Someone Out There Loves You (Adopted by Frank Iero)

6

ALEXA

Frank had visited me almost every day for the past two weeks. I kept telling him that he really didn't need to, that he probably had more important or interesting things to do, but he would simply dismiss me with a laugh and insist that he was here because he wanted to be. We had grown incredibly close in that small amount of time. However, sometimes doubts would creep in and try to convince me that I was a burden to him, something I would never admit out loud. Or worse: that this was all a publicity thing. But those thoughts only came at 2am as I would lie awake, begging sleep to grant me some peace from my mind taking over. When we were together they would dissolve away. I had started to see him as a stable part of my life, someone who cared about me, someone I could reach out to, depend on. I wanted to tell him about everything. I had never felt that way before, not towards my 'friends' back home, not towards my doctors and psychiatrist, not even towards Andy. Frank made me feel safe, and I knew I could trust him to listen without judgment and still see me as the person he has come to know without it warping his perception. It was getting to the point where I couldn't imagine my life without him in it.

Part of me was afraid this was one sided.

I sat on my bed flipping through the cd cases Frank brought me last week, trying to decide what to listen to. When he plonked the bag on the table I must have given him the vaguest look, because all he said was "I said I was gonna bring you cd's, so here," and slid the bag over to me. There would have easily been 30 of them which I was planning to slowly but surely make my way through. Frank ordered me to guard them with my life as some of them were the other guys. Though I knew he was joking, it did put some fear in me and I began doubting whether he should have brought them to me in the first place. I kept them in my room, not trusting to leave them in the art and music room in case anyone would go near them, even though I was skeptical of that happening. I couldn't let anything happen to them. You can never be too safe with things that are important to you. I learnt that years ago.

I tiptoed downstairs at the sound of my mother and father arguing, my tiny feet making next to no noise on the wooden planks.  They creaked if you weren't careful where you stepped. I was too scared to go down all the way, so I stopped just out of sight, my hand grasping the railing shaking violently.

My eyes scanned the room. The dim lighting provided by the lamp showed the amount of beer bottles on the coffee table, nothing new. I did a double take when I saw my stuffed lamb, Pinky, on the couch next to the coffee table. Pinky was the only toy I had, and she had become my emotional support. I knew if my father were to see her I would be punished. That is, if he hadn't seen her already. I wasn't meant to leave my things lying around the place, not that I had many things. I'd been warned.

I flinched at the sound of a bottle smashing against a wall. It sounded like they were in the kitchen. I decided to make a run for it. All I needed to do was skip down the remaining stairs, duck in and out of the living room while grabbing Pinky in the process and sprinting back up to my room. In and out. That's all I needed to do. Just in and out. My 6 year old mind decided I could do this.

Counting to three in my head, I raced down the stairs, my feet padding lightly, dodging the spots that squeak. The voices in the kitchen were rising. I wasted no time skipping around the the living room and ducked behind the couch for cover as I caught my breath. My heart was in my throat. I just needed to grab Pinky and head back upstairs. I peaked around the side of the couch before taking off, making sure the coast was clear. I snatched Pinky off the couch and began my escape, reaching the bottom of the stairs in mere seconds.

"Where do you think you're going?" his voice boomed through the hallway as he walked in my direction.

I froze.

"I said, where do you think you're going?" he repeated lower and much more threatening as he stood next to me, looking down at my pathetic trembling body. The stench of alcohol radiated off him.

"I- I was ju-just getting Pinky, I left her d-down here. I'm s-sorry, daddy."

"What have I said about leaving your shit around the house?!" he screamed in my face. Tears filled my eyes but I refused to let them fall.

"Darren, please," my mother's tired voice earned her a slap across the face.

"She's too old for toys. She needs to learn to grow up and have some fucking respect." He turned to me. "After everything I do for you and you treat me like THIS?" He snatched Pinky from my shaking hands with ease.

"No!" I cried in protest before I could think.

"You think you can disrespect me like this, leaving your trash around MY house, talk back to me, you little shit? I told you to clean up after yourself. I don't want to look at your mess. I don't want to know you exist. You no good, space wasting, worthless piece of shit. This is what you deserve." His voice rose with every sentence, building up to the moment he ripped Pinky in two with his bare hands.

"NO!"

The scream earned me a beating, but I didn't feel a thing. All I could feel was the pain in my heart from losing my only friend.