“Hey,” Gerard whispers, nudging me awake. “Hey, Frank.”
“What?” I groan, rubbing my sleepy eyes.
He grins impishly. “I love you.”
I tousle his hair affectionately. “I know,” I say, smiling tiredly. “I love you too. I’d just appreciate you refraining from telling me when I’m trying to sleep.”
He finds my hand with his. “It couldn’t wait.”
Even though I’m grumpy and only semiconscious, I chuckle slightly. “I love you,” I say again, and close my eyes, snuggling closer to him.
After a silence, I start to drift off to sleep again when—“Frank?”
“Christ, Gerard, what now?” I groan. Shut up, my brain adds grouchily.
He pauses. “You know what I love most, after you and my family?”
“Uh, murder?” I venture with a yawn.
“The rain,” he says quietly.
I prop myself up on my elbow, and look at him. He looks far away. “The rain,” I repeat. He nods, and black hair falls into his face. I brush it behind his ear. “How did I not know this?” I leave my hand on his cheek.
He smiles, blinking back to the moment, and rests his hand on mine. He tells me softly, “I wanted you to know that.”
“Only just now?” I ask. “Why?”
Gerard squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Suddenly I’m panicking. Sorry? Sorry for what? What is he sorry for? What happened?
“Frank, I—”
“No,” I say, because I know what he’s going to tell me and I can’t bear to hear it.
“Frank.” That’s it. That’s all he says, and I know as he ages before my eyes, as we both age to be old men, and as his eyes gloss over with the film of death, there is no avoiding reality. It’s just you and I, but only your starless eyes remain….

My eyes open slowly. There is no warm body beside mine. It unsettles me to the core. For sixty years, he’s been there. And now he’s gone. All that time we were together, and it still wasn’t enough.
Getting up is hard. Not because of my age, but because of the depression pushing down on me. Gerard was a bright sun, shining in the darkness, but now that the light has gone out, it’s even darker than before.
Do old people ever kill themselves? I’ve personally never heard of it. But it must’ve happened before. And if not, you can be the first, my brain puts in stoically.
You’re a bad influence, I reply.
Really? my brain asks sarcastically. Well, that’s not good, seeing as I’m your conscience.
I ignore it. He would have turned eighty-two today, I think sadly.
It’s time, my brain whispers.
I sigh heavily. I know.

* * *

His headstone is only a few months old. You’d think the shock would have worn off by now, but every time I see his name carved into that stone, it hits me like a blow to the stomach. He’s dead. He’s really dead. It’s not a dream. He’s gone.
I didn’t bring flowers. They only wilt away. A few old and shriveled petals cling to the ground at the base of the headstone, but I brush them off in revulsion.
He wouldn’t want this, you know, my brain comments somberly.
He’s dead, I reply, emotionless.
We’re alone again, my brain says in what sounds like surprise.
Yes, I agree. How strange it feels.
Are you ready now? my brain queries.
I take a deep breath. I think I’ve been ready my whole life, I respond distantly.
The gun is already loaded; I don’t bother to check. Three bullets. I had to.
So sentimental, my brain remarks, but there is no judgement present in its tone. I raise the gun to my mouth.
We never thought we’d grow old, my brain converses calmly.
You never did, I reply. I’m the one who got old.
We’re the same person, Frank, my brain reprimands. Don’t forget that.
A small smile graces my lips. I just wanted to hear you say that, I tell it fondly. And that is our silent farewell. Lifelong companions, silenced before the bullet even comes. There’s only one thing left to do.
I go back, back, back, to that night I sat against that dirty dumpster, prepared to end my misery once and for all. A man runs into view. He’s grinning. Red hair flies around his angelic face. He is so beautiful. And I feel the weight of his gaze as it touches mine. My smile is for him alone. My heart belongs to him from then on. He sprints towards me. Three men are chasing him. He snatches the gun from me and kills his pursuers. Stalking towards me, he smiles maniacally. Oh, how I love that smile. How I miss it.
“You killed them,” I say softly, because that’s what I said.
“No,” he contradicts me, and I swear his eyes are sad for a brief moment. “You killed them. And then you killed yourself.”
I let myself think one last thought. This is how I disappear.
“Don’t be scared,” he tells me reassuringly. Then, together, we pull the trigger.

Notes

As always, I love feedback! Thank you for all the support!!