Love Vigilantes (Frerard) •AU•

Chapter Four

Frank P.O.V

Drinking was my favourite thing- besides my old guitar. It was my pride and joy, my child on effect. It went with me everywhere that I went, as did my alcoholism. I had been drinking for so long that I believed that it was a part of me. It wasn't a redeeming feature, God I knew that, but the devil sitting firmly on my shoulder prevented me to stop. The bar owner practically paid me in booze, unless I asked for money up front.

I messed with a hole in my brown jumper. I couldn't remember if it was genuinely brown, or just that way from its old age. My checked shirt showered through it, its softness comforting my blistered fingers. I watched as the people flitted in and out of the bar, knowing that my little performances were due soon. I always began at three, finishing whenever I got bored. I'd collect my booze (or money) from the bartender, and stumble to my car. Silently hoping on my journey home that I wouldn't be followed by the police. That wouldn't be a good idea, as well as the fact that I'd need bailing out, my parents would use that as a way to put me away in a mental institution. The little horror stories that I had heard from inside those places made me want to throw up. People went in out of their own will, and came out traumatised and scared.

A hand tapped me gently on the shoulder, I smiled. I recognised the cherry red nails, the dainty hands. I turned on my barstool, Mary. She was a beautiful young girl. Young, dumb and pregnant. She was close to delivering the baby, and the father was nowhere to be seen. I had already told her that whoever he was would be getting a punch if he ever showed up again.

"Mary I've told you a dingy bar is no place for a baby." I sighed with a laugh, watching her roll her eyes. She knew what was best for her and her little baby, she seemed to know everything. Her common sense levels were usually through the roof.

"And I've told you Frankie that I don't care for what you think. I'm pregnant, you're a guy." She teased, prodding me in the shoulder. I smiled, pressing the small shot glass up to my lips, the whiskey fumes already burning my airways. I loved the sting, it was strangely comforting. It reminded me of the comfort that drink gave to me, how happy it made me. She snapped me out of my little daydream by turning me around, tutting as she did so.

"Frank Iero, you look like you've been dragged through a bush backwards." She batted the creases out of my broken jumper, gasping when she saw the hole in it. I was surprised when she lifted it over my head, insisting that she was going to fix it. "I swear I'm like your mother." She tutted again, holding it up to the dim light, inspecting the damage.

"Mary, you don't have to fix it. I don't really care about what I look like." I chuckled, trying to snatch it back from her. She frowned, pulling it away from me.

"I care, you look homeless. You'll set a bad example for my baby Frankie, I won't allow it." She giggled, moving her blonde hair from her eyes.

"You really want to have a baby around me? Are you sure that's an awfully wise idea?" I joked, thinking of a small blonde, blue-eyed little boy waddling around with a whiskey bottle in his tiny hand, his knitted cardigan ripped to shreds as he toddled around the bar.

"Of course I do, you'd be like his uncle." She punched me in the shoulder playfully, standing to her feet. She looked a million times bigger than I remembered her being, before she got pregnant. She was so small, so fragile, so skinny. I called her 'Twiggy' after that young British model- in my opinion she was mor beautiful, and just as gentle.
She waddled out of the bar, insisting that she would fix my jumper before I finished up here. I smiled, her presence always made me happier than ever. She was like a sister to me, my family. Well, the only family that would talk to me. She knew that I was gay, and didn't care for that fact. I was more than blessed to have her in my life.

I finished the rest of the amber liquid in my glass, sliding it over to the bartender. I grabbed my guitar from at my feet, inspecting it to make sure that it was ready for another night of work. I ran through my songs, so that they were fresh in my mind. They were the same songs that I had sung over and over agin for months, not being able to write anymore from my chronic fatigue, and growing alcoholism. People seemed to enjoy them, and that's as all that mattered to the owner. All that mattered to me was that I got my fair share of booze, and my fair share of the money.

Dragging a stool onto the little stage in the corner, I adjusted myself on it. I felt naked without my old jumper, but I trusted that Mary would have it restored in no time. She was a seamstress by trade, made her own clothes- and most of mine. She was far too good to me, I considered her my sister. I slowly opened my mouth, familiar lyrics escaping from behind my chapped lips.
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Song Of The Chapter- Claws by Son Lux

A.N
Sundays are literally the worst. They remind me that I go to a shit-hole for another four days before I'm free for a week or so. I plan to update as much as I can during that time- with revision and all of that to do -_-