Heavy Hands (frerard)

Chapter 13

When I went into my English class my teacher was playing Helena and then at the end of class he slammed his hand down on my desk and was like "DID YOU HEAR THAT MCR"

~~

"Hey can you go to a funeral with me?" Frank asked.

"A-a funeral?" I asked in shock. "When?"

"Now," He said.

"o-okay," I mumbled.

"I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes," Frank stated before hanging up.

I frowned in confusion before I grabbed a simple black dress and a pair of black kitten heels.

"Where are you going?" Jamia asked when I walked into the kitchen.

"A funeral, I guess," I said. "Frank just asked me to go."

Soon enough the buzzer rang and I went out to see Frank in a simple black suit. He took my hand and brought me over to the limo. I was surprised to find out it wasn't empty, there were three other men here.

"Gee, this is Pete, Brendon, and Andy Biersack," Frank said. "This is my boyfriend, Gee."

I looked down shyly as I slide into my seat. The three other men sat on the long bench, Frank and I were on the smaller bench. Frank placed a hand on my thigh and it was deathly quiet. The awkwardness was unsettling, it made me just fidget in my seat for the sole purpose of making some sort of noise.

We finally got to the destination and I sighed in relief. I frowned when I saw we were at the cemetery and Frank and I walked a bit behind the other group of people.

"Whose funeral is this?" I asked.

"One of my men's," he said.

"Was he a friend?" I asked

Frank nodded and I squeezed his hand.

"I'm sorry," I said.

We got to the grave and I looked around. There was the people from the limo, a couple other men in suits and what looked like some family. Everyone here was stoic, even the family didn't seem fazed.

Everything about this was so weird. We were going straight to the grave? No ceremony? No emotions? This person must've been young if they were working for Frank but they already had a headstone made.

"How'd he die?" I asked quietly.

"Gunshot wound," Pete said.

Frank sent him a scathing look and Pete quickly looked away.

"He was murdered?" I asked in shock.

"It...it was a gun," Frank said. "He killed himself."

I looked down sadly and he squeezed my hand.

"Don't disrespect his name," the man, who I assumed was the victim's father, said. "He was murdered, this wasn't no suicide."

"Will you guys shut the fuck Up?" Frank asked.

I looked at Frank nervously. It had to have been disrespectful to say that sort of thing here. I whimpered, pressing myself closer to Frank's side as he wrapped an arm around my waist.

It was so emotionless as they lowered the casket into the ground. It seemed almost like everyone was expecting this. I couldn't help myself as I picked a flower and tossed it down onto the smooth black coffin. My eyes were watering as I thought about him in his last moments before he was murdered. He must've been scared.

"Aren't you gonna say a few words or something?" I asked.

Frank shook his head and that only made me frown more. Poor guy doesn't get a real funeral. The people here seem like they only came because they were obligated to.