Title: My Halo is Broken Now [Standalone] And I'm All That's Left
Pairing: Frank/Gerard; Frank/?
Summary: Frank leaves a club after having a fight with Gerard. Gerard and the others look for their friend, but someone else finds him first.
Warnings: Harsh language, graphic violence, rape, and implied murder.
Disclaimer: I only own this story, though the characters are based on real people.
Author's Notes: This is a bit of a cross-over. And no, I do not 'hate' the cross-over character. Infact, I love him. I just thought that Bert is the bad guy much too often and he was the next best thing my mind could come up with at two in the morning. The title is from The Classic Crime's "The Coldest Heart".
"Please, don't. No. No. No! Please!" I screamed as he shoved me to the ground. He didn't respond, instead removing my belt and undoing my pants. He slipped them off before tearing my shirt in two, leaving my chest exposed. Shortly after, he flipped me over, allowing the gravel and bits of broken glass to dig into my skin. My cheek was pressing against the ground, scraped from the fall, "Please. Don't-don't do this. Let me go! Please!"
"Shut the hell up!" He growled, pressing my head against the cement hard enough for my vision to blur. I could hear myself whimpering and begging, but the voice didn't sound like my own. The fear wasn't familiar to me.
Another plead left my lips as reality set in. This was really happening and no amount of begging would get me out of this. There was no one around to hear my screams, or give sympathy for my tears. I was in his world now. He was in control and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
I felt something wrap around my wrists and my eyes snapped open as I realised he was using my belt to keep me from fighting back. I whimpered as more tears fell. My lips moved silently in a prayer that no angel would hear.
My boxers were forced down to my ankles and I squealed as his hand traced my innocence. I heard him unzip his own jeans and I shut my eyes tightly. Tears still dripped past my lids, some clinging to my lashes in hopes of avoiding the disgusting ground. I bit my lip as his hands grabbed my hips, lifting me up slightly.
And then the pain came. My entire body seemed to shatter in an instant and I screamed my throat raw. Blood spilled down my thighs as he thrust in, hard and unmerciful. He yanked me against him, increasing my agony. The waves of pain grew, washing through my veins.
I couldn't hear anything except my own heartbeat. Not his moans, my screams, nothing. I could feel the glass cutting my skin as he pounded me harder into the ground. My flesh seemed to tear more and more with each thrust. My mouth hung open, but I'm pretty sure that sound had stopped coming out a while ago. My eyes widened again as he increased his pace.
I could feel him nearing his peak. And then the warmth filling my body. It leaked into the open wounds, burning the torn flesh. I whimpered as he pulled out, unable to make any other sound. He kicked my side, forcing me onto my back. I felt something crack and tried to squirm away from him, but my body protested, demanding I stay still.
He pulled a cigarette from my pocket, lighting it. He took a long drag before pressing the end to my chest, right where my heart would rest. My eyes rolled back in agony and I tried to scream, only managing a hoarse gasp that died in my throat seconds later. He held it there for a while, determined to leave his mark. His tongue flicked out to lick my ear, followed by an idea only he could conjour. When he was satisfied, he stood again, taking a drag before smushing the white stick only millimeters from my face.
I couldn't move. I couldn't even lift my head to watch him leave me, used and exposed in the dirty street. He hadn't even bothered to untie me, so even if I could bear the pain of moving, I wouldn't be able to.
I'm not sure how long I lay there, crying silently as my body throbbed, just praying someone would find and take pity on me. Or that I would just pass out. Die even. Anything was better than this horrible pain.
I'm not sure when I heard someone calling my name, or if I even tried to respond. I obviously couldn't. My voice was completely gone.
I'm not sure when I heard the footsteps, or the gasp that followed.
I'm not sure when it was that I felt something being draped over my body, or being lifted into someone arms.
I do remember opening my mouth in an attempt to scream.
I remember shaking from the pain of being touched, of being jousled with each step my rescuer took.
I remember hearing his sobs, paniced and scared, "Oh God, Frankie. I'm so sorry. I never should have let you leave alone. I should've followed you. I'm so s-sorry."
But I don't remember passing out.
"Frankie? Frank? Where are you?" I called out, growing worried when my friend didn't answer me, "Frankie?"
I could hear Bob calling for him aswell, Mikey and Ray searching elsewhere for their fellow bandmate. I wrinkled my nose, the smell of alcohol drifting through the streets. I hated that smell. I hated how it tempted me.
I was about to turn away from it when I heard something. It sounded like a whine. The sound of an injured animal, "Bob! Get over here! I heard something!"
I quickened my pace, walking further down the alley the sound had come from. I felt my foot slip slightly and looked down to see I was standing in a dark puddle. I squinted my eyes, pulling my phone from my pocket for a light.
I almost regretted it when I saw the dark red. I gasped, following the trail with my eyes, praying I was wrong. I wasn't.
Frank was on the ground, naked and bleeding rivers, "Bob! Bob, call an ambulance! Call a fucking ambulance!" I cried out, removing my jacket and dropping it over Frank's frail form.
I lifted his body as gently as I could manage. His mouth opened, eyes closing tighter, "Oh God, Frankie. I'm so sorry."
I cried as I walked, cradling his broken body, "I never should have let you leave alone. I should've followed you. I'm so s-sorry."
He didn't respond, not that I'd expected him to. Instead, his breathing slowed and his body seemed to relax. I guessed he'd passed out. I was actually glad he did, otherwise he'd be concious during all the tests and cleaning I knew he'd go through.
"Frankie? Frankie baby, wake up." I opened my eyes instantly, wet and fearful.
"Shh. Shh, baby. It's okay, it's just me." Gerard cooed upon seeing my horrified expression. He stroked my hair gently and I leaned into his touch, eyes dropping closed again. My lip quivered. Gerard moved so he was hugging me, half laying on the hospital bed. I broke down, sobbing into his chest.
"Shh. It's okay, Frankie. You're safe now. I'm here. I won't let anyone touch you." He whispered into my hair, kissing the side of my head affectionatly. I buried my head in his sweatshirt, listening to his heartbeat and tried to slow my own to match.
And in that moment, everything seemed to be okay. Not good, deffinatly not that, but not bad either. Just okay. It was almost as if none of this had happened. Almost.
I heard Gerard take a shuddering breath, and it didn't take long for me to realise that he too was crying, "I thought I'd lost you. I'm so sorry Frank. I never should have let you leave."
A new wave of tears came and I clung weakly to his body, "Don't be. I never should have left."
His grip tightened noticably, and even though it stung my abused skin, I let him. I needed him to hold me like this, and I knew he needed to as well, just to prove to himself that I really was there. That I was alive, "I love you. I'm so fucking sorry - for everything."
"I love you, too, Gee" I sniveled into his chest.
We stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, until Gerard spoke. "Frankie? Frankie, what happened?" He whispered.
I stiffened, eyes closing tightly in response to his question, "I don't wanna talk about it. Please, Gee, don't make me. "
"I know you don't want to, Frankie, but if you don't tell me then I can't help."
"But you can't help, Gerard! You can't change what he did, okay?" I sobbed.
I didn't answer him, instead curling my body closer to him, hiding my face.
"Who did this to you? I know you know! Tell me goddamnit!" He shrieked, pulling away from me. His eyes were red as he stared down at me, begging me to tell him.
I shook my head, "I can't tell you, Gee. He-He'll come back."
"No, he won't. I won't let him hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you." His voice was stern, confident, accompanied by a hidden plea, "Now tell me, Frankie. Please, baby, you have got to tell me."
"Zacky?! Zacky did this to you?! Motherfu- I'll kill him!" Gerard growled. He was glaring, body tense as he paced the room, damning my attacker.
"No! No, Gerard, don't! If he finds out I told, he-he'll..." I couldn't finish. I couldn't repeat the threat the guitarist had whispered in my ear as he burned my flesh.
Gerard's face fell as he saw how scared I was, "Frankie...What did he say to you, babe?" He kneeled next to the bed, cupping my cheek. His thumb brushed at my tears and I tryed desperatly to avoid his eyes.
"He-he s-said he'd...You and-and Mikey next...then..."
"What? Frankie, baby, speak up. What did he say to you?" Gerard asked again, turning my head so I was forced to look him in the eyes.
"He said he'd k-kill you in f-front of Mi-Mikey and th-then..." I swallowed hard, unable to squeeze the words out, "He'd hu-hurt Mikey too. He'd hurt him right next to y-your b-body. And he'd l-leave him to-to die." I gasped for air, "And he w-would find me n-next."
"Don't worry, Frank. He won't get the chance to do any of that." Gerard hissed, stomping out of the room.