Disenchanted

Frank's POV

Who Invented 7 ‘o’ clock?

No, fuck that, who invented high school?

I dragged my sleepy ass out of bed and went to go and shower. I picked up anything off of the floor to wear – as long as it didn’t smell too bad – and ended up with a Misfits Tee, black skinny jeans and a plain red hoodie. It will do.

On my way to the bathroom I took a look into my mother’s bedroom. That probably wasn’t water in that glass on her bedside table. That definitely was not my father in her bed next to her either. Whore.

I ran my hand through my slightly greasy hair in frustration, glad of my choice to shower that morning. I ambled on down to the washroom and looked at myself in the mirror.

I had massive circles around my eyes – a horrible combination of lack of sleep and old eyeliner. My dyed black fringe flopped over my face whilst the rest of my hair stuck up at odd angles that would probably still be there after my shower. My usually bright hazel eyes were a dull muddy brown and my skin had a horrible yellow tinge. I was disgusting.

Stripping down, I tried not to look at the litter of scars down my arms and across my stupidly pale torso. My ribs were clearly visible and my shoulder blades, collar bones and hips all jutted out of my skin at awkward angles a bit more than a skinny teenager’s should.

In the steaming water I scrubbed twice as hard; I wanted the filth of my ‘nasty faggot soul’ to be washed away with the rest of the regular dirt from everyday life.

I tasted salt as I realised not all of the water streaming down my face was from the shower. I felt a pang in my stomach as I realised not all of the pain in my gut was from the constant hunger I felt nagging at me every moment of every day.

When I was finished I dried myself quickly and got dressed hurriedly to avoid my awful reflection staring back at me.

And anyways, the faster I was dressed the faster I could get to school and see Gerard Way, my best friend’s brother.

First I need coffee; I need a mocha. I waited impatiently for the kettle to boil, drumming my fingers on the worktop with one hand and checking for a clean mug with the other. Finally it was ready and I downed the searing liquid, cringing as it burned my throat.

I picked up my soon-to-be-broken backpack and ran out of the door, not even bothering to say goodbye to my mother and her one night stand.

Normally when I get to Mikey’s house, Gerard has already left to help out in the art
department before homeroom. Today, his car is still in the driveway.

My mood brightened considerably.

The door to Mikey’s house opened before I had even raised my hand to ring the bell.