Book Wørm (Frank Iero AU)

I Felt

Seven Days Later.
"Frank?" I walk into the house from a check up at the doctor's.
"..Frank?" I hesitate.
"Are you home?" I start looking into rooms, until I come to the bathroom, the door shut. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, then slowly, gently knock on the door, nervous at what I might hear, given how tense things have been since we lost the baby.
"Are you okay?" I talk as gently as I can.
"Frank." I say more sternly, lifting my fist to knock harder, when the door finally opens.
He stares blankly, his hair buzzed short.
"Oh..you..you cut your hair" I try and get him to show even the slightest bit of his old self.
"Yeah." He blinks a few times.
"Um..are you hungry??"
"No." He looks down.
"By the way..I cleaned up the mess from when I smashed that kids fucking skull in" he nods to the end of the hall, where a faded blood stain and multiple bullet holes still remain from when he killed the kid who knocked me over.
"Still need to paint and patch the holes though"
"Okay.." I back up because I have nothing else to say, then the door closes again.
Ten Days Later.
"Frank." I knock on the door again.
"You really need to get out of there, I haven't seen you eat in days"
The door cracks open.
He simply leans his forehead against a corner of the door, the underneath of his eyes shiny with tears, an exhausted look on his face.
"Frank" I whisper, reaching my hands to him. He finally gives in, hugging me, looking down and burying his face in my shoulder.
"It's okay, Frank." I try to comfort him.
"I mean, we're surrounded by so much death, you figure you'd be used to it by now"
His body tenses, then he moves away.
"What?" He stares at me.
"how're you not over this yet?"
"And you are?"
"I mean, it's been days.." I start.
"I will not. Fucking get over this. My child, is fucking dead."
"And so are a lot of people you've been involved with" I say, not realizing just how cold I'm being.
"What the fuck is wrong with you??" He raises his voice.
"What?!" I say back to him in an annoyed tone.
"How're you over this???" He scowls at me.
"How're you not?!"
"This is your fucking fault." He mumbles, staring at me.
"My fault? Really?"
"Your fault!!" He yells, grabbing my shoulders and swinging me to the open door.
"She never even took a breath!" I yell, pushing him and punching him a few times as he
shoves me into the bathroom, pulling the door handle as I scream at him. I pound on the door, "let me out!" I yell as I try and twist the door handle frantically.
"No" he yells over me, kneeling on the ground as he holds the door shut.
"You've changed, Chance. You're different" he mumbles again.
"What are you fucking doing!" I yell.
I try and get out the door multiple times, but the door never budges. I finally give up, sitting on the bathroom floor and looking at the door, sitting around all the boxes of tissues, I look around and see a pillow and blanket in the bathtub and a bunch of ripped paper with writing on it. I sit there like a child in time out, angry and confused. I stand up and shove my shoulder into the door, hearing that he's propped a chair or something against the handle.
I yell his name, annoyed and drop my hands down, sitting on the floor again.
I look around, then I come across a bunch of small scraps of paper, taped to the bottom of the bathroom wall, each scrap containing a few words, laid out to form complete thoughts and sentences:

"We have survived this life so far, but how far have we really come? What stops us from finally feeling complete? The time I have taken to myself has left me with the feeling that I may just be fine all alone. The leaves once green, now a fiery red, crackle underfoot as we make our way past the rotten pillars of our past discretions. I need this to be over. I know that now. Holding on to cold hands and sunken eyes hasn't held the same charm as it once did. I am fast approaching my rebirth. No more childish dreams. No more adolescent desires. No more breath of fresh air. Leave me to my work. I am not like all the others.
My love and my hate for you are infinite.
My love and my hate for you are infinite.
May I walk through this hideous world without fear of regret. I shall consume the hate that consumes me. Let me wash away my pain and mistrust in the tears of those foolish enough to get in my way. I shall cut off the hand at the wrist and feed upon my master. None can be better. None will be stronger. No one will hold judgment over my head. I am the beacon, the forest fire, the tire yard set ablaze. I am the smoldering ember in the darkness that surrounds us all. This is my passion. This is my calling. This is my prison. This is me.
My love and my hate for you are infinite.
My love and my hate for you are infinite.
My love and my hate for you are infinite."

The words I read, and how they're written completely mesmerize me, I marvel at how beautiful they are, yet I feel the sick twinge of anxiety tighten in my stomach. The repeat mentions of hate, mixed with love concern me.
The words ring with regret and are riddled with the thought of being better off alone.
Is this it? Is he done with me?
Would he leave me..?
Or kill me?
BANG.

My body jolts with my first thought, gunfire.

But it isn't.
Frank kicked the chair holding the door back, then bursts through the door.
I sit on the floor, trembling and shocked, looking right at him.
"Chance" he whispers.
He steps toward me.
He moves a hand from behind his back, revealing a butterfly knife.
"Frank, Frank, no!" I move backward as he steps toward me, taking one knee in front of me, grabbing the back of my neck. I sit still, lost.
"I fucking hate you." He grits his teeth, slowly pressing the blade to my arm. I let out a slight grunt, then he kisses me, pushing harder with the knife.
"O-ow, Frank" I gasp against his lips, feeling blood slightly spill from around the knife.
He straddles my waist, dropping the weapon to the floor, kissing me more.
"But I love you." He whispers, returning to kissing me.
He backs out of the kiss, looking at the wound he left on my arm.
I quickly grab the knife and press the side to the bottom of his throat, his eyes grow wide.
"You're scared." He plainly says.
"Don't come closer" I breathe heavy.
He leans in further, pressing the knife to his neck, leaving a red mark and blood welling up with more pressure he applies.
"You don't wanna hurt me" he whispers, holding both sides of my face, planting another kiss on my lips.
I drop the knife, and embrace him, smearing blood on each other as we tightly hold one another.
"I can't stop" he gasps in between kissing me.
He lies my body on the bathroom floor, moving his mouth to my stomach, kissing various places on me for a few minutes.
He glances up at me, raising his head up.
"We need to kill that kids father" he suddenly says.
"The one that knocked me down?" I touch the side of his exhausted face.
He nods, "and it won't be quick. I don't even want money anymore."
"All I want is-"
I cut him off, "suffering."
He smiles, "exactly."