A/N: Just a few quick notes. I'm rating this "T", but if you think I should switch it to "M" let me know. I think it's fine, for the most part. Just keep in mind before you read that theres a possibility that this should be rated "M".
Also, any mention of Francis' sister, I'm talking about Monaco. I like to write them as siblings, though she doesn't really have an appearance in this.
The French in this story:
Mon ami = My Friend
Desole = I'm sorry
Non = No
Oui = Yes.
I'm pretty sure thats all there is. If theres French in it that I forgot to mention just ask me about it, or google it. Whatever. Review, please? Thank you!

'You goddamn rapist.'
'Tease…'
'You probably molested every single girl in your class.'
'No one should blink around you, one second of darkness and you'll have all their clothes off.'
'No one in this school is safe.'
'Don't you have any sense of freaking shame? Pfft. Perv.'

The sound of his classmate's words plagued him constantly.
He could never seem to get their voices out of his head. It was the same thing over and over.

"Francis Bonnefoy…?"
"Francis Bonnefoy!"
Francis jumped, startled. This wasn't the first time he'd been caught in class, not paying attention.
The teachers were starting to get sick of him.

"O-oui..?" He looked up, sheepishly, knowing what this was leading to.
This was a repeat.
He knew what was coming next.

"I'm sorry, did you hear me? I asked you a question. Care to answer it?" The teacher looked at him, testing.

Francis thought back on the words of the teacher, trying to figure out what the question might have been in the first place, but just as he'd thought, it had gone in one ear, and out the other.

"Non…sorry, I… didn't 'ear…" He admitted, sadly.

"Very well, Mr. Bonnefoy. We'll talk about it, after class." The teacher said, dismissing it.
Lucky for him, this was one of the more easy going teachers in the school.

The sound of quiet giggling and gossip broke out behind him.

"The stupid Frenchmen screwed up another question," One girl giggled.
"He was probably too busy thinking about sex to contemplate, or even listen to the teacher's question." One of the boys snickered, informing the girl next to him.

A few of the people from that row laughed softly at the boy's theory.

Francis mentally cringed.
No matter how many times he heard it, it didn't stop hurting him.

No matter how many times he was called a rapist, the blows never softened.
He was starting to wonder if they ever would.

…

"Sitting alone again? Ha. Bloody fool."
It was none other than Arthur Kirkland. Francis' "frenemie" since elementary school.
The short British boy was three grades below him, a Freshman, while Francis was a Senior.

Different grades.
Different classes.
And yet they still managed to meet.

Some of their classmates called it fate.
Others called it "the loudest damn thing that ever happened in the history of the school."
Meaning, often Francis and Arthur would argue, which would involve shouting. And a lot of it, knowing the two of them.

Though, it was on this day, Arthur noticed something was wrong.
Francis didn't seem to have a reaction from being called a fool.
He just shrugged, and continued to pick at his food, with his fork, seeming either bored, or dazed, or both.

Either way, quiet.
And it wasn't often the Frenchmen was quiet.

"Francis?" Arthur tilted his head slightly, confused.
No response.
"Oi! Wanker!" He hit has hand against the table, making Francis jump, startled.

"Ey! Don't…pull zhat with me…"

He didn't take Arthur as much of a threat on this certain day, and he trailed off.
Their fights usually lasted longer than that.
The whole cafeteria was staring, waiting for an argument to break out, only to realize Francis had gone back to picking at his food, a blank look on his face.

"Well then…" Arthur said.
He looked at him for a second longer, before shrugging him off, and starting on his own lunch.

He expected Francis to strike up a conversation, or at least say something incredibly pervy, or stupid in an attempt to flirt with him, but nothing happened.

"Francis?" Arthur questioned, not being able to take the silence from his friend, and upper-classmate.
"You bleeding frog! Are you even listening to me?"

This finally grabbed hold of Francis' attention again.

"'Mm? Oh, non… desole, mon ami." He answered.
"Is zhere somezhing you need to talk about?"

"No!" Arthur retorted.
"But theres sure as hell something that you need to talk about, so why don't you stop moping and spit it out?"

"Zheres nothing I 'ave to talk about. Sorry to disappoint you." Francis answered, quietly, before turning, and throwing out his food, which Arthur noted silently that it looked as if he'd barely eaten any of it.

The British boy started to get a sick feeling when he realized how quiet, and less irritable Francis had been as of lately.
He always seemed to be somewhere else.
Which you would think the other would love.
But he didn't.
The way Francis was acting was worrying him, even if he would never admit it.

"Hey, Frog…where are you going?" He asked, when he realized, Francis was leaving the table.

"Ze class room… I still 'ave work to finish before my next class."

This was most likely one of the vaguest conversations he'd ever had with Francis.
"Wait!" Arthur called after him, and he stopped in his tracks, turning back to the smaller boy.

"I'll see you around, right?" Arthur demanded.

"'Mm…? Oh... oui…" Another vague answer.
Arthur couldn't help but notice the pause, and the hesitation before, and during that sentence.

….

'You're sick, you know that?'
'You probably molested that British boy from the Freshman class. That's probably why he's such an uptight jerk, he's scared he's going to get hurt again.'
'Why don't you stop defending yourself? Sicko.'
'Why are you lying? It's obvious that you're a rapist.'

A scream suddenly shook Francis back to reality.
He'd been heading for the door, after dropping his stuff off at his locker, getting ready to leave school, when he'd suddenly lost himself in thought, yet again, and this time ended up running into someone.
Which had resulted in the scream.

It was a girl from his class.
Had he really hit her that hard?

"O-oh… desole! I'm sorry, I didn't—"
"He touched me!" The girl cried.
"He touched me!"
Suddenly a crowd was built around the two of them, as Francis protested against her accusations.

"N..Non! I just bumped into you, I would never—"

"Whats your problem?" A boy made his way to the girl, and she hid behind him.
Francis was in a daze, barely registering what was going on, as if his brain was tuning this out.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" Arthur made his way through the crowd, up to the center where Francis was.

"Your buddy is a motherf*cker, that's what!" The guy retorted.
And before anyone could say a thing, or react, he lunged forward, grabbing hold of Francis, and knocking him up against the locker.

Arthur looked startled, it was all too fast for him to even give a reaction, other than just stand there with wide eyes.

"Why do you even stay at this school? Everyone knows what you f*cking are!"
And without giving a time to react, again… his fist collided with the Frenchmen's face.

"F-Francis!" Arthur looked extremely startled, maybe even more startled than Francis, himself.

Arthur started shouting at the girl, and the guy who had started the fight in the first place, yelling back and forth, as the crowd murmured.
As that went on, Francis slipped away, running right out of the school, without even bothering to look back.

Every single insult, every single accusation came flooding back into his mind, all at once.
It'd all started his Freshman year, he'd endured years of this.
After all the teasing, and yelling, and everything, he wasn't sure who he was anymore.

He wasn't sure what those words had molded him into.
He didn't feel like he had at the beginning of highschool.
He wasn't confident anymore.
He wasn't out-going anymore.
He wasn't open anymore.
He was antisocial, and quiet now.
He watched every single word he said.
His head was constantly in the clouds.

Those cursed voices were always running through his head.
Reminding him of what everyone thought of him, every second of his life.
He wasn't Francis Bonnefoy anymore.

He was a twisted, society molded, broken version of his old self… and he was tired.
So very tired.

Panting from the run home, he got his keys out, unlocking his house.

His sister wasn't home.
No one was there.
No one was there to stop him.

He looked at the mirror.
He saw a bruise forming on his cheek, where he'd been hit. But he didn't care about that.
He didn't care that he was hurt.
He kept staring at his reflection, remembering the person he used to be, and seeing the result of that person.

Maybe if that's what they think you are, that what you should be.
You should at least be able to give them payback for all they've put you through.
They should suffer, don't you think?
They made you lose sight of who you are, so maybe you should make them lose sight of who they are.

"Non…" The reflection in the mirror.
That broken down person, was speaking.
But it wasn't his words.
It wasn't his thoughts.
Those were the thoughts of a totally different person.
Three years ago, Francis would have never thought something like that.
The more he looked at that person in the mirror the more he hated him.

The more he wanted him gone.

Why are you such a coward? You'd only be giving them what they deserve for hurting you.

"No!"
Without being able to stop himself, his fist came in contact with that reflection of himself.
Shatter.
The mirror broke to pieces, glass falling to the floor.
As well as his blood, which dripped from the hand he'd used to punch it in.

The reflection was gone, but was the person himself gone?
No.
It wasn't enough.
It wasn't enough.

Nothing would ever be enough, would it?

Looking around the empty house, he realized his sister wouldn't be home 'til later on…
He'd be alone.
He went to the kitchen, opening the cabinet, looking for the first aid for his bleeding hand, when his eyes locked onto something else.
A bottle of sleeping pills.

A first aid kit wasn't going to help him.
Smiling, and pretending nothing was wrong was never going to last forever.
He couldn't face it.
He couldn't do it.
He wouldn't do it.

Without a second thought, he took the pills down, opening the bottle.
He started out by only taking two or three, but it turned into more and more and more, until half of the bottle was gone.
He set down an empty glass, as well as the half empty bottle of pills.
He didn't care.

Leaving the bottle, and the empty glass on the kitchen counter, he made his way to the living room, throwing himself down onto one of the couches, laying there.
He was starting to feel tired.
And he knew when he fell asleep he wouldn't be waking up.

This is what it was always leading up to, wasn't it?
No one at school would care.
Francis didn't want them to care.
This wasn't about showing them up.
He hated himself, he couldn't stand himself.
Those words… he couldn't… get them out of his head.
He couldn't escape.
This was the only way.

"Francis?"
There was a knock on the door.
"Open the door, you twit!"
Another few seconds of knocking.
"Francis, I know where your spare key is, don't make me get it out."
"Francis!"
"I am unlocking this bloody door, do you hear me!?"

…Arthur..? He was… here…?
Without another word, he heard the lock click, and the door open.

"Francis…"
Arthur groaned.
"Are you all right?"

He wandered around the house.
"Oh, where in gods name are you—there you are… what are you doing?" Arthur sighed, when he finally found Francis curled up on the couch, he eyes drooping.

He sighed again.
"You could have gotten up to let me in your bloody house, you know? Stupid frog…"
No response.

"Whats with you?" He asked.
No answer.
"Is it about this rapist thing? How long has this been going on?"

Arthur sounded concerned, worried.
This was rare.

"Answer me," Arthur said, seeming stern.

"Since Freshman year…" Francis finally manged to say something back to him.
"What?" Arthur demanded.
"Why didn't you freaking tell me about this sooner?"

No answer.
"Francis?"
Arthur snapped his fingers in front of his face.
Francis' eyes opened again.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why don't you talk to me, instead of pretending to sleep? Why don't you—"

It all dawned on him, when he finally saw the bottle of pills left out on the counter out of the corner of his eye.
He suddenly looked paler than usual, and those beautiful green eyes of his widened in horror.

"Oh… my god. Please tell me you didn't! Please tell me you didn't!"

But Francis' eyes were already closed again.
Tears threatening to stream down his cheeks, Arthur whipped out his cell phone dialing the numbers "911".
"911, what's your emer—"

"Send an ambulance," Arthur hissed through his teeth, a mix of fear and anger filling his voice.
"Calm down, sir… please tell me the address."

"199 Blank street, now please, god, send a bloody ambulance!" His voice started to sound as if he was holding back tears, as they still threatened to stream down his cheeks.

"M-my friend, he… I think he overdosed on sleeping pills... I-I think it was a suicide attempt, h-he…" Arthur trailed off, the woman informing him that the rescue squad was on their way, he shut his phone.

"F-Francis!"
He kneeled down, and shook his shoulder, trying to keep him awake, but he was so close to falling asleep.

"D-don't fall asleep, please… keep your eyes open, they're going to save you, okay?"

Francis said nothing in return.
His eyes still closed, as sleep started to take him fully.
Still trying to hold back tears, Arthur grabbed his hand.

"P-please don't… oh god… I'm so sorry, I should have known… I…I should have bloody known!"
Choking on a sob, the British boy clutched the Frenchmen's hand, still begging him not to fall asleep and leave him.

Though Francis wanted to respond, he couldn't.
He didn't even have time to regret the mistake he'd made.

….

"Your sister left the school, you know?" Arthur spoke softly, his voice relatively calm.
"She couldn't bear to continue to walk down the halls, where she knows you used to walk, as well…I really hate seeing her so upset, she tries to act like she isn't hurt, that…it's getting better…but it's kind of hard to let go of the fact that her older brother is dead."

Silence.

"Even now, I have trouble just sitting here, talking to your grave… you know? I'm not used to not getting an irritable response from you. I almost miss it, do you know what I mean?"

Every single day, people would see that same British boy, sitting in the cemetery, in front of a certain tombstone.
The conversation would always start off calm.
Then he'd switch to sad, then he'd be angry, then he'd be angry and sad, and it'd end with him calm once more.

"Who am I bloody kidding? I don't almost miss it. I do miss it. I tell you every freaking day…I… can't let this go, not after a year, not after two, or three… god, I miss you, Francis." The British boy was on the virge of tears.

"You were my bloody best friend, what do you expect from me?" He went on.

"You were more than just my stupid best friend, all right? I can't even imagine a time before we met each other… it's… horrible for me to go through every day, knowing I'm not going to see you at school."

"T..this is… all your fault!" He said, his tone switching to anger, as tears slid down his cheeks.
"You could have told me, I would have helped you! I could have saved you! You didn't have to suffer for so many years! You didn't have t-to… y-you didn't… don't you know that you could have told me anything…? I would have beat those goddamn kids off you, I would have insulted them right back, if I'd known what they were calling you! But… they were just bloody words.. why would you do this… because of… stupid words?!"

Silence.

He took a deep breath, looking down.
He looked up again after a moment, a sad smile as his face, tears still running freely down his face.

"I take it back, it's not your fault. I shouldn't blame you for things that you couldn't control…it's my fault for not seeing it. I knew something was wrong, but I ignored it… I shouldn't have… ignored it…"

He went silent once more.
He took a shaky breath, trying to keep himself from crying any further.
"I love you, Francis."

But those words were too late. And Arthur knew that.