Turn Off The Dark (Frerard)

Part Fourteen

Author's Note- I know the parts have been pretty short guys, and I apologize. But I'm updating much more often. Hopefully I'll soon be able to make the parts a little longer. Thanks for reading and all the continued support. -Morgan

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-Gerard's POV-

I appreciated Frank's concern for me. Over the bit of time after my unattractive little breakdown, he spent more and more time in my apartment during the daylight hours. He became something of a medication to me, dulling my inherent pain and giving me a distraction.

"Frank, do you ever go home?" I eventually asked. He stiffened.

"Yeah, when I have to." His tone was hard and cold as ice. Everything about his body language screamed that he had no desire to discuss his home life, so I let the topic fall away. It had never occurred to me that maybe Frank had some secrets of his own.

"Well, I gotta go down to the lobby, it's nearly eleven. Wanna come with?" Frank stood up and smoothed his shirt a bit.

"Ah, nah. I'll see you later" I replied. Opening up to one person did not mean I was ready to leave my apartment more than maybe once every few weeks.

"Okay. See you, Gerard." Frank slipped out the door, and it clicked shut quietly behind him.

It barely took five minutes after my dose of Frank had worn off for the problems to return.

(You stupid son of a bitch. How dare you disobey me like this. He's too close, and he'll turn on you, you worthless piece of shit.)

"Shut up" I said out loud.

(Make me. You'd have to shut yourself up too. I AM you, remember? You're stuck with me, you asinine little jerk.)

"I said, shut UP."

(Nope. You can't get rid of me, motherfucker, and that stupid fuck that just left will never love you. Even I can't stand you, but I'm obligated to be here, no matter how meaningless your life is. Just die.)

"STOP!" I screamed, hitting myself in the head with my own fists.

It just laughed. Deep, evil, growing louder and louder the more I tried to stop the noise, the more I beat myself. I could feel my own psyche tearing, knowing I was insane, maybe not sociopathic, but certifiable nonetheless.

Frantic, through the sound of the cackling, I stumbled to the cabinet, sloppily pushed bottles around. Where was it. Where WAS it?

There, in the back. Prescription Valium. More than likely expired but guaranteed to knock me the fuck out.

It took a few tries with shaking hands to get the bottle open. Unable to think about dosages, I swallowed the amount of pills I grabbed without a second thought.

Dropping the bottle to the floor, I near to drunkenly wove my way to the bed.

My head hit the pillow, and then I didn't hear anything at all.