Forget About The Dirty Looks.

Frank's POV
Self-doubt is a bitch.
I've been having these shitty thoughts ever since Martin told me about the donor. I mean, I'm fucking ecstatic, but Gerard obviously wasn't. The smile was totally fake, and he left as soon as possible. Everything about him yesterday was.. off.
I don't know, I just.. I think he's having regrets or something. Maybe he regrets marrying me, maybe he regrets asking me, the first time we met, for a cigarette. Maybe he regrets this whole thing, but now we're legally binded, he can't just tell me it's over, there's the whole process of divorce and all that shit, and I live with them now, anyway. Maybe he wanted me to die, just so he can get rid of me.
The thoughts are stupid, I know that, but they keep popping into my head. I've been trying to shake them off since everybody left last night, but I can't. I tend to over-think a lot, I have done for years.
I sigh in frustration, and close my eyes. Surely some sleep wouldn't do any harm, it is only, like, five in the morning. I try to think of good memories, but with every nice thing, there comes a bad.
I give, just focusing on sleep. I even count sheep, which then gets me singing 'Brain Stew' by Green Day in my head. It makes me forget, which in turn makes me fall asleep.

I must sleep lightly, because I wake up from the sound of a cough. Judging by the sun, it's around noon.
I forget about my visitor until they cough again, making me blush slightly. Someone dressed in dark clothes is standing there; Gerard.
He looks like shit. It's obvious he's been crying, his eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. His hair is tousled, like he's been tossing and turning all night. His hands, which are holding Styrofoam cups, are shaking so badly I think he's going to drop them.
I smile at him, waving my hand to tell him to come in. He does, without smiling back, his eyes blank. He gives me one of the cups. I don't think it's coffee, the odor isn't right. I take a sip, finding out that it's tea. Horrible, shitty tea, but it's warm, and I'm cold.
We don't talk, we just sit, and drink the tea. The silence isn't uncomfortable, but as the minutes pass, something grows in the air.
I finish my drink, feeling warmer, and I set the cup on the table, and stare at Gerard. He's clutching the cup tightly, but you can still see the shake. He keep glancing at the doorway anxiously, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. I think he's been biting his lip a lot, because it's swollen slightly, and there are little cuts littered on it. He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes darting to his full cup and then back to the doorway again.
I reach out a hand and place my thumb on the skin below his bottom lip, and tug gently, saving his lip from becoming bloody. He jumps at my touch, his eyes meeting mine for a slit second then darting back to the doorway.
"What's wrong, Gerard?" He shrugs, still looking at the closed door.
"What? I'm good. Nothing's wrong with me.. I'm okay." Anxiety is laced through his voice.
"No, your not. Talk to me, Gee, please," He sighs, shrugging. "Okay, fine. If you don't want to tell me, your husband, then don't, I don't care." I turn away from him, waving my hand in dismissal. I hear him sigh again, but he still says nothing.
Minutes pass, the tension growing thicker every second. I still haven't looked at him, I'm currently staring wistfully out of the window, and he hasn't said anything to me. I keep hearing shaky breaths, though, like when somebody is trying to hold in tears.
I look at him out of my peripheral vision, trying to keep it inconspicuous. Tears are rolling down his cheeks slowly, and his gaze is still on the doorway, the cup of tea long abandoned on the little table. I reach out my hand and grip his, trying to coax him into talking to me.
"Gee, please tell me what's wrong. You're scaring me..." His eyes flick towards me, his free hand reaching up to wipe at his cheeks and eyes.
"It's nothing. I just feel overly emotional today, I guess." He shrugs, dismissing himself.
"What, are you on you period or something?" I try to get him to smile, or laugh, or anything. All I get is a forced smile that is close to becoming a grimace.
"Something like that..." I sigh, and start drawing little circles on his hand with my thumb, it always makes me feel a little better, so maybe it'll work for him.
His eyes are back on the doorway, wide and searching.
"Why do you keep looking at the doorway?"
"Your operation is in about two and a half hours, Frankie. I was meant to tell you when I came in, but I forgot." He dodges my question, discomfort on his features.
"Okay. Will you be here when I wake up?" He winces at my question, closing his eyes. He swallows, and shakes his head, his mouth opening and then closing again. Hurt fills me, he isn't going to be here.
"Why?" He open his eyes again, focusing them on my hand.
"Um.. I just.. have things to do. You'll see me pretty soon afterwards, though. I'm sorry, Frankie, I wanted to be there, I really did.. It's just.. impossible." I nod, the negative thoughts creeping back into my head.
"Gerard, are you going to break up with me?" His eyes widen, and he looks at my face, his eyes searching it. "I mean, like, I love you, but you're acting weird, and I'm really scared something bad's going to happen.." He sighs, slumping forward in his seat.
"I'm not going to break up with you, Frankie." Wow, that really assured me.
"Are you sure, I mean, if you don't want to be with me anymore, then I'll help pay for the divorce, and you'll never have to see me again.. I'll go and live with Bob, or something.." I get interrupted by a pair of lips on mine. I tense up, not expecting it, but then I close my eyes and kiss back. He pulls away soon after, a little bit of light in his eyes again.
"Frank, don't talk fucking stupid. I love you, more than anything, and breaking up with you and filing for divorce is the last thing I'd ever want to do," He pauses, grabbing both of my hands and looking me straight in the eye. "I love you, Frankie. Never question that, never forget that. If anything ever happens to me, know that my last thoughts will be of you, and how much I love you. I'd rather die than let anything happen to you. You made me whole again, okay? I never thought I would ever feel okay again, or feel love for anybody, but you changed that. I don't even think I have a heart, I think you have it. You turned my life upside down, and I'm forever grateful." A tears rolls down my cheek, soon accompanied by another, and another. I throw my arms around his neck, ignoring the stabs of pain shooting through me. He wraps his arms around my waist, gently, and breaths in deeply.
"I love you, too. I'm sorry.. I just.. haven't really been thinking straight." He nods into the crook of my neck and we sit there for a while. It could have been minutes, hours, days. I have to pull away, though, because the pain starts to make my eyes water. I lie back, trying to keep as still as possible to make the pain fade away.
"How long have we got left until I have to go in?" I say after a few minutes, the pain has faded somewhat. Gerard was sat in silence, knowing that if he talked to me, I couldn't reply. He checks the clock in front of him.
"About an hour... Frankie, I need to go." My eyes immediately fly open.
"What? Why?" He strokes my cheek a few times, leaning down and kissing my forehead.
"I have a few things to do. I'm sorry, I wish I could stay, I really do. You'll be okay, though," I send him a look, pleading him silently for him to stay. He shakes his head at me, so sadly he could make people cry over him instead of a puppy being slaughtered. I sigh and nod at him, forcing a smile. "I'm sorry, Frankie. You'll see me... soon. I promise." He lets go of my hand and grabs the two Styrofoam cups, and then chucks them in the bin. His hands have started shaking again, and that faraway look has appeared in his eyes again. He gives me another smile, and he leans down and kisses me.
The kiss is desperate and pretty short. It's like a goodbye kiss, and I start to feel sick. Something bad is going to happen, I know it. I grab his hand as he turns around. He doesn't move his head to look at me, and his shoulders shake slightly.
"Gerard? Don't do anything stupid. I love you, remember that when you're going to do whatever you're going to do." I'm the desperate one now, holding his hand tight enough to cut off his circulation.
"Me? Do something stupid?" He laughs, but it's forced and hollow. He sounds like he's straining to keep his voice steady, but he fails miserably. "Don't be silly, Frankie. I love you, too. More than you can imagine, okay?" He looks at me, his eyes bright and glassy- They're full with tears. I bite my lip, conflicted on what to do. I could try and make him stay here, or I could let him go in hopes he's telling the truth. He decides for me, pulling his hand softly out of my grip. I feel the need to say something, anything, but the feeling of impending doom has knocked the air out of me. I nod, my body on auto-pilot.
"Don't worry about me, Frankie. I love you, don't you ever forget that. Ever." He turns around, and walks to the door, stopping briefly with his hand on the knob. "Goodbye, Frankie." And then he opens the door and basically sprints out, his shoulders starting to shake again.
I feel a strong sense of déjà vu, and it's making me feel really sick. It's reminding me of when I went and said a final goodbye to Gerard, when I tried to commit suicide. There's a bad taste in my mouth, and I don't think that any amount of gum will take it away.
Everything about that screamed goodbye. What he said, how he acted, his body language. And not just any goodbye, the goodbye you give somebody when you know you won't be able to see them ever again. I run a hand through my hair, my mouth still hanging open. I close it, blinking hard. Maybe if I blink hard enough, he'll be sat right back there, holding my hand.
I blink again, holding my breath. He didn't reappear. My heart sinks into my stomach, and my stomach lurches. I clamp my mouth shut, breathing deeply through my nose. The nausea passes slightly, it's now just there, lying in the pit of my stomach.
I sit there, for the next hour, staring at the doorway. I don't move, I don't speak, I don't even think I blink.
Martin walks in, just over an hour later, a frown on his face that's quickly replaced with a smile. A nurse follows in after him, carrying something in a sealed plastic bag.
"Are you ready for this, Frank?" Martin's voice isn't cheery like usual, but he tries his best. I nod, my eyes still focused on the doorway. Okay, so we're going to prep you now, and then get you into the surgery suite." I nod again, and the nurse walks over. Out of the bag, she pulls out a needle.
"This is anesthetic, we'll give you the gas once we're down there." She jabs the needle into my arm after finding a vein, and I almost immediately feel the effects. I start to feel drowsy, my eyelids beginning to get heavy. I let them close, wanting this to all be over so I can see Gerard again.

I hear voices, familiar but unfamiliar at the same time. All I can see is darkness, and my thoughts are foggy. I try to fight the feeling. I struggle to open my eyes, or move a limb, but I can't; they feel too heavy. I can vaguely hear the voices, but I can't make out what they're saying. There's also a really annoying beeping going on in the background.
I try to move a finger, hoping that if I start small, I can move onto bigger things. I feel it twitch slightly, and I smile internally. The voices stop as I do, the only sound being the beeping.
I then try to clench my hand, but I end up moving my finger slightly again.
The darkness is slowly getting lighter, my thoughts getting clearer. Everything's still jumbled, but I can remember basic details about myself.
My name is Frank Anthony Iero, I'm 18, I have brown hair. Another thought pops into my head, or rather, person. Gerard. I'm married to him. The thought of Gerard makes my heart beat faster and butterflies to gather in my stomach. I try to clench my hand again, succeeding.
The darkness has almost completely gone, and my eyelids feel lighter.
I try to open them. I manage to do so, but it's only for a split second. The voices are less muffled, I can make out bits of what they're saying. I open my eyes again, making the stay open for longer this time. I lock eyes with somebody; Donna. I try again, finding it a lot easier to keep them open. I look around the room, finding it full with people.
People who are all staring at me. I think I smile, but I probably just made my mouth slightly. Martin is standing by my bed, a smile on his face and in his eyes.
"Frank. You're awake. How are you feeling?" I open my mouth to talk, and the voice that comes out sounds nothing like me.
"I'm.. good." Martin sees me struggling and brings a cup of water to my lips. I sip the drink, my throat beginning to feel clearer.
"You've been asleep for about a week, Frank. You gave us all a scare, that's for sure." He chuckles slightly, and I look round at the other people. Donna, Mikey, Ray, Bob, Martin, and a few other doctors and nurses are here. The room is really crowded, that's for sure. There's no Gerard, though.
"Where's Gerard?" I sound a lot more like me now, but speaking still feels foreign. Everybody visibly winces, Donna's eyes filling with tears. Nobody says anything, making me feel sick. Finally, Martin breaks the silence as he sits by my bed.
"Frank, Gerard did a really, really brave thing for you," His eyes swim with sympathy, and my head starts spinning. Whatever he's going to tell me, it will crush me. I can hear and see t in him, and in the others. "He was your donor, Frank." I close my eyes, shaking my head. I start to laugh hysterically.
"No, he wasn't. This is all a joke. He's going to run through the door with coffee for us all," I look around at everybody, my head spinning and my eyes filling with tears. All of their faces are heart-broken, even the nurse's and the doctor's. "Come on, Gerard. This isn't fucking funny. Come out, right now," I look at the door, trying to sit up. I bite my lip, the laughter rising in me again. "This is a joke. It is, you are all just being sick bastards, this isn't fucking funny!" I raise my voice, a wave of nausea passing over me as I see Donna break down. Mikey's trying to hold his in, but a tear or two escape, then followed by several more. "It's a joke. Please tell me it's a joke. He can't do this to me, he really fucking can't. I need him..." I bury my face in my hands, the tears finally flowing. All trace of hysterical laughter vanishing as everything around me crashes down. "Shit... He actually went and did it, didn't he? Oh, fuck.. No.." The sentence comes out as a pained moan, hardly decipherable. "Fuck!" I bring my fists down onto the mattress, feeling like screaming. Everybody's silent apart from Donna and Mikey, who are still crying. I look up, tears still freely flowing. "Out! Everybody get the fuck out!" Nobody moves, making the rage inside me build up even more. "I said get the fuck out! Right fucking now!" They all look at me, making me angrier. "Get out!" It comes out as a strangled scream, my voice breaking half way into it. They all do, apart from Donna, who walks up to my bed, still crying.
"He.. left you... this. Read it." She pushes something into my hand, and then she walks out, starting to sob loudly. I don't look at the piece of paper, instead I start to hit the mattress again.
"Fuck!" I hit it again. "Why did he go and do that? I need him, I love him.." Another, weaker hit. "Shit, shit, shit. Why? Oh, what did you do, Gee?" I shout the why to the ceiling, talking to a God I don't believe in. I don't hit the mattress again, instead I'm overcome by sobs and I curl into a ball, crying loudly. I mutter things to myself in between the sobs, my voice weak.
It must be at least two hours later when I finally start to feel numbness. I just lie there, curled up, with silent, unfeeling tears rolling down my face. I remember the letter, and reach and grab it. I hold it to my chest for a minute, not daring to read it.
I finally find the balls to open it and read it, my tears dripping onto the tear stains that are already there.

Dear Frankie,
I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I had to do it, though. I couldn't let you die knowing I could do something to prevent it. I'm sorry I was so distant on our last days together, I just felt so overwhelmingly sad. I couldn't get too close to you, I'd end up breaking down.
I have some things you need to do for me, though. I'm not around to look out for you anymore, and I need to be reassured that you'll be okay. Mom and Mikey are going to look after you, you'll be okay, okay?
Okay, so the first thing I need you to do is be strong. This comes in hand with don't do anything stupid.
Don't turn to drugs or alcohol, don't become a whore. I know what grief does to somebody, I've been there. Just don't do what I did, anything but that. Be strong. Cry, scream, curse me out, get a shit load of tattoos, just be strong.
Take any medication the doctors give you. You may not have any, but if they check you out and you need medication for any mental disorders or for your liver and kidney, take them. Don't think about over-dosing, either. Remember, you're going to be strong.
Date other people. Live a little, don't spend your life moping around because of me. Date people, I don't mind, just as long as you're happy. Do whatever the fuck you want, but only if it makes you happy. Well, apart from the drugs, alcohol, and the whoring around. And suicide.
Take of of yourself in general. Remember to eat, drink, laugh, sing. I know what you're like, you forget to do things you should, like eating.
I've told mom and Mikey things about you as well, they promised me they'll look after you. They love you, just like me, okay?
Smile, even if it's fake. Laugh, even if it's at something stupid. Cry freely. Don't care about what anybody else thinks.
One more thing, remember there will always be a 'We'. I told you that I'll make sure there always is, and this letter is the only way I'll be able to do that. Remember it, but don't let it stop you from doing things, like dating, for instance. If it makes you happy to be by yourself, don't date anybody. But try it out for me, please.

I need you to be happy, Frankie. I don't really care how long it takes for that to happy, but I need you to be able to think to yourself, and say that you are happy. If you don't, I'll personally come as a ghost, and haunt you until you are.
I hope you understand why I did this, Frankie. If you don't then, I'm sorry, but you won't be able to get answers off of anybody.
But, I'll give you a clue;
I love you. I love you more than myself, I love you more than just about anything in the whole universe. I love you, and only you.
Don't forget it, but, as I said a second ago, don't let it get in the way with your life.
You're probably crying, which is okay, but I need you to smile through your tears, no matter how hard it gets. As you said to me, never let them take the light behind your eyes. You have too much potential for that to happen.
I have so much more to write to you, but my hands are shaking so much and I'm crying, so I can't read what I'm writing properly.
Be strong, Frankie. We will meet again, hopefully not soon, though.
I love you, so much.
Gerard.

I can barely read the last half, my vision is blurry from the tears that keep escaping. I'm also smiling. There are lots of emotions going through my head, but I can only distinctly pick out two: Sadness, and pride.
I'm so fucking proud of him, he was really brave. He knew he was going to die, but he still gave me his liver. I'm sad, the sadness is over-bearing, but the pride and love I have for him might be able to get me through.
I fold up the letter, still crying, and tuck it under my pillow. I roll onto my side, closing my eyes. I think about Gerard, and how I love him, and he loves me, and honestly, it's enough to quell the overwhelming heartache I'm feeling.

Notes

Two more chapters left, I think.
I hope you're all having good new years, I know I'm not.
I got pissed last night, and I've had a headache all day, so, guys, don't drink.
Thank you all for reading!xo