Action Cat {Frerard}

What Have I Become?

yooo so i'm back with another chapter!

this chapter may be triggering to some readers (self harm/depression) so please read at your own risk.

"Is this getting anywhere?" I wonder, staring at the two girls. Quinn glares at me, while Lexi stares at her beaten down shoes. "Don't talk to them like that," I hear a man say. I look up from my notes and see Frank, who is passing by with a cup of coffee. I direct my attention back to the girls. "Continue," I tell them. Quinn sighs before beginning again, this time with more edge.

Frank's P.O.V.

I hurried back home and ran through the rain, not wanting to get drenched. My house was cluttered with old newspapers, flyers, books, and records. It was sort of hard to find my way around sometimes. I stared at one of the guitars I had kept that was sitting in the corner of my living room. I resisted the urge to pick it up and play it. Instead, I went to the kitchen and made a messy sandwich. I took a seat at the small kitchen table that was almost overrun by all my useless crap.

I ate while typing on my computer, trying to finish up my article. I thought about the encounter I had that day with Action Cat. He made me promise not to write anything about it in my article. It made sense why he didn't want me to, but I didn't have much to work with. He told me a few things about the blue orb, but I still wasn't exactly clear on it. I needed to speak with him again, but who knew when he would show up next? I considered making up a bunch of bullshit, but I knew that wouldn't do. Especially if something else happened. I needed Quinn and Lexi's help, but I couldn't exactly ask for it.

With what had been going on, they were in no state to help. I didn't want to stress them out or make them feel worse. Especially Quinn. I realized how fragile she was. I wasn't getting anywhere, so I shut my laptop, frustrated. I sighed and leaned back in my chair, glancing around my living room.

My gaze fell on my old guitar that was in its stand. I hadn't played it for so long. I remembered everything I had learned, but for some reason, I had given up trying to accomplish anything with it.

I strolled over to it and picked it up slowly, feeling it in my hands. I sat down and strummed a few chords, concentrating. It felt familiar. It was.

I remembered a song I had started about a year before. I began singing the first few words, feeling like it belonged.

So many stars in the sky

And I don't know why

They always have to fall on me

I stopped playing and stared at the guitar in my hands. I put it back down and stood up. That wasn't me anymore. I was a writer. Not a musician. I had fooled myself for so long, thinking that that was who I was, who I was always going to me. It was just a joke.

I took a deep breath and sat back down, deciding to play for a few more minutes.

So many stars in the sky

And I don't know why

They always have to fall on me

Maybe I'm blind to all of the signs

That the world never wanted me

I went outside today,

Hoping the sun would burn my face

I went outside today,

Hoping I'd feel something

I shook my head and set the guitar down, deciding to take a shower. I thought about how I should get rid of that guitar. I started running the shower and unbuttoned my damp flannel, throwing it on the floor. I stepped in and stood there for a minute, thinking about Action Cat. The article, my job, what had happened to Josh. What was I going to do?