Before The Sun Goes Down

Frank's POV
After I saw Gerard, I drove back to my apartment and asked for a few days off from college, I said there had been a death in my family, and I needed to get over it. They agreed, saying that I can go back when I'm ready.
I don't think I'll ever be ready, I mean this is harder than when he died. The fact that he's out there, and I can't talk to him, touch him, do anything with him, even though he is alive, is breaking my heart more than when he died, because at least then I knew where he was, and I could go and visit him anytime I wanted.
Now, I don't even know where he is...
I've restrained myself from texting or calling him, because I know I'll be met with no response, but it's getting more difficult as the days pass. It's been three days, and I'm due to go back to college tomorrow.
Maude and I swapped numbers, and she's the only person I've spoken to since then. I've had one person knock at my door, and I would have opened it if I hadn't looked through the spy hole on the door.
It was Miles, the date Gerard and I ran out from. He was even holding flowers, and when I didn't answer, he threw them onto the ground, cussing. I had to stifle a laugh, but I think he heard something because he stopped cursing and went slightly red.
The visit from him brought me back to my senses partially, I think. I finally looked around at the pig sty that I live in and started cleaning, everywhere, and everything.
Then, I went out and bought a load of food, cooked myself a 'nice' meal and slept for about fourteen hours. I started taking my anti-depressants again, because ever since I met 'Gerald', I forgot to take them. I'm not sure if it works like that, but the doctor said that I can't go back unless I had some of the side effects, I wanted to be weened off them, or I had to get a repeat prescription, which I can do in five days, because I've supposed to have taken them all by then.
I've been on edge since Miles knocked on the door, anxious about whether or not he'll knock again, and I have a funny feeling he will. I think he will, and I think it'll be today. I'm not sure how I know, but my gut feels weird.
I must have vacuumed the carpet about seven times just today, I feel so bored but I don't want to go out or anything. I could cook or something, but I don't think I'll be able to eat it, at least not until I'm sure Miles isn't going to stop by with some more yellow canaries or some shit.

Around two hours later, after taking a shower, vacuuming again, wiping down the counter tops, and washing my bed sheets, I hear a knock on the door, making me freeze and turn around super slowly.
After a minute, I check who is at the door, seeing Miles' brown, floppy hair. I breathe out, wondering if I should open the door and hear what he has to say, or just ignore it and hope he chucks the flowers on the floor, making me laugh, again.
I decide to open the door, the bored shitless part of my brain overpowering the cautious side. The door creaks as it opens, making him jump and look up.
His wide-eyed face relaxes when he spots me, the cold look in his disappearing in a second. He smiles warmly at me, dragging me into a hug, then he pulls away, thrusting the flowers into my arms.
I stare at them, trying to figure out with my limited knowledge of flowers what type of flower they are. I give up eventually, looking up and smiling at him, albeit a fake one. He must buy the smile because he smiles back a genuine one.
"They're Calla Lilies, Frank." I nod at him, standing in the doorway awkwardly before realizing that I should probably invite him in. "Do you want to come in..?" He eagerly nods, and I step aside and open the door wider.
He looks around, still grinning. He looks a little bit like a maniac, but I brush it off before I start laughing at him again. "Nice place you've got here, it's very clean.." I nod, leading him into the kitchen to put the flowers into a vase. "Thanks.. I kind of went on a cleaning rampage yesterday, this place is normally a shit hole.." He chuckles, leaning onto the counter. Still grinning, he asks, "Why didn't you answer the door when I came the other day? I know you were in here, I heard you.." By the end of the sentence, his eyes are narrowed and the coldness has seeped back into his eyes.
I don't answer him for a minute, struggling to come up with a valid excuse. "Um... I.. uh.. I didn't want to see anybody.." He smiles sarcastically, nodding. "Why?" I open and close my mouth like a fish, floundering.
"I.. Somebody in my family passed away recently." I try to sound mournful, but it just ends up flat. His expression changes almost immediately, changing from harshness to sugary, sweet sympathy. I internally roll my eyes, already knowing that a hug will follow my words before he pulled me into one.
"Oh, Frank, I'm so sorry... I thought you just didn't like me.." He says this as his arms constrict my lungs and I start to not be able to breathe. He lets go before I feel like passing out, which is good, because the hugs normally go on for at least two minutes. I coke and unintelligible response back, which he just waves off, grabbing my hand and pulling onto a couch.
"So, Frank, how have you been? I mean, besides the whole thing with your family.." I fake a smile, annoyed by his presence already.
"I've been good, how about you?" He leans back, scowling, and launches into a spiel about college, cars, family, dogs, and cats.
He talks for about half an hour, wholly about himself, only stopping to ask me questions limited to one word answers. I zone out, nodding and making noises to show him that I'm listening. In reality, I probably couldn't tell you anything from anything he said.
He finishes, by asking if he could have a drink. "Sure, coffee or tea?" I breathe a sigh of relief that it's over, waiting for his answer. "Do you possibly have anything stronger?" I nod, sighing.
"I'll just bring everything in, hold on for two minutes.." He nods, smiling at me. I don't return the smile, instead ignoring it and going into the kitchen to gather the alcohol and making myself a coffee.
I bring all of the bottles in, followed by a glass and my coffee. When I sit down, he's already opening a beer. When he sees my drink, his eyebrows raise. "Why aren't you having any?" I shrug, sighing, again.
"I have kidney problems. The last time I drank, my doctor told me off." He nods, not looking at me but the empty beer can in front of him. He's already drank a can, and he's opening another...
The evening, which started out as quite a promising, lonely, evening for me, turned into a not-so-promising, lonely evening for me.
Miles is drunk, talking to himself, and I'm on my third coffee.
It's only eight o'clock.
Right now, he's just knocking back straight vodka from the bottle, a thought that makes me sick, so I can't even imagine how drunk he must be to even think about it. He puts the bottle down, now half empty, and turns to me for the first time in half an hour.
He looks at me and giggles. "You're pretty.." He reaches out a hand, awkwardly rubbing my cheek as if he's trying to caress it. "And you're drunk, Miles." I move backwards, making him fall forwards slightly.
He giggles, corrects himself and then pouts at me. "I like you, Frank.. You're pretty. I bet you'd be good in bed.." He giggles again, leaning forward and landing in my lap. I squirm awkwardly, not liking the direction this has turned, and try to get him off me.
"Stop wriggling, Frank." He grips my arms, pulling his body closer do he isn't having to lean over half the couch. His grip is pretty tight, making me squirm even more. "I said, stop wriggling.."
He looks up at me, the drunken happiness now gone, replaced by anger. I shrink back, not being able to get very far because of the now iron grip he has on my arms, pinning them to the back of the couch.
"Miles, get off me. You're very, very drunk, if you want I'll call you a taxi?" He shakes his head, narrowing his eyes. "You just want me to go. That's why you ran out from me with that guy.. and why you.. why you didn't answer the door," He leans his head closer. "Well, guess what? I'm not going to go," I gulp, tilting my face away from his. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you." A hand grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. My arms are now free, but he is so close to me I wouldn't be able to get out from this even if I tried.
I can hear my heart thudding in my ears, almost drowning out whatever Miles is saying.
"Where's that dude, anyway? Jared was it? He isn't coming now, is he?" He pauses, looking at me with dilated pupils. "You know what that means? It means I can do whatever I want and nobody can stop me," My eyes widen, and I start to struggle. "I could murder you right now, if I wanted to. You're just a weak little runt, you wouldn't be able to stop me from doing this," His hand that was holding my chin runs down my chest, stopping at a random button, unbuttoning it. "Or this," He unbuttons another, making me thrash in his hold. A sharp sting makes me stop, I realize that he's slapped me. I don't do anything for a second, I don't even breathe. He undoes a few more buttons, staring at my chest like Gerard looked at me when I bit my lip and I bled.
At the thought of Gerard, I want to cry, but I hold the tears in, so I don't seem weak in front of Miles. The rest of the buttons have been undone, and I start to hear my heart in my ears again, bringing me back to reality. I look around, seeing if there's anything near me I could use as a weapon.
As soon as I think about calling somebody, his hand slips into a pocket, then the other, pulling out my phone and throwing it over his shoulder. I hear it hit the wall with a bang, and I cringe. "You won't be needing that anytime soon, baby.." He trails a hand down my chest, and the physical contact makes me freeze.
I think the reality of what was about to happen finally crashes down on me, because I then start to properly fight. I bite anything that come close to my mouth, I kick, scratch, try to punch and I try to do anything to get him off me.
It partially works, making his drunken self slip from his place on my lap. I grab the closest thing on the table to me, which so happens to be a glass bottle. I hit him over the head, making him fall down all the way and hit the floor. The bottle smashes, making the glass jagged and sharp.
I stand up, my legs almost buckling as I do, and go to hit him again. I must have hesitated too long, because he manages to recover and tackles me onto the couch, making the bottle fall from my grip.
I look at him, seeing a small cut on his eyebrow. He probes it with a finger, wincing. His expression turns from angry to absolutely furious. "You little fucker.." He sways for a minute, standing over me. He looks like he's about to pass out, but then the dazed look goes from his eyes and he swings his fist.
It connects with my stomach, winding me. He then goes onto punching and kicking me until I'm only half-conscious. He smiles at my dizzy form, a sick, bitter smile. Immediately, he reminds me of my father, a person that I've managed to block out of my thoughts for a while now.
"I'd like to see you try and fight now, fucker." He smiles again, a toothy grin that somehow reminds me of Hannibal Lecter.
He grabs a bottle off the table, not looking to see what it is, and downs a quarter of it in one go. His knuckles are bloody and bruised, my blood mixing with his. In my lethargic state, I don't really panic much, I just have the metallic taste in my mouth of blood and a pounding headache consuming my every thought.
He hits me again, and I manage to stay conscious long enough to see him taking off his pants, before the world goes black and I'm oblivious to everything he does to me for the next two hours, which is probably a good thing.

I wake up, the next morning, with a headache so bad it feels like my head is going to split in half. I don't dare open my eyes, fearing that if I do, my head will burst from the light that's sure to be streaming in through the windows.
For a second, I feel fine, apart from the headache, but then a wave of nausea forces me to run to the bathroom. As I run, I trip a few times from the dizziness I'm feeling. Bits and pieces of what happened last night are coming back to me.
Miles came over, we talked, he drank. He got angry... He.. Shit.
I'm not sure now whether the nausea is from remembering the things that happened to me or the concussion I probably have. Whatever it is, it makes me throw up everything I have in my stomach, and more.
I realize that I'm naked, and that I'm shaking or shivering, violently. My thoughts are in turmoil, and I don't think I even consider getting up and finding clothes.
I keep my eyes shut, mostly because of the double vision, but also because I don't want the tears to trail down my cheeks. They do, anyway, and there's no way I could have stopped myself from breaking down in that bathroom.
I end up lying on the bathroom floor, by the shower, the mat underneath me damp from my tears, the same one that keep coming and coming. I finally open my eyes, looking at the shower.
My skin suddenly itches, my brain telling me that I'm dirty. I subconsciously start rubbing up and down my arms, looking for any dirt, not finding any, but I know it's there. I get on my knees, supporting myself on the sink. I try to stand up, but my legs feel too weak.
I somehow manage to crawl into the shower, turn it on, and sit there long after the water turns cold without any recollection of it. I only realize that it's cold from the blue tinge my finger have and the chattering of my teeth.
I reach for the shower gel, pouring some on my hands and I begin to clean myself. I think I use around half of the bottle, which was full, but I still feel dirty. I want to carry on, but the water has actually stopped now.
I crawl out, the coldness from my emotions freezing me more effectively than any amount of cold water would. I think I probably look like a zombie, crawling out from the shower like it's a crypt, grabbing a towel and putting it on stiffly, but I'm too far gone to be ashamed of myself.
I'm sore all over, my headache has gotten worse from the cold, but I do nothing to help, instead I make my legs scream in protest as I stand up.
I grip the sink, making sure I have a good enough balance to be able to walk to the bed and fall down onto it, hopefully where I would be able to sleep, perhaps forever. I start with baby steps, but they turn into something a little short from a jog as I go into the lounge, the couch, clothes and empty, smashed bottles all bringing memories back from last night.
I try not to look at everything, but he's smashed bottles everywhere, my clothes are everywhere, there's little droplets of blood up the walls from where he beat me to a pulp. I relive every second of it, over and over again, even in my dreams.

I wake up, gasping for breath, clutching my chest. The bed sheets have tangled up, trapping my arms and legs in them, making them feel like Miles' grip on me. I look around blindly, searching for a number of people that won't be here, like my mom, Gerard, even Maude.
I don't want to see anybody, but I need somebody. My emotions are conflicted, I feel angry, depressed, numb and needy all at the same time. I look at my hands, my attention captured by the vigorous shaking of them, and the bruises around my wrists from his hands.
I lie back down, curling up. I stare at my skin, disgusted by it and what happened to it. I struggle to get the sheets off me, grabbing some of the clothes of the clean pile I washed before he came.
I pull the sleeves over my hands, covering every single bit of visible skin and I climb back onto the bed, cocooning myself away from the world. In the warmth, I imagine that it's Gerard hugging me, but the thoughts of physical contact with anybody, even Gerard, makes me start breathing heavy and a sick feeling to wash over me.
I struggle to get out of the sheets that seemed so inviting just a second ago, trying to get my breathing even and for my heart to stop palpitating. I close my eyes, imagining the ocean waves, cricket noises, anything to get me to calm down.
I think I'm imagining it at first, but then I think that the noise of a ringing phone isn't very calming. I realize that it's my phone, the same one that was thrown over his shoulder, in the lounge, where it happened. I let it ring until it stops, not wanting to face the mess in there again just to answer a phone call to someone that I don't even want to talk to to.
Then, it rings again. It stops, then starts. The ringing goes on for fifteen minutes, before I start to get seriously pissed at whoever is calling me and shakily stand up. I take a deep breath and start walking to the door, the insistent ringing stopping. I stop, too, and wait by the door. It doesn't start so I turn around, sighing. It then starts again, making me jump and almost fall over because my legs can't support sudden movements.
I decide to just get it over and one with, walking as fast as I can to the place where the ringing is loudest, not looking round, turning around, and walking back to the door, my eyes cast downwards.
I slam the door behind me, gasping for breath as I slide down the door, gripping the phone so tightly I'm surprised it didn't break or crack. I sit there for a minute, listening to the ringing in some kind of trance. The silence is what snaps me out of the daze, making me frown and look down, just as the ringing starts up again.
I expect to see Maude's name or even Donna's, but instead, it's Gerard's. I stare at the name, the name that must be engraved to the deepest depths of my soul, and lick my suddenly dry, cracked lips.
The name brings comfort with it, comfort that makes me burst out crying. I press answer, bringing it up to my ear, trying to stifle the sobs that are threatening to consume me.
"Frank?" Fuck, it's him. It really is him, he's actually talking to me after he basically broke up with me. As I hear his voice, the sobs I'm trying to contain break out, and I can't talk back. "Fuck.. What the fuck is wrong?" I shake my head, knowing that he can't see me. "Frankie, fucking talk to me! I'm sorry, okay? Just talk to me.. Frank!" Wow, I must sound really bad if he's that worked up already. "You at your apartment?" I make a 'yes' noise, the best I can do considering I can't even make crying noises anymore, I'm just sort of crying quietly but harder than I ever have. "Don't fucking move, okay? I'll be half an hour, at the most. Stay right where you are, I love you." He hangs up, and I drop the phone, the horrible memories flying through my head of last night.
It must have been less than fifteen minutes when I hear the door fly open and slam closed, but it seemed like an eternity to me. I hadn't stopped crying, but I was slowly stopping, becoming numb. I wasn't thinking of last night anymore, my head seemingly vacant of anything.
I hear him approach the door and shuffle out of the way, just in time for the door to fly open and hit the wall from the force of the push. I catch a glimpse of the couch before I bury my head in my knees, falling side wards.
I hear no sound for a minute, just Gerard's heavy, useless breaths and my sniffles. Then I hear a muttered curse and look up from the security of darkness. His mouth falls open in shock, and I swear to God he turns paler than he was before.
"Frankie... Wha..." He clears his throat, crouching down and reaching a hand out to touch my face. I flinch away, wincing. "What happened?" He's whispering, his voice hoarse. The question makes the lack of thoughts stop as my head explodes with the memories. My eyes fill with tears again as I start to shake and bury my head back into my knees, wincing from the soreness.
I start to cry again, my whole body being wracked with sobs, but I make almost no noise.
A hand gently touches my should, and I recoil from it, scooting at least three meters away, backing myself into the corner. The wall must press into my wounds and bruises, because I feel pain from the back of my arms and my back.
I look at my feet, even they have bruises on them. I look back up to Gerard, tears running down my face, shaking as I enter an almost blind panic. Everything goes blurry as I struggle for air, my throat constricting, making me panic even more.
Things start to turn to grey around the edges, then black, as I slowly lose consciousness for the second time in twenty four hours. Gerard's voice penetrates the panic, telling me to breathe with him. He grabs my hand, pressing it to his chest so I can feel him breathing.
I try to breathe at the same time, my vision going from black to grey, back again, then to normal after trying to breathe evenly for five minutes. After the feelings of constriction and panic lift, I lie down, curled up facing the wall.
Gerard doesn't touch me, but I can hear him in my mind, telling me that he loves me, that he's sorry, that I should stay calm. He asks what happened, but I push it out of my mind, trying to not let him know. I mentally shrug, making him frustrated. "Can I touch you?" The question sounds so pitiful from him that I almost agree, but I send the biggest mental 'NO!' that I can muster, and he doesn't ask me anything else from then on.
We just sit on the carpet, in silence, for hours, as I cry, the shock fading and the emotions that I thought were strong a few hours roll in, drowning me in a violent sea of anger, sadness, disgust.
After my eyes are so sore and swollen that I can't even blink properly, the tears stop. As the tears stop, the pain from everything I endured physically starts to set in. Every movement I make, I want to cry, but I don't think I'm actually even able to anymore.
My headache has come back, or maybe it didn't even leave, I was just too preoccupied from everything else that I didn't even notice it.
I stand up, cringing at my every move and walk past Gerard, who's looking at me with such an intense look of concern, I have to look away. I walk past everything in the lounge with closed eyes, feeling my way, and go into the kitchen. I search the cupboards for some Advil, grabbing a glass and swallowing the two pills at the same time.
I turn around, with the glass of water in my hand, and see Gerard in the doorway with his back turned away from me. I stand next to him, looking to the floor instead of the scene in there. He looks at me for a second, his eyebrows furrowed, then looks away. I follow his eyes, looking at what he looks at, thinking that it's probably better for me to look at it now rather than later. His eyes travel to each item of my clothing strewn around the place, then at the blood, then at the glass.
His eyes then come to a stop when they reach a used condom lying on the floor. "Well, at least he used protection.." I say sarcastically, bitterly, as I look at it, nausea rising in my stomach again. "What happened? Did you have a kinky sex thing going on last night or something? I don't even care, just don't tell me that somebody... that somebody..." He closes his eyes, covering his mouth. When his eyes open, they're blazing with the fire of vengeance and anger. "Frank, who the fuck did this? I'll fucking kill them! I swear to God..." He looks back at the clothes, the blood, the scowl and the fire in his eyes becoming more prominent.
"Remember the lovely Miles?" I try to sound strong, sarcastic, but my voice comes out as a shaky sigh, more of a whisper than anything. I close my eyes, breathing in and out a couple of times before opening them again. When I do, Gerard's eyes are red. "Frank, stay here. He's a fucking dead man walking, he's fucking dead.." As he says this, he shifts into somebody else, well, more like something else. He's turned into some sort of a demon, all dark and shadowy. I try to think of a reason to stop him with, but I realize there are more reasons that I think he should go, and that he should take me with him.
I give a tired, shaky nod, making him smile, all bared teeth and evilness, then he jumps out of a window, running to find Miles, presumably.

Notes

So, I found out that I have a 17 year old brother and a twenty-something year old sister a few days ago... I don't even know their last names, I'm fucking freaking out..