247. There are precisely 247 imperfections on my ceiling. I’ve counted and counted with droopy eyes. There are dents, stains, cracks and it’s peeling. Quite a fancy room I have. I have always had this room and it’s always been the same. It’s the only thing that hasn’t changed over the years. It gives me a sense of familiarity and comfort every time I step through the old, chipped door.

I haven’t been able to fall asleep, just stare at my ceiling. I have to say it’s a lot of fun. No, no it’s not, but I have to keep my mind occupied. Every time it wanders off, it thinks of Dr. Iero. I don’t know what that can lead to. It could lead me to think about him shirtless, all hot and bothered. Or, I could think about all the ways he could harm me. I would rather think about the former rather the latter, but I don’t want those thoughts to lead to something else. Plus, Ray is in the room. That would just be awkward.

Let’s restart my counting. I can feel my body slowly relaxing into the bed. I haven’t decided if I want to sleep yet. All these people could try to harm me while I’m vulnerable. My breathing starts to slow. I hate when I sleep. It’s useless and boring. My eyelids feel heavy. But I haven’t had a full night’s rest for days now. My eyelids start to get in the way of my endless counting. I guess I’ve made up my mind.

*

I jolt awake in a cold sweat. My hand flies to my chest in a vain attempt to calm my heart. “Shit.” I can’t do it. I hop out of bed and dart out of my room. I rush down to the hallway with the limitless amount of offices. I vaguely gather the information that it’s morning when I flash through the activities room.

I stop outside of Dr. Iero’s office, heart beating too fast for my liking and tears streaming down my face. I reach for the doorknob with shaky hands. I shove the door open, making Dr. Iero jump out of his chair in the process. I scurry to him, burying my face in his neck and wrapping my arms around his waist. I mumble “Nightmare,” The embrace is a little awkward with my height and his lacking. As I hiccup my sobs down, I inhale his chocolate and cigarette scent, the only thing that seems to comfort me.

I grip onto the back of his shirt as he starts to hug back. “Shhh… Gerard, you’re fine. It’s okay.” He whispers soothingly. “You’re okay.” With that, he starts lightly rubbing my back.

“No,” I murmur, my lips grazing his neck as they move. I bury my face back into the crook of his neck when he tries to look me in the eyes. I can feel the tear tracks drying, but my eyes are still watering and aching. His scent is overwhelming me, but it’s too delicious to part with. “I’m not.” My voice is muffled by his skin.

“You are.” He breathes out. His voice and closeness send shivers down my spine. “Nothing will hurt you.” He says it so confidently that it’s hard not to believe him.

I sniffle. “It already has.” I’m so relieved he hasn’t pulled away from the embrace. My heart is only beating fast because of how close we are.

“No, it hasn’t.” His grip loosens, but not enough to alarm me. I want to hold on forever. “You are fine.”

“Okay.” I whisper shakily. He starts to pull away, but I fist the back of his shirt. Don’t let me go. I need you. Stay here.

“Gerard, everything is okay.” He whispers into my ear. I most definitely weaken visibly. Now, more than ever, I need him to hold me, just so I don’t fall down because of my weak knees. I let go when I feel wetness on my neck. I think he kissed me. I back away slightly; I still want to be close enough to smell his unique aroma. His eyes are full of concern and pity, soaking up my shattered appearance. He raises his hands to my face and gently strokes my cheekbones with his thumbs, wiping away any remaining tears. His hands continue to caress my face, his fingers ghost over my jawline. It’s then that I notice his hands are tattooed. They continue their way down, passing my neck. They slide down my arm and softly brush my hand before he backs up more. He beams at me, his eyes glittering. “Good morning.”

I manage a broken smile back. I don’t know if I should say anything about the kiss. I don’t want to embarrass myself. What if he didn’t kiss me? I lift my hand to my neck and brush my fingers just below my ear. I feel the slight dampness there and it brings a dazed smile to my face. I open my eyes to see Dr. Iero smirking. My face gets hot with embarrassment, a much appreciated embarrassment. The intensity of my blush makes me squirm under his gaze. I can’t get that dopey grin off my face and really I don’t want to. It’s the first time I have genuinely smiled in a long time. The kind of smile that you can’t get rid of for hours, the one that when you stop smiling and then remember what caused the smile, you start smiling again. I could show this smile to everyone and they’ll all wonder what made me grin. I won’t tell them. I’m pretty sure I can’t. Isn’t it against some kind of doctor code for him to do anything intimate with a patient? We were already pushing it with the hug and caressing of my face, let alone the kiss. I could be enthusiastically overestimating the kiss. It could have been purely for comfort, nothing sexual or intimate about it. He should have kissed my cheek to not cause misinterpretations, but the neck is a more subtle and isolated place. His perfect, pink lips could have lightly ghosted that spot and I would have never figured out he did it. It was intentionally intense. The smirk is showing me he wanted me to feel it.

The smirk reminds me to look up again. This time, I evaluate the significance of his countenance. His eyes are wide and sparkling with innocence, the smirk contradicts his eyes and ooze devious considerations. His stare wanders over to my hand that’s still fingering the wonderful spot. I reluctantly drop my arm back down to avoid any unneeded embarrassment. He probably wants me out of here, so I spin around to face away from him. I walk to the door and throw a ‘thank you’ over my shoulder.

“Gerard,” I freeze and just like I’m his puppet, he has complete control over me. “Leaving me so soon?” I hear a bit of disappointment in his voice, my dazed smile grows. I hope to God that my mind didn’t conjure up that emotion. I nod, still facing away from him. “Where are you going?”

“Cafeteria for breakfast.” I rush out, my voice laced with nervous happiness. I don’t want to leave him, but he’s making me want those thoughts from last night to come true.

He hums hopefully. “It’s not time for breakfast yet, it’s only five.” Shit, Really? Yes! I turn around, rewarded with his smiling face, no trace of condescending (or seductive, I don’t know what he was going for.) smirks. He motions towards the chair in front of his desk, gesturing for me to sit down. “Why don’t you sit with me until breakfast?” I sit down on the springy chair and stare at the floor, still smiling dopily(That’s a word! Holy shit! I’m gonna use that all the time.)They don’t even have nice chairs in the offices.

He goes to lean against the front of his desk. The chair is awfully close to the desk and I’m only a foot away from his crotch. He puts his hands on both sides of him, right against his thighs. He leans forward slightly causing him to be even closer to me. “Do you want to talk about it?” Is he talking about the dream or the kiss or the hug or the facial massage he gave me? I want to talk about all of those, but I think he means the dream.

I nod and sniffle, memories coming back. “Y-you killed me.” I look up at him with wide, watery eyes. I still haven’t figured out why I came to him when he was the one who killed me in the dream.

“Why would I do that?” He’s completely confused by my confession, but he could be working that whole shrink thing, where they play with your mind in order to get shit out of you.

I shake my head of those cynical thoughts. He wouldn’t do that to me. “You said that I was an incurable disappointment.” My voice comes out weak and raspy. “I wasn’t worth saving.”

“Everyone is worth saving,” His eyes are filled with adoration, his lips move slowly to get his next words to fully sink in. “Especially you.”

“Why me? I’m not special.” I murmur. I’m wringing my hands so harshly they start to feel numb, but my gaze never leaves them, causing my clumped, dark hair to fall in my face.

“To me, you are.” He breathes out. He raises his tattooed hand and pushes the hair that was covering my face behind my ear, exposing my flushed face. I bet he’s just thinking about the reputation he’ll get from curing me. I can’t be special in any other way than that. But the way he said it, it makes me think about its real meaning and why exactly I’m special to him. I haven’t done anything to make him think I’m special. I want to prove to him that I am special. I want him to actually believe that, instead of just trying to make me feel better.

*

At breakfast time, he walks with me to the cafeteria. The conversation hadn’t gone far. I had no inkling on how to continue it, but I didn’t want to leave that room or his personal space. As we walk down the hallway, our shoulders touch, me not wanting to be any farther from him. Sometimes, I would get too close and he would look back and smile indulgently, his cherub-(My 8th grade english teacher used to call her students cherubs in a condescending manner. It was cruel. 'No, my beautifully stupid cherub, you're wrong.' alright sorry get back to reading.)-face looking gorgeous, despite the gloomy lighting.

“Do you want company at your table? I’d be happy to sit with you.” We were at the end of the office hallway and I was not letting him any farther away as we came to a room that had more space.

I nodded furiously, smiling that dazed smile. “I’d love for you to sit with me.” My words come out in one rushed breath, still nodding. He beams at me. I love when he does that. His eyes get little crinkles at the corners and his nose scrunches up.

We head over to the kitchen area and grab bowls of cereal and cartons of milk, then make our way to my table. I momentarily lose the dazed smile when he sits across instead of next to me. It’s replaced when I realize it’s easier to watch him that way. I sit my bowl down and pour the milk in it. I have about two minutes before it gets soggy and inedible, so begin to eat my cereal quickly, glancing at Dr. Iero every few moments.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jack approaching my table. Oh, this ought to be good. I can’t let my asshole behavior show in front of Dr. Iero, though. Jack comes right up against the edge of the table and hunches forward against it with both skeletal hands on it. Dr. Iero and I look up at the same time, Dr. Iero’s gaze a little more curious.

“I have a message for you.” A bony finger is pointed at me. Jack’s wild and intense gaze is on me, scrutinizing my reaction, his crazy, curly, black hair going in all directions. I have a feeling this message isn’t going to be so nice. I shouldn’t even care, but I find myself enraptured by what his brain could possibly make up. Some things I don’t even understand how he came up with. Others can make sense and make you think about their true meaning.

“What is it?” I ask as politely as possible. I kind of want to know why his message has anything to do with me. Dr. Iero’s stare shifts to me, questioning what this is about. Well, I guess Jack isn’t one of his patients.

“The shadows are telling me that you are the only one.” With that, he saunters away, looking smug and his untamed curls bouncing away. How the hell am I supposed to interpret that?

I look over to Dr. Iero, he looks nervous for a split second, before he covers it up with a clean mask of calmness. Maybe the message has something to do with their secret. I still haven’t finished wondering about that. It will always be in the back of my mind. I give him a look, he just shrugs on the matter and mumbles something incoherent as he shovels in another spoon full of cereal.

Notes

Jack White makes an appearance in this. I love that man.
I got the Frerard ball rolling. WOOOOOO!