Forget About The Dirty Looks.

Gerard's POv
I wake up, after a three hours nights sleep, and my head is foggy. I turn and search for Frankie.
Oh, yeah, he's not here. He's God know's where, probably bleeding and bloody in a basement or something. It's been six days, thirteen hours and eleven minutes since it happened. I've counted the time because I have nothing better to do.
If I just sit, I think. And I don't like the thoughts I've been thinking recently. Thoughts of grabbing
my phone and calling one of my old drug dealers and asking for everything he's got. Then, I'd take it all and overdose. Suicide is something I've thought about before, I've even tried it, but this time the thoughts are back and even darker than the ones I've had before. I don't think I could put Mikey and my mom through that again, though.
Luckily, last time, it was my mom who found me and not Mikey. She'd just walked into my bathroom and found me, lying on the floor, Xanax bottles around me. I'd only just taken them
when she found me, and I was barely even unconscious. She rushed me to hospital and I had my stomach pumped. It hurt like hell, but the emotional pain was worse. I got put on anti-depressants after that, but I didn't take one, I just sold them to my 'friends' in an attempt to make my debts go down. I didn't get better, like everyone thought, I got worse. I was more depressed than ever, taking more drugs, getting drunker every night than I ever had. The abuse from my 'friends' was at the worst point, and then Frankie came along. He makes me feel things I've never felt before, and I'll probably never feel them again.
He saved me, and he doesn't even know. He doesn't know that I love him, he doesn't know that I'm on the brink of turning to drugs and alcohol again, he doesn't know that I'm slowly getting more depressed each day.
Nobody except my mom even tries to communicate with me, and I ignore her. She comes and knocks on my door about every half hour asking if I want anything or whatever, but it's like I can't speak. I'm scared. There have been quite a few times where I've tried to shout back, or talk to myself and I just can't. I don't know why, or how.
All I've done is lie here, crying and staring into space, with no emotion. I've tried to eat, but I
can't keep anything down. I've given up on life, and I'm scaring myself. I smell, I've not showered in six days, and I know I look like a mess. The whole room has a depressing, musty atmosphere in it, and it crushes down on me. I can't stand being in here, smelling Frankie's scent on the pillow, but it seems like I can't fucking move. Like my legs have disappeared, and I can't physically stand up.
I hear a bang, and suddenly my mom, Mikey, and a man dressed in white are standing in the doorway. How the fuck did they get in? It was locked, and I have the only key.
"Gerard, you need to get up and dressed. Clean yourself up, you have thirty minutes, before we come and help you..." My mom's voice is almost glacial, and her expression is stern. I just bury my head back under the duvet and curl up even more.
"Gerard Arthur Way! Get yourself up, now! I don't want to come and drag you into the shower, but I will! Don't tempt me!" I sit up slightly, and poke out my eyes. I make shooing gestures with my hands and give a slight nod. They leave the room, Mikey sighing.
I get up, and almost fall back down again. My legs are so weak, they haven't been used for at least four days. I stand precariously, trying to stay on my feet. After getting used to the motion of standing up again, I walk un-surely to the bathroom.
I walk past the mirror and catch a glimpse at a stranger. They stare back at me, their expression perplexed. Their eyes are swollen and tinged with red, like they've just gotten high. Tears have stained their cheeks, and strands of greasy hair stick to their face where the tears have dried. The person is me. My eyes are hollow. My lips are chapped and bleeding slightly from where I've bit and chewed on the skin. My hair is a matted, greasy mess that sits upon my head like a feral animal. The thing is so knotty, I wouldn't be surprised if a brush would get lost in it. I stare at my reflection for a few more minutes, disgusted with myself.
I turn away with a sigh and turn on the shower. While it heats up, I try to get my clothes off. They're practically stuck to me, and when they come off, I breathe a sigh of relief.
The bathroom is getting steamy, so I step into the shower. The slightly too hot water feels amazing on my dirty, deprived skin. So good, that I just stand there for at least five minutes, feeling the water. I sigh, realizing that there's a time limit and start to try and wash my hair. Once all the tangles are out, I wash myself. It feels really good to be clean, and I hop out of the shower, temporarily forgetting about the situation that we're in. Once I remember, though, I can't move. Tears fill my eyes and roll down my cheeks. How could I forget about Frankie?
The guilt builds up and up; I can't move. I just stand there crying, for at least ten minutes.
I finally get a hold of myself, and wrap a towel around my frighteningly small waist. My ribs are all visible, I could count every single one. I look at myself in the mirror again, this time I notice
things about my face that have changed. I have visible frown lines, my eyes look sunken into my eye sockets, my cheek bones and jaw are more prominent than ever. I've lost weight, and a lot of it. The changes are drastic, and I'm sure my mom and Mikey are going to notice. To try and cover it up, I dress in a hoodie that was a few sizes too big for me anyway. My once skin tight jeans are loose, and I have to hold them up with a long-forgotten belt. Without it, if I took even two steps, they were falling down.
I walk out of my room and into the living room. My mom and Mikey both seem anxious, on the edge of their seats, Mikey's biting his thumb nail and my mom is messing with her hair and twisting her hands about. The doctor, however, is just sat, bored. They all look up at me, and I sit down.
"Hello, Gerard, how are you feeling?" The doctor's voice is firm and calm. I hate the professional, fake tone to it. I shrug, without taking my eyes off the frayed, bottle green carpet.
"Gerard, you have to talk to me. I can only help you if you help me understand you.." When he doesn't get an answer, he sighs and leans back into his seat.
"Perhaps you would feel more comfortable if I introduced myself? I've seemed to have forgotten, sorry.." He chuckles, slightly embarrassed. He clears his throat, and the professional mask slides back on.
"My name is Christopher Martin, Gerard. I'm a psychiatrist, and I have been a very successful one for around fifteen years. I want to help you.. Your mother has told me about your case, and about Frank. Would you like to talk about anything?" I shrug and focus my gaze onto his briefcase. I hear the scribble of pen on paper, and immediately know he's taking notes on me. Speaking of paper and pen, I could perhaps use them to communicate with. I stand up, startling everyone. I stick up my index finger, signaling that I'll be a minute. I rush of, and I grab the pad of paper and the first pen I see.
When I get back tot he others, I try to think of something to write down. I write the first thing that pops into my mind, which is a simple 'hello'. Everybody looks confused, all apart from Dr Martin. He nods, seeming to understand why I've done this.
"Gerard's brain seems to have classed this event as traumatic. People react different ways to traumatic experiences, some get depressed, some cut off everyone and become an alcoholic. But, some people's brain makes them go mute. It can be a short term or a long term thing, and it's called Selective Mutism. This is what has happened to Gerard. He simply can't speak, Ms Way. Once Frank is back, he should be okay, but, if not, them he'll have to go to therapy. Single and group sessions." He clears his throat, again. "Right now, I think the best thing for Gerard is for him to try and.. write about his feelings towards everything.. Is that okay, Gerard?" All eyes are on me again, and it makes me really uncomfortable. I shift in my seat and run a hand through my hair. I look into everybody's eyes. My mom's bluey grey eyes stare sadly into mine. Mikey's eyes, almost the same color as mine, stare into mine, but I can't read his emotions. Finally, Dr Martins', his eyes are blue, but in some lights, I've noticed, they turn green. His eyes have no emotion behind them either.
I give an inaudible sigh and nod my head, complying to the doctor's request. Their face break into smiles, Dr Martins' being the biggest. Mom and Mikey can barely managed a half-smile. I can't even manage a grimace, so I just look down.
"So, Gerard, what would you like to tell us?" I pick the pen back up, rolling my eyes. I don't know what to write, and I just sit there, staring at the lines until they become distorted and wriggly. My hand starts to scribble down a word, and I read my slightly shaky, but very messy handwriting.
I miss him
The most prominent thought on my mind, except from is he okay and the dark thoughts twirling around my head, makes an appearance. The sentence is so simple, yet it holds a lot of meaning. Tears well up in my eyes and I don't even make an attempt to cover it up. My mom's face softens, and her forehead creases. I feel my lip start to tremble and look down, hiding behind my over-grown hair.
"Yes, that is to be expected, Gerard. He's your.. boyfriend, right?" Dr Martin spits out the word quickly. Almost as if he's just swallowed poison and he has to get it out of his mouth quick. My cheeks flush with anger and I write down the sentence and show him before I can stop myself; 'Yeah, he's my boyfriend, got a problem with that?' My handwriting seems to take a lot of brain-power to decipher, but when he finally does, his eyes open wide in either anger or surprise.
"No, of course I haven't, Gerard. I just don't think it's... natural. Two men?" His voice has risen in pitch and his tone is as if somebody had just asked to him to inject himself with snake venom, but he's now disagreeing. My cheeks go even redder, and I raise my eyebrows. I look to my mom and Mikey who both look pretty angry.
"Dr Martins, if you have a problem with my son's sexuality, I suggest you leave and go and realize that it's the twenty first century, not the middle ages.." My mom's tone matches what mine would be if I could speak, which is pretty icy.
"I can't stress to you enough, Ms Way, that I do not have a problem. I was just taken by.. surprise, I guess." I can see straight through his lie, and I'm sure mom can too, but she sits back down and relaxes her posture a bit.
"So, Gerard.. Anything else? Are you thinking about harming yourself, maybe? You can tell us if you are, we will not judge you, I promise." Yeah, I'm sure you won't judge me, Mr homophobic. I shake my head, and he nods.
"What about... suicide? Have you had any thoughts of that?" Should I tell them? I hesitate, and Dr Martin notices.
"So, you have? Why, Gerard?" I don't want to tell you... I want to say to you that you should shut the fuck up, not why I've having suicidal thoughts. I hear my mom whimper and pick up my pen. I write why. I give the pad to Dr Martins, and he reads through it. There's about four paragraphs on why, and he carefully reads it all. He takes notes on it afterwards, occasionally humming or nodding to himself. My mom snatches the piece of paper from off his knees. She reads through it, and by the end she's crying. She mutters things about how I'm her little baby, how much she loves me. I stand up to give her a hug, and I write that I'm sorry on my arm. All she does is shake her head. We sit there, rocking for a minute until Dr Martins clears his throat.
"I'm sorry, but I have to go. I have another appointment, and I'm already late. Call me if you need me, I'll be happy to help. Goodbye, I hope you feel better, Gerard." Wow, I officially hate this guy. He obviously doesn't give a fuck about whether I'm okay or not. He probably just made up the excuse that he's late, just to get out of here.
Nobody says goodbye back to him, we all just stare at him until he coughs awkwardly and walks out of the door.
"What a fucking dick. You had to call him, didn't you, mom?" Mikey chuckles, saying his first words since they got me out of bed. Mom chuckles as well, and she nods her head.
"Yeah, of course I had to pick him... Silly me." They both chuckle, but I can't even force a smile. I grab the paper and pen and scribble out 'I'm going out, see you guys later'. I throw it at them, and walk out, ignoring the calls of my name behind me.

Notes

New chapter. A bit.. dark.. Wonder what's happening to Frank? Hm, a lot has happened to him..
Hope you like it! Comment? Thanks for reading xo