I'm not Okay

GERARD POV
I leave the sparkling white of the therapists’ foyer. I’ve heard of loads of studies that suggest certain colours help with your mood. Therapists should probably take a page from that fucking book, and not surround your depressed patients with bright lights and white walls. It gives off the vibe that you were being studied, not helped. Anyway, I didn’t have to wait long for the therapist to call me in. We came straight here after school on Friday and my uniform was beginning to itch me with help of the weird seats in the white room. The long thin woman I presume is the therapist, went to university with Mr. Corgan, apparently, only she continued on to be even more qualified and had published a shit ton of books on depression in teenagers. Looking at her across the desk, her qualifications a halo of certificates behind her, you’d think she was never a teenager.
The room is much more okay than the foyer. It has cream walls but wooden floors. A massive window takes up one wall and a series of bookshelves and an abstract painting take up another wall. I stare at the painting for a while. I have never see a womb, my eyes being closed when I was in one, but if I had to describe what a womb looks like, that painting would be it.
“Hello, Gerard,” the therapist said, pulling my attention away from the wall.
“Hello.”
We spoke pleasantries for the first thirteen minutes. Not what she was hoping for obviously. After the general stuff she says the obvious kick starter, “How are you feeling, Gerard?”
“The weather seems to be getting better,” I’d said, staring out the big glass window onto the carpark. No frost this morning for some really strange reason.
“Do you feel like the weather, Gerard?”
“Do you?”
“Do I?”
“Yes, Mrs… Dr Spelunker.”
“We’re not here to talk about me.”
“Oh yea. What was the question again?”
“Do you feel like the weather?”
“I rarely feel breezy or snowy, what’s the relevance doctor?”
“You know there is relevance there, Gerard.”
“Ah yes. Shrinks love the metaphors. Well I don’t know, doctor, if I like the cold then if I say I’m feeling chilly like the weather would you take that as the way you feel when you are chilly or the way I do, because I like the cold. And if I said I feel like the weather in the way that I’m not frosty every morning how would you take that considering I do so love the cold. Doctor.” I lean back in my seat and see her eyes twinkle above the rims of her wire glasses.
“You’re a very intelligent boy,” she said obviously thinking that over.
“I’m not really, I’m averaging a D even though I mainly get less.”
“Then how are you averaging a D?”
“I got an E in math, Doc, I have no idea how to average things.”
So I continue like that for a while before I say anything of real importance. It takes me a while to warm up, really. After I admitted that I like the cold because I feel like I don’t deserve the heat anymore we began a new series of metaphors.
They were based on me being a fish. So cliché. “Do you feel like you’re trying to swim against the current?”
“I am flowing against the current.”
“Sometimes that can make you stronger.”
“Sometimes it can make you change course.”
“Will it make you change yours?”
“Nope.”
“And high school can be so big, do you often feel out of your depth?”
“What kind of sucky-ass fish can get out of their depth?”
“Metaphorically, Gerard.” She’d sighed then. I wonder if she’s supposed to do that or if I’m just so goddam exasperating.
Soon the forty minute first session was over and I was sent into the fucking pale divinity of the waiting room while my mom discussed me with Dr Spelunker.
“You want to get some food sweetie?” my mom says a pace or two behind me.
“Sure. Am I getting another appointment?” I try to sound uninterested.
“Let’s discuss this over lunch. That lovely coffee place on Parker’s Avenue perhaps?” Oh shit.
“Why can’t you just tell me whether I will go back into that white world or do you really need to get on my good side with coffee?”
My mom sighs and gets in the car. I guess this information really does need coffee.
“I am scheduled to go to sessions twice a week,” I say to Frank on Monday at lunch. I couldn’t that morning because he told me his mom had died and even though he obviously wasn’t grieving, it just didn’t seem cool to talk about that.
“Oh good,” Frank smiles.
“I haven’t been prescribed yet though, this woman seems fucking professional. I wish I got one who hands out pills easy. She’s published loads of books and I think one of them might be all anti-antidepressants,” I take another bite of my home made sandwich. It tastes fucking strongly of garlic, I have no idea why. Maybe I used the wrong knife… or plate… or maybe I put garlic in…
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Good.”
“How the fuck is that good?”
“Because then you won’t die.” I look at him under knitted brows. He looks completely sincere.
“What?”
“Maybe what can be our always.”
“What?”
“What.”
“No seriously. What do you mean?”
He throws a blue book at me. The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. “Frank..?”
“It’s good, if not a bit girly. Apparently it’s becoming a movie.”
I sigh, “Became. All the girls here are into it. But seriously Frank what’s up? You’re acting different.”
“Yep. I have changed my mind.”
“About?
“You.”
My jaw drops. Does he just not like me anymore? Has he found some hot dead person… or has his mom said something? He isn’t looking at me the same way at all how the fuck didn’t I notice it. He seems so passive, dismissive, tired and he can’t be tired because he’s dead and dead people don’t tire. How the fuck am I so blind and stupid that I didn’t see when he liked me at first and now that he’s stopped and fuck it why are my eyes watering this is pathetic and lame.
“Gerard…”
“Why,” I cough more in protest than actually asking. I must look so stupid and sad right now.
“I just don’t think that this… that this is a good idea. You have a family. And you have friends. Don’t lie you do,” he looks uncomfortable. My mind is searching for the relevance of.
“Frank, if you don’t like me that way anymore just say it. I don’t like trying to guess this shit.” My heart is pounding hard. Maybe he is being very plain and I’m just not getting it because my brain won’t let me see past the fucking pain of it. Rejection is better than being dumped by somoeone you are going to die for.
He looks kind of surprised. Thanks Frank, add to my what-the-fuck thought process. “Gerard, I do like you, a shitton in fact, I just really think you shouldn’t die.”
Oh. “Oh.”
The silence is thick enough to cut it with a knife.
Well apparently a hiccup has the same tension-breaking ability. “Oh I forgot about hiccupping!” Frank exclaims. “I haven’t hiccupped since I died!”
“Why would you even?” I laugh. Both of us return to quiet pondering after a second, my hiccups muffled.
“I think I may need to explain my reason for this,” Frank says after another minute.
Then the fucking bell rings.
“I should go,” I say angrily.
Frank nods, “yep, after school.”
I dash out and turn awkwardly at a run down the hall.
After art, I push through the throngs of people to get to my locker. By the turn down to my corridor I find Jack doubled over and coughing his lungs up and Alex all but pissing his pants with laughter.
“What the fuck, Alex is he okay?” I say dropping my sketchbook immediately to hit Jack on the back. He makes a small gurgling noise and spits something into his hand but continues coughing. He gestures for me to stop and I take a step back.
“Alex you fucking idiot he was choking,” I say before bending down to pick up my book.
“Yea but the irony of it was funny,” Alex says and then looks at Jack, “sorry, just you were choking on a lifesaver, you gotta see the irony. Also I didn’t think it was actually choking.”
“Not funny Alex he may have actually died,” I sigh.
“Yea but I didn’t think he was actually choking. I thought he was just doing it for the irony,” Alex suddenly looks guilty. “Sorry Jack,” he says with outstretched arms, inviting Jack into a hug.
“You fucking prick,” Jack laughs shoving his shoulder lightly.
“Okay… I have to go get my books,” I say beginning down the hall.
“We’re walking you home so hurry the fuck up!”
Frank is waiting, staring out at the carpark, forehead pressed to the window.
“Hi,” I open my locker.
“Hello.”
“So…?”
“You can’t die because that would be selfish.”
“No it wouldn’t I want it too. I’m not just doing this for you, stupid, I’m trying to get out of here,” I swing my arm to gesture at the school, hitting it hard off the open locker door.
“You’re graduating soon.”
“Not soon enough.”
“You, Gerard, have survived eighteen years, you can survive a few more months.”
“You couldn’t, you fucking hung yourself with even less time to go!” He winces. A step too far possibly.
“Yea. Yea I did but don’t be an asshole, Gee. I was selfish. I left my family.”
“My family will be okay without me. I’m just a burden at this stage.”
Frank is shaking his head. “No, Gee, no they won’t be. I was dead twenty three years and my mom never got over it.”
“Whatever,” I pick up my school bag and march away. This isn’t how he’s supposed to act. He’s supposed to make it easier.

Notes

Yo y'all!
I did not go into school today and spent the day watching music videos and reading a book i got off my friend but i did manage to update, because yea ^ that's it.
You know that relative you have (possibly, idk you might not) that if you weren't related and were, say, in the same school, you'd be complete opposites. Like the other day i was talking to my cousin who is like weirdly popular and has loads of friends and she saw a poster on my wall of Fall Out Boy and told me about these two "proper creeps" in her class who played FOB. I got all defensive of the honour of fob and she said, "no but Ella these are ACTUAL emos and they're really weird and annoying and all they do is listen to music and draw". Like, oh. That's literally me.
Anyhow the rest of the chapters will be in Gerard POV and I shall update with great haste i think! Thanks for reading :))