Don't Hide
If I Just Lost My Mind
I hate this, Frank thought. When will it end? Every fucking time that woman had to give him that judging glare as she passed by - which is why it was a pretty good job he was at the back of the class.
Frank Iero laid his small head onto his forearms and didn't move when his long black fringe fell in front of his eyes in slow motion. He didn't exactly want or need to see the board, did he? Frank felt a light breeze where his head turned towards the window. He breathed out more loudly than normal and shifted his arm so he could feel the cold air on his pale skin. Indoor heating was stupid, the only people who actually needed it were old people, he thought.
Frank Iero had hatred for many things. One: school. He hated the lessons, he hated the people, he hated the putrid blue colour of the carpet, the windows, where the protective plastic was peeling off, and the door which only had a tiny box-sized window to look out through. The room was suffocating.
The side of the radiator burned his foot and it stung.
"Whoa..?" he mumbled when he got poked by a cold object. He raised his eyes and was met with the end of a pale, knobbly finger, which wore a ring so tightly the skin was trapped around it, almost engulfing the metal. The finger was so close to his face it sent a shudder down his spine. A heavy load of paper was dropped on his desk in front of him.
The boy groaned for the fourth time that day and put his hand out in front of him, fumbling for the paper. He found a tattered corner and dragged it towards him, Frank raised his eyebrows and coughed out in wide-eyed disbelief, looking around him in panic, seeing only mean eyes staring emptily back at him. He closed one eye and squinted at the bright red marker, impossible to miss. '49', he saw. Fucking 49? Out of 50, right? Could it be? Was he lucky this time?
Fuck, it was out of 110. Which was, if Frank was right, exactly 44.5 percent. Definitely. So... not so good, thought Frank.
"Iero!" yelled the teacher, "ya failed again!" A drop of spit landed on Frank's arm, immediately causing him to flinch and rub his skin quickly as if he had been burned. Ew. "Not again?" he asked himself. As he took it in, the new information brought a sick feeling to his stomach and a wave of anxiety to his head. "But i tried as hard as I could.."
Some other kids stared at him from across the classroom and laughed loudly. Not only some, but now most of them, lead by the 'popular' group at the back. "Loser," a guy said, snickering with his friends. Ugh. "Gay." "Emo." They all laughed deafeningly, and Frank lowered his head in shame.
Why did he have dyslexia? Why can't I be normal? Frank had always been bad at learning; he had trouble with reading, with simple maths, with making a shopping list. I mean, he couldn't even write a fucking text to his mum, for God's sake. He hated it so much. It had been persistent since he was 4, since he started school on that first day - hence he despised school. He'd had diagnoses, appointments, tests, therapists. The list was endless.
This grade was the worst yet. And he had a feeling they were going to get worse.
I can't do this,
I can't do this,
I can't do this..he repeated to himself over and over again. Why can't I do this?
I'm a failure.
The teenager stood up quietly, clutching his things to his chest almost dearly, and, without a sound, slipped out the classroom and out the door before it could touch him.
He ran, tears flying behind him, down the flights of stairs, past those stupid plastic-peeling windows that he hated so much, down until he found another building, and then up again, up to the very top of it, where the ceiling was pointy as it was in the roof and he could feel the wind from outside.
Frank found his usual place, next to a peeling door, a misfit, an unused room. He didn't ever go in, though. Outside by the door was fine for him.
The small boy curled up comfortably there, of course not straight away, he punched the wall multiple times first, wincing at the pain and noticing a few smudges of blood on the wall, where his knuckles had made contact with it and left red bloody marks. He decided to leave it there, though, because who knew how the fuck he was gonna clean that off? Frank made his hair messy with his fingers and let his weak body collapse against the nice cream coloured wall, a calming colour he had always liked. Well done, painter.
Frank's eyes seemed to blur as he mulled over his thoughts, and time itself, slipped away. Maybe if he stayed here long enough, he could miss next lesson without them realising?
He let his head fall to the wall, his cheek touching the cold stone and feeling the rough painted surface of it rubbing on his skin. He pressed his ear against it.
I know I won't hear anything, he thought, but it's nice to listen anyway. The sound of the air moving through the walls is always nice.
The mouldy, mouldy walls.
Wait. What was this? Was it.. a voice? The teenager was definitely hearing voices. Or precisely, a voice. The voice, humming a quiet tune, was low and somewhat childish, occasionally emitting a little snigger or a raspy breath. Frank found it.. comforting. It sang:
Would it matter, if I'm already dead..
And should I be shocked now by the last thing you said?
Before I pull this trigger,
Your eyes vacant and stained..
We're bullets, we're bullets, we're bullets, I mean this..
The voice seemed to keep repeating this over and over, as if he had forgotten the rest of the words, or maybe he hadn't written them yet. Frank could tell the man was a good singer, just by the way he controlled his sweet voice. It was so perfect, it sounded like a summer breeze wafting around old turnstiles.
Frank continued listening, and soon he found himself relaxing more and more, the nice cream coloured wall supporting him and cradling him.
The unknown voice enveloped him and seemed to flood him, pulling him away from reality and into a blue sea, which was endless and smooth.
The gentle waves lulled him from side to side while he slept; Frank dozed off to the sound of moving water and a light summer's breeze.
---
Frank Iero laid his small head onto his forearms and didn't move when his long black fringe fell in front of his eyes in slow motion. He didn't exactly want or need to see the board, did he? Frank felt a light breeze where his head turned towards the window. He breathed out more loudly than normal and shifted his arm so he could feel the cold air on his pale skin. Indoor heating was stupid, the only people who actually needed it were old people, he thought.
Frank Iero had hatred for many things. One: school. He hated the lessons, he hated the people, he hated the putrid blue colour of the carpet, the windows, where the protective plastic was peeling off, and the door which only had a tiny box-sized window to look out through. The room was suffocating.
The side of the radiator burned his foot and it stung.
"Whoa..?" he mumbled when he got poked by a cold object. He raised his eyes and was met with the end of a pale, knobbly finger, which wore a ring so tightly the skin was trapped around it, almost engulfing the metal. The finger was so close to his face it sent a shudder down his spine. A heavy load of paper was dropped on his desk in front of him.
The boy groaned for the fourth time that day and put his hand out in front of him, fumbling for the paper. He found a tattered corner and dragged it towards him, Frank raised his eyebrows and coughed out in wide-eyed disbelief, looking around him in panic, seeing only mean eyes staring emptily back at him. He closed one eye and squinted at the bright red marker, impossible to miss. '49', he saw. Fucking 49? Out of 50, right? Could it be? Was he lucky this time?
Fuck, it was out of 110. Which was, if Frank was right, exactly 44.5 percent. Definitely. So... not so good, thought Frank.
"Iero!" yelled the teacher, "ya failed again!" A drop of spit landed on Frank's arm, immediately causing him to flinch and rub his skin quickly as if he had been burned. Ew. "Not again?" he asked himself. As he took it in, the new information brought a sick feeling to his stomach and a wave of anxiety to his head. "But i tried as hard as I could.."
Some other kids stared at him from across the classroom and laughed loudly. Not only some, but now most of them, lead by the 'popular' group at the back. "Loser," a guy said, snickering with his friends. Ugh. "Gay." "Emo." They all laughed deafeningly, and Frank lowered his head in shame.
Why did he have dyslexia? Why can't I be normal? Frank had always been bad at learning; he had trouble with reading, with simple maths, with making a shopping list. I mean, he couldn't even write a fucking text to his mum, for God's sake. He hated it so much. It had been persistent since he was 4, since he started school on that first day - hence he despised school. He'd had diagnoses, appointments, tests, therapists. The list was endless.
This grade was the worst yet. And he had a feeling they were going to get worse.
I can't do this,
I can't do this,
I can't do this..he repeated to himself over and over again. Why can't I do this?
I'm a failure.
The teenager stood up quietly, clutching his things to his chest almost dearly, and, without a sound, slipped out the classroom and out the door before it could touch him.
He ran, tears flying behind him, down the flights of stairs, past those stupid plastic-peeling windows that he hated so much, down until he found another building, and then up again, up to the very top of it, where the ceiling was pointy as it was in the roof and he could feel the wind from outside.
Frank found his usual place, next to a peeling door, a misfit, an unused room. He didn't ever go in, though. Outside by the door was fine for him.
The small boy curled up comfortably there, of course not straight away, he punched the wall multiple times first, wincing at the pain and noticing a few smudges of blood on the wall, where his knuckles had made contact with it and left red bloody marks. He decided to leave it there, though, because who knew how the fuck he was gonna clean that off? Frank made his hair messy with his fingers and let his weak body collapse against the nice cream coloured wall, a calming colour he had always liked. Well done, painter.
Frank's eyes seemed to blur as he mulled over his thoughts, and time itself, slipped away. Maybe if he stayed here long enough, he could miss next lesson without them realising?
He let his head fall to the wall, his cheek touching the cold stone and feeling the rough painted surface of it rubbing on his skin. He pressed his ear against it.
I know I won't hear anything, he thought, but it's nice to listen anyway. The sound of the air moving through the walls is always nice.
The mouldy, mouldy walls.
Wait. What was this? Was it.. a voice? The teenager was definitely hearing voices. Or precisely, a voice. The voice, humming a quiet tune, was low and somewhat childish, occasionally emitting a little snigger or a raspy breath. Frank found it.. comforting. It sang:
Would it matter, if I'm already dead..
And should I be shocked now by the last thing you said?
Before I pull this trigger,
Your eyes vacant and stained..
We're bullets, we're bullets, we're bullets, I mean this..
The voice seemed to keep repeating this over and over, as if he had forgotten the rest of the words, or maybe he hadn't written them yet. Frank could tell the man was a good singer, just by the way he controlled his sweet voice. It was so perfect, it sounded like a summer breeze wafting around old turnstiles.
Frank continued listening, and soon he found himself relaxing more and more, the nice cream coloured wall supporting him and cradling him.
The unknown voice enveloped him and seemed to flood him, pulling him away from reality and into a blue sea, which was endless and smooth.
The gentle waves lulled him from side to side while he slept; Frank dozed off to the sound of moving water and a light summer's breeze.
---
Notes
Hello! :) this isn't the first story I've ever written but it is the first I've written in a while. So, I'm sorry if it's bad.
I just thought I should do this because of MCRX and because I love writing and I don't want to stop and forget about my ideas. So much fun when I'm bored in maths, lol
I hope you like it, and I'll try not to delay the Frerard too long ;)
-Em
@FantasySwap
Thank youuu :)
9/3/16