The snow crunched beneath my feet and the air nipped at my nose. It was already the beginning of December, possibly my least favorite season. The large brick building my therapist worked in came into view, and my heart raced, despite coming here so many times before.

I promised Gerard that today, I would tell someone about my mother's abuse.

He couldn't join me for this session, unfortunately. He had an appointment with his doctor to assess his tumor growth. I hate to think about it, but his "due date" is three weeks from today. Fuck, I'm going to miss him.

Okay, maybe I should stop thinking about it.

I took a deep breath before pushing through the door. I was greeted by the overwhelming smell of air freshener, making me cough a bit. The secretary looked up from her desk and smiled courteously. "Good afternoon, Mister Iero," she told me.
"Uh, hi," I replied, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Is he ready to see me?" She nodded and motioned towards the door.
"Go ahead."
I gulped and slowly approached the door, the hinges squeaking as I pulled it open. Sitting at a desk was my therapist, Mr. Lucker. He looked like the complete opposite as the general idea people have of therapists, which would be a clean-cut, middle-aged man. Lucker was covered in tattoos, and not at all clean. Despite his tough demeanor, he was one of the nicest people I've met. He looked up at me and smiled. I shuffled over to the chair in front of his desk and plopped down. "Nice to see you Frank," he chirped, "how are you today?"
"Uh, I'm fine," I muttered.
"Is there anything you would like to talk about in particular?"
I sighed. "Um, yes actually."
He smiled wider. "Wow, the first time!" He chuckled. "What would that be?"
"... my mom."
He tilted his head slightly in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"My mom is... is the other reason I cut."

---

GERARD'S P.O.V.

My foot tapped impatiently against the linoleum floor as the doctor spoke. I was worried about Frank. He promised me that today, he would tell his therapist about his mother's abuse. He was a bit reluctant, but still agreed. I'm proud of him. I had come here a few days ago for a scan to assess my tumor growth, here now to get the results. It's 3 weeks until my "due date", and they're concerned about the fact I haven't shown any hindrance to every day activities, like speaking, eating, walking, et cetera et cetera, since most people in my case do. Most being the keyword there, it doesn't happen every time. I can barely keep my eyelids open, the doctor's monotonous tone becoming a lullaby for me. I haven't slept properly in days. I've stayed up thinking about... about the fact I'm about to die. You can see it in my face. I've become paler, the bags under my eyes darker, my hazel eyes less vibrant. I stay up thinking about how I won't get to wake up with a snoring Frank by my side, or hear Mikey's laugh, or see the night sky of Jersey. I'll be six feet under, and I'm terrified. Dressing the way I do, I'm considered "goth" or "emo", thought to be the type to be fascinated by death. When in reality, even just the idea of it scares me, the fact that we truly have no idea what happens once we lose a pulse. Is it really just a sea of nothingness? Okay, no need to get philosophical, Gerard. Well, there is, I mean I am just about to find out if my tumor has grown and whether or not I'm going to die in less than a month. Ugh, shut UP.

"So, Gerard," the doctor started, taking me out of my daze, "I'm sure you want to know the results."
I looked up from the floor and at the balding man, muttering a "yes." I was just trying not to snap at him. He nodded and held the clipboard to his chest with one hand, another on my shoulder consolingly. He took a deep breath.
"Gerard, you're results were..." He paused, making me anxious. This isn't the fucking Maury Povich show, just tell me already!

"Negative."
"What?'
He smiled, actually smiled. "Gerard, your pills took an unexpected effect on the tumors. You are cancer free."
Looks like I'll be putting my Christmas money to good use for Frank.

Notes

I COULDN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO WRITE IN THE ENDING SO
well actually it was that i didn't feel up to writing and i just wanted to start on the teacher/student but i knew if i started it i would end up neglecting this story
so i'm kinda mad at myself bc i'm ruining the ending by forcing myself to write it; i hope you guys forgive me.
i wrote the first half in the middle of the night so that's why it sucks
fun fact: the line "This isn't the fucking Maury Povich show" was originally "It felt like he was Maury Povich and I was waiting to hear if I was the father of twenty-five children" but i realized that was a terrible analogy.
ALSO THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL PROBABLY BE REALLY SHORT. IDK IT DEPENDS ON WHETHER I DECIDE TO MAKE THAT THE LAST ONE OR NOT.

xo