Hardest Part (Frerard)

Red Sweater (Ch 7)

Chapter 7- Red Sweater

(Trigger warnings for abuse, self harm, and suicide)

"Frank!" His dad called, stomping down the stairs. "You little piece of shit!"

Frank had only been 14, he had locked himself in his bathroom hopelessly crying. His dad was banging on the door, anger devouring his voice.

Frank could feel the bruise slowly appearing on his face as the pain crawled to his brain. "Leave me alone!" He pleaded.

"Get your fucking ass out here or your mom gets it!"

He was obviously drunk, the whole house reeked of booze. Frank's dad was horrible sober but drunk? He did unspeakable things to Frank when he was drunk.

Frank unlocked the door, hopelessly allowing his father to drag him across the cold wood floor. He couldn't allow his mother to get hurt, he wouldn't, not again.

Frank must have thankfully blacked out on his way to his dad's bedroom. He woke up hours later, frantically slipping on his baggy jeans and faded band tee.

Sobbing, he returned to his bathroom, falling to the tiled floor. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the thin silver blade. His tears mixed with blood as it rolled down his arm, forcing him to clench his jaw. He coated his skin with slim red cuts until the pale colour was no longer visible. Small auburn puddles formed on the floor, devouring his free hand.

Frank placed the blade on the counter and washed off his arm, studying the deep wounds he had carved into himself. He didn't bother covering them up, he knew he dad didn't care.

He cautiously walked downstairs to find his mom cornered, his dad holding a knife.

"Dad!" He screamed, running over.

"Stay out of this Frank" He hissed, "your little bitch of a mother cheated on me again, didn't you?!" He pointed the knife towards the shaking woman. "Slut!" he called. He repeated it a few more times, his voice growing with each word.

"Slut!" He moved closer to her.

"Slut!" Closer.

"Slut!" The knife was practically at her neck now.

He was extremely drunk, meaning he wouldn't hesitate to do something extremely stupid and dangerous. Frank ran into the kitchen, picking up the phone and dialing 911.

"Hello?" His sob leaked into his whisper. "Yes, my d-dad is holding a, a knife, please hur- please hurry, thank you, bye"

He ran back to his dad, "The cops are on their way, now get the fuck away from mom you bastard!"

He moved closer to her, lifting her up by her hair. Smiling, he pressed the knife against her throat. Frank screamed as blood ran down his mother's lifeless body, pouring onto the white carpet. He could barely hear the sirens from outside as he fell to the floor.

Social services had taken Frank, knowing he had an abusive father and dead mother. He was placed in a family, sharing a room with their son. He went to a small public school where he was harassed constantly. His foster parents didn't seem to give a shit, they just watched as he came home covered in different shades of purple and blue. His self-harm and depression only got worse as the year went by.

__

Frank lay crying in the dirty alley corner, a blade pressed lightly against his skin. He wasn't going to live anymore, he had no one to live for. His mom was dead, his father in jail, he was bullied in school, and his foster family ignored him. He might as well have never existed. He couldn't bring himself to spend another day alone on earth, he just couldn't.

He desperately cried as he pressed the blade further into his arm.

"H-hello?" a voice called from beside him.

He looked up to see a young man, black hair hanging loosely over his face. He had a generally concerned look on his face.

Frank didn't say anything, he just continued to sob.

The man took the hand that held the blade, forcing Frank to drop it on the concrete.

"Please... don't do that" The man began, taking a seat next to him.

Frank remained quiet, he hadn't spoken a word in years, the last time being him calling the cops. He just couldn't ever find the words to say anything, it wasn't like anyone would listen to what he had to say anyway.

"I'm going to take you to my apartment okay?" the man frowned, helping Frank up.

Frank just nodded, allowing the stranger to help him down the street.

He didn't remember much from that night besides the man wrapping Frank in his red sweater, being put to bed, and drifting into a deep sleep.

__

He awoke to a plate of eggs and toast, along with a cup of coffee.

"Hey, there sleepy head" The stranger smiled, passing him his food on a tray.

Frank was extremely confused, not only to be in a strangers house but to feel slightly cared for.

"God, how rude of me" The man laughed, "My name is Gerard, Gerard Way"

Frank gave out a weak smile, taking a sip of the coffee.

"What's your name?"

Frank remained quiet, staring Gerard's golden eyes.

"Not much of a talker huh?" He sighed, sitting next to Frank.

"My, uh, m-my name is F-" Frank stuttered, "Frank Iero"