me scream again. It squeezes my fingers so many time, and I taste blood in the back of my throat. I've made myself bleed from screaming, and I don't think I can actually talk. The hammer bangs off the metal railing by my head. I wildly move my head away, my eyes widening. He laughs and throws his head back, finding my terror hilarious. Out of nowhere, the hammer lands on my right hand, but I can't make a sound. I lie there my face contorted in pain, my mouth open as if I was screaming. The pain goes down both my arms, down my legs, spine. It's unbearable. Hot, salty tears roll down my face and wet the fabric of the bed I'm lying on. He laughs, and brings the hammer down again, on my shin. I don't think it breaks the bone, but it does something. He does the same to the other leg, and I hear something give a loud pop. Another round of pain erupts from my legs, making me arch my back. This only causes more pain, and I try to lie completely still. I hear quiet giggles, and look to my right and see him standing there with a camera in his fucking hands. He's filming this? What a sick fucking bastard! He sets the camera down on a desk and walk over to my leg. The one that popped. He grabs my thigh with one hand and my ankle with the other. He pushes them together, causing the pain to intensify. I hear another loud pop, followed by a current of heat to run up and down my legs. It's like nothing I've ever felt before. It's not the worst pain I've every felt, it's just... something else. Sure, it's pain, and yeah, it feel really fucking bad, but I've never felt this weird heated sensation.
I can't dwell on it too much though, because I'm being unstrapped and lifted up. We walk down the corridor, and he literally throws me down the stairs to the bottom of the basement. I tumble down them, and land in a heap at the bottom. This is where I start crying, and I just can't seem to stop.

Notes

Two chapter in one night! Hope you like it. comment and shit..xo