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Title: There Was No Fear In My Room When We Got Close
Author: ipanicdaily
Pairing: Gerard/Frank
POV: 1st OC/1st Gerard
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own anyone/anything other than the plot and original characters (Elyse, Sara, Michael Luther White). The title comes from 'Your Legs Grow' by Nada Surf.
Warning: Uh..torture, violence, language, gayness, blood, etc.
Author Notes: This is a lengthy one-shot that I've had in my mind for a long time. It takes place kinda in the future but at the same time not really. It's in first person of an original character, the mass italicized sections being journal entries.

Dedicated to lilrainforest. I <3 you babe.

This is exactly 11.8k words....

Thirty years ago there was a great and terrible movement called 'The Great Purification' where a malicious leader named Michael Luther White convinced the people of America that the world was soon going to end and that God would come to place judgment on them all. For everyone to make it into the golden gates of Heaven, they would have to clean America from the sin it had collected over the centuries so that God would show them mercy and save their souls. White was the Hitler of his time.

Anyone against Christian laws was sent to a local holding cell, referred to by outsiders as 'clinics', where they were given a chance to change themselves to the way of God. The prisoners were tortured, starved; anything White could think of them that would make them follow in the ways of his God so that his country would be saved upon the day of judgment. Some prisoners fell to fear, some stayed strong in their beliefs, and some grew too weak to carry on. Those who wouldn't let themselves be 'purified' were done away with.

It took five years for America to see the lies of Michael Luther White and that what he was doing was inhumane. By that time though, almost five thousand lives were lost; men, women, and children alike. And just like a fairytale, the whole thing was altered to keep the truth from those who didn't know what really went on behind the 'clinics' walls in an attempt to hide what truly happen; to erase it.

No matter what though, there will always be some small piece of evidence, even if only in people's minds, that will keep the Great Purification in existence.

I stood against the rusted iron fence, my fingers wrapped around the thin wires in the open holes as I stared at the building inside its clutches. The white paint was chipping off the bricks and the large green leaves from wild vines stretched up its walls. Windows were broken, some boarded, and the weeds had long since overtaken the grass. This clinic was far different looking from the one I had to go to when I was sick. This one has been closed about thirty years and they're just getting around to tearing it down. Part of me wants it gone because it's a bit of an eye sore but at the same time, I don't want them to take it down because it's a piece of our history and well, there's not much of that in our little town. "Are we going to stand here all day or go inside?" Sara asked, pushing her layered black bangs aside allowing her brown eyes to just barely catch one of the golden rays of the setting sun.

"I'm coming," I took a deep breath and nodded my head. Something about the place gave me a heavy feeling; almost eerie. It wasn't exactly anything scary but rather painful, like the worlds grief was suddenly wrapping around my heart. "But, uh, how do we get in?" I asked, glancing towards the large gates that had a thick chain wrapped around the bars, weaving in and out of the small spots, a heavy, unbreakable lock permanently keeping them shut. "I don't exactly have a key."

"At least one of us left home prepared," She sighed, reaching into the gray messenger bag hanging over her body, producing a pair of wire cutters. It's a wonder that bag doesn't make her topple over. Sara is a very light framed girl and her bag is so heavily decorated with pins, patches, and key chains that it probably weighs as much, if not more, as she does. "Stand aside," Sara told me, walking up to the fence and sliding the ends of the cutter in. The fence was thick but because it was so badly rusted, my hands now a reddish orange color, that it wasn't as strong as it once was and with a bit of strength, Sara was able to snap through the pieces of metal until there was enough of a hole for us to squeeze through.

Sliding the cutters back into her bag, Sara proudly smiled and gestured down to the little hole. "After you," She said, making me smile a bit as I got onto my knees, removing my own bag and shoving it through the hole first before laying on my stomach and working my way inside, rocks poking into my body as dirt clung to my attire. "Please, move at a snail's pace, you know how it thrills me," Sara teased, quoting The Devil Wears Prada.

"Fuck off," I said back with amusement, pulling myself onto my knees again, inside the fence now, my heavy feeling increasing even more. I ignored it though as pathetic fear and stood up, brushing my body off as Sara crawled through her made hole as well. I've always had a problem with anything I can relate to horror and a large, abandoned building like this sends my mind back to some of those cheap movies I've watched but have scared me nonetheless. Stupid Peter and his dare that Sara and I stay the night in here. Sara, of course, jumped right at the idea. I took a bit of convincing. "I wonder why they rebuilt the clinic," I said, picking my bag up off the ground and sliding it over my body again.

"Maybe because this one is a piece of shit," Sara said as she brushed her clothes off.

"If they took care of it then it would be just fine," I frowned. Everyone seems to be into 'new' nowadays. Granted, they rebuilt the clinic thirty years ago, but this building doesn't seem like it's in terrible condition. "My mom says that they used to bring a lot of people here during the GP," I told Sara. The Great Purification was one of the greatest parts of our American history. Michael Luther White saved America from falling to sin like God told him to do. "She said that during the GP a lot of people would go to the clinics to seek refuge and become one with God again, kinda like a rehab."

"I know," Sara adjusted her bag on her body. "I do happen to go to school," She teased, pushing me lightly on the shoulder. "Well, it's almost sundown; shall we?" Sara opened her bag once again to pull out a flashlight, twisting the end until a bright light shot out of it. I nodded and removed my own flashlight, turning it on and following Sara towards the luminous building to figure out a way inside. Technically, the dare was to stay the night beyond the fence but I know Sara's not going to settle for that and will want to be inside the building so I brought a first aid kit and such just in case. Yes, I even have a cross in there. "I think we should be able to get in one of the windows," Sara said, running her flashlight over the building even though it was still plenty light enough to see, looking for a means of entrance.

"With all that broken glass?" I asked, eyebrows raising a bit.

"Well I don't see any other way," Sara huffed. In a way, we did have to get inside. Peter said that we had to bring something from the grounds back out as evidence and the most we'll find outside is a bunch of rust. "I'll climb in and see if I can pry the door open, ok?"

"Be careful," I said as Sara stuck the flashlight in her mouth and walked up the broken cement steps to the door, shaking the railing a little to test its durability before climbing onto it, holding onto the vines for support, and stepped to the edge of the window beside it. The whole time my heart was going a million miles an hour because what if she falls? My first aid kit only has some bandaging and anti-bacterial cream; nothing for broken bones.

Sara jumped completely to the window, nearly falling backwards (which made me squeak), but caught her weight and managed to slide right into the broken opening. I heard some glass breaking and a bit of cursing from inside before silence, my foot bouncing nervously until Sara pulled the door open with a grin on her face. "Told you," She smirked, motioning for me to come inside.

"I hate you," I laughed a bit, my heart easing as I climbed up the cracked steps to the door where Sara stood, shining my light inside the dark interior and jumping when Sara slammed the door shut behind me. The inside of the building was far from what I expected. It wasn't at all like the clinic I go to. This one had a desk right by the door, beside a flight of stairs, and had only one room off to the left that was like a mini church. There was a small hall between the church room and the stairs with a little door that I guessed maybe went to the basement; somewhere I definitely wasn't going. I don't do my own basement which is almost like a whole other living room.

"So...where to first?" Sara asked, dragging the beam of the flashlight slowly around the room. "Our only options are up the stairs or in the church and personally, I get enough of God every Sunday," She had one hand on her hip, the other flopped sideways as it held the flashlight.

"Are the stairs safe?" I asked, ignoring the God comment, keeping my own flashlight on the desk which was beneath a bunch of scattered papers covered by dust.

"Only one way to find out," Sara shrugged, starting off towards the stairs. She grabbed the railing and stepped onto the first wooden step, a loud creaking noise ringing through the empty building, disrupting a few birds who frantically flapped their wings and made me jump. "You coming or not?" Sara asked, going up the stairs as though they were the ones in her house now, her flashlight locked on a door at the top with a half hanging sign reading 'employees only'.

"In a minute," I replied, going to the desk and brushing some dust off to see what the papers were. They were faded and some even mostly burned, the once white paper a yellow tint like they had been soaked in tea or coffee. I couldn't read the parchments so I pushed them aside until I came to a thick book with a leather binding which I opened, discovering it was a list of names.

The names were hard to read, written in a neat cursive hand writing as well as faded, with a couple of dates beside each one. A few were even crossed out in thin, straight lines which could be a number of things really. There were also room numbers beside each of the names so, figuring it might prove useful, I lifted the book off the desk then followed Sara up the stairs which continued to creak beneath my feet until I came to the second floor, going through the now opened door. "Sara?" I called, the hallway being empty. The sun was almost gone so all the light I had really was my flashlight and that was kinda really freaking me out.

"In here," I heard her voice before seeing a light dancing around in one of the rooms. I walked to the room she was in and stepped through the door way, the scent of a forgotten building quickly jumping at me. "This one was open," Sara told me, walking around the room. She was intent on the walls which, when I saw her light shine upon them, I could see paper taped up on them. "What's that?" Looking back at me, I was snapped from my trance as Sara motioned towards the book in my hand.

"Oh;" I shook my head to get my mind back to my body. "I found it on the desk. It's got a log of all the people that stayed here," I said, opening the book in my arms, barely able to hold the flashlight underneath it. "Their names, some dates, and their room numbers," I said.

"Well, who stayed here?" Sara asked, walking towards me. The only light in this room was our flashlights. There were no windows which I thought to be odd and slightly depressing but maybe the person didn't like natural light. The one on the ceiling was busted by now.

"Um...I don't know," I said, cocking my head to the side. "What's the number?" Sara walked past me and out of the room to find out.

"104A," Sara read, joining me back inside, looking over my shoulder. I scanned the pages for the number, finding it and sliding my eyes along the line to the name.

"Way, Gerard," I could barely see the ink, it was so faded. And as though the building wasn't creepy enough, Sara and I both screamed as the door suddenly slammed shut, both of us jumping and my throwing the book across the room. "What the fuck?" I asked frantically, my heart nearly exploding.

"I'm s-sure the hinge was l-loose," Sara said, her hand over her heart and other hand wrapped so tightly around the flashlight the white beam reflected her shaking body. "We have to s-stay the night anyway, m-might as well j-just do it here," I could hear the slight panic in her voice and honestly, it sounded like a very good idea. This room is small and windowless with a door which limits more freaky happenings.

"D-do you h-have your dad's l-light?" I asked, trying to avoid a very unwanted panic attack. Sara nodded and pulled open her bag, producing her dad's camping light which she switched on and set in the middle of the floor. It created enough light to fill the room, though just enough to faintly see every item, but was still stronger than our little flashlights.

"At least there's a bed," Sara tried to lighten our little scare, motioning towards the cot in the corner that had a thin blanket with holes in it. Surely they gave out more during the winter because it looked like there was no heat source in this room and winters here can be really brutal. I nodded and went to pick up the book, bending down when my flashlight suddenly landed on something under the bed that caught my eye. "What?" Sara asked, noticing my sudden intrigue.

"Something..." I muttered, getting onto my hands and knees, not too concerned with the dirt and dust on the cement beneath me, keeping my light under the bed as I extended my arm out, my hand resting what appeared to be a small book. I grabbed it and pulled it back to my body, blowing the dust off then coughing a bit as the thick amount flew into the air then my lungs. In the middle of the little book in my hand were the small, golden, cursive letters GW which I assumed stood for 'Gerard Way' as the other book had told me was the resident here.

I stood up and sat on the cot which dipped down beneath my weight, making more creaking noises, and crossed my legs with the book in my lap. Sara came over and sat beside me, a curious expression painted across her face as she looked over my shoulder again. "What is it?" Sara asked, leaning on me.

"I think," I took a deep breath and ran a finger over the smooth surface, "I think this is the diary, or journal if you will, of Gerard Way," I said because it resembled something of that private nature. I carefully bent back the cover to find a page very similar to the ones in the book of names. "To the best big brother ever, Love Mikey," I read in far messier hand writing than the log book but easier to read at the same time. "Is there a 'Mikey Way' anywhere in that book?" I asked Sara who got off the bed to grab the log, returning to sit beside me again and opened it.

"Nope," She shook her head. "The only 'Way' is Gerard."

"I don't think we should read this," I said quietly, looking back to the journal in my lap. "It's his private journal..."

"I've never heard of a Gerard Way and you know that I know everyone in this godforsaken town," Sara said with a bit of annoyance. "I highly doubt he's going to be too upset. He left it here anyway."

"I know," I sighed, fingers itching to turn the page. "It just seems wrong..."

"If you won't do it," She reached a hand out, "I will."

"No," I said defensively, holding the journal a little tighter. I felt like it was my job to protect it for some reason. I pulled myself completely onto the cot and leaned my back against the wall. "I...I'm going to read it..." My voice was shaky because it still felt wrong but I was so curious about what happened during the Great Purification. Our text books just lightly touch on it, saying that it was a time of great change and prosper for America. Something always seemed like it was missing though.

"Well get a move on," Sara teased, sliding up the cot to sit beside me. "Let's hear the deep dark secrets of Mr. Gerard Way," She beamed, that glint in her eye that meant she was thinking some pretty dirty things. I just stared and she tilted her head. "Come on, I know you were thinking it too."

"Not all journals are full of dirty things," I said, still keeping the journal on that first page. "Just because yours is..."

"Don't start with me, Miss I nearly had an orgasm at the way the little drops of cold water clung to his perfectly chiseled abs that-"

"Ok!" I stopped her, cheeks burning with embarrassment. I need to find a better hiding place for my diary. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, slowly exhaling and lowering my eyes to the journal again. "Forgive us Gerard," I quietly said. It's ok. "Huh?" I looked to Sara.

"What?" She asked as though I suddenly put her on trial for something.

"Didn't you just say something?" I asked with confusion, Sara raising an eyebrow in that 'wtf' kind of way. "Never mind," I mumbled. "Hold the flashlight for me to read, please," I said and Sara nodded, grabbing one of our flashlights and holding it right over the journal. I carefully turned the page over to find one with semi-neat handwriting scratched across it, still dark enough for me to read almost perfectly. With a deep breath, I started with the date, entering the world of Gerard Way. "April 9th; Mikey gave me you, my journal, today for my birthday..."

He said that I really need to stop writing in things full of flowers or rainbows or cute little animals. But how can you not like a sweet little kitten? Lol, maybe I am a little too gay for my own good. Mikey just likes to pick on me. But he got me this journal from Italy or something when he was traveling with his new girlfriend. He even got engraved with my initials. He's seriously the best little brother ever.

My birthday was awesome. I couldn't wait to turn 21 because now I can legally drink! I mean, I've done it for years, but now it's legal! No more fake ID! It was this whole huge event at my parents house and normally I'm not a people person but for some reason I've never had more fun. My mom made me a cake and my family was there plus the one or two friends I managed to accumulate. Even Bert, my amazing boyfriend, took the day off just to be with me! He's never done that before.

"He was gay?!" Sara interrupted with a bright face. "That's so cool!"

"Are you going to let me read this or not?" I asked with a bit of frustration. A very soft, almost inaudible sound similar to laughter ran through my mind but it wouldn't be the first time I've heard things that aren't really there so I just ignored it.

"Yeah, sorry," Sara settled down again. "But seriously; gay people are awesome and we have like none around here..." I rolled my eyes and waited for her to stop shifting around to hold the light steady so I could read the little handwriting.

"Anyway," I found my spot in the passage, "I got a few gifts but..."

none was better than the gift that Mikey gave me only because he knows how important a journal is to me. Ever since I stopped cutting back in tenth grade, I've been writing. It's a far cleaner and probably safer way of dealing with my problems. It wouldn't be so bad if being gay wasn't such an outcast thing but my friends and family accept me for who I am so I deal. Mikey also gave me a bunch of copies of the pictures he took because the scenery was amazing and he knew I would have loved to go.

My mom got me some more art stuff like brushes and paint and a really nice box of pencils. I start at NYC's AI this fall and I'm so excited. Just wait and see; I'll be the next Picasso or Degas or Monet. They'll hang my artwork in the most prestigious museums all across the world and I'll be so rich that I won't know what to do! Lol. Ok, maybe I'm getting ahead of myself but I'm so excited because that school is really hard to get into and I actually made it! Me; Gerard Arthur Way!

Well I have to put you away now because Bert wants to give me a special gift. I can only imagine what. I'll try to write every day but I'm busy a lot so we'll see.

xoxo G

"What?!" Sara huffed. "Where's the good stuff? He can only imagine?! I can only imagine since he was seriously lacking details!"

"A diary is not written porn!" I said, smacking Sara lightly. "Not everyone carries on about their sex life, or imaginary sex life, in their personal experiences. Gerard even wrote that he keeps journals to help with his cutting!" I pointed to that line, Sara frowning. "Now if you don't want to sit there and listen then keep quiet because I'm curious how Gerard ended up here instead of his art school."

"Fine," Sara slid down and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning on me still to listen. "Still needs sex," She mumbled and I shook my head some, turning the page to get to the next entry.

"July 5; Wow, three months since I've written in you! I'm so sorry! I've..."

been so busy lately that I barely have time to sleep. I ended up moving out of my apartment in Jersey and to New York, close to the school, so I can be all settled for when school starts next month. I'll have to stay on campus the first year but Bert's going to be here and I'll come back on weekends to stay with him when he's not working.

New York is pretty awesome. It's busy which is nice and it's only about an hour drive from the apartment and school which is nice too. Bert didn't want to live so far from his work, two hours, and I understand that, but after a little persuasion, I won. ;) Mikey likes the apartment too which is awesome because I love having my little brother around. He's like my best friend and has been for years. Plus, he gets on Bert's nerves and sometimes I just love watching Bert get upset.

I know, what an awful thing to say about my boyfriend. But Bert pisses me off a lot so it's all even! A lot of times Bert just comes home, grabs a beer, watches television, and goes to bed! I'm lucky if I get a hello some nights! Where's the love in that? But I really love Bert and I know that he loves me. Mikey tells me to break up with him but I can't because Bert has also helped me with the whole cutting problem I used to have. It's hard at times, but what relationship isn't?

I was watching the news today, Bert left it on, and there was some man on there named Michael White who was talking about how America needs to become more Christian again. That's a bunch of bullshit. He's just another homophobic prick fighting against gay rights. But mark my words; one day I'll walking down an isle to fiancé, I won't promise it will be Bert but I hope so, and we'll say 'I do' just like every other straight fucking couple out there. My mom will cry as she watches the ceremony, my dad smiling proudly, and I know I'll be the luckiest man on earth. Yeah, I've planned my wedding. Who doesn't?

But this White guy was going on about 'purifying' America and I don't get what he thinks gives him or anyone else the right to judge what makes other people happy. He claims that God told him that it's his duty to clean America, that 'Judgment Day' is coming, and it amazes me that they didn't just stick him in a mental institution. I believe in God and I go to church and I have spontaneously combusted yet so obviously God doesn't care that I'm gay. I have my theories about the bible anyway. I was always taught that God just wants his children to hold him in their hearts, which I do, somewhere, and that God loves us all equally. My fucking guys shouldn't change that.

I've had this argument so many times but no one seems to believe me. People frustrate me. Maybe that's why I avoid them. I should ask my counselor. That's about all that's happened in the past three months. It seems really uneventful but I swear I've been busy! Lol.

xoxo G

"Wow this guy likes to ramble," Sara said, back to sitting up and reading over my shoulder. "Can't we skip to the reason he got here? It has to be soon if he mentions MW. It didn't take long for him to start the GP," She pointed out and I nodded but I didn't want to miss anything.

Skip to August. I swore I heard someone talk to me but I looked around and it was only Sara and I; maybe a spider or other bug. And spiders don't talk like they do on Charlottes Web; I've tried. It's ok.

"Do you hear something?" I asked Sara a little hesitantly because I didn't want to sound insane, but I was sure as hell feeling it.

"Yes," Sara answered, almost giving me hope. "I hear my own boredom." I sighed and let my head fall back against the wall. Telling my parents I hear voices definitely won't go over well; again. "There's a lot more to that journal so get a move on or fork it over."

"I'm going," I snapped back, giving in to the voice and flipping the pages, just briefly scanning the dates, until I came across one reading 'August 4th'. "There; I skipped ahead. Happy?"

"Enthralled," Sara drawled, playing with the key chains on her bag. I ignored her sarcasm and shifted myself a bit on the uncomfortable cot, my butt falling asleep, before starting to read more of Gerard Way's diary.

"August 4th; I have no idea how to even begin what's happened over the past week..."

I was laying on my bed, unable to sleep as usual due to my insomnia, when I heard a bunch of noise. I got my hopes up that it might be Bert since it had been three weeks, two days, four hours, and fifty-one minutes since I had heard from his last. But the noises were louder and angrier than Bert which made me fear. The next thing I knew, there were these men in my room, yelling at me about how I'm unholy or something, dressed like priests with thick, wooden cross necklaces, yanking me from my bed. With a gun held to my head, I was told to get some clothes together because I was going with them. I wanted to argue but I didn't want to die so I did as I was told. I barely remembered to grab my journal.

At three in the morning, in only my boxers, I was forced out of my apartment and to the street to a van where I was shoved inside, landing on top of other people. They were all just as afraid and confused as I was. It was dark and I couldn't tell one person from the next; I could only hear rabid heart rates and frightened whimpering, before the van began to move and we were repeatedly told to shut up. A few more people were crammed inside.

When the van stopped for good outside this large white building with stained-glass windows and a wooden door. We were all told to get out, some people getting hit if they were too slow, and lined up according to what I assumed was age. All I could think about was the Holocaust and how this looked very familiar to those movies I've seen where the Jews think they're going to some camp only to be killed. I couldn't stop thinking about dying.

That's when he appeared. Michael White. He told us how we were full of sin and were brought to this clinic to be purified and ready for God. It was the same bullshit from all the times I caught him on the television, only this time it actually scared me. All I could do was stand there beside all the other people, holding my clothes to my body for decency. He said that when we converted to the proper Christian ways we would be allowed to leave. It was a clinic to help us. From the moment I saw this place I saw it as hell.

When White left, we were all ushered inside and 'checked in' by some lady at the desk. After that it was upstairs where we were assigned rooms. Basically, we came to a door and were shoved in. My room is so cramped and uncomfortable. It's small with a very uncomfortable cot which I now sit on as I write by the small stream of light coming in through the open space on the door since there are no windows. I'm lucky to still have my journal because they took practically everything else. They cut my hair to almost a buzz and I'm only allowed to wear these plain black clothes with a giant ass white cross on them. I hide you, my journal, every night beneath my bed in the far back corner where they wouldn't ever look. I only hope I keep until I get out of here.

"He didn't even sign it..." I whispered as I re-read the entry. In a few short paragraphs, I could feel Gerard's fear and pain from being forced here. It wasn't a clinic, it was a camp. Like a concentration camp if you will. And as he said, Michael White was indeed a Hitler.

"Don't stop there!" Sara frantically spoke, sitting on her knees and staring at me. "I want to know what happened!"

"Ok, hold on!" I said, fighting back tears because just thinking about being ripped away from my home, my life, and forced into someone else's ways like that hurt. I could only imagine what Gerard felt since he actually was forced to live like that. Go on; I'm free now, the same quiet, whisper like voice said to me and I absently nodded, turning the page which was left half blank to get to the next entry. "August 13th; I don't understand why they're doing this to us..."

Punishment here is beyond anything you could ever imagine. If you step out of line once, no matter how little you get yourself over that line, heavy cuffs are locked on your wrists and you're dragged to the third floor where there's a small room containing a hose, a drain, and a series of chains hanging from the ceiling. It's the last place in the building you ever want to be. Even the 'basement of bodies' as we call it would be better than the room of chains.

You're locked inside the room with one guard who pulls your shirt off and removes your cuffs only to grab your wrists and pull them over your head, hooking them into one of the sets of chains hanging from the ceiling. Your legs are spread and your ankles chained to the floor, the cold air brushing your skin as though it's trying to numb you for what's to come. Nothing can ever prepare you though, no matter how much you try and pray or distract yourself.

The guard takes a whip of his choosing off the wall, all of them being of various size and thickness but all of which have sharp edges and begins to attack your flesh relentlessly, carrying out a certain number of lashes based on your crime. You can cry and scream all you want as the whip cuts through you but it only makes the guard do it harder or more than they're supposed to. They just have to reach the given number; they don't have to stop there. And all you can do is pull on the chains locked around your wrists, rubbing your skin raw and pray that it ends soon.

Once whipped, you get to feel the warm blood trickle from your burning, stinging wounds, before you're hosed down with the highest pressure hose you could ever imagine, watching your blood mix with the water as it slips down the drain. If you're lucky, you're alone in the room during your punishment to save yourself a little dignity, but usually the chains are full of innocent people being wrongfully tortured. When clean, you're released and told to redress, dragged to your room where you're supposed to 'thank God for letting you feel what Jesus felt'. It hurts for days and there's nothing you can do about it.

It's hard to think about getting out when you can't move without ripping the cloth from your flesh.

Points of Interest:


( 1 Love Note — Write a Line of Love )
(Deleted comment)
Jul. 2nd, 2009 06:37 am (UTC)
Re: There are no words...
Just telling you I'm reading, but will read part two tomorrow (well, technically later today) and then comment properly, but I'm loving it and it's very interesting!
( 1 Love Note — Write a Line of Love )