I Can Transform You

Mental Relapse

POV: Frank

I was literally terrified of facing my mom after everything that I’d said on my suicide tape. There was no way in hell I could have even considered facing anyone again without Gerard right by my side. I was a fucking coward and I had been my whole life, but I was trying my hardest to change and make things better. I needed my mom to forgive me for trying to end it all so tragically. But in my heart, I knew she wouldn’t…

“I don’t think I can do this,” I mumbled to Gerard, as we pulled up outside our house, after a tense drive back. I’d done well up to this point with not throwing up, but my stomach was seriously churning now. I was sick with nerves. “I can’t bear their reaction…”

Of course it wasn’t just my mom I had to worry about - it was Gerard’s dad too. I had no idea how he would react. I could tell Gerard was worried too, by the way he was biting his nails and being unusually quiet.

“It’ll be okay,” he still half-heartedly tried to assure me, despite evidently not believing it himself. I gave him a doubtful look and he attempted to smile in encouragement. “Come on. Let’s just get this over with.”

Every voice in my head was protesting and assuming the worst, making me even more certain that things were about to blow up, but I forced myself to take a deep breath and climb out of the car, like Gerard was doing.

We walked up the driveway together, and I physically had to hold myself back from taking his hand in mine again. I was scared that our parents would see us, and of course that was a whole other thing I feared: their reaction to the fact that we have feelings for eachother. It’s usually frowned upon for ‘brothers’ to be in love and stuff.

When we reached the front door, we both took another deep breath and then Gerard reached out to push it open, and stood back to let me walk in first, like he knew I would probably run for my life if he wasn’t making me do this.

The house was eerily silent, but the hall light was on and the front door was unlocked, so there was no pretending we were here alone.

“Hello?” Gerard called out uncertainly, stopping beside me, and I snapped my head in his direction, eyes wide and panicked by his forwardness. Oh man, must he alert them of our presence right now? I was kind of hoping to just sneak off to my room and hide in there for a few days.

“In the kitchen,” came the strident voice of Gerard’s father, and all hope of hiding was gone in a frantic heartbeat.

He sounded scarily calm… I didn’t understand it, and it made me even more nervous. Shouldn’t they be yelling or something right about now? It seemed like they were expecting us.

I glanced at Gerard questioningly and he read my thoughts, and replied in a low voice, “Mikey must have told them we were coming home…”

Oh. Well, that explains the lack of shock on their part… But it doesn’t explain why they’re being so kind of cold and distant, refusing to meet us at their door and just shouting at us through the hallway.

Gerard began to move towards the kitchen, but I just took a step backwards, hesitating anxiously. He stopped abruptly and glanced over his shoulder, trying to be patient with me, but I could sense his stress levels rising with the immense pressure we were under.

“Frank,” he sighed, taking a step towards me. “They just want to talk to you…” Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. “It’s okay,” he suddenly held his hand out to me, and I stared at it for a moment, wondering exactly what would happen if we strolled into the kitchen together holding hands. And I was surprised to find that I didn’t really care what their reaction would be.

With a deep breath, I stepped forward and took his hand in mine, letting him lead the way, calmly walking me to my death.

As we cautiously entered the kitchen, my eyes fell straight on my mother, sitting at the kitchen table, slumped back in her seat, just staring ahead at nothing. Even when we walked in the room, she didn’t look at us. My heart lurched horribly inside my chest at the distinct pain and devastation in her eyes and in her rigid expression. I hadn’t seen that look in years, but I remember a time when it was all I ever saw, after my dad had died. She was heartbroken and mourning once more; mourning the loss of the son she thought she knew.

I tore my watery eyes from her face, unable to stand seeing her this way again, knowing that I was the one who caused her this anguish, and focused instead on Gerard’s father. He was sitting up straight in his chair, with his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his linked hands, his grave eyes burning a hole in my face. I felt like his scrutinising eyes could see into my fucking soul, and I wanted to just disappear and never come back and have to face him or myself ever again. I was still horrified that he had seen my video, and he knew all my darkest secrets; there was no more hiding.

No one said anything for what felt like an eternity while I just stood there like a deer in headlights, caught under Mr Way’s burning gaze. But then, suddenly, he released me from his judgemental death glare and lowered his eyes to stare at mine and Gerard’s connected hands. He narrowed his eyes and my hand twitched impulsively and tightened around Gerard’s, like it was worried it was about to be parted from his. Gerard didn’t squeeze back though; his hand had gone kind of limp in mine, and I got the feeling he suddenly wished we weren’t holding hands in front of his father.

Slowly and somewhat menacingly, his father arose from the table, tearing his eyes away from our hands and staring at Gerard now instead. I gulped nervously when he started making his way over to us, his eyes fixed on Gerard like he was homing in on him. For a wild moment, I thought he was going to come right over and just pull us apart, and I was literally trembling with nerves, but he stopped right in front of us and just spoke in a firm, commanding tone.

“Come with me.”

He was looking only at Gerard, but I still couldn’t be sure he didn’t mean for both of us to follow him.

“Just you, Gerard,” he clarified, when we exchanged confused glances. “Frank needs to talk to his mom, and I need to talk to you.” He sounded really tired suddenly, like he was fed up, and he hadn’t even begun his lecture yet.

My whole body stiffened in fear at his words and Gerard must have felt it, because he mumbled, “Can’t you talk to us at the same time?”

I really didn’t want to be separated from Gerard; he was my fucking rock; the only thing holding me together right now. Without him, I would crumble.

“No, we’re doing it this way,” Mr Way replied sternly, clearly determined to make an already suicidal boy want to kill himself right there.

What exactly they were doing this way, I dreaded to think. Why did they need us apart? Was this all part of a bigger plan to punish me?

“But–”

“Do as I say, Gerard,” his dad cut him off impatiently, grabbing him by the arm and shoving him backwards, forcing him let go of my hand. My hand clutched at thin air and something inside of me snapped at the sudden loss of contact and emotional support, but instead of bursting into tears, I burst into a fit of rage.

“Don’t fucking shove him around like that!” I growled, clenching my fists.

It hurt me to see him using force against Gerard, because it just reminded me of the days when I used to do that…

Both Gerard and his dad looked alarmed by my outburst, snapping their heads in my direction at once.

“Frank, it’s okay,” Gerard assured me quickly, his eyes wide in horror at the way I had spoken to his dad. I didn’t give a fuck though; what was Mr Way going to do about it, huh? Send me to my room? I fucking wished.

To my complete surprise and increased confusion, I didn’t get any kind of rise out of his dad though. He didn’t even say anything to me, he just sighed heavily and turned back to Gerard.

“Living room,” was all he said, and Gerard glanced at me one last time and attempted to reassure me that everything was going to be fine with his anxious eyes and pained half-smile. Not surprisingly, I found no comfort in them, and I swore to fucking God, if he said “it’s okay” one more time, I would not be responsible for my actions.

I blinked and he was gone, ushered out of the kitchen by his dad, who closed the door in my face behind him, leaving me all alone with my mom.

It was kind of ridiculous how scared I was to face my own mother, but I couldn’t stand to see her disappointed in me. I’d rather have her shouting at me in anger, than just staring at me in sadness like she was right now.

I hesitated by the door, toying with the idea of bolting right out of it, and out of the house altogether. Was I fucking high when I said I was ready to come home and face people again? Jesus Christ. I am far from fucking ready.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” my mother’s frail voice suddenly interrupted my panicked thoughts, making me freeze completely, caught completely off-guard.

I wasn’t expecting her to apologise to me in a million years… What was she even apologising for? I was the one who should be fucking sorry here.

“I’m sorry you feel like this,” she croaked, making my heart lurch painfully again and the tears sting my eyes. “Sorry I failed you…”

I remained paralysed where I was, hanging my head and just staring at the floor, too ashamed to even look her in the eye. I had blamed her for fucking me up and that wasn’t fair; it was hardly her fault. I hated myself for hurting her like this.

“I didn’t realise how bad things had gotten,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes hastily, like she didn’t want me to see her crying. But I’d seen it before: I knew what her breaking down looked like. “You’re right, I wasn’t paying enough attention to you, or I would have known… I would have been there for you when you needed me. I just – I got lost. I let my grief get the better of me, and I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.

I couldn’t stand this anymore. Couldn’t stand the endless tears and the immense guilt we were both feeling. My heart was breaking more with every word that left her lips. The damage seemed unfixable, and I felt hopeless; I just wanted the pain to stop.

“Stop,” I cried weakly, trembling all over, “Please. I – I get it, Ma. You’re sorry… So am I. We – we both handled our grief in the wrong way.”

“You’re right,” she nodded with her head hung low. “We never actually faced the truth about that fateful night six years ago… but I think it’s finally time we did. Can – can you do that with me, Frankie?”

She wants to talk about it now? She never wanted to talk to me about it when I needed to most; she just sent me to a therapist and paid them to try and understand what I was going through, instead of trying to understand herself.

It was too late now. I’d learnt to deal with it in my own way. A way that required never speaking of or even thinking about the truth ever again. I couldn’t. I was taking it to my fucking grave.

I shook my head slowly, pressing my lips together and closing my eyes to try and hold in the tears, but they still streamed down my face.

The memories I had blocked out and reimagined were flashing behind my eyes, making my stomach churn. I had been repressing the real truth about that night all along in an attempt to stay sane; all along I’d been drowning in a fucking river of denial.

I was shaking so much now I couldn’t actually hold myself up anymore, and I collapsed back against the door and slid down it, hitting the ground with a heavy thud and pulling my knees up to my chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

I heard my mom’s chair screech loudly against the tiled floor as she climbed to her feet and rushed to my side, dropping to her knees and throwing her arms around me in an attempt to comfort me, for the first time ever. She was shaking too, crying with me whilst rocking me back and forth. I didn’t attempt to push her away, even though the rocking motion was doing nothing to help my overturned stomach.

“Tell me what happened, baby,” she begged softly, stroking her fingers through my hair to try and sooth me. But I didn’t feel comforted, I felt sick. “Were you in the room when he killed himself?” she whispered in a choked voice, and suddenly all I could see through my closed eyes was my dad, drunkenly staggering away from me and pulling the trigger, painting the white walls with his own blood.

Oh God. It was happening. The holes in my imaginary memories were starting to show and the real memories – the ones I had repressed – were coming through the cracks.

“I’m gonna be sick,” I gasped, turning green and clasping a hand to my mouth dramatically. She helped haul me to my feet and I ran straight over to the sink, making it just in time.

I wanted Gerard to be the one rubbing my back while I threw up, not my mother. Fuck, where was he? I wanted to get out of this place. I needed to fucking leave now.

I could keep pretending with Gerard. I could keep being this pathological liar I had become in order to stay sane and he would never know I was still hiding from the truth. If I stayed here any longer, I was guaranteed to lose my goddamn mind, and he wouldn’t want me then, would he?

My mom knew. She didn’t know everything, but she knew my dad’s death was no accident. She knew he blew his own brains out, just like I had tried to yesterday. There was no Martin; no psycho-best-friend-killer involved. I made him up in order to name someone else as the monster, and my dad as the victim… I didn’t want to accept the fact that my dad was really the monster, and I was the victim. So, I pretended. I didn't want to hate my dad, so I hated myself instead. Blamed myself. I lied to myself every second of every waking day, until I started believing the lie.

And my mom knew this. My therapist told her I was in deep denial and prone to lying about what happened, but she didn’t think it was a big issue. After all, denial was her coping mechanism for a long time too. The difference was, she grew out of it, and I didn’t.

I think she'd probably forgotten all about my coping mechanism, until I mentioned my father's death on my suicide tape... I said he was killed and that it was my fault. But really, he had killed himself, and it was entirely his fault. He destroyed his own soul by destroying mine.

When I’d finished puking my guts up, I turned around and sunk back down to the floor, still trembling and fighting back the tears.

See, this is exactly why I chose to reinvent my memories of that night.

“Frank, listen to me… You need help,” my mum said slowly, somewhat composed and trying to be strong now. It was written all over her concerned expression that she knew she couldn’t help me, but someone desperately needed to.

There was only one person for the job.

“Gerard,” I choked out, struggling to catch my breath in between my heavy sobs.

He could fix me, I knew he could. Maybe he could never heal the emotional scars I had from being abused by my father, but he could keep me alive and fighting long enough for them to fade again.

She placed a hand gingerly on my arm and shook her head slowly.

“No, honey,” she mumbled, making me stop breathing entirely, “Professional help.”

Wait, what? She’s sending me back to fucking therapy?

“Yeah, because that w-worked so well the last time,” I snapped, the rage firing up inside of me at once. I snatched my arm out of her grasp and scrabbled to my feet, fully intent on finding Gerard and escaping with him.

But of course she hurried straight after me, grabbing me by the arms and pulling me around to face her.

“I don’t mean therapy, I mean - Frank, please!” she begged helplessly when I struggled against her, trying to break free. “You’re not mentally stable! You need to go away for a while!”

I need to go away? Hold the fuck up. What is she saying?

“What the fuck? Are you talking about a fucking mental institute?” I exploded, staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes and staggering backwards out of her reach.

“Frank, you tried to kill yourself!” she cried desperately, fighting back the tears once more. “I can’t sit back and not do anything about this.”

Oh, now she wants to help… Once again, it’s too fucking late for that.

“Why the fuck not?” I screw up my face in confusion and anger. “That’s what you’ve been doing for the last six years!”

I learnt to live without her care; I didn’t need it now. All I fucking needed was Gerard.

Apparently, I’d been yelling loud enough for Gerard’s dad to hear, because he suddenly came bursting into the kitchen, coming to my mother’s rescue. I stared past him, distracted by the empty hallway behind him and the voices in my head screaming for Gerard. Why the fuck hadn’t he come bursting in here to my rescue?

“It’s time to go now, son,” Mr Way took ahold of me, holding my arms behind my back and pushing me forward, like I was a fucking criminal being arrested and sent to prison. That’s totally what it felt like.

“No, fuck you, I’m not going to a motherfucking mental institute!” I fought against him, as hard as I could, but it wasn’t enough. He had me in some kind of death grip, making it impossible for me to break free. “Fucking let go! I’m fine! Gerard’s helping me!” I kept arguing frenetically, raising my voice and shaking my head vigorously, but something inside of me was shattering into a thousand pieces, because where the hell was Gerard right now? He wasn’t helping me, that was for sure.

“Frank, it’s going to be okay!” my mother tried to tell me, running alongside us, and I gave her a look that could have fucking killed, if that was possible.

“Fuck you!” How could things possibly be okay? “I want to fucking die!”

I could have sworn ten minutes ago I had something to live for… but I couldn’t see it anymore. There was no shining light to break up the endless darkness inside me right now. I was losing my internal battle with myself.

“Gerard!” someone cried hysterically, as I was being dragged out of the house, and I didn’t even recognise the voice as my own.

What the fuck was going on? Why wasn’t Gerard trying to stop this? He knew that I was making progress with his help… I was finally finding my feet again. And yet, he was nowhere to be seen as I was being banished from my own home, forced to leave without him… And I sure as fuck wasn’t strong enough for that. God, he knew I needed him. Why had he abandoned me? What the fuck had his dad said to him?

Unfortunately for me, those unanswered questions would continue to torture my broken mind for weeks to come...
♠ ♠ ♠
Bit of a twist, I know... See, this story isn't always predictable!
~Time lapse in the next chapter~

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