Forget About The Dirty Looks.

Gerard's POV
When I wake up, I feel something wet on my chest. My mind doesn't realize it at first, it's still foggy from sleep and in a mess from yesterday. The longer I'm lay there, the more I seem to get. It's like somebody's pouring something over me. I finally crack open my eyes and glance down.
My chest is covered in something bright red. Blood. I look away, jumping up. I'm breathing heavier than I was yesterday when I had to run up and down the staircases. My eyes are clamped shut and I can still the wet on me. The blood.
Where the fuck did it come from? I'm not hurt, nobody's been in my room, either.
I pluck up the courage to look back down again. It's gone. The blood has fucking disappeared. I keep on staring down, scared that if I look away, the blood would come back. I feel dirty now, I need another shower.
I run my hands through my hair, noting that some of it is still vaguely damp. I sigh, still looking down and walk into the bathroom. I turn on the shower and walk back into the room and pick something to wear, I don't care what, as long as it smells okay. My door opens and a nurse walks in. I hate this one. She's so uptight and snobby. Once, she walked in while I had some music on, Iron Maiden, I think. She instantly went pale and basically screamed at me to turn it off. I refused and she walked straight back out again, muttering about 'the Devil's music' and shit like that. I haven't seen her again since then, but I guess she pulled the short straw.
I stare at her with my eyebrows raised, but she doesn't explain herself. She just stares straight back at me. I turn away from, heading back into the bathroom and locking the door behind me. I hear a small knock and I suppress a growl of annoyance.
"What?" She sighs and clears her throat.
"You have a meeting with your doctor. You have half an hour." She snaps the words back at me in the same tone I did to her.
"Okay. Shut the door behind you." I don't even bother to listen to her reply and get into the shower.
I'm still wary that I'll see the blood again, feel the blood again. I scrub away, banishing all traces of it and get out. I get dressed and towel dry my hair, leaving it damp. I still have fifteen minutes to kill before my meeting with the doctor. I can't think of what to do, so I just sit on the window sill and look outside, watching the people and cars pass by.
The bin and burnt remains of my shirt are still next to it, bring back the memories of how I felt. It was horrible and thinking back to it makes it feel slightly unreal, I've never been affected by anything gory, not ever. As I think, I notice that I've started to rub my face where the blood was. My face actually hurts, but I can't seem to make my hand stop.
Instead, I try to think of something else. That something else proves to be just as bad as the blood; I start to think of Frankie. The images of him lying there on the bed and operating table are still vivid in my head. Every time I close my eyes, he's there. I was plagued by nightmares last night, but I couldn't wake up, the tablets I took making sure of it.
They were horrible. In the one I can most vividly remember, I was standing over Frank, a scalpel in my hands and the other doctors and nurse stood around me. One of them kept urging me to make the cut, so I did and the blood stated to spurt out, covering me. He started to have a fit then, his heartbeat stopping. Everybody just stood and looked at me, not helping. The blood was everywhere, in the end. That's all I can remember, but it's one of the worst I've been through.
I'm jolted away from my thoughts by an impatient, loud knock on the door. I open it, revealing the bitch nurse from earlier, her hand poised to knock again. She stares up at me, her eyes focused on where my hand had been rubbing. What's she looking at? I narrow my eyes at her.
"What? Is there something on my face?" I try to sound annoyed but it comes out as little more than a squeak. She nods, still looking. I furrow my eyebrows, confused, and go look in a mirror.
Once I see my face, a small gasp comes from me. The skin on the side of my face is bright red, like I've just been slapped. There are little scratches up it, too, some bleeding. At the sight of the blood, I panic and start to wash my face. Blood. Blood... The smell is strong in my nose again and I grab tissues and push it to my face, covering up the sight of the red.
I stand there, looking at my reflection for five minutes, until the nurse comes in. My eyes are wide, one of my fist clenched by my side. My chest rises and falls rapidly and my eyes are bright with tears. She stares at me, warily, like I'm an injured animal that could snap at any second.
"We need to go..." She trails off, looking down and motioning to the door. I peel the tissues from my face and flush it, not looking at the redness on it. I don't look back at my reflection again, either. We walk down the hall, reaching his office. She knocks and the door opens. He smiles once he sees us, but there's annoyance clear in his eyes. He beckons us in and tells us to sit.
"Dr Johnson, can I speak to you for a second.. Privately?" He looks at the nurse confused, but nods. He smiles at me slightly while she looks at me like I'm crazy. They step out and I hear hushed voices. I get tired of waiting and stand up, pressing my ear to the door. I can hear them a bit better, but some of the words I can't understand.
"You're saying he scratched at his face until he bled?" I presume she nods because I can't hear her reply.
"And why would he do that?" He doesn't believe her, you can hear it in his tone.
"I don't know... But, he didn't realize he was doing it, he was surprised when I mentioned it to him..." He hums in response.
"Okay... Was he behaving strangely when you went in the first time?"
"No, not really. He was rude to me though..." She trails off, thoughtfully. "When I walked into the bathroom, he looked like he'd seen a ghost. He was on the verge of a panic attack." No response from Dr Johnson, but the door starts to open. I shoot back into my seat but they see me.
"Were you listening to our private conversation, Gerard?" He adds emphasis on the word private and his voice is annoyed. I shake my head, trying to look innocent. He shakes his head at me and sits down in his chair behind his big and unnecessary desk.
"You can go now, Dana." He addresses her without looking at her and she scampers away, still looking warily at me. Dr Johnson is reading through papers, writing something down occasionally. I sit, silently, while he does his things. I end up coughing to get his attention, which works. He puts down the pen and corrects his papers. He finally looks up at me and smiles briefly.
"So, Gerard, do you know why I called you down here?" Is he serious? Of course I know why I'm here...
"Yeah, totally. I know everything.." He looks at me in surprise, not catching on to my sarcasm. I sigh, holding back the need to swear at him. "Of course I don't! Jesus Christ..." I say the last part under my breath, to myself. I look down at my hands, starting to pick at my nails.
"Okay. Well, do you want me to tell you?" God, I hate him.
"Yeah. I also want you to talk one fucking sentence to me without adding the patronizing tone. I'm eighteen, not fucking five!" He looks taken back by my outburst, sitting back in his chair a little. He nods, looking at his papers.
"Okay..." He laces his hands together and places them in his lap. "Well, if you carry on how you are, you can go home in a few days." When he speaks, it's like he's talking to another adult and not a child. He thinks I'm stable enough to go home? This hospital and it's employee's are jokes. Still, I get to go home, I suppose.
"Okay. Can I go now?" He shakes his head at me, making me sink down into my chair, sigh and cross my arms.
"I wanted to talk to you about Frank, as well." Frank's name catches my attention, my head snapping up and my torso leaning forwards.
"Yes...?" He looks down at the top paper, reading it. I glimpse at it, finding Frankie's name.
"I'm going to be frank with you, it's not looking good," I gulp and nod at him. "I'm only telling you this because you should know, okay?" I nod again. "He needs to have a kidney transplant. The surgery yesterday was to take a look at what was going on. To check on the kidney that's failing and his liver, as well as anything else that could have been damaged. It shouldn't have happened, the operation wasn't necessary. The doctor in charge of his case told me the scan wasn't giving them any help, but, honestly, I smelt a whole lot of bullsh-, I mean he was speaking a load of garbage.." He chuckles at himself slightly. I sigh at him, thinking that it would have been perfectly acceptable for him to swear, I do it all the time.
"Anyway, it caused him to have a cardiac arrest," I cut him off, I know this.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I fucking watched them give up on him!" My voice is sharp and angry, and he raises his hands in surrender.
"Okay... After the operation, they took him to ICU. He's in critical condition, Gerard. He was lucky to have survived the night. He's having lots of trouble breathing, he slips out of consciousness at completely random points. He needs a kidney transplant, he also might need a liver transplant. He can live with just one kidney, if it comes down to it, but he needs a liver.." He looks up at me, taking in the state I'm in. I'm trying to look reasonably stable on the outside, but my insides are in turmoil. Poor Frankie. He's so sick...
"Liver failure is fatal. He'll die without one. It was already pretty damaged, but it was getting better. The over-doses made it almost give up. Also, his brain patterns aren't normal. There's a chance his brain could be damaged." His brain? Shit.
"Like.. Brain damage? Could he have forgot me?" My voice breaks and I almost lose my composure. He shakes his head, making me feel relief instantly.
"Not that kind of brain damage. More like difficulty concentrating, remembering things in school. Things like that.. The part that is most likely damaged is called The Cognitive, it's in charge of the way people think, learn and remember. The chance of him forgetting the people in his life before this is very slim. I think it's a five percent chance, so don't worry." I nod at him, millions of questions buzzing around my mind.
"Has he got anything else wrong with him?" He glances down down at the paper again before answering my question.
"Not really. His mental stability needs to be assessed when he's better. He's not mentally well, and he probably hasn't been for a long time." I nod at this, agreeing. He hasn't. Frank might not see it himself, but he does have something wrong with him. I would have, if my father was like his. It appears like he hasn't got anything else to say, so I get up to leave. He stops me, though.
"You can go and see him, if you want. He's been asking for you.." I smile and nod, practically running out of the door without saying anything in return.
I reach his floor and go to the information desk. We have a brief conversation and then I'm on my way to seeing him.
I reach his room and knock. There's no reply and flashback from when I found him play in my head. I shake the thoughts away, he's probably just asleep. I open the door and step in, closing it behind me.
Frank's on the bed, his eyes closed. There are various machines hooked up to him, helping him stay alive. He looks like he's asleep, so I creep quietly to the chair beside his bed and sit down. I stare at him for many minutes, taking in all of his features. He looks like the same old Frankie. But, there's something slightly different about him. I can't quite put my finger on it, so I stare at him even more intently. Finally, it clicks. His skin is yellowing. The liver or kidney is turning him yellow.
I choke back a sob as how ill he truly is hits me. Tears fall, but I don't make a sound. I reach out my hand, going to grab his but change my mind, leaving my hand inches away from his. Instead, I look down and let more tears fall. I look up, however, when I hear a slight cough.
Frank has one of his eyes opened. It isn't looking at me, it's unfocused and glassy. Like it's fake; a doll's eye. It lazily searches the room, landing on me after about five minutes of staring around. It widens slightly, his forehead creasing. Both eyes are now open, and they stare at me intently. He opens his mouth but then closes it again. He looks back up to the ceiling and closes them, exhaling slowly.
"Why didn't you let me die?" His voice is bitter, angry; but he sounds weak. I raise my eyebrows at his question, offering no answer. I thought it was so plain, I love him. I couldn't just let him die.
I finally gather my thoughts, Frank still has his eyes closed.
"I couldn't. I love you." My own voice is weak and croaky. I wipe the remainder of my tears of my face and take a deep breath. I reach out and grab his hand, holding it tightly. Frank surprises me and harshly pulls his hand away. Hurt and confusion fill my mind.
"I wanted to die. Why didn't you let me?" His voice is emotionless, calm. Not like it was before.
"I.. What? Would you let me die?" I speak slowly, not trusting my voice. He opens his eyes back up and twists his head slightly to look at me.
"If that was what you wanted, then yes." Still the calm voice. I search his eyes, trying to look for anything behind them. I find nothing except from coldness.
"You'd let me die? So, if I grabbed a load of pills or some rope now, you'd let me over-dose or hang myself in front of you?" His faces creases up, in pain, I think. He goes to nod his head, but stops and shakes it instead.
"I couldn't let you die, Frankie. Not like that, anyway. Wait until we're ninety nine and then I might let you..." I chuckle slightly, trying to break the tense atmosphere. He doesn't even crack a smile.
"What makes you think we'll know each other then?" His voice is so cold, so unlike his usual voice. I recoil from it, cringing and leaning back in my seat. I shrug my shoulders.
"You had no right to stop me, Gerard. I wanted to die; I still do. I might get my wish, anyway. My kidney and liver are failing. Well, my kidney has failed..." He smiles as he talks about him dying. The smile is twisted, it gives me a cold feeling down my back.
"Why are you happy about that?" I hate how weak I sound. Thinking about Frankie dying is shit. It's horrible, terrible. It's.. horrifying. Frank shrugs casually, like it isn't his life that we're talking about.
"I don't have anybody or anything to live for. I'm dead on the inside, Gerard." Still smiling. I want to get out of here, I feel sick.
"W.. What.. What about.. me?" He chuckles at me. What's happened to him?
"What about you?" His tone is mocking, malicious. I stare at him, he stares back. I can't contain the tears that have been building and a few fall down my face. He smirks at me. My cheeks flare with embarrassment and I wipe them away.
"What's happened to you?" His smirk falls from his face, his expression turning hard.
"Have you ever wanted something so much and when you seem to finally have it, it's taken away from you?" I nod, confused.
"This felt like that. You took what I wanted away from me. I wanted to die. You stopped that. I think I've finally cracked, Gerard." Cracked? What is he talking about?
"What.. do you mean?" He shakes his head, looking like the Frank I know and love for a second.
"I don't know. Something happened to me. I can't feel anything. No emotions, I feel like I've been stripped bare. All I want now is to die." New Frank is back, the old one has been tucked away. New Frank is emotionless, blunt and mean. What do I say back to that? I don't know..
"I know how you feel." The words leave my mouth without me thinking them. I suppose I do know. When Frank was gone, the only emotion I seemed to feel was sadness. It was either that or nothing. He raises his eyebrows at me, scoffing.
"Sure you do." I nod my head at him, not really wanting to speak about it, but wanting him to believe me. He doesn't do or say anything, instead he just stares at me. He searches my eyes. looking for the truth in my words. I hesitantly reach my hand out again, gripping his. He holds onto me, not pulling away this time.
"It's going to be okay. Trust me, I know how this all feels like. I've been through it twice.." He nods his head at me, his grip on my hand getting tighter. I rub my thumb over his knuckles, trying to keep him calm.
"I love you." I speak quietly. My voice has pure truth in it. He nods at me and doesn't say it back. I loosen my hand, hurt taking over me. He's silent for a minute, not even looking at me.
"I love you, too." A smile graces my lips before I can stop it. I thought he wasn't going to say it back.
"Good.." He looks at me, a smile on his lips too. He nods his head and lies back.
"Yeah, it is." I don't reply, I just tighten my hand so I'm holding his properly again. I feel at peace with myself, sitting here, with Frankie, holding his hand, even though things aren't far from disastrous.

Notes