Counting Down The Days To Go (Frerard)

I could see him, barely, through the blinds behind the small window. Nurses were huddled around him, yelling to eachother as they hooked him up to. My body was still trembling, the only reason I was on two feet was because of the sobbing Jamia next to me holding me up. I stroked her hair in an attempt to calm her down, but all I wanted was to cry with her. I probably cried all my tears out outside his house, yelling at the nurses and officers to let me see him. I let out a shaky breath and bit my lip to stop myself from whimpering. I heard footsteps behind me and turned around to see a doctor. She smiled weakly at me and put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry about the paramedics," she told me. I nodded instead of replying, not trusting my voice to sound as if I hadn't broken down a few minutes ago. She looked through the window and pursed her lips. "We weren't able to find someone willing to donate so much blood in such little time. We're doing what we can to keep him on support."
I gulped. "W-Will... will he be okay?"
She sighed. "Well, Mister Way, we're not sure."
"Will he live?" I blurted out. That was the only thing that was plaguing my mind.
She smiled slightly. "Yes."
I smiled with her, letting a nervous chuckle escape my lips. "Oh my god," I whispered.

Frank isn't going to die, he'll be fine. I'll get to hug him and kiss him again.

If he accepts my apology, that is.

No no, let's not think about that. Not right now.

"However, we cannot guarantee he will be... conscious."
"Wh-What do you mean?"
"He was already very- how do I put this?- fragile. His body showed signs of abuse. Add that damage and stress on his body with bleeding out?" She looked through the window again. "Many people in his condition go into comas."
I pressed my nails into the heel of my hand, into the scabs from balling my hands into fists earlier. "Do you--"
"Do I think he'll fall into a coma?" she interrupted. "Yes."
My smile dropped and I looked back through the window, to the group of nurses still chattering to eachother. An I.V. was hooked up to Frank's arm, pumping blood back into his body.
"How long would he be out?" Why am I even asking this? I know it'll just upset me more.
"It depends. It could be a few days, a few weeks, maybe mo--" She stopped, probably realizing I was shaking. "When he wakes, he will have to stay here for a few weeks. Suicide watch and psychological evaluation. From there, we will determine his mental stability."
"You can't put him in a mental ward," Jamia suddenly spoke up. "You can't."
"If we deem him unstable, we will have to."
Jamia huffed and started pulling me away from the door, to the back exit of the hospital. I was able to take one last look at Frank before she pushed me outside.
"Give me a cigarette," she demanded.
I froze. "You... I didn't know you smoked?"
She grunted. "I don't. But I need one right now." Her voice broke as she spoke, and I understood what the meant. Smoking takes of my edge. I pulled out my pack and handed it to her. She snatched them from me, immediately bringing a cigarette to her lips and lighting it. She took a deep drag before talking again. "He... he can't go to some ward." She blew smoke out of her nose. "He would break down. He needs someone there." She sighed and covered her eyes, the stick of death and disease dangling between her middle and index finger. "Gerard, what if he doesn't wake up when he goes into a coma?"
"He'll wake up, Jamia," I told her. In reality, I was just as scared of that happening, that he would be hooked up to an I.V. for the rest of his days.
"There have been countless cases of people in comas living in vegetative stares until someone cuts off their life support."
"Those are people that go through car accidents, plane crashes, terrible circumstances."
She stayed silent, hand over her eyes, ashes falling from the end of the cigarette she held in her hand.

"It's not your fault, Gerard," she suddenly blurted out.
"Yes it is. If I hadn't-"
"If you hadn't been a normal human being with feelings and anger over whatever you got upset over?" she interrupted. "You're right. He'll wake up."
I suddenly heard a familiar voice behind me call my name. I turned around to see Lindsey. "What are you two doing here?"
I froze. "Um... it's-it's Frank."
"Oh. What happened?"
"He tried to kill himself," Jamia said simply, seemingly a bit annoyed by a stranger (to her) asking. "Who are you?"
"I'm Gerard's psychologist." She continued without letting Jamia reply. "I'm so sorry to hear about Frank, Gerard." She suddenly gasped in realization. "Did he cut down his arm, deep? Hypovolemia?" I nodded. "Yeah, I'm going to be his psych when he wakes up. You can see him now, if you'd like. I have the permission--"
"No." I actually did, but I knew I would break down if I saw him, She hugged me and walked off, back to the hospital.
"Your psychologist?" Jamia questioned.
"Did Frank not tell you...?" She shook her head. "Oh... I have cancer. Terminal."
Her face dropped. "O-oh."
And we just stood in that back alley, smoking cigarettes. The only thoughts rushing through my head was what would happen to Frank. I had to push those out, though, or else I would start crying again. But I eventually found myself hunched over, hands over my face as I sobbed into my palms and Jamia rubbed my back.

I'm so sorry, Frank.

I love you.

Notes

this was super duper rushed

xo