The Thing About Pain

I tried to remember why I had spewed out what I had, and I was remembering something. Something buried deep in my mind. It must have been something I shoved very far back, because I had no clues other than mirrors, people talking about episodes, and the whole reflections doing some creepy ass shit. I had a lead on nothing and I couldn't explain the lyrics. It was truly and honestly odd. I was trying so hard to fit the pieces together, but nothing was coming to me. It was bothering me now.
It seemed as if my whole life is a mystery itself. Bits and pieces missing, and in order to get the second piece, you need the third, and the fourth, to get the first. You couldn't win, no matter how hard you tried. Maybe if I were to see my file I wouldn't have a problem. I couldn't do that though, and I god damn wish I could. I could always break in couldn't I? But then again, that would be a shit idea, because if I got caught, that would be the end of it. The end of me.

"Frank? How are you doing?" My head snapped up towards the voice that I near immediately identified as Mikey's. I smiled at him.

"Better." I mumbled and began to play a few riffs from Dig Up Her Bones by The Misfits.

"That's good, well, I thought I'd let you know, I'm helping go through your parents papers and legal stuff, boring as hell I'll tell you that, but, Frank.... For a patient in a mental institute, you're loaded. I'm also taking care of Pansy. She's in good shape. I tuned her a little bit, and she's dust free. Once you get out, you need to gather your stuff from the house, and then you can sell it, and become even more loaded." Mikey laughed. With my parents dead, it means I inherit all their money, and my family was ranged in the upper middle class range on income, or so it was four years ago. "Dude, you have like a billion. I don't know how your family got as much, but you better be fucking happy they did." Mikey sauntered off to help some of the patients after he informed me of the news.
A billion dollars? How the hell did they manage that? Maybe because they didn't have to pay extra for other foods, and got to work more. Because I was just loose baggage waiting to be given away. Nobody really asked me anything, nobody ever did, and that's how it would always be, wouldn't it?
A few hours later, we finished, and packed every up, and tucked t away. Mikeey did the same, and left with a goodbye to Gerard and I, and a nod to everyone else, who, surprisingly erupted into a chorus of 'Goodbye, Mikey!'. Mrs. Lark congratulated Gerard and I for performing ahead of time and 'being exceptional and behaving very well when our guest came in'. Basically she thanked us for not being the assholes we usually are and then made us leave to go get diner.
Gerard and I got our meals. I received fettuccine with alfredo sauce, baked in an oven, and Gerard received some weird curry thing with vegetable samosas. Our meals got me to start thinking, and it was quite odd. I was thinking how maybe fettuccine may not want to have alfredo sauce on it all the time, and maybe it thinks it won't look as good as other things may look on it.
I think in metaphors.
And maybe it hated that look with a burning passion, like it was incomplete, and whenever it saw itself, it always thought 'Why can't I love myself'? And maybe it's because this is what other people expect of it. Maybe it's because other people make it the way it is. And I began to think, what if this applied to people? What if everyone hated themselves because they weren't the way they were told they should be? Was that my problem with mirrors? That I was like one of those people who didn't fit under the criteria of how I'm supposed to be, but I try to be how I'm supposed to in other ways, in ways society will love, and I sacrifice my happiness for it?

"What are you thinking of, love?" Gee asked me in concern.

"Fettuccine relating to society." I muttered, and my train of thought kept going. Maybe all of this hallucinating is a side effect of depression, or maybe it's something made up? I would never know though because it's too believable, and when I start to convince myself it's fake, it suddenly becomes true. The never ending cycle of 'Real or Fake?'. Or maybe I'm just too crazy for my own good. But whatever it was. It was gnawing away at my sanity.

"Frankie, are you okay?" He asked me. I just nodded a yes and continued eating. I needed to simply calm the fuck down. I was over analyzing wasn't I? At least I thought until I saw Timmy talking to Joker Boy on the other side of the room.

"Gerardwegottagetouttahere." I whispered as fast as I could.

"Sorry?"

"Gerardwehavetogetoutofhere." I spoke a little louder.

"Frankie, it's hard to understand-"

"Gerard we need to get out of here, NOW!" He nodded, got up, and we both left, with very little food left in our trays. Once we disposed of it all, I grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the cafeteria and nearly sprinted down the halls and we tumbled into our room, gasping for air. I slammed to door shut and I locked it. Yes. We had locks on our doors for night purposes. I locked the door and engulfed Gerard in a big hug, hoping that he could save me from myself, my demons, and just the world itself.

Notes