Sorry for the spam

THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW BEFORE READING THIS BOOK

1: Frank is taller and older than Gerard
2: Mikey is also older than Gerard
3: I apologize for the characters being dicks

Okay now have fun!

~~

Bob tripped him, making him fall down on his face. We laughed as we watched him slowly get back up and try to recollect him self, only to have Pete push him back down again.

"Fucking idiot," Pete said, laughing at him.

Mikey got back up again, running off down the hall.

"Fag!" Pete yelled after him.

We just laughed and I felt an urge that I knew all too well.

"Hey, I'm just gonna skip the last two hours," I said. "I need a smoke. Anyone care to join?"

"I'll come," Pete agreed.

"Nah, my teacher is on my ass right now so I have to go," Bob said.

We nodded as Pete and I walked out one of the side entrances. We silently sat on the bench, smoking a cigarette. I looked at the street before us, watching as people went by on their day to day lives.

"Have you ever thought about how pointless life is?" I asked. "Like, there's so much life and species out there and really a single person isn't important at all. If anything, the humans are just destroying the true beauty of the earth."

Pete glanced over at me.

"Are you high or something?" He replied. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"Nothing," I brushed off. "I was just messing around to see how you'd react."

"I'd beat you for being a fucking faggot," Pete said.

I frowned slightly because my friends didn't know I was bisexual.

"Yeah, just messing around," I muttered.

"Anyways, how'd that night go with that one chick?" Pete asked.

"It was good," I said.

"Good? That's all I get?" Pete questioned. "Is she a screamer?"

"Can we not talk about this?" I said in an irritated voice.

"God, what's got your panties in a twist?" Pete asked.

"It's nothing," I replied. "You know, I've actually got to go."

"What? why?" Pete asked.

"I've just got some stuff I need to take care of," I said.

"Fine, be that way, fag," Pete grumbled.

I stood up, tossing my backpack over my shoulders. I got into my car and started driving. My foot stepped on the breaks as I got into the parking spot I wanted. I looked up at the large building sadly. My head hung as I walked into the hospital.

"Hi, Frank," Miss Freeman, the receptionist, greeted.

I gave her a small nod, going up the elevator to the designated floor. The room number was inscribed in my mind and could probably never be washed out.

"Hey, mom," I said as I walked in.

I saw that she was asleep so I just sat in the chair beside her bed, trying to fight back tears as I watched her. I can't cry, crying is for wimps. I'm not going to cry. I'm too punk rock for crying.

My mom was dying of cancer. She was diagnosed a year and a half ago and this hospital has basically become my second home. My dad is already dead, he was killed overseas in the war when I was a child. She's all I have left. I have no siblings, no relatives. As soon as she's gone them I'm alone.

I turned eighteen a month ago so I wouldn't need to go to an orphanage. But I'd be in my house all alone. I'd have to pay the bills and taxes. I'd need a job. Hell, I do need a job right now but no one will hire me because of my tattoos and piercings. And there's so many medical bills, oh god they're so expensive. I don't show them to my mom though, I don't need her worrying about that.

"Frankie?" My mom asked, pulling me out of my daydream.

Her voice sounded so frail and weak, it made my heart shatter.

"Hey, mamma," I said.

"How's my boy?" She asked.

"I'm fine, how are you?" I asked nervously.

"How do I look?" She replied.

I bit my lip, looking at her pail skin, the bags under her eyes, her bald head.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to upset you," she said softly. "How was your day? How are you doing in school?"

"It's all good," I said. "I got an A+ on my math test."

"That's my boy," she praised, a smile ghosting her pale lips.

Most people think I'm stupid but I'm actually not.

"Have they said anything new?" I asked.

She shook her head solemnly, a melancholy mood filling the room.

"You know, after I--"

"Don't," I interrupted. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Frankie," she said softly, almost looking guilty.

"Please, mamma," I whispered, holding her hand. "First papa, I don't want to talk about the same thing happening to you."

Her other hand stroked my hair gently and I couldn't help but lean into the touch.

"I know your scared, Frankie, but--"

"I'm not scared," I yet again interrupted.

"You don't always have to be tough," she said.

"I'm just trying to be responsible," I said.

My mom gave a small, sad smile in my direction. She scooted over and gestured for me to sit beside her on the bed, which I did.

"How are Pete and Bob?" My mom asked.

The three of us had all been childhood friends, but when they started causing trouble and beginning to drink and smoke, I just followed their lead. Obviously, my mom doesn't know of our behaviors.

"They're fine," I replied.

I noticed a vase of flowers on the table beside the bed.

"Who got you those?" I asked.

It's been a while since I've bought my mom flowers so they weren't from me, I don't have enough money to buy them.

"They're from one of the nurses here," she said. "Lovely woman, the tall one with the blonde hair."

I nodded when I realized who she was talking about, one of the night nurses.

"I love you," I whispered sadly.

"I love you too, sweetheart," my mom replied. "So, have you gotten any new relationships?"

She asked, and I knew she was asking if I had a boyfriend or a girlfriend yet. I usually just have flings, there's no commitment because in the end everyone will leave you anyways.

"No," I stated.

"You'll find the right person someday," my mom said.

I sighed but didn't say anything more.

"I still remember the day I met your farther," she started. Although I've heard this story a million times before, I still loved hearing it. "I was just walking around town, minding my own business. Just buying things for my upcoming party that I was throwing in my college dorm for my birthday. I had just been crossing the street when I heard the roar of the engine. I thought for sure I was a goner. Next thing I know, strong arms picked me up and pulled me off the road. He fell on top of me and when I looked up I saw the most beautiful brown eyes.

"I didn't see him for a while after that. Except one day I was hanging around the edge of the campus under a tree. There was a group of men in boots and cargo pants with green shirts that were training for the marines. They were jogging around in perfect order, training for the war. I spotted your father within the group and I saw him glance at me in shock. He jogged over and wrote his number down on the corner of the notebook I was writing in. He got in so much trouble, he had to do sixty push ups. I called him later that week and we started dating and then we got married and you came along and it was perfect."

I smiled and rested my head on her shoulder. It was all perfect. Until my dad was killed by a bomb and my mom was diagnosed with cancer.

"Why do you smell of cigarettes?" My mom asked suddenly, sounding angry. "You better not be smoking, I don't want you to end up here like me with cancer."

"I'm not, it's just some people I was passing by they were smoking, the smell must've lingered on me," I lied.

"Good, I won't have any of that from you," my mom said.

I stayed with her for a while, talking about anything and everything. But then the visiting hours ended and I had to leave. I got in my car and drove home. The small house looked so empty and depressing. Despite how much I wish I could be anywhere else, I stepped inside.

The house was dark and quiet, as it always was. I sighed and sat down at the table where bills and taxes were laid out for me to organize. I checked my email on my laptop, seeing that the two jobs I had recently applied for were denied. I stared down at the papers, feeling the stress tearing me from the inside out.

I pushed myself away and went over to the cupboard. I grabbed a bottle of alcohol, the only thing that makes me feel better. The strong liquid burned my throat as I swallowed.

Sitting in the living room, I continued to drink until half the bottle was gone. I felt the buzz, the strong feeling of it making my head woozy. I liked to drink alcohol, it helps me forget. It also helps me sleep.

I've been having nightmares for a while now. I tried everything but then just resorted to alcohol. A few swigs of this and I'm out like a light. If may be a little dangerous but I don't fucking care, it works. Pete's older brother buys my alcohol for me because I'm still too young.

I stood up, stumbling slightly as the room spun. I set the bottle down on the coffee table with a loud thump then managed my way up the stairs, crawling halfway.

I made it up to my bedroom, the walls painted black and littered with posters. It perfectly matched my black bedspread. I meant to go fall onto the bed, but only ended up missing and falling on the floor. I didn't feel like moving from my spot so I just reached up and yanked the blanket off the bed. I curled up into it, letting myself forget.