Disclaimer : I do not own MCR or any of the members of MCR. These characters are completely fictional and are not based on real people. I only own the OC's and the plot.
Frank's P.O.V
"Fuck off, emo," I shuddered at the words even though I'd heard them a thousand times before. I hung my head even more forward, so that my dark brown, shoulder length hair hung over my face, obscuring me from view.
I adjusted my backpack which was slung over my shoulder so that the strap sat more comfortably against my shoulder blade.
"No one wants you here, fag!" some blonde yelled, and I could see her sneering face from behind my hair. I quickly reached into my pocket and pulled out the bottle of pills that never left my side. I downed two quickly, but not quick enough.
"You taking your happy pills, emo?" the jock's remark gains him a few laughs from his retard friends who have probably never even opened a book. I had time to put the bottle of anti-depressants back in my pocket before I reached my locker.
Shakily, I entered the combination and swung the metal door open. I deposited my books quickly, not wanting to dawdle in the hallway any longer than I had to. It just wasn't safe for someone like me to do that.
Unfortunately, for the second time that day, I was not quick enough. There was a loud bang as someone's body connected with the metal of the locker beside mine.
"Hey, emo," came a voice close to my ear, and I shuddered. I could smell alcohol in his breath. Did he really have enough nerve to be drunk during school?
"Fuck off, Chris," I said pathetically, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Apparently Chris didn't take to kindly to that. One second I was standing in front of my locker, and the next my back was being slammed into a locker, whipping my head back and flipping the hair out of my face. Chris's face was centimeters from mine, and I could almost taste the liquor. I wanted to gag, but I was too fucking scared, and I knew that acting cocky was not the best way to please a drunken quarterback.
"What'd you say to me, fag?" Chris's words were slurred, and I could tell that he was totally wasted. But that didn't diminish his strength. His grip was tight on my shoulder, and I could feel his fingernails digging into my skin. I tried not to grimace.
"N-nothing," I breathed.
"What was that?"
"Nothing," I said more confidently this time. Chris pushed me back, and my head connected with the metal of the blue locker. I saw stars.
"That's right," he smirked, and walked away with the other members of the football team, laughing and taunting.
Shaking my head, I turned back to my locker, which remained open. I picked up my fallen backpack and swung it over my shoulder again. I swung the door shut, and it closed with a smack.
I rubbed the back of my head where I could feel the bruise beginning to form. Dammit, just another bruise to add to my collection.
Which reminds me. I should probably introduce myself. My name's Frank. Frank Iero. I'm sixteen, and I go to Bellville High in Bellville, New Jersey. I'm most commonly known as 'emo' or 'fag'. I play guitar, not that anyone cares. In fact, no one cares about anything I do. But then again, maybe it's best that way.