Status: Active and typing.
Freight Hopper
.03
“Kid! Kid, come on. What’s wrong? Kid! Frank!”
Frank’s head whips around, and Mac stops suddenly at the sight of the frightening look in Frank’s eyes as they bore into her. His lips tighten in anger, and for a moment, he considers saying something to her, something nasty. Instead, he turns and continues walking.
“Jus’ let ‘im be.” He hears Rat’s voice at her side, “I’ll get ‘im later.”
Frank strides widen as the need to get away from the world becomes even greater. Finally, he stops in a thick cluster of trees and sighs. He pushes his back against the bark of a tree, his arms cross in frustration, and he closes his eyes.
It’s no big deal, he tells himself. I’ll just catch the next one out.
But Frank knows it’s not that easy. He knows what Rat’s going to push him to do, and he won’t, won’t do it. It’s sneaky, what Rat has done, but he’s here now, and there really
isn’t much he can do.
Even so, trains don’t come through Jersey as often as other cities, so they’re all stuck here for a few days; however, a few days for everyone else seems like years to Frank. Years that drag on and on and seem to never end, no matter how badly you want, how badly you long for them to be over.
Frank presses his eyes close and slams his fist into the tree, which doesn’t do any good for the pain that is already pulsing through his hands. He watches fresh blood seep through the fabric covering his left hand. It’s a familiar feeling that washes over Frank as the sting on his hand sears. He brings this thumb to his palm, placing it over the cloth. It’s as if his mind has been displaced from his body when his thumb presses down onto the cuts and the pain soars, sprouting wings, and flies through every corner and pocket of body.
“No,” he says aloud. I won’t dammit, I won’t, not again.
His thumb is off the cuts and the pain is fading, slowly. He’s angry, furious at himself for doing that. It’s stupid, fucking idiotic, and he knows he can’t fall back into it because if he does, he’ll never stop.
He plops down, his bottom hitting the dirt with a thump, and leans against the tree. He slept for most of the ride, but he’s strangely tired now, and sleep sounds very welcoming, but his mind is far too distracted to sleep. He’s ready to punch Rat, beat the shit out of the fucker if he has to, but he can’t do that. Not to Rat. However, he’s also scolding himself; he should have asked where they were going because hell, he’d rather be anywhere, anywhere, but here in this fucking state.
______
“Frank!” The voice comes as Frank feels desperate hands grasp his arm from behind. His head turns so sharply the other boy jumps in shock.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
The other boy whimpers, “Please don’t go.”
Frank is angry, hateful towards him, but he’s also confused. Never, not once has he ever seen the other boy this…emotional. He was the Iron Man, couldn’t make him cry if you wanted to, and yet, here he was; standing in front of Frank, hair disheveled, with tears rolling silently down his cheeks, begging , pleading with Frank.
Frank shakes his clutch off, and continues walking.
“Frank, please!” The other boy’s pace quickens, and soon he is standing in front of Frank, as if to stop him.
“Please listen to me, please,” his tears become sobs as he talks, “you can come live with me. It will be okay and everyth-“
“No, no! Just stop,” Frank interrupts, “You don’t understand, and you are never going to. Stop trying.” Again, Frank resumes walking. The streets are empty and he crosses the middle of the road.
“Frank!” he doesn’t look, doesn’t turn, determined to reach his destination.
And as the word “FRANKIE! I lo-” spills from the other boy’s lips, Frank surrenders and turns. Turns to see a semi pushing 80, turns to see the other boy’s face illuminate from the florescent glow of headlights, turns to see his the other boy’s eyes staring directly into his, knowing, understanding. He screams when it happens. And then he is gone, running faster than he’s ever attempted and he is heaving sobs so heavy and harsh It hurts, physically hurts, and tears are escaping his brown eyes and they won’t stop because the scene is replaying over and over and over; the truck, and the lights, and him and…
It’s a name; one, solitary name. A name that, purposely, hasn’t circulated his tongue or swam around his brain for almost three years. It comes out in a gasp, low and fierce, and painful.
“Gerard.”
Frank’s head whips around, and Mac stops suddenly at the sight of the frightening look in Frank’s eyes as they bore into her. His lips tighten in anger, and for a moment, he considers saying something to her, something nasty. Instead, he turns and continues walking.
“Jus’ let ‘im be.” He hears Rat’s voice at her side, “I’ll get ‘im later.”
Frank strides widen as the need to get away from the world becomes even greater. Finally, he stops in a thick cluster of trees and sighs. He pushes his back against the bark of a tree, his arms cross in frustration, and he closes his eyes.
It’s no big deal, he tells himself. I’ll just catch the next one out.
But Frank knows it’s not that easy. He knows what Rat’s going to push him to do, and he won’t, won’t do it. It’s sneaky, what Rat has done, but he’s here now, and there really
isn’t much he can do.
Even so, trains don’t come through Jersey as often as other cities, so they’re all stuck here for a few days; however, a few days for everyone else seems like years to Frank. Years that drag on and on and seem to never end, no matter how badly you want, how badly you long for them to be over.
Frank presses his eyes close and slams his fist into the tree, which doesn’t do any good for the pain that is already pulsing through his hands. He watches fresh blood seep through the fabric covering his left hand. It’s a familiar feeling that washes over Frank as the sting on his hand sears. He brings this thumb to his palm, placing it over the cloth. It’s as if his mind has been displaced from his body when his thumb presses down onto the cuts and the pain soars, sprouting wings, and flies through every corner and pocket of body.
“No,” he says aloud. I won’t dammit, I won’t, not again.
His thumb is off the cuts and the pain is fading, slowly. He’s angry, furious at himself for doing that. It’s stupid, fucking idiotic, and he knows he can’t fall back into it because if he does, he’ll never stop.
He plops down, his bottom hitting the dirt with a thump, and leans against the tree. He slept for most of the ride, but he’s strangely tired now, and sleep sounds very welcoming, but his mind is far too distracted to sleep. He’s ready to punch Rat, beat the shit out of the fucker if he has to, but he can’t do that. Not to Rat. However, he’s also scolding himself; he should have asked where they were going because hell, he’d rather be anywhere, anywhere, but here in this fucking state.
______
“Frank!” The voice comes as Frank feels desperate hands grasp his arm from behind. His head turns so sharply the other boy jumps in shock.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
The other boy whimpers, “Please don’t go.”
Frank is angry, hateful towards him, but he’s also confused. Never, not once has he ever seen the other boy this…emotional. He was the Iron Man, couldn’t make him cry if you wanted to, and yet, here he was; standing in front of Frank, hair disheveled, with tears rolling silently down his cheeks, begging , pleading with Frank.
Frank shakes his clutch off, and continues walking.
“Frank, please!” The other boy’s pace quickens, and soon he is standing in front of Frank, as if to stop him.
“Please listen to me, please,” his tears become sobs as he talks, “you can come live with me. It will be okay and everyth-“
“No, no! Just stop,” Frank interrupts, “You don’t understand, and you are never going to. Stop trying.” Again, Frank resumes walking. The streets are empty and he crosses the middle of the road.
“Frank!” he doesn’t look, doesn’t turn, determined to reach his destination.
And as the word “FRANKIE! I lo-” spills from the other boy’s lips, Frank surrenders and turns. Turns to see a semi pushing 80, turns to see the other boy’s face illuminate from the florescent glow of headlights, turns to see his the other boy’s eyes staring directly into his, knowing, understanding. He screams when it happens. And then he is gone, running faster than he’s ever attempted and he is heaving sobs so heavy and harsh It hurts, physically hurts, and tears are escaping his brown eyes and they won’t stop because the scene is replaying over and over and over; the truck, and the lights, and him and…
It’s a name; one, solitary name. A name that, purposely, hasn’t circulated his tongue or swam around his brain for almost three years. It comes out in a gasp, low and fierce, and painful.
“Gerard.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I have excuses, but you probably don't want to hear them.I know I lied.
But please don't give up on me.
Comment?
Or is that asking too much this time around?