Hardest Part (Frerard)

Sweet Sorrow (Ch 18)

Chapter 18-Sweet Sorrow (Frank's POV)

*Trigger Warnings: Self harm, alcohol*

Oh god, what the fuck did I do?

I cried, leaning my head against the cold side of the bathtub. I brought my head to my knees, hugging them closer to my chest, not caring about the blood slowly staining my jeans.

Gerard would be so disappointed, I had gone about a full year without harming myself. He worked so hard on me, so hard to fix the hurt I was causing myself.

What would he think if he saw me now, hopelessly crying, bleeding out in the bathtub?

Pathetic.

I cried harder, hoping to drown out the stinging I had left upon my wrists. I needed something to help the pain, I needed to forget.

Forgetting was better, right?

I couldn't deal with life anymore, Mikey was barely even home, and even if he was, he didn't give a shit about me. Who the fuck just stands there as their, practically, brother got beaten up? Did he not see my bruises, my fucked up emotions, and my bleeding wounds? Why did no one care about me?

I wanted it to end.

It was about noon, on Saturday. Mikey was off with his friends, saying he would be staying there for a few days. At least it was the break now, so I didn't have to worry about school, and getting shoved around. I was however slightly concerned. Gerard would surely visit for most of the two weeks, and I had no idea how I would cover up my latest injuries, both self-inflicted, and from the kids at school. He had enough on his plate, he didn't have to worry about someone as worthless as me.

I got up, not giving a shit about my openly exposed scars. I walked into the kitchen, grabbing the pack of beer Mikey had bought a few days ago for his friends and himself. I didn't exactly know how he had gotten it, or why he left it here, but I didn't really care at that moment. I just wanted to feel better, and I was willing to try anything to achieve that. I had never actually drank before, for I was never into that stuff, but I was desperate.

I opened the first one, taking a large sip. I immediately broke out coughing, as the alcohol stung the back of my throat.

"Fuck." I cried, letting the liquid rest inside my stomach.

I chugged the rest, not caring about the tears steadily streaming down my face. I just wanted it to be over. It hurt, and I felt weird, and I hated every bit of it. I didn't allow myself to stop however, so I opened up a second can. I was on about my third can by the time I really started feeling like shit. I was dizzy, and couldn't quite think clearly, and it was reminding me all too much of medication. I didn't like the feeling, and I wanted it to stop.

I curled up on the couch, trying to steady myself. I was seriously regretting what I had done, but was having trouble remembering why I had done it in the first place.

The room around me spun at a steady pace, as the front door quietly opened.

Fuck, why was Mikey back?

But the voice that replied to my thoughts was most certainly not Mikey's.

Double fuck.

"Frankie?" The voice called, as the lights flickered on. I had had all the curtains shut, and was enjoying the pleasant darkness.

I didn't respond, instead, I snuggled further into the corner of the couch. He must have heard me, because he made his way over, kneeling down in front of me.