Summary: Frank Iero used to have everything; Family, a band, a wife, a future. But when it’s all taken away from him, he begins to lose sight of what really matters. He needs to fill his emptiness, and fast.
Pairing: Frerard (Frank Iero x Gerard Way)
Chapter 1
“What am I supposed to do now?” I say to myself, my words just above a whisper, filling up my almost empty room. I don’t like how much space there is. As I lay on my back, I stare at the snow white ceiling that comes in contrast with dark cream coloured walls. The light from the sun escapes through my curtains, letting bright rays of sunlight come into the room. My bed is warm from my body heat on one side, when the other is cold. This place is homely to me because it's my home, but if anyone were to visit, they would think the owner had no connection to this room at all. When someone has a connection with something, they want to decorate it and make their mark on it, but the only marks on my walls were the dirty stains. And that was me, my dirt, my life and my home. My feet are tangled into the sheets, half of my skin showing and the other half covered by the sheets, it makes it more awkward to do so but, I stretch my legs, my toes curling at the feeling of being stretched and awoken. I groan and grab the pillow to my left, clutching it in both hands and then bringing it to my face. I don't know why I do this, maybe because it's a lot like suffocating yourself. Maybe it's a control thing - I know when to stop. I could maybe not stop, and die, but I chose not to, and just maybe that makes me feel a little better about myself. Like I defeated some kind of monster that was really my own hands. I bring the pillow down, to hug it to the chest, the smell of my ex-wife still dominant on the sheets. I can smell her hair mainly, the honey filling my nose and making memories I didn't want fill my head. The pillow is scrunched into my fisted hands now, still tightly against my chest, and I decide that I should wash everything in the house. They all smelt too much like what I had lost.
I get out of bed, pushing the sheets from my body and letting it fall into a random shape of the large empty bed. There was too much space that I didn't need. Too much room to fill with memories that would taunt me while I was alone. Too many stains, too much dirt. But that dirt wasn't there a few days ago when my kids and Jamia were here. No, they only came once they had gone. It's funny though, how much loving something can cloud your view on everything else. My view of the world has changed a lot since my family were ripped away from me. I hate the taunting of these walls, and I need to get out. The door isn't much of a struggle today, the hinges usually get stuck, but now they open easily. Maybe they want me to go into the rest of my house and find more memories that are going to taunt me. The stairs are an easy trip, my feet having a mind of their own as they carry me down the many steps. There are toys that the kids have left behind, but I'm more sure Jamia left them there on purpose, just to spite me. When I finally reach the kitchen, by-passing the door to the front room, I sigh. The kitchen used to be so full of life at this time in the morning, but now it was so bare the only living, breathing life form here being me. There used to be kids screaming and laughing, and Jamia humming and maybe telling the kids to be quiet so they don't wake me. Now there's no laughter, just silence. I fill up the kettle, the water ran slowly, droplets running down the side of the kettle. And then I wait, the time going slower and slower and the screeching of the kettle continues to boil water. Coffee is all I drink, and eat, and so it's more like second nature to me to spoon the coffee into the cup and then, when it's done, pour in the water. I add no sugar, and no creamer, because I need the sharp sting of the coffee to hit my taste buds and leave them numb. It will be one more part of me that doesn't want to think. But then I look down, and I mean really look, and I see what mug I've chosen. It can't be right, and I was sure that Jamia had taken it with her, but then these were her traps, weren't they? The mug was full with coffee, but on the outside there was a slogan. A dirty, cheap, stupid slogan that makes me want to cry.
