Franks pov
Trigger warning for self harm thoughts/scars
I climbed out of my aunts dusty blue car and practically crawled up to the door which I opened lazily, the solid oak creaking quietly on its hinges. I slid my shoes of in the hall before picking them up by the heels.
"Are you okay, dear?" My aunt asked softly after she closed the door behind her.
"Yeah," I mumbled, "I think I'm just gonna sleep for a bit." I said quietly, rubbing my red-rimmed and stinging eyes.
"Of course, dear. Go and get some rest." Marie replied softly as she turned and walked into the front room. I stumbled up the stairs, mentally and physically exhausted from the days events. I pushed open my white bedroom door and flung my shoes to the side. My entire body felt like I was dragging around bags of lead that were tied to each of my weary limbs.
I sat down on my bed and rubbed my hands over my face, sighing out exhaustedly. I wrestled to remove my tie in a task that seemed more complex that necessary due to my not entirely lucid state. My entire body was numb, as if my earlier crying session had drained all emotion and feeling from my body, as if I had poured my soul out and onto the polished wood of my mother's casket.
I clumsily unbuttoned my now creased shirt before I stood up and dragged myself over to my wardrobe to hang my clothes up. Then I spotted them. The gleaming silver catching the light and shining menacingly, akin to the evil eyes of a predator. Sitting precariously on the corner of my desk. Inocent enough to be unnoticeable yet to the drooping eyes of myself seemed all to dangerous and inviting.
I threw my shirt to the side, not bothering to hang it up neatly, before I walked, hand outstretched, almost trance like to where they lay. My shaking hand gripped the smooth handle of the scissors and I examined them carefully. Once used for mundane purposes, such as cutting off labels and opening boxes now had a very different use in my fog-covered mind. I gently ran a thumb over the flat of the blade, the angled metal calling out to me, begging me to return to my long forgotten habit. My eyes roved over the blades before glancing down at the intricately tattooed swallows that sat pride of place on my hips, the delicate ink covering a multitude of ugly jagged scars. I walked back over to my bed and sat down, the scissors still in hand. The soft sheets sank beneath my weight as I turned the blades over in my hands.
I placed the object on my nightstand next to my phone and took a deep breath as I rubbed my eyes. My skin practically tingled with long forgotten desire as I searched through my tired brain for the correct answer. My mind took me back to two years ago. The last time I had ever cut. It has worked then. It was help in the form of a well needed break from aching numbness that at that point was a constant fixture in my life.
I carefully traced a thin scar that was neatly placed the crook of my elbow. My eyebrows furrowed gently at the memory.
My phone buzzed on the table, making my head jolt up quickly at the sound. I picked it up and unlocked it while letting out an unsteady breath. I looked at my notifications to see Gerard had been the one to message me, I clicked on the app trying to forget what I had just been about to do. I scanned over his message in which he explained he had just returned from school and was wondering how I was. I had told him the funeral was today and he knew how stressed I had been about it. I typed out a quick response with shaking hands and shoved my phone back on the nightstand.
I hesitantly stood up and returned the scissors back to where they had been previously placed on the desk and proceeded to hastily strip off the remainder of my clothes and crawl into the soft cave that was my bed, pulling the comforter over my head to block out the outside world.
A/N: hello again! Tis a short chapter today but it's meaty... Ew, meat.
Anywhore, how you all doing today? You better be making an attempt to look after yourselves or I'll have to travel to your house and run you the sickest bubble bath ever.
Irrelevant but guess what stubborn bitch finally took out the jewelry in their incredibly fucked up ear piercings.
Goodbye my duckiez 🖤
YOU ARE READING
Out Of Control
RomanceGerard Way has had this condition for as long as he remembers. His childhood was plagued with doctors appointment after doctors appointment, for what reason? It's not like there's a cure, nothing will cure the stares he receives, the disgusted looks...