Runaway Scars - Frerard

Chapter 1

    Don't. Stop. Running.

    Frank's only reason to wipe his tears away was so he could see where he was going. But anywhere was better than what was behind him. He felt like a monster with angry villagers chasing after him with torches and pitchforks. His legs were burning, he could barely breathe, and his backpack was smacking against him and even slowing him down.

    But he didn't stop.

    He couldn't help but glance back to see there were now three police officers. They were all shouting things, warnings, offers, demands, everything they're supposed to yell at runaways; but Frank couldn't hear a word. Everything was silent in Frank's ears. It all sounded muffled and distant. He hated when that happened, but he also liked it. He could pretend everything was okay...until he began to calm down.

    Frank shrieked when he finally felt a hand wrap about his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. Of course, he fought, flailing his backpack at the offender and anyone else trying to restrain him. It didn't work; they were obviously stronger than the 17 year old who hadn't had much to eat in the past five days anyways.

    Five days. That was officially his record for getting away. They were a great five days. But eventually, he was found again. And going back home was always ten times worse after a runaway. Especially school wise. He didn't understand why they couldn't just let him go.

    "God dammit Frank, you have to stop this!" He heard his mother's voice from half way down the block and he looked up. The first frontal image his mother saw of him in five and a half days was of him barely holding himself up, cops on both arms and even behind him to make him walk.

    Frank didn't say a word and instead showed his mother his red, lifeless eyes. She huffed and nodded to officers, telling them to escort him to a car, taking him back to a police station. Again.

    "What am I gonna do with you?" His mother said (not so) under her breath. Frank shrugged in reply, even though she didn't see and he wasn't even intended to hear.

    The rest of the walk, Frank focused on a series of things; the people watching as a teenager is getting a police escort to the nearest police car; the whispers and scoffs of those same people, all saying things like, "They should put that kid on a leash," or, "Is he finally going to juvie?"

    Okay, so he had a rep. He wasn't ashamed of it. Frank just didn't care anymore. It was who he was; the emo fag runaway kid. He just...hated staying. He hated being trapped in a life he personally didn't care for anymore. He got bored of things quickly.

    Especially when those things beat the shit out of him, emotionally and physically.

    Finally, they reached a big cluster of police cars surrounding the abandoned warehouse he was using for shelter for the past few days. One of the officers placed his hand on his head, guiding him in, but Frank stopped as he stopped a figure in the distance. He didn't even question who it was.

    "GERARD!" Frank yelled angrily, resisting the cop shoving him into the police car. "GODDAMMIT I KNEW IT!"

    Gerard, scared, threw his backpack over his shoulder again and ran. The cop gave Frank a warning before finally getting him seated in the car, hands cuffed. He slammed the door shut, and Frank scowled at the back of the front seat, remembering the guilty look on the boy's face very clearly.

    Gerard did it.

    Gerard turned him in.

    One week earlier

    "Hi Frank!"

    Frank turned around slowly, knowing damn well who was standing there. He didn't HATE Gerard, but Frank being the mega downer that he was, often couldn't handle the giddiness and positivity his friend often showed. Were they friends already? It had only been a couple days...