Nobodies

I get a knock on my door around 10:00 the next morning. It’s Dr. Hayward.
“Gerard? You can have your morning phone call,” she informs.
“M-morning phone call?” I ask, looking to Ray for guidance, but just seeing him sleeping soundly, covers off, and hands clasped in between his knees.
She smiles. “You get a morning phone call. To talk to family, friends…..” She’s quiet for a while, and then adds, “Boyfriends….”
“Yeah, I get it, you know I’m gay,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes.
“If you want, we have LGTBQ counseling,” she offers.
“No thanks,” I reply. My half-closed eyes shoot open as I realize, “My mom doesn’t know where I am!”
“Oh, honey don’t worry about that. We contacted her last night,” she tells.
“Did you…..” I’m afraid to ask, but push through. “Did you tell her I’ve been self-harming?”
She shakes her head. “I simply told her you were admitted by your boyfriend in concern for your mental health and will return in a minimum of 24 hours.”
“Thank God,” I breathe. I perk up, asking, “When’s visiting hours?”
“2:00-5:00,” she answers.
“Can my boyfriend come? Or just family?” I ask.
“Partners are okay,” she says. “But someone has to watch to assure he doesn’t slip you anything. That’s with anyone who’s not family, though.”
“I know who I’m going to call,” I mumble, getting up and heading for the phone.
The line rings a few times. Luckily, it’s Saturday, so he should pick up.
“Gee?” Frank’s voice answers. It’s groggy over the phone. Shit, I must’ve woken him up. Oh well, I really need to talk to him.
“Frank… you have to get me out of here,” I plead. “I hate it. My roommate’s a paranoid schizophrenic, a cute boy had to watch me change and everyone can see my pink underwear!”
Frank sounds like he’s about to say something, but stops midway to chuckle.
“You’re laughing?” I hiss disbelievingly.
“I’m sorry it’s just… shit,” Frank giggles. “I should’ve let you change undies before I took you there.”
“Frank! I’m in a psych ward! You put me here!” I accuse.
Frank stops laughing. “Gerard, I had to. You were out of control. You could’ve really hurt yourself.”
“Yeah, I could’ve, but I didn’t,” I retort.
“That’s beside the point,” Frank argues. “Look, if you’re going to get out of there, you have to promise me one thing.”
“Sure, anything,” I agree eagerly.
“No more self-harming of any type,” Frank replies.
I’m quiet for a long time.
“Gee? Are you still there?” Frank asks.
I nod, then realize that he can’t see that. “Yeah, I’m here,” I answer softly.
“Can you do that for me?” Frank questions.
I’m quiet for an even longer, but this time, Frank is sure I’m there. Finally, “Yes. I can do that. I’m out at 5:00 p.m., I think, because that’s when you brought me here yesterday. But there’s also visiting hours starting at two.”
“I don’t want to see you there, really,” Frank admits. “A hospital is no place for boyfriends to be, agreed?”
“Agreed,” I chime.
“Okay,” Frank responds. “So, I’ll be there to pick you up at 5, alright?”
“ ‘Kay,” I tell lightly.
“Bye, Gee,” Frank dismisses.
“Bye, Frankie,” I reply.
The line goes dead, so I hang up the phone, taking confident strides back to my room because, Hell, I’m getting out of this place.
Ray is sitting up straight in bed when I return. He turns to me and asks, “Where were you?”
“On the phone with my boyfriend,” I answer, realizing I’d said boyfriend, but after the fact.
Ray scrunches his nose. “Boyfriend? You like a boy?”
“Well…. Yeah,” I confess.
Ray shakes his head and smiles. He crooks his head up to gaze out the window, remarking, “That’s goofy.”
I grin and sit down on my own bed. “Well, he put me here, so maybe it was a little goofy.”
Ray turns to me, his brows knit. “Your boyfriend brought you here?”
I nod.
“Well, what kind of boyfriend is that?” Ray asks.
I try to think of a comeback, but all I can say is, “I…. I don’t know.”
Dr. Hayward again knocks on my door around two, asking, “Gerard? Do you mind if we do your discharge analysis now? Or are you waiting for visitors?”
“Discharge analysis?” I repeat.
“I’m going to have to ask you some questions before you leave, just so we know where you are,” Dr. Hayward explains. “If your answers, by any chance, make you a danger to anyone, including yourself, we may put you on a longer hold here.”
My heart thumps in my chest. I’m no danger, just a fucked up kid with more issues than Vogue. “O-okay. We can do that now, I guess.”
I get up, holding my gown shut as I follow Dr. Hayward down the halls. She leads me to a small room, which, upon opening the door, must be her office. Her shiny nametag is proudly displayed on the left hand corner of her desk, and her degree is framed and hung on a wall.
She closes the door behind me, and then sits behind her desk, motioning to the chair in front of it. “Have a seat, Gerard.”
“Okay,” I mumble, walking over and sitting down.
“How are you feeling?” she begins.
“Alright, I guess,” I murmur. As good as someone can be in a fucking psych ward.
She asks blatantly, “Have we been having any incidents with self-harming recently?”
“No,” I lie. “I haven’t for a while, actually.”
“Good,” Dr. Hayward says. I feel bad because she sounds like she’s really so happy for me and proud of me.
I look down, inspecting my fingernails.
“No…. suicidal thoughts?” she asks.
I shake my head. “None.” I look up to see her writing furiously.
“Anything… you feel like you need to talk about?” she proceeds. She cocks her head, giving me a compassionate look. “Anything you need at all, Gerard?”
God, yes. “No; I’m fine. Look, the entire reason why I’m here is a big misunderstanding. I’m over all of that shit.”
She smiles and nods, telling, “You know Gerard, I’m really proud of you. You keep the good work up, okay?”
God, the guilt burns so bad I fear it’ll bore a hole through my stomach. “Alright.”
“Well, I’m happy to say, you’re approved for discharge. And, I don’t recommend any therapy, since you’ve been doing so well. But just to be sure, check with your health care provider in a few months,” she admonishes.
“Alright,” I agree, still feeling like shit. I stand, heading back to my hospital room.
Frank comes at 5:00, and it takes about fifteen minutes for me to get all of my shit gathered. They hand me my bag full of posessions back, and send me off to change.
As Frank and I walk to a restroom, I remark,
“Wow, I can’t believe that I get to change without someone watching.”
Frank chuckles, adding, “Can I watch?”
I open the bathroom door, jerking my head towards the inside. “If you think you can handle it.”
Frank sits down on the closed toilet seat as I take off my gown. I wish there was an alluring way to do it, but there simply isn’t. I kick off my slippers, which again, aren’t exactly attractive.
“Mmm, slippers,” Frank purrs jokingly. “Getting me horny.”
“Down, boy,” I laugh, stepping into my jeans. I wiggle them up to my hips, buttoning them and putting on a shirt. Frank and I leave, and Dr. Hayward and Ray say goodbye to me, Ray being really quiet.
On the drive home, Frank says, “So, you’re a free man, Gee.”
“I wouldn’t have to be freed if it weren’t for you,” I grumble.
Frank glances over at me, worried. He sighs. “Gerard, I had to. How many fucking times do I have to say it?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t know, seeing as I’m just a crazy person!” I yell.
“Don’t fucking yell at me!” Frank retorts. “Stop!”
“Why, what’s the matter?! Are you afraid of me, Frank?! Is that why you sent me away!?” I scream.
Frank pulls over, putting the car in park. He slams his hands on the steering wheel, then gripping the top portion so tightly that his knuckles go white. He starts to sob, his shoulder blades heaving up and down.
“Perfect, fucking perfect, you’re going to cry now,” I scoff.
Frank looks up at me, his green eyes spilling over with tears. “Fuck you, Gerard.”
The words are a dagger in my chest. “Frank?”
“Fuck you,” Frank repeats. “I… I try to be a good fucking boyfriend, and this is my reward. You acting like an ass.” He turns away, crying.
“Fuck, Frank, I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I’m just…. emotions are running high, y’know?” I reach a hand out and touch his head.
Frank smacks my hand away. “Don’t.”
“Frank, I’m your boyfriend,” I say, my voice catching in my throat.
“You know what?” Frank asks. He looks up at me. “Not anymore. Just…. I’m done. Fuck, Gerard, I can’t handle this shit.”
“No,” I plead, starting to cry. “Frank, I’m sorry! I promise, I won’t self-harm anymore!”
“It’s a little late for that,” Frank mutters. “Look, I’ll give you a ride home, and that’s it. Then, don’t call me, don’t come to my house, don’t talk to me, don’t even fucking look at me in the hallways, got it?”
“But…” I protest. I keel over with gut wrenching sobs. Frank ignores me, starting the car back up.
The drive to my house is silent, my cries the only audible sound. Frank pulls into my driveway, offering, “Do you want me to walk you in?”
“No,” I decide. “I’ve got it.” I slowly get out, taking one last look at my boyfriend. “Frank….”
“What?” Frank asks, looking irritated.
“Do I look okay?” I question, quoting Frank.
Frank’s jaw trembles, and then he turns away, starting the car and leaving. For good.

Notes

I'm sorry!

Thanks for reading, though. I'll try to update soon! In the meantime, comment below, and check out my other fics.