Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12216426.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      My_Chemical_Romance
  Relationship:
      Frank_Iero/Gerard_Way, Frank_Iero/Jamia_Nestor, Frank_Iero/Original_Male
      Character(s)
  Character:
      Gerard_Way, Mikey_Way, Jamia_Nestor, Original_Characters, Frank_Iero
  Additional Tags:
      Mental_Health_Issues, Mental_Institutions, Past_Rape/Non-con, Emotional
      Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological_Abuse, Drugs, Post-
      Traumatic_Stress_Disorder_-_PTSD, Master/Slave, Daddy_Kink, Kidnapping
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-29 Chapters: 4/? Words: 5911
****** The Strangest Stranger ******
by frankieshoulddie
Summary
     The town was dead. There wasn’t anything that was going to harm him.
     Frank shook his head and decided to walk.
     It was going great until everything went black.
Notes
     so it might be a bit confusing, but A is the kidnapper, and if its He
     then it refers to A. It wont flip POV, so this is just introducing
     the characters. :)
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
A was obsessed over the tiny teenager that would come and go out of the music
store, sometimes with friends, or was just alone. A noted that the boy would
often spend hours and hours looking through the different CDs or records that
the store owned. It didn’t matter if the boy had just listened to the CD a few
days ago. Sometimes the boy would bring a book and listen to the CD for a few
hours on the computers in the back room. The boy was so magnificent, A thought.
The boy was quiet when he was by himself, but when he was with his friends, he
was a little bit louder, obnoxious almost. His laugh was wonderful; music to A
ears. A yearned to be able to touch the boy. A didn’t know what the boy’s name
was until one day when he and his friends were smoking.
It fueled something in A that he couldn’t name it. The way that his lips were
wrapped around the stick full of toxins was what made Alust. Sure, he was
young, but it made a flame inA’sstomach when his name popped up. He hated
calling them ‘the boy’, because he wasn’t just a boy – A wanted him more than
anything in the entire world. He wanted to hug him, kiss him, make love to him,
but A didn’t think he was allowed to. Adidn’t know how old the younger one was.
When A found out the boy’s name was when his friend said, “Hey, Frankie, can I
bum a smoke?” and His heart started to ache deep inside of his chest because
that’s what A wanted to call him. Awanted them to have pet names for each
other. A needed that contact with the smaller one. A needed it or else A might
die, it felt like. Frank just needed to come to him because A didn’t want to
force him to otherwise it would make loving each other a bit harder. He needed
to have Frank love A for who Hetruly was. Sure, He wasn’t the richest man in
the entire world, nor was A young and beautiful like Frank, but He could give
Frank what he needed. A knew Frank was still in school, but He could help him
with schooling, give him the best education that there was. Public schools
sucked, bullies, and mean teachers who didn’t give a shit whether you were dead
or not, whether you came into school to get a good education. Hell, some
teachers didn’t even teach; they told you what to do and not to do rather than
actually teaching. A had to teach himself to get to where he was now.
Days went by, and Awould feel so happy to see Frank come by the music store.
However, one day it made A angry. Frank was holding hands with a girl, being
super close. Too close for A’s liking, really, and He felt this overwhelming
urge to break the couple up, beat Frank’s and that whore’s ass. Frank was His,
goddammit. Frank smiled at her, turning her face towards him, and then they
kissed outside the music store.
That was the day when everything started to come together.
                                     * * *
Later that evening when Frank walked Jamia home, he had to go past the music
store to go to his own house. Something about walking alone didn’t feel right,
but Frank shrugged it off of his shoulders, paying no mind the lack of daylight
noises. Frank preferred daylight rather than nightlight because birds would
chirp, squirrels would be visible and crawling up and down trees. People would
be laughing, sometimes there would be a guy playing guitar for change, or kids
doing lemonade stands. Frank liked hearing laughter and loved watching nature.
He didn’t like the night because it was unsafe to be walking around at night in
Jersey, but there was nothing he could truly do about it. He did decide to hang
out with Jamia way too late than what he was allowed to do, and he did promise
Jamia’s dad that he would get her home safely. Now it was his turn to get home
safely.
Frank wasn’t tall or strong, but he could try to fight if it came down to it.
Frank started to spook himself so he decided to just turn on some music that he
could walk to. It was rare when something happened near where he lived; he
didn’t live in the rich side of Jersey, but he didn’t live in the poor. He was
stuck in the middle of it all, but where he was there was hardly any crime.
Sometimes there would be, though. One year there was a body that was found in
the river where people fished from, but since then no one went near that park.
Then there was this time when a boy went missing, but –
Frank stopped in his tracks as he heard something. Something made his ears
perk, but he looked around and there was nothing. The town was dead. There
wasn’t anything that was going to harm him. Frank shook his head and decided to
walk.
It was going great until everything went black.
                                     * * *
two years later

Nancy tsk’d as she looked at the boy who sat alone. He was still so thin after
being admitted two years ago. He had been written up so many times for not
eating, or not taking his medication, put in a secluded room – which was where
they had finally realized that it was a punishment he didn’t mind. There wasn’t
anything that bothered the traumatized boy. Being alone was something that the
boy appreciated. He didn’t speak, he didn’t look at anyone in the eyes. He just
bowed his head and did as he was told. The antidepressants and anxiety pills
didn’t work even when he did take them, and the sleeping pills didn’t work
either. He was a ghost. One year the staff had to literally force feed him
through a tube because he had gone at least two days without eating or
drinking. The boy was used to it.
“It’s rude to stare,” Anne said to Nancy, rolling her eyes at the youngest
nurse. “Don’t pity him. He doesn’t want to get better at all.”
Nancy scowled at the older nurse. “I’m not pitying him, but he seems… alone.
What’s his story?”
“He was kidnapped, tormented. Frank’s case is unique, but he refuses to go to
trial despite there being evidence of all the shit that happened to him. He
won’t answer questions, he won’t talk. He won’t even look at us – hell, when he
got here he dropped to his hands and knees. Obviously, when he was found they
did a rapekit, full body exam, and they tried doing a psych exam, but… you can
fill in the blanks,” Anne said, shrugging her shoulders. Anne used to be on
Frank’s case but soon resigned.
Anne wasn’t the first to come and go from Frank. People gave up on him because
of his lack of effort to better himself; he never participated in anything that
the facility offered. There were people who came in, few months later they were
gone. Frank stayed.
“Where’s his family?” Nancy asked, sighing at the harsh tone Anne had when she
spoke about Frank. “No one visits him?”
“Well, the privileges were taken away because of his lack of participation, but
even when we tried getting his family in here, they refused. They moved away
soon after, an hour or more away,” Anne said, looking at the younger nurse. “I
guess it’s best to give up one someone who doesn’t want to get better.”
“What did the man do?”
“Who knows. All I know is the basics.”
                                     * * *
Frank was tied down to a ratty old bed, stripped completely naked. The rope
around his wrists and ankles were rubbing him raw the more he moved, but he
wanted out. He didn’t want to be this vulnerable. A was looking at him sat
across in a plaid, beat up chair. A’s dark, chocolate eyes just stared at
Frank. No words were being said, it was quiet besides Frank’s heavy breathing.
Frank was trying not to cry but it was becoming harder to do so. The silence
was making him go crazy. Frank knew he was going home anytime soon, and he just
wanted to go; he hated feeling vulnerable. He thought this would happen in
movies, or books, but never to him. He had so much bad luck.
“You’re a beautiful little thing,” A said. “What shall I ever do to you?”
“Please let me go,” Frank sobbed, hoping A will let him be. Or maybe get
whatever it was over with. The agony of not knowing what was going to happen
made him fearful. Frank never felt this fearful, never this pitiful in his
entire life.
“Why, Frankie? Why should I let you go?” A asked in a teasing tone, tilting his
head a bit, smirking. “So you can be with that whore?”
“She’s my girlfriend,” Frank said, grinding his teeth together. Frank didn’t
like how he was talking about his girlfriend. “Do what… whatever you’re going
to do, and let me go.”
“Let you go?” A asked disbelievingly. He shook his head and chuckled at the
boy. “So you can, what, go tell mommy and daddy about all the horrible things
I’ve put you through? No… because you’re mine until I no longer see you fit. I
will be your daddy, Frankie.”
Frank shook his head. “No.”
“Call me daddy.”
                                     * * *

***** Chapter 2 *****
Frank sat by the window in the rec room, watching birds fly by. The windows
never opened, and he hadn’t heard birds make noise in two years. Occasionally
he would hear the birds on TV, but that fake-reality never counted. Frank was
more of a real-life kind of person; he didn’t really watch TV. He wanted to
experience sounds and feelings by himself. The feel of a tree, the feeling of a
flower against his fingertips. Silly things made him proud that he was on
Earth, but everything changed when he was kidnapped. Frank had been beaten,
raped, and used to the point that he felt nothing; he didn’t even feel emotions
anymore. He felt like a zombie, or a robot, doing what he was supposed to do.
Nothing made him feel happiness. Nothing. Frank didn’t even think he felt sad.
He was just… there; living, but not feeling.
His memories got the best of him most days, but he always tried not to make a
scene when he saw A’s face in his dreams, or if he thought about horrible times
when A hurt him. He couldn’t help it, though. He tried to be self-sufficient,
but it was difficult because of the constant fear and anxiety. Depression got
him the worst. He remembered running away from the man, he was covered in his
own blood and naked. He ran far away until his lungs could no longer work, and
he found a family at the park who gasped in horror as they saw him. The blood
wasn’t just a small wound. He was cut in more places than one. The authorities
were called, and he was swooped up by the ambulance. He was rushed to the
hospital and his family was notified.
Frank didn’t know how long he was kidnapped for, but it had been awhile. Almost
a year, maybe, but he hardly saw daylight. He didn’t know what time it was, or
when the last time he ate. He couldn’t speak. His throat was sore from the
constant screaming and crying – he didn’t want to make anymore noises as that
was what A taught him.A taught him a lot of things.
The doctors did the rape kits, and Frank went along with it. The questions,
however, he did not, he refused to answer. They offered pencils and tons of
papers, but Frank looked straight ahead. He was not allowed to speak about A.
Frank remembered when his parents came into the hospital room, crying, and
Jamia was there with them. Frank couldn’t look at them either. A taught him not
to look at people. Authorities, adults, were not to be looked at. You did not
speak unless it was a Master. You did not look up at a man. Women too. Parents
were authoritative figures, so he was not allowed looking at his parents again.
Same with doctors.
As for Jamia, well, he was ashamed of himself. Deep inside, he knew that he was
at the same level as Jamia, but he didn’t want to look at her. Frank was
bruised, had broken bones, and many scars. He was weak. He didn’t eat so he was
basically skin and bones. Anytime he ate, he felt sick. It was a natural thing
for him now, because A always poisoned his food to make him throw it up. So now
Frank associated food with throwing up. Water was okay. Sometimes. For awhile,
A mixed his drink with muscle relaxers or sleeping pills. There would be nights
were A wouldn’t let him sleep so his body adjusted to it unless the drugs were
given to him.
He eventually went home after a few days of being watched, but Frank didn’t
know what to do when he got to his house until he stood there, waiting,
watching for someone to tell him what to do. Someone needed to tell him what to
do. Should he call the people who created him them mom and dad still? Frank
didn’t know. It seemed like his vocabulary consisted of either nothing, unless
he was talking to A, it was, “Yes,” “No,” or “Daddy,”. That’s all. Nothing came
out anymore since he didn’t see A. Now that he was in this mental institution –
or what they liked to call it ‘correction facility’ – but Frank saw behind the
lies. His parents put him here because of his mental breakdown.
The mental breakdown consisted of falling apart over being in an argument with
his father who stopped liking the fact that all he did was look at him blankly.
Frank never answered, never ate. His father went to yell, but stopped, noting
that his teenage son was already on the floor, curled into a ball, crying his
eyes out. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t argue like before he was kidnapped.
Frank stayed there for hours, not doing anything. Later that night they found
Frank in a bathtub with cuts all over his arms. Frank tended to do that as
punishment for the things he made a mistake on or made someone mad. He couldn’t
go back to school.
Jamia ended up dumping him not long after. She was sick of the silence, not
answering phone calls. Frank didn’t react to it. He heard her say the words,
looked at her, and she left.
“Frank?” came a nurse’s voice.
Frank knew what time it was. It was a group session that he had to attend. He
didn’t want to, but he was literally forced, sometimes dragged to be there. It
was only twice a week, but still.
                                     * * *
“Hello,” the group director said. She was maybe in her late twenties, maybe
early thirties. She was pretty. Her name was Dr. Sandra, and she had this perky
attitude despite having her own rough days. She seemed to be happy to be here
with all these suicidal patients. She was nice, but Frank didn’t trust her or
look at her. Frank only caught one glimpse of her before, and he always lowered
his eyes. He hated that he looked up at her. It was engraved that he wasn’t
allowed to have eye contact. He always felt ashamed afterwards.
“How is everyone today?” Dr. Sandra asked, probably smiling as she looked at
the other fifteen people in the group. She attended different groups, but Frank
was in her group one. Group one didn’t have a lot of people. Maybe it was
because a lot of the people in group one were suicidal, and the addicts were in
a different group. Frank knew that Melissa tried to hang herself the other day,
but failed.
Everyone was on a rotating suicide watch after that. The worse of the case, the
more that they were looked at. Hell, Melissa was being watched for at least
three weeks, but they didn’t tell her how long. They never do. It stops when it
stops, but always starts back because some fucktard tried doing it again,
knowing that they couldn’t get away with it. Orderlies were surrounded the
building; they watched every small movement that there was. They watched how
much food a patient took in. Frank was a different case, though. Frank didn’t
make any improvement and they couldn’t kick him to the curb either. Insurance
was paying for his stay, his parents moved, so no one could get Frank. He was
stuck there, spinning in a tornado of depression.
“So, we have someone new today,” the group leader said. She clapped her hands
together, sighing as she was about to announce another suicidal patient that
came in. “His name is Gerard. Let’s all welcome him, okay?”
There was a murmurs of ‘hello’ around the room, expect from Frank. However, for
some reason Frank glanced up at the depressed, long haired boy. The boy had
scars all over his wrists, deep scars, almost a pink color. On the other arm it
was wrapped. He was pretty new, but not new to the cutting scene. Frank looked
at the boy’s face, and it made his heart stop, made his breathing go faster. It
wasn’t possible…
How could –
“You look like him,” Frank gasped, not meaning for it to be out loud.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     so sorry for the wait! school is so hectic!! D:
Frank could feel all of the eyes on him. Frank never spoke during group. Ever.
No one knew what his voice even sounded like until now. But this… person looked
just like A. Frank wouldn’t necessarily lie by saying that he didn’t feel
somewhat safe here, but he did until now. This doppelgänger of A’s made his
stomach cave, fuckin’ bats came out to play even, and he felt like he could
cry. He hadn’t cried in a long time, and just seeing this… this person, made
him want to after so long. All Frank could do was just stare, as rude was that
was, and totally not something he should be doing. It also felt weird looking
at someone’s face, looking them in the eyes. It was foreign now. But the more
Frank looked at his face, the more he couldn’t look away. The eyes were the
same, the shape of his face. Everything.
“Frank?” Dr. Sandra tried getting Frank’s attention, but it didn’t work. She
was also shocked to hear the boy’s voice. “Hey, Frank, look at me,” she added,
still trying to get his attention, but it still wouldn’t work.
“Can… can you quit looking at me, jeez. Why am I in here with the retards?”
Gerard asked, sighing harshly. He leaned back into the uncomfortable, plastic
chair that they offered. “I’m not retarded. Shit, all I did was cut myself, and
now I’m stuck here?”
“Please refrain from using that word, Mr. Way,” Sandra said, scolding him as
she continued to get Frank’s attention. She didn’t know whether to touch the
boy’s shoulders to snap him out of some daze, or just continue to speak to him.
She sighed, standing up, walking closer and bending down on one knee. “Frank,
come on – look,” she said one more time until the boy flinched away and looked
down immediately.
Frank flinched away from the woman, looking up briefly, but then looked down.
There were tears in his eyes because he knew he shouldn’t have stared or looked
anyone in the eye. He should not have spoken. Now everyone would expect it out
of him; he didn’t want to be here anymore. He could feel himself breathing
heavily, an anxiety attack was about to happen, he could tell, but there was
nothing he could do to calm himself down. He knew he needed to calm down before
he passed out because who knew what Gerard would do to him, or what Dr. Sandra
would do. It didn’t make things any better the more he tried to think inside
his head. He could feel himself start to lose consciousness.
                                     * * *
Frank woke up a few hours later in the infirmary, a nurse standing over him,
checking his stats. The entire time he was out, he had a peaceful sleep. He
wished he could sleep like that more often. It was hard to get good sleep, or
to not dream about A. Frank hated himself. A made him feel disgusting, not
human, and made him do things that made Frank’s skin crawl every time he
thought about it. There were times when A made him wear a diaper and expected
him to soil it with pee, or made him wear a tail, treating him like a dog. Or
if he was wanting Frank to act like a baby, then he would shove a pacifier in
his mouth, or spoon feed him – the days when Frank would actually get fed – or
change him. Sometimes if he was supposed to act like a baby, and he refused to
listen, Arefused to have him shower or get into a new diaper that he was forced
to piss in. It was disgusting that Frank was put through that. A was a cruel
man. He was a creep, a pedophile. Sometimes A would jerk off right in front of
Frank, showing him baby pictures of the smaller boy he somehow got. Awould talk
about how he wished they knew each other at that age because then he could feel
his “tight, small body” even though Frank was still small.
Frank felt so worthless.
                                     * * *
“Frankie, come on… I know you love to suck on things, don’t you? You just love
your pacifier. God, the way you suck it in your mouth… it gets me so horny. I
wish I knew you when you were twelve. I bet you were so tight, so small. So
innocent. Luckily, I have pictures of you. Frankie, do tell me, did you ever
touch yourself?” A asked, licking his lips at the boy who was cornered in the
room, an adult diaper being the only thing that covered him. It was clean, but
Frank still felt disgusting. “Frankie, what kind of porn did you watch?”
Frank shook his head, trying not to cry. Frank didn’t want to say anything –
last time he answered A truthfully – telling him personal, intimate details –
he got raped and beaten for “cheating” on the older man. Frank vowed to himself
that he would never speak about sex, or Jamia, ever again. Anytime A spoke
about Jamia, he referred her as the whore. He asked multiple times if Frank
ever had sex with her. Of course he had; he was a teenage boy with a beautiful
girlfriend that he promised himself to. They were young and in love, and Frank
thought that was the girl he was going to marry and have children with one day.
Frank looked down and whimpered.
“I take that as a yes. Come on, baby,” A said, lifting Frank’s head up by his
hair roughly, “look at me. Dry those damn tears up, honey. I want you to show
me how you pleasure yourself.”
Frank shook his head despite the hand in his hair. It hurt to shake his head,
but he didn’t want to be exposed like that. Frank was ashamed with his body
now. Frank used to be so confident of himself, and now there was nothing but
self-conscious thoughts.
“Now, now… don’t make me do it,” A scolded, starting to take the taped straps
off of the front of Frank’s shield. It wasn’t like he could stop A from doing
this either. A had cruel ways to make him listen. Sometimes, A would stick ice
down his pants, or twist his testicles, or sexually assault him. Frank had
burns on his body as well; candle wax, cigarette burns, blisters from scolding
hot water.
                                     * * *
Frank woke back up, realizing that he was still in the infirmary, but the nurse
that was standing there wasn’t there anymore. Now, he was alone. The beeping of
the machine was kind of soothing, but also a bit annoying. He wished he could
have just died in his sleep, but he knew that he couldn’t do it. He just wanted
to die. Medications wouldn’t help him take away these thoughts despite multiple
therapists saying it would. No one knew that nothing could make this feel
better when he had daily reminders of his past.




***** Chapter 4 *****
Frank could feel all of the eyes on him. Frank never spoke during group. Ever.
No one knew what his voice even sounded like until now. But this… person looked
just like A. Frank wouldn’t necessarily lie by saying that he didn’t feel
somewhat safe here, but he did until now. This doppelgänger of A’s made his
stomach cave, fuckin’ bats came out to play even, and he felt like he could
cry. He hadn’t cried in a long time, and just seeing this… this person, made
him want to after so long. All Frank could do was just stare, as rude was that
was, and totally not something he should be doing. It also felt weird looking
at someone’s face, looking them in the eyes. It was foreign now. But the more
Frank looked at his face, the more he couldn’t look away. The eyes were the
same, the shape of his face. Everything.
“Frank?” Dr. Sandra tried getting Frank’s attention, but it didn’t work. She
was also shocked to hear the boy’s voice. “Hey, Frank, look at me,” she added,
still trying to get his attention, but it still wouldn’t work.
“Can… can you quit looking at me, jeez. Why am I in here with the retards?”
Gerard asked, sighing harshly. He leaned back into the uncomfortable, plastic
chair that they offered. “I’m not retarded. Shit, all I did was cut myself, and
now I’m stuck here?”
“Please refrain from using that word, Mr. Way,” Sandra said, scolding him as
she continued to get Frank’s attention. She didn’t know whether to touch the
boy’s shoulders to snap him out of some daze, or just continue to speak to him.
She sighed, standing up, walking closer and bending down on one knee. “Frank,
come on – look,” she said one more time until the boy flinched away and looked
down immediately.
Frank flinched away from the woman, looking up briefly, but then looked down.
There were tears in his eyes because he knew he shouldn’t have stared or looked
anyone in the eye. He should not have spoken. Now everyone would expect it out
of him; he didn’t want to be here anymore. He could feel himself breathing
heavily, an anxiety attack was about to happen, he could tell, but there was
nothing he could do to calm himself down. He knew he needed to calm down before
he passed out because who knew what Gerard would do to him, or what Dr. Sandra
would do. It didn’t make things any better the more he tried to think inside
his head. He could feel himself start to lose consciousness.
                                     * * *
Frank woke up a few hours later in the infirmary, a nurse standing over him,
checking his stats. The entire time he was out, he had a peaceful sleep. He
wished he could sleep like that more often. It was hard to get good sleep, or
to not dream about A. Frank hated himself. A made him feel disgusting, not
human, and made him do things that made Frank’s skin crawl every time he
thought about it. There were times when A made him wear a diaper and expected
him to soil it with pee, or made him wear a tail, treating him like a dog. Or
if he was wanting Frank to act like a baby, then he would shove a pacifier in
his mouth, or spoon feed him – the days when Frank would actually get fed – or
change him. Sometimes if he was supposed to act like a baby, and he refused to
listen, Arefused to have him shower or get into a new diaper that he was forced
to piss in. It was disgusting that Frank was put through that. A was a cruel
man. He was a creep, a pedophile. Sometimes A would jerk off right in front of
Frank, showing him baby pictures of the smaller boy he somehow got. Awould talk
about how he wished they knew each other at that age because then he could feel
his “tight, small body” even though Frank was still small.
Frank felt so worthless.
                                     * * *
“Frankie, come on… I know you love to suck on things, don’t you? You just love
your pacifier. God, the way you suck it in your mouth… it gets me so horny. I
wish I knew you when you were twelve. I bet you were so tight, so small. So
innocent. Luckily, I have pictures of you. Frankie, do tell me, did you ever
touch yourself?”A asked, licking his lips at the boy who was cornered in the
room, an adult diaper being the only thing that covered him. It was clean, but
Frank still felt disgusting. “Frankie, what kind of porn did you watch?”
Frank shook his head, trying not to cry. Frank didn’t want to say anything.
Last time he answeredAtruthfully – telling him personal, intimate details – he
got raped and beaten for “cheating” on the older man. Frank vowed to himself
that he would never speak about sex, or Jamia, ever again. AnytimeAspoke about
Jamia, he referred her as the whore. He asked multiple times if Frank ever had
sex with her. Of course he had; he was a teenage boy with a beautiful
girlfriend that he promised himself to. They were young and in love, and Frank
thought that was the girl he was going to marry and have children with one day.
Frank looked down and whimpered.
“I take that as a yes. Come on, baby,”A said, lifting Frank’s head up by his
hair roughly, “look at me. Dry those damn tears up, honey. I want you to show
me how you pleasure yourself.”
Frank shook his head despite the hand in his hair. It hurt to shake his head,
but he didn’t want to be exposed like that. Frank was ashamed with his body
now. Frank used to be so confident of himself, and now there was nothing but
self-conscious thoughts.
“Now, now… don’t make me do it,”Ascolded, starting to take the taped straps off
of the front of Frank’s shield. It wasn’t like he could stopAfrom doing this
either.Ahad cruel ways to make him listen. Sometimes,Awould stick ice down his
pants, or twist his testicles, or sexually assault him. Frank had burns on his
body as well; candle wax, cigarette burns, blisters from scolding hot water.
                                     * * *
Frank woke back up, realizing that he was still in the infirmary, but the nurse
that was standing there wasn’t there anymore. Now, he was alone. The beeping of
the machine was kind of soothing, but also a bit annoying. He wished he could
have just died in his sleep, but he knew that he couldn’t do it. He just wanted
to die. Medications wouldn’t help him take away these thoughts despite multiple
therapists saying it would. No one knew that nothing could make this feel
better when he had daily reminders of his past. He knew that maybe it wasn’t
his fault that he was kidnapped, but most of the time it was his fault for all
the punishment that he had gone through. If he would have just listened the
first time, then maybe he wouldn’t have gotten his arm broken, or had been
raped. Or burned. The marks were his fault.
One time he was stuck in the pouring rain, hail even hit his skin. He was
sicker than a dog for almost two weeks because A refused to take him to the
doctors because he did get beaten to the point that he was bleeding in multiple
places. Frank was sure at one point his nose was broken. There were points
where A would leave things up his ass, or have Frank suck on a pacifier. Or eat
out of a dog bowl. It didn’t matter what it was –A’s main goal was to humiliate
and sodomize Frank. Frank remembered at one point whenAput a mask on his face
as he filmed him for whatever pedophile was out there, logging into the
chatroom, requesting the Master to do horrible, horrible things. Frank was sure
there were videos of him out there still when A would post to porn blogs, lying
that Frank was eighteen. No one could tell either; the mask would be on. Frank
would be forced to act like a baby. A even had a crib that Frank would lie in
during videos. Other than that, A would shove Frank in the basement for days
and days. The camera would be on every once in awhile.
“Frank?” came a voice, snapping Frank out of his thoughts that consumed him so
often that it would depress him even more than what he was. Frank looked toward
the direction of the voice. It was Dr. Sandra.
Frank sighed. He knew that she would now expect him to speak, but he couldn’t.
He was rude earlier – he did not know how to truly address people anymore. A
ruined that. He was only allowed to call A daddy. Hell, he didn’t know the
letter of what A would be called until one of his friends yelled it. His friend
was named O. O was a fat bastard that would take advantage of Frank as well.
“We have to talk,” Dr. Sandra stated, pulling a chair up beside Frank’s bed.
She had her notebook in her hands, and a pen that was ready to jot anything
that Frank said down, but Frank won’t ever speak again, he promised himself.
Never ever again; it only got him into trouble.
Frank shook his head, now not looking at the woman, and instead looking at the
off-white blankets that covered him.
“C’mon. You spoke earlier, and I’m proud of you for that…,” Sandra said,
sending Frank a small smile that he didn’t see nor return. “Please? You’re not
going to get into trouble… if that’s what you think. A lot of victims do think
how you are, I bet. A lot of victims are told to keep quiet otherwise they
would be hurt. It’s a way to keep a person from telling what went on behind
closed doors. It’s okay. Tell me what you were thinking when you seen Gerard? I
will keep it between us.”
Frank looked at her hands, the notebook, and pen. He pointed towards it,
letting her know that she would still write it down for his file. “Oh this?
This is to help me. No one besides me is going to read it.”
Frank shook his head.
“I promise.”
End Notes
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