A/N: harrr finally i manage to post the first chapter of one of the many other stories i'm working on. i hope you like it. should you find any mistakes, feel free to point them out.
(document manager editing makes me go insane. sorry for the weird layout. this simply does not work and i don't know why.)
Disclaimer: it's fan fiction. this one is based on the members of MCR, parts of The Used, FOB and TBS.
Beta: the lovely xxliar from – thank you!
Chapter 01 – Breathe Again
He flinched when the cloth touched the bruised and broken skin, washing the dried blood away as gently as he could. He blinked away the tears that stung in his eyes due to the pain.
He never cried, because of them; they were not worth it and he never cried in self pity. Tears only broke through when he was in real physical pain, but even then he tried to stop them from falling. He would not allow himself to get weak, to get vulnerable, to lose it.
Most of all, he was afraid that, if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop.
Frank breathed out a shaken laugh, ready to punch the wall next to him.
He met his own emotionless eyes in the mirror and sunk the washcloth into the sink, rinsing the blood and dirt from it, watching the water get duller.
One eye was nastily bruised; a short cut on the cheekbone right under it had finally stopped bleeding. His nose was only slightly red, the blood already washed away, and if you didn't know, you couldn't tell it had been hit just an hour ago.
His lip was quite the opposite. It had burst open to the left, just were the fist had slammed against it, letting him taste his own blood for the hundredth time simply because he had refused to let the man fuck him. The deal had been a blowjob, nothing more. He would have gone further, no doubt, but didn't have any condoms, why the fuck didn't he have any with him, which didn't concern the man as much as it did him, because after beating him up, he just used Frank, who bit down his screams and tears and pain and pleads, not wanting to please the bastard in any way.
He had left him - bleeding, aching but still breathing - on the floor. It had happened before and it would happen again; risk of the business. One must apparently have some kind of death wish lingering inside somewhere if he didn't get freaked out by thinking that he might have caught some STD or HIV when bastards like the man from tonight raped him. Too used to the fear maybe, and this didn't make it any better.
Frank hissed, when he cleaned his lip and chin, finally getting rid of all dried blood on his skin and then turned around to sit down in the shower. He held his breath when his bottom touched the floor, slipping a hand above himself to turn up for the water. He let the hot streams fall down on him, burning away the smell of the night and of his job. He rested his elbows on his knees, which he pulled up to his chest and leaned his forehead on his arms, blinking into the darkness of his little selfmade cave.
"Bullshit." Complete and utter bullshit. All of it. He frowned. Why did he still put up with this then? The money wasn't worth all the pain and risk. He was miserable and didn't allow himself to flow in self pity because he could just fucking change his situation if he wanted to.
And he wanted to.
He sighed when he realized he couldn't just go out and search for a job the next day. His face didn't look very appealing and he had to make a good impression if he wanted a job. He needed ajob.
Maybe in the beginning it was awesome to not have to get up in the mornings and work until early evening, still earning a hell of a lot of money, but he had always felt like shit after each 'customer' and the 'customers' got dirtier, nastier and more violent with each year. Or did he get more careless? More desperate for money, for jobs.
He had been to the hospital three times in the last two months already to check himself for any diseases after he had been raped. They had always been nice to him, the nurses, and the doctor. She had always tried to speak him out of it, offering him a job in the canteen of the hospital where she worked instead, but he refused every time. He was too proud.
What was there to be proud of?
He leaned his head back on the wall and licked some blood away from the cut that had burst open again. Maybe when he 'visited' her next time, which was obviously necessary again, he could get over his issues and ask her if he still could get the job. She would surely be proud of him for finally giving up on blowing strangers and having men fuck him for money.
But not tonight. He needed to rest. He needed sleep.
"Frank!"
…
"Frank, open the door!"
…
"Frank, are you alright?"
…
"Frank, open up or I'm gonna…"
Frank stumbled from the warmth of his bed to the door, unlocking it and frowning when he blinked the sleep away and felt the stinging pain around his eye.
"Or you gonna do what? Push it open? As if you have the muscles to do that, Quinn."
"Oh shit, what the hell happened?" Quinn looked painfully, but not too surprised at Frank's face. He followed Frank's arm gesture to get his ass inside already. He didn't need his neighbors to complain about him, getting him kicked out of his apartment. Shitty as it was, it was his.
He locked the door again and flicked on the small table lamp, shutting off the big one that Quinn had flicked on when he entered and slumped down on his bed.
"Move." Frank waved for Quinn to move to the side so he could get under the covers again. He finally managed to do so, but only for a second before Quinn pulled the sheets down to his hips again, hovering over him and staring down at his naked torso.
"Man, you got some nasty bruises this time."
"Why don't you just kiss them alright and we all can get back to sleep?" Frank had his eyes closed and tried to fall asleep, despise the fact that Quinn was leaning over him and examining his body. The worst thing was the sheets were gone. He was starting to freeze.
"Did you at least get…"
"No."
"Oh… That's alright."
"No, it's not fucking alright!" Frank sat up abruptly, forcing Quinn to back away, sitting down on his ass again and looking knowingly at Frank.
"You got raped."
"I hate this place! I'm not gonna do it again!"
"We're going to see Moira."
"I was lying there and I fucking wished I…" Frank stopped, breathing heavily due to his anger and let his eyes flicker down to the sheets.
"What?"
"Nothing." Frank shook his head and lay back down. Quinn knew better than to ask again. Instead he shifted and lay down next to Frank, being careful not to hurt him.
"I'm gonna go see Moira in a few days and ask her for the fucking job in the canteen instead," Frank said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. He hoped he wouldn't have to see it anymore.
"Tell me when and I'm coming with you."
"Switch off the light," Frank said, turning on his side and wincing at the pain coming from his ribcage when he heard Quinn getting up again and walking over to the table. He let the room fall into darkness again before turning back to crawl into the bed. Frank had already lifted the sheets for him to get under. Ten minutes later he was asleep and dreamt about some guy chasing him through the city with a shiny knife in one hand.
Moira wasn't there this time. And Frank let a young male doctor with arrogant eyebrows treat him like the cheap and dirty prostitute he was.
Was.
He was there alone, having left Quinn asleep, as he hadn't been up for company. Frank had gotten reassurance that his rib wasn't cracked, it still hurt enough though, and while they ran the usual tests, the doctor told him that he had to wait a few weeks if he wanted a clear result. As if he didn't know already. But he nodded and at least left with the thought that he might have been a lucky fucker this time concerning any STD. Itching nuisances, some of them. Thinking back to the man that had raped him two days ago, he thought he might relax concerning anything though... he knew them by now. Of course, one could never be too sure, but the man didn't seem like a threat. Then again – he had raped him, right? So yeah, Frank would come back.
But of course he never got around to asking for the job either. The doctor had already looked at him with so much disgust that Frank bit back any comments or questions; he might get laughed at additionally. He was definitely not up for being treated like a fucking joke.
An hour later, he was walking with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his ripped jeans, head and shoulders hanging down, eyes on the street in front of him, when he caught sight of something in the corner of his eyes.
'Help wanted.' He stopped, wide eyed, staring at the sign for another moment before finally looking up to see what kind of shop he was standing in front of. Old Town Comics.
A comic store. Not too big, but not cramped either. He had been there before plenty of times; the owner was some crazy thin kid with geeky glasses if he remembered correctly. And the clumsiest person he had ever met was also working there; last time Frank had visited, he'd almost knocked both himself and a shelf over but luckily had jumped to the side just in time.
At least they had always been friendly and didn't say anything when he had left after an hour of reading and not buying anything. Quite the opposite; the owner seemed to send him a cheery smile even though he recognized him every time Frank turned, not-buying anything.
Frank bit his lip - he couldn't let this chance slip – so he took a breath and pushed the door open.
Inside he licked his dry lips and looked around the store. Empty. Huh. Interesting. Frank bit the inside of his cheek nervously and put his hands in his pockets, strolling to a shelf and glancing at the covers, waiting patiently for someone to turn up.
No one came.
For some reason he was thankful for the nonexistence of the owner at that very moment, as he felt himself becoming more nervous with the second. He nibbled on his lip ring, cursing under his breath for thinking he could show up like this without anything and just ask for the job. Fuck it, he thought, he had to give it a chance. So he started thinking up some lies about his former jobs, practicing his speech, as if being interrogated.
After ten minutes in silence (besides the quiet punk music coming from the loudspeakers) he saw a cover of a zombie comic and narrowed his eyes at it. Remembering a scene from some zombie movie he turned around and looked at the counter. He smirked at his stupid imagination but still walked forward to the counter, leaning over it to check if someone was sitting behind it.
And there he sat - the owner - with big headphones covering his ears, leaning – relaxed - against the backside of the counter, comic in his lap, sidekick on the floor next to him, while his foot rocked to the rhythm of the music.
Frank raised his eyebrows and looked around the store once more. He could have just walked in here, taken a few comics and left without anyone ever noticing. Frank cleared his throat, but got no reaction. He shrugged and leaned forward again, his upper body almost lying on top of the counter, feet off the floor, when he stretched his arm and reached down, tapping the head of the man on the floor. Shortly the image of the owner jumping up, hand clutched to his heart while cursing Frank for scaring the shit out of him like that, blew through his mind and he closed his eyes a second in frustration with himself. He could just have walked around the counter instead, right?
But nothing like that happened. The kid on the floor tilted his head back and stared up at Frank, who was still hanging on the counter, looking nervously down at him.
"OH, HI!"
Frank jumped slightly at the loud voice disrupting the silent atmosphere of the store and when he saw the young man with the weird glasses put a finger to his mouth to shush himself, obviously remembering he had headphones on, a grin formed on the corner of his lips. He slid back down the counter, standing on the floor in front of it instead. The boy scrambled to his feet, putting the headphones on the desk between them and scratching his nose, smiling at Frank. "Sorry, didn't hear you." Then his eyes widened and he leaned slightly forward. "Whoa, shit dude, what happened to your face?"
Frank blinked momentarily, having forgotten all about that. "Oh, uh… nothing. Just a…"
"Uhuh. Right, see, your jedi-powers are not working on me whatsoever. I'm immune alright? But I get your drift and let it slip. Not my business. Gotta respect your double life, right?"
"Uhm… Yeah, well, sorry for interrupting you, but there was no one else around, so I searched for someone and… well, found you down there." Frank hurried to change the subject back to the originally one after all.
The owner narrowed his eyes at Frank, then looked around his empty shop, frowning. "Peter?"
Frank knew he wasn't mad but probably just called for his employee. He put his hands in his pockets, when the boy told him to wait a second and watched him round the counter and look into every row. "Peter?"
Then he turned around to Frank, looking at him for a moment, as if to ask him where his employee had gone and Frank shrugged innocently back.
"I can't believe it!" The man exclaimed and walked back to the counter, leaning over it just like Frank before, but not needing to almost climb it just to reach a phone under the desk because he was tall enough. "Unbelievable!" he said again, while dialing a number and shaking his head. He eyed Frank suddenly, as if just realizing that the customer actually might want something of him seeing as how he was still standing there patiently, looking around out of courtesy so he didn't have to watch him deal with 'Peter'.
"Oh, sorry… can I help you with something?" Frank turned his head and raised his eyebrows, realizing he was being spoken to and straightened up. "Yes! I'm… You have a Help Wanted sign out there and I-…" Frank was cut off by the boy, his thumb still pointing over his shoulder to the sign, when the guy pointed a finger at him and narrowed his eyes. "You got the job, you're better than a watchdog and definitely better than-… PETER!" The man suddenly turned away from Frank and shouted down the phone; Peter had obviously answered his cell.
Frank scratched the back of his head, turning his hand in a subtle movement for something else to do than pointing at a sign nobody was looking at anyway.
He didn't get too stoked in the comment of him getting the job and being compared to a dog. It was probably the guy's way to talk and Frank wished he hadn't been joking about something like that.
In a matter of seconds the man stopped talking to Peter down the phone, telling him to get his ass back to the store immediately and that he 'better bring some fucking coffee' or he would cut his wages.
"Honestly, he just went to the coffee shop without telling me. I mean, yeah, he was going to get us something to drink and I'd die without my daily dose, but that's not the point. I could have been robbed by some fourteen year old kids in green tights or something!"
Frank couldn't help but smirk at the thought and bit back a comment about Peter probably having told him anyway and the man just didn't hear him, sitting hidden behind the counter with his earphones on. He loved how this guy seemed to be able to let him forget about all his misery with just his relaxed and funny personality.
"Anyway," the man waved it off and cleaned his glasses in his shirt, sighing and putting them back on his nose, while smiling at Frank again. "You're here for the job?" Frank nodded, smiling back, while feeling the nervousness return in his stomach. The owner held out his hand for Frank and smiled some more.
"Great, dude, I'm Mikey!"