I'm not Okay

FRANK POV
I watch him walk away. Every extra second I spend now staring at his ass as he walks down that hall will come back to bite me when I have to spend equivalent time in purgatory but at the moment I don’t care. Even after he’s gone around the corner I wait in the hall. I walk as far to the edge of my boundary as I can. Same as last time. I still can’t believe that in all this time Gerard never asked why I didn’t leave this part of the hall. Or how I died. In fact Gee leaves himself big fucking holes that I know I’d be dying to fill if I were him. Now I’m dying for him to ask because I’ve prepared long ass speeches. I’ve even perfected the wording just so. I guess he’s probably assumed what happened or something. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
I go to stand by the window and watch him and who I assume is Mikey, his brother, walk away through the car park.
He doesn’t look back but I can see him hunch his shoulders against the cold. I try and remember what it’s like being cold. Maybe I’m cold right now, maybe I’ll be cold forever and not realise it. I try and remember what it’s like being hot.
Maybe souls aren’t meant to feel temperatures.
Some guys are approaching Gerard. They don’t match the description he gave of Jack and Alex. I start getting really nervous just looking out the window. One of the boys shoves Gerard into a car next to him. “You fucking prick,” I gasp, pressing harder now on the glass.
Gerard’s brother tries shooing them or something but before he can help Gerard off the ground the other boy kicks Gerard square in the stomach and then jogs off. I only realise now that I’m kicking the glass and growling. I wish I could fucking haunt the shit out of those assholes.
Gerard and his brother, Mikey, walk shakily off and only when they are well out of sight do I walk back to the locker.
I stand on my hands against a yew tree for a while thinking about what Gerard had said before he went home. I don’t want to have to face another day; I don’t want to have to spend another second with the people of this world; is dying painful; why would I stay here with them when I could stay there with you. I don’t really see why he would stay in that world anyway.
I know what I would do. Well that’s because I know what I did. Only he would have to spend three hours or so feeling the last sensation to “keep the balance”.
I return to my feet. I don’t know why I don’t stand upside down all the time, just because I can. I don’t get tired and my head doesn’t hurt.
I wander around the patches of yews for a long while. My thoughts drift but mainly I think of Gerard’s predicament. What if he hangs himself like I did and has to feel that terrible choking feeling for three hours? Surely someone would find him within that time and fucking bring him back to life. Then the whole exercise would be pointless and everyone would think him some miracle being able to survive hanging. Then the scientists would get him and after tests and trying to hang him again, at some point the three hours would be up and he’d die in some government facility nowhere near me and have to spend his eternity completely alone.
Maybe I’m thinking too deeply.
He could drown. I hear it’s peaceful. But can anything that kills you by stopping the process of breathing really be peaceful, I don’t want him to die like that.
He could sit in a bonfire. If he burned down to ash how could he really survive three hours. I push that thought away as quickly as I can, fate would find a way. Anyway burning would fucking hurt.
If he shot himself would he have to feel the pain of having a bullet in him for those three hours? That would be truly fucking terrible. There’s no way anyone could resuscitate him then with a bullet lodged in his brain. Oh god he’d have that feeling for all purgatory then too and when he finally got here he would probably be gone insane with the pain.
No, shooting himself would be bad. No matter the glamour he seems to feel for blowing his brains against the ceiling.
That reminds me, I can’t believe Kurt Cobain shot himself. A whole generation of kids will be warned not to listen to him now because that would be a bad influence. I’ve seen it before and fuck it nirvana had some excellent songs and even better messages but if Cobain did kill himself society would immediately condemn it. I pause from considering Gerard’s options for a while to sing some nirvana songs into a tree before continuing on again.
Maybe he could stab himself… no that would be super sore for three hours as well. Not to mention having to spend the rest of eternity with a random stab wound he’d end up having to try explain to everyone here.
There must be a way he could die in his sleep. Peacefully like so the extra three hours wouldn’t be noticed.
Inspiration hits me later when I overhear a conversation between some of the women. “He made a deal with fate.” “I know it’s been a very long time!” “Well he said he just couldn’t tolerate the feeling anymore. After years of drug addiction he only doesn’t want to be high now that he’s dead.”
I know now, Gerard could overdose. Then at least in those three hours he could just be high. Then when he gets here I’ll bring him to get a deal with fate and after some little fucked up task he can be okay and we can live here forever.

“Oh,” Gerard says during his lunch break when I tell him my idea. He’s eating a disturbingly oily slice of pizza. He’s got a black eye and a bust up lip. He says he got jumped yesterday and doesn’t know who did it. I believe him, despite seeing those boys yesterday. I’d been beat up plenty of times and I know that what they did couldn’t have caused such injuries to his face.
“Well? Would you consider it?” I don’t mean to sound so pushy. Fuck sake Frank.
“Well, yes. Yes I will. I have absolutely no want to stay here and that means I wouldn’t be in pain for those three hours right?
I nod, “I don’t think that would hurt. I mean I’ve done drugs, they don’t hurt.”
He visibly turns this over in his mind while finishing the pizza. “What drug would you suggest then?”
“Something that gets you very high so you can enjoy it,” I say, wondering if there are any new drugs since I died.
“So…?”
“Heroin?”
He goes pale, “no way. No needles man.”
“You could snort it, then you’d die for sure.” He looks unamused. Maybe it’s too early to joke about the end. That’s literally the only kind of humour on the otherside.
“Em… Cocaine?” I suggest. Gerard shakes his head. “Why not?”
“I don’t want my family to find me like that. I don’t want to leave with the reputation of an addict,” he says this very matter-of-factly. I don’t get the point of this at all but whatever.
“Okay, what about an anti-depressant. You just talk to a therapist, get a prescription, take a month’s worth of pills in an hour. See some groovy shit, then join me.” I’m a fucking genius and he better appreciate this.
“Never ever say groovy again, but yes. Yes that could work. It would be very easy for me to get prescribed,” he says proudly.
“What, how?”
“I just tell them how I really feel.”

It takes Gerard eleven sessions with the school councillor to convince Mr. Corgan that he needs professional help. I believe he could have done this much quicker but I feel his reluctance to talk about his feelings with anyone. It’s February apparently, that no longer means anything to me. Come to think of it, it never really did.
I’m lying under a tree for hours it’s a Saturday in the land of the breathing so there’s no real point in me leaving. I got Gerard to leave me books in the classroom and I’d go up and read them only that on weekends they lock the classrooms. I tried bringing books in here but it didn’t work. Fate is fucking sick of the mingling between realities.
Someone comes over to me while I’m attempting to shimmy up a yew tree after a while. “Frank Iero?” he says.
“Howdy do?” I reply. I’m halfway up the yew and they’re still taller.
“Uh someone has arrived down here and they’re asking for you,” he says and I half throw myself half fall on the floor next to him.
He doesn’t say anything just follows behind quietly as I run as fast as I can manage, even stumbling every few feet. “Gerard” I half mumble half call half wonder. I am aware that nothing has three halves but fuck logic.
I push through the random gathering of people calling “Gerard? Gerard!”
I break through them but not to see Gerard, instead there stands my mother. “Oh Frank!” she gasps and throws her seventy something year old self at me.

Nothing like catching up with family after twenty three years. I tell mom how much I’ve missed her and I explain the situation. I continue on to explain that I was in fact in her house around my birthday and that I’m terribly sorry for blowing out the birthday candles on the cake she made to celebrate my birthday without me and scaring her shitless.
It takes her an understandably long time to process everything. Every now and again while I’m, speaking she’d interject with, “You look exactly as you did the day we buried you,” or “what a pretty tree that is.”
When she does finally begin to realise this is real she gets very angry. “You left me!” she states.
“I had to mom.”
“No you did not! Young man you broke my heart. You broke my heart and left it in pieces for twenty three years. Twenty three long years! You selfish boy, how could you do that. Did your friends even cross your mind?”
“I didn’t have friends, mom.”
“Don’t you interrupt me, yes you most certainly did. You had that one boy, whatshisname and he went completely crazy afterwards. You know he went into school and tried to set some boys who were mean to you on fire? Of course you didn’t because you left,” she spits the words accusingly, “and that’s not even considering your family. Did your family ever cross your mind Frank? Did you ever even consider what you were doing to me? What you were doing to your aunts and uncles? And your little cousins who idolised you. They were all so young Frank and we had to explain to them that they weren’t going to see you again. Oh how Louisa balled her eyes out! You inconsiderate, selfish boy. You have no idea how many hearts you broke. Two of your teachers resigned, your friends all lost their minds with guilt! And me Frank, excuse me if I was selfish but you were my only child and you left me. A mother is not supposed to bury her son.”

Notes

Hi guys!
This morning i thought i was feeling better so i went into school. Big. Fucking. Mistake. Seriously i randomly broke out with a fever during Irish and i couldn't take off my jumper even though i was sweating because i had a short sleeved shirt under. Then i had such a coughing fit in my free class i fell off my chair... I also gave up walking and fell to my knees in the middle of French. I'm giving my class fuel to think i'm an absolute weirdo. Then in my last class some lads made antifeminist jokes and i lost my shit completely :/
Sorry for always ranting to you here :L
Thank you for reading my weird ass gay stories and reading my complaints, :* I'll update soon