Concrete Angel

He scrambles to the door while kicking his feet out in twenty different directions.
“Get back here you little punk!” His father yells while grabbing onto his left foot.
Dragging him back to the couch where he continued his beatings, the boy pleading for him to stop.
The blows to the stomach caused blood to spurt from his mouth in every direction available.
Each punch and slap getting more forceful and more painful, Frank really thought this was the end.
He would endure his beatings as much as possible to make it through the days.
Sometimes, if he was lucky, he could walk down the stairs and out the house without problem.
Luck is not on Frank’s side.

When his father finally collapses on top of Frank, the boy is totally immobilized.
He sits there for about 15 minutes to catch his breath and inspect the true damage he has to his body, and also his soul.
It’s always been this way, it didn't’t just start since his mother left, it didn't’t start when his older sister ran away from home, and it didn't’t start when Frank came out the closet.
His mother Laurie was a druggie, junkie, whatever you wish to call it. When his father found out she was sleeping with their dealer, yes their dealer.
He found it was easier to just upgrade his drug of choice. Meth is everything they say it is and more.
The scars on his face, the teeth rotting, the stupidity on top of a clean house was a dead give away to his mother.
She left.
He was too much she said.
Maybe her two kids were not’t enough to keep her there.
Maybe her two kids were not’t as O.K. as she was.

Frank was 14 years old when this event happened to his family and his heart.
He had always loved his mother, but never suspected she was on any kind of drug much less knew about his father’s beatings and also…her dealer’s.
When Laurie or Trent (his father) couldn't’t pay them for the drugs, he’d let them abuse Frank and rape his sister Megan.

Megan was the female version of Frank. Long black hair, piercing hazel eyes, snakebites, perfectly arched eyebrows, and a smile that could sink the Titanic.
She left 5 months ago to Chicago.
She told Frank she needed a fresh place to start and he needed to come with her, to get away from the abuse, the pain.
Frank turned Megan down without a second thought.
He knew he couldn't’t leave the one thing here that makes him want to get up in the morning and face the days wrath.
Gerard.
Gerard Arthur Way was the epitome of perfection for Frank.
The smooth way he talked, the way his laugh echoed through a full room, the way his smile brightened up his dark almost vampyric features.
Every time Frank had a bruise, a cut, a puncture, Gerard would take care of him.

Gerard started out as his sister’s best friend.
He would always come over to help his sister when she was in need.
When he found out she had a little brother he split his attention between the two.
All Frank knew at 13 or 14 years old was Gerard was Megan’s gay best friend.
Now all Frank knows is that Gerard is the love his teenage life.

Frank pushes his father off of him with the strength he has left, which isn’t much.
As the boy crawls from the couch the front door flies open.
It’s as if Gerard always knows when it happens, no signals are sent, no phone calls, nothing.
He just knows.

Gerard runs up the stairs to pack Frank’s things.
He’s had enough.
“Goddamn shit is enough..” Gerard mutters to himself before racing out the room with Frank’s guitar and 2 book bags.
“Let’s go baby, try to hang on.” Gerard says to frank as he slings Frank over his back.
Tears are stinging the back of Gerard’s eyes as he tucks Frank into the backseat.

Frank lays in the backseat with his black flag hoodie and Gerard’s trench coat on top of him.
As he’s listening to Gerard on the phone with Megan he starts to think about Gerard and how much Gerard has done for him in the past 3 years.

“Hey Frankie, we’re going to make a pit stop to get Mikey then we’re going to your sister’s okay?” Gerard asks hesitantly from the front seat.
“OK…just don’t leave me Gee..” The boy whimpers in the backseat while trying to hold himself steady on the backseat.
Gerard’s heart breaks as he looks at Frank through the rear view mirror.
He starts to wonder when is Frank’s breaking point coming.
Is there even a breaking point for Frankie?

In the years Gerard has known Frank he’s never seen Frank shed a single tear. Sure Frank’s eyes get watery at points but nothing ever comes from it.
Frank never talks about it, never yells about it, never cries about it.
He’s like stone. A hollow but solid stone if that even made a bit of sense.
He watches Frank in the backseat as the streetlights glow upon him like an angel.
Then out of the middle of nowhere Gerard finally gets it.

Frank is not some fragile boy with a broken soul.
He’s not some punk bad ass with a soft core.
He’s Gerard’s.
Gerard’s concrete angel with one single feather missing.