This Is How I Disappear

Silence. Except the harsh breathing of another person. I begin to feel my limbs bouncing limply in time with the breaths. I didn’t think death would be so strange.
The person swears on one of their breaths, and this wakes me up more. I try to locate my eyelids on my body so I can open them; I find my mouth first. “Gee,” I croak through dry lips, and suddenly that noise is a catalyst for all the other pains in my body to flare up. I groan as I become more aware, letting my eyes flutter open at last.
Above me the breathing has faltered, and as I find the outline of this person’s face, I realize I’m being carried bridal style. They put me down, but my eyes are unfocused. “Gee?” I say again, reaching a tired arm out to him.
“Can you hear me?” the person asks, and my heart constricts when it’s not Gerard’s voice. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision. “Frank, can you hear me?” The voice that isn’t Gerard’s lets out a huff of air in agitation, before I feel a hand slapping across my face none too gently.
“Ow!” I protest, bringing my hand up to rub the sting from my cheek.
“Frank!” the voice hisses. “Look at me!”
Finally I do, my eyes focusing at last. “Mikey?” I say in confusion. What’s he doing here?
Mikey sighs in relief as he looks over his shoulder with his brows drawn. “Frank,” he says, “can you walk?”
I nod, trying to find my feet. Mikey rises from where he was squatting beside me and takes my hand, pulling me up. Immediately, my legs falter, and I collapse against Mikey’s chest. He’s wearing a black jacket this time, rather than the red leather one, like he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. I miss the red.
“Frank, you have to stand,” he tells me firmly, and I try putting weight on my feet again. I sway but remain upright, my hand clutching Mikey’s sleeve for balance.
“Where’s Gee?” I ask, clarity seeping into my senses. We’re outside in an alleyway and it’s dark.
I begin to remember walking with Gerard along Venice Beach. We had decided to explore southern California. It was evening and we were holding hands. We’d just bought some ice cream from one of the shops, and we were turning down a side street on our way back to our tiny apartment. Gerard had gotten some of his rocky road ice cream on the tip of his nose. I’d leaned over and licked it off. He grinned and did the same to me. “I didn’t have anything on my nose,” I protested, wrinkling said nose. “I know,” he said, and he kissed my cheek. “Nothing on your cheek either,” he added, and then he proceeded to my other cheek. “And nothing there.” He put his face close enough to mine that our breaths mingled in the little space between our mouths. “Nothing here,” he whispered, his lips brushing against mine, our melting ice creams forgotten in our grasps. Then Gerard had gone still, eyes snapping open. I heard a deep, sinister chuckle nearby. But by the time he began to turn, there was—a sharp pain in my forehead—a rag pressing to my nose and mouth—a somewhat sweet, chemical smell—rough hands dragging me—
“That’s why I need you to stand,” Mikey says, voice strained. “I need to get Gerard. He wouldn’t let me help him first….” He trails off, looking behind him again.
—a dark room—Gerard promising me that I’m gonna be okay—his swollen face—the thugs laughing—Gerard pleading for my life—a gun in my mouth—Gerard saying he lo—
“We have to get him out of there,” I breathe, feeling dizzy as I struggle to take a step forward.
Mikey stops me with a hand on my chest. “Wrong way, for one,”—my brain quips, He is the wrong Way—“and two: they’re all dead, the men who were gonna kill you both. Gerard’s safe for now, he just can’t walk by himself. Stay here, I’ll bring him out.” Mikey leans me against the wall of the alleyway and begins to walk away.
He’s leaving you here, my brain panics, alone.
“Mikey, wait!” I hiss, feeling like I have to keep my voice down. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, stay there,” he calls back, and then tosses an object at me. “Just in case. I’ll be right back.”
I fail to catch it, but it skids harmlessly on the ground and lands near my feet. A phone. A burner cell.
—a gun in my mouth—a loud bang—the gun, unfired, sliding from my mouth, smacking hard against my teeth on the way out—shouts—Gerard whooping—a limp, heavy arm bashing into my face—a heavy darkness—
I gulp in air, light-headed, sliding down the wall until I’m sitting against it. I can’t seem to get enough oxygen. Gerard, where are you? I’m alone in the alley.
Calm down, will you? my brain, ever the rational one, tells me. Mikey’s getting him now. It’ll all be fine.
What if those men aren’t all dead? I worry back. What if there’s more of them? How did they even find us?
Jeez, get your shit together, my brain brain scorns. You’re no help to Gerard hyperventilating.
I’m not hyperventilating, I retort, my vision beginning to swim again. There just isn’t air.
You’re literally hyperventilating, my brain concludes.
Well, you’re not being very helpful yourself, I bite back.
Yeah, my brain snarks, and I’m also not the one having a panic attack instead of helping Gerard.
Yes, you are, I reply, smiling slightly. We’re the same person. Don’t forget that.
My brain harrumphs disdainfully, but I’ve distracted myself enough to even out my breathing. Gerard will be okay, I chant to myself. Gerard will be okay. Gerard will—
I hear a scuffle around the corner Mikey disappeared from. It must be them. Clutching the burner phone, I scramble unsteadily to my feet. I stumble forward as my vision goes black for a few seconds from standing up too fast, feeling along the brick wall for support. Something wet tickles my neck as it runs down into my shirt collar. I don’t check to see if it’s blood or sweat.
I begin to hear voices arguing, still at a low volume. I can’t quite make out what they’re saying. Is it Gerard and Mikey? Or more thugs?
Maybe you should just stay put and wait for Mikey, my brain warns.
I’m not a coward, I proclaim defensively. I continue walking.
That’s not what I said, my brain relents worryingly. Just turn around. Just leave.
I ignore its pleas and turn the corner, dread filling my body.
It’s just them.
Gerard is bruised on every inch of visible skin, and his red hair drips with sweat. That’s not sweat, my brain whispers. His hair isn’t red anymore, remember? He had to dye it black to blend in.
“You need medical help,” Mikey is insisting, both hands gripping Gerard’s shoulders.
It’s blood, I realize, my eyes widening in panic.
Gerard stands there, beautiful as ever even with his wounds, grinning acidly up at his brother’s concern. “I’m a fugitive, Mikes,” he mumbles, jaw still pink and swollen. “Doesn’t work like that.”
“Gerard, your life is more important than—” Mikey begins arguing, but I don’t let him finish.
“Gerard,” I cry, and wobble over to him as fast as I can. Mikey takes a step back, making room for me.
Gerard stops grinning when he sees me and takes my head gently in his hands as we lean against each other, foreheads touching. Then he moves his head so that our cheeks press against each other, his closed eyelashes brushing against mine, and he wraps his hands around the back of my neck.
“Frank,” he chokes out in a whisper, his voice wavering. “Frank, I’m so sorry. This was all my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t, you big idiot,” I mumble.
“Gee,” Mikey interrupts swiftly. “Frank. We gotta get going. You can make up later.”
Gerard holds on for a second longer before we pull away and follow after a retreating Mikey. Another moment later I hear sirens in the distance. Are they for us?
After a few blocks we reach Mikey’s car—or a rental, probably—and Gerard and I climb into the backseat so we can stay next to each other. “What am I, your chauffeur?” Mikey complains, but I can tell he’s not really annoyed.
“Why are you here?” I ask Mikey as we’re driving.
“Gerard called me,” he says simply, not looking away from the road. The streets are fairly crowded, and I’m grateful for the tinted windows.
I look at Gerard questioningly. “When? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Gerard sighs, running his hand through his damp hair. (He doesn’t seem too badly injured. I don’t think all the blood is his.) “I didn’t want to worry you,” he tells me quietly. His eyes implore me to understand.
“It was a couple days ago. Said you were being followed,” Mikey adds.
He doesn’t trust me, I fret. He thinks I’ll freak out at anything, and that I’ll mess up all his plans.
Well, you are prone to hyperventilating, my brain points out.
That was one time, I protest, but my brain and I both know that’s not true.
Same person, my brain recites, and my irritated retort is cut short by Gerard’s brother.
“Then when you guys were taken, he dialed me in his pocket,” Mikey continues. “All I heard were shouts, but I knew what that meant.”
“And you found us, how?” I ask, because I doubt Gerard could’ve called anyone from the basement we were in.
Mikey glances at me in the rearview mirror with a raised eyebrow. “I’m a cop.”
So, what? He’s suddenly a magician too? my brain scoffs, and I have to agree but I’m too tired to argue. I just snuggle closer to Gerard.
“We’re gonna be okay?” I ask him.
He kisses my forehead and leaves his lips there for a long time. When he does pull away, he whispers, so only I can hear: “I promise.”

Notes