Forget About The Dirty Looks.

Frank's POV.

My face really hurts. Stupid fucking Gerard, and his stupid fucking tempers.
He says it's my fault, oh, yeah it's totally my fault. The vodka incident made me all nostalgic and shit. I remebered all the lovely feelings of being pinned up and having things forced down my throat. Except not by kids that were bullying me, but by my own father. My dad used to abuse me, and we move house a lot so the scum that is my father cannot find us, because if he does, it will not be pretty. I've got more than a few scars on my back from my sperm donor's beloved belt, oh and don't forget the circular burn marks that litter my stomach, created by His favourite cigars, there are many more things he used to do to me, but I think my brain has blocked those memories out, or something similar.
My mum feels so guilty. That's why she is so protective of me, she used to get abused, too and she was way too scared to go and get help. I hated her for a while because she didn't help, but that man truly broke her, she still has nightmares about it now, and it was around five years ago we ran away.

It was a, very cliché, dark and stormy night and he had come home drunk again, he stated ordering us around, making us get more alcohol for him, to cook his dinner and why on earth hadn't it already been cooked? As per, he started to get somewhat agressive, threatening my mum, and me. He said things like how he'd bought a brand new pack of cigars just for me, and that he'd somehow made the leather on his belt tougher. I did the worst thing I possibly could have done, and dropped his funking beer on the floor right in front of him, I'd tripped on something. I personally think that he tripped me up on purpose, just so he could punish me for it, and the next thing you know he's taking off his belt, and bring it down onto my alreay sore back, cuts from the day before opened, and my mum just lost it. She'd grabbed the frying pan, or rolling pin and started to hit him over the head with it, repeatedly. Even when he became unconscious she still kept hitting him. My vision, at this point became very hazy and I can't really remember anything else until waking up in a hospital bed three mornings after.


Apparently my injuries caused my brain to send warnings out or some shit causing me to basically go into a coma, but only a very short one. I'd also lost quite a bit of blood, and my mom was currently giving a statement to the cops, describing our experiences. By the time the police had made it round to our house, only patches of my blood, mom's blood amd a big old puddle of my sweet dad's blood were there as evidence of what happened. Me, being only twelve, got a tinsey, winsey bit fucked in the head. Ha, not. I've had a therapist since that night, but it's not gotten any easier, I'm still terrified that he'll pop up round a corner, pull me into an alley or something and finally do me in.

The experts all say that I need to stop living in the past, that I'm safe now because we've got the cops looking after us and shit. It's okay saying all this, but when you lived in the same house as that man for almost thirteen years of your life, you start to question your sanity, and you do live in the past, because you get plauged with never ending nightmares, of your own father basically torturing you to death. I normally wake up screaming, inconsolable, and my mom runs in and tries to get me back to sleep, but I've gotten quite good at pretending. There are the odd nights that I sleep without a nightmare, they're usually when we've just moved house, because, even though I hate moving, it makes me feel safe.
My mom didn't get of lightly, either. She got extensively cheated on, throughout the whole time they were together, and she got battered worse than I did some nights. He hates me, but he also hates my mom for bringing me in to the world, even though it takes two to tango. His favourite to use on my mum wasn't the belt or cigars, it was rape. She has been emotionally scarred for the rest of her life, and she still has major shakes from the memories. From the pictures I've seen, I look quite like him. I bet that is painful for her, having to be reminded of him, every single day when she looks at ther only son. Thankfully, I'm not like him. I don't do violence, unless somebody hits me first or they insult my mom. My mom has been through a lot and I guess I am rather protective of her, too.

I never did manage to finish my smoke earlier, because I got so violently interrupted by the walking ball of fury, Gerard. God, I hate that kid. He's such a prick, how does Mikey and his mom put up with him? Though, judging by his bag earlier, he's either been kicked out or he walked out, and he is staying at Ray's. So Gerard has at least one friend, how?

I yawn, and look at the time. Shit, it's half five nearly. I need to clean up my face.
I look in the mirror in the bathroom. Yikes, it's bad. Gerard's was worse, though, ha. I messed his face up real bad, he had cuts and blood all over the place, and he probably had bruises all over his torso. I start to imagine him shirtless, and then tell myself off, I hate Gerard, I will not imagine him shirtless. No, no way.
I decide to just have a shower because the blood really is caked on. All clean and refreshed now, I start to get dressed. I leave a note telling my mom I went out pretty early and make my way towards town.

Notes

Well, fifth chapter! Hope you like it! A happier, less drama filled chapter next, I think! Hope y'all enjoy it, comment and shit, maybe?xo