Not My Type (frerard)

a silly little chatfic i wrote on wattpad in 2017; in which gerard and frank work out their problems from the past while pete and mikey sit back in harmony. TWs for attempted suicide, mentions of child abuse, drug and alcohol abuse, self harm, and implied sexual content. the cover here is not my image; nor is it the original cover, for that would not fit the cover dimensions for movellas. this story contains crude humor that may not be suitable for all audiences. some photos may be missing from this story; in that case, i have tried my best to write around those parts or describe the photos to the best of my ability. for the best reading experience available, i suggest reading this story on wattpad instead. the themes written here do not reflect my own personal thoughts, opinions, and experiences. any similarities to real occurrences and real people (besides the people the characters are based off of, of course) are unintentional. all rights reserved.


10. 10

dear fucking whoever,

    if you find this there is a 99% chance you and i were friends at one point. i say friends instead of family because those fuckers are long gone. in fact, i never really even had friends. i had folks i coexisted with comfortably. mikey, and pete, for example. they were the closest to friends i ever had.

but i'm getting off track. if you never knew me, feel free to disregard this. my name is frank iero.

and there is a reason you're reading this. i have killed myself.

i'm tired of running. i'm tired of running from the past and ex-lovers and people i trusted far too much. i am tired.

let me rest; let the air escape my lungs and let blood escape my skin. let the life fade from my eyes. do not save me. do not let me "have a second chance."

i have been given far too many chances. and it's not that i'm the one wasting my chances- everyone else is wasting theirs. i'm tired of people. i'm tired of being lied to. i'm tired of running... i am tired.

i'm sick of my "second chances" being poisoned by the existence of the wicked. i'm sick of my entire life being one big "second chance." i'm sick of "second chances."

i was always told that i had a way with words, and i'm willing to admit that even if i had no other talents, at least i had this.

so let me explain it the best that i can.

i am tired, and sick, and i am beaten down. i have cried and i have screamed; i have fought and i have given up; i have tried, and tried, and i have failed.

i have been scared of death and i have been on the verge of it. i thought for awhile, with all of what could be described as "luck," i could not be killed. i have survived beatings and car crashes and even starvation. i have even survived the edge of my own blade.

but one too many times have i seen backs turned to me, one too many times have i been betrayed. there is no escaping the inevitability of failure, even in suicide. i was bound to fail.

i was bound to fail when my parents never loved me and when i dropped out of highschool and when i tried to kill myself and when gerard left me and when i ran away. i will always fail.

no college, no marriage, no family, no career. no frank.

my name is frank iero, i'm a failure, and i'm another face lost among the crowd of suicide.

don't miss me.




a/n: in no way do i condone suicide or self harm. if you are in need of help, or you know someone who is, please reach out. you don't have to fight alone.


list of suicide hotlines:

US 1-800-273-8255

UK 08457-90-90-90

AUSTRALIA 13-11-14

CANADA 1-800-448-1833

BELGIUM 02-649-95-55



FRANCE 01-45-39-40-00

GERMANY 0800-111-0-333



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