Frank P.O.V

I threw my pen at the wall, hands covering my face disappointedly. I hadn't written any noteworthy songs in weeks- maybe even months. I stared at the crumpled pieces of paper on the floor, along with the fading blue carpet. The wallpaper was peeling from the walls- I swear that it wasn't my fault whatsoever. I had lived (and smoked) in the same room for years, seeing as my family
were reluctant to even look me in the eyes.

Grudgingly, I scooped the pieces of paper up into my arms, dropping it into the rusted metal bin by my side. I felt like the room itself had had enough of me, like the peeling strips of wallpaper all pointed their disappointed, faded fingers at me. How did I end up here? How did my life come to such sorrow, I hated living every day of it. Knowing that my parents- the entire world, actually, had no understanding of a sexuality other than 'the norm' sickened me. It was as stupid as attacking somebody for the colour of their skin- imagine how dumb that would be?

Headlights from the parking lot in front of my room caused light to flood in through the window. The curtains were closed, yet every ounce of light shone into my eyes. I squinted, turning to face the other way. I hated that motel, I hated my miserable existence that I had unwillingly entered into. I hated that I was alone, that I had nobody to love me. Nobody as my shoulder to cry on. It made me so angry that the thought of it made my skin itch.

I scratched aimlessly at my arms, tossing my battered jacket onto the floor before pulling my shirt over my head. I wished that my family would take me back- I missed their company. Hell, I'd even lie to them and tell them that I was 'cured'. They believed that homosexuality was a disease; it's not. I growled angrily, the voice of my father telling me that I was sick, that I would tear the family apart if I didn't get help. I was glad when the lights from the parking lot died down, I could finally be at peace. As much at peace that I could be in, in a budget motel on an almost deserted road. I liked the secludedness of the area; I just wanted somebody to share it with.
~>•<~

I awoke to a loud knocking on my door. I lazily opened an eye, trying not to let it roll into the back of my head from the inconvenience. I crawled out of bed, not even bothering to dress myself. Nobody was important enough for that.
I peered round the door, the hotel manager stood in front of me.

"Mr Iero, your rent is due." He said, his pearly-white smile too bright for this early in a morning. I sighed, reaching into the pocket of my jacket, pulling out a wad of money. I took a handful, shoving it into his already outstretched hand. He thanked me, leaving me alone. It wouldn't be long before he'd be back, trying to scam me as usual. He was a crook, but he was the only one that would give me a room. Probably the only guy in town that would, seeing as everyone in that place was against everybody and anybody that was gay. The only thing that would keep the hotel manager from outing me, or killing me, was making sure that I paid him a lot of money.

After sleeping in for a few hours more, I crawled out of bed again. I stumbled to the bathroom, my legs refusing to move properly. I fell into the sink, fingers gripping the cold porcelain to steady myself. Looking up, the disheveled mess that met my eyes made me want to gag. The stubble, the tangled mess of my hair, my bloodshot eyes from the countless sleepless nights. Maybe pretending really would 'cure' me. Maybe I could go back to normal. I could live out my life as a family man, probably crying myself to sleep at night as the pretence would destroy me.

I looked away, unable to listen to my depressing thoughts. I didn't need them. What I did need, was a drink. It was probably only eleven o'clock in the morning, but I had to prepare myself for later. I was that washed-up singer in shady bars trying to make a little bit of lose change. I put on my clothes from yesterday, throwing on a random coat. I didn't care for how I looked, nobody in this town cared for what I looked like anyway. They probably thought that I was homeless; and they would be correct.
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Song Of The Chapter- Should I Stay Or Should I Go by The Clash

A.N

Shorter chapter than usual, I just didn't want to drag out anything and make the chapter boring af.
Don't forget to comment and vote ;)