Before The Sun Goes Down

Frank's POV
I wake up screaming and crazed.
I rip all of the wires and tubes attached to me and jump out of the bed, breathing heavily.
I stop moving for a second at look at where I am. The room is white- fucking fabulous- and there's three machines around me that I have no clue what they are or what they do. There's a chair, but it's obvious nobody's sat in it or anything while I've been in here, the curtains are closed, and the room is overall depressing and dingy.
I run to the door and open it, making everyone outside look up and stop moving. They stare at me while I stare back at all of them. My chest is heaving up and down and I can hear an uneven dripping noise.
“Frank!” A doctor runs down the ward, waving his hands in the air erratically.
He's after me. He wants me to go back to the fucking mental hospital. I can't go back there.
I panic, looking around. I can hardly see anything without it spinning. I just start running. I run the opposite way to the doctor, and I hear more drips.
Only when I slip on something do I look to see what it is. I've slipped in blood. My blood. My blood is falling from my legs and arms. The blind panic that I'm in stops for a minute as I remember what I did to myself to cause the cuts on my arms, and I start retching.
I did this to myself, I made myself bleed all over the place and to have scars and everything. But that isn't what's making my stomach turn, it's the fact that I enjoyed it. It felt good, all of the blood everywhere and no more white. I didn't even feel the pain.
“Frank! Come back!” My head snaps backwards, seeing the doctor near me. I start running again, forgetting about the blood and the cuts and just running. I run down the stairs, my breath come out in shaky gasps and my legs burning.
Keep running.
I have to keep running, I have to get out.
I slide around a corner, sliding and slipping on my own drops of blood. The corner is where I slide too much and fall over. My aching legs won't let me stand back up again, now that they've stopped, they've turned into jelly.
The thought makes me laugh, hysterically and loudly. But, it also makes me cry, loudly and hysterically. While laughing, I try to staunch the blood flow by ripping some of my hospital gown off and wrapping it around my arms and my legs. The blood seems to stop, 'seems' to stop.
“Frank...” The voice isn't a shout any more, it's more of a breathy gasp, but it's behind me and it makes me jump forwards. The movement makes me realize how light-headed I am. I'm dizzy and my heads spinning. I feel sick again, but I feel like I can't move.
I'm still laughing and crying. The sound has mingled into more of a happy sob, which makes me laugh harder due to the strangeness of the sound.
“Frank, I need you to keep still for me, okay?” I look at the doctor, who's red-faced and still breathless, and I start purposely moving. He studies me for a minute, his shoulders slumped. I can barely see through my tears. Then, he gets out a Walkie Talkie and starts talking into it.
“Yeah, I need back-up... Uh-huh... Yeah, second floor... Okay... Yeah..” I lie down, still laughing. My eyes start to feel heavy, though, and I close them, my laughter dying down.
“No, Frank. You have to stay awake, okay? Talk to me, Frank. Tell me about your family, Frank.” I open my eyes a little.
“Which part?”
“Uh... Your parents?” I bitterly laugh this time, opening my eyes wider.
“My mom got murdered by my dad. I stabbed my dad and burnt him alive.” He's silent for a minute, so I try to sit up. His face is priceless. At least to me it is. His mouth is wide open, his eyes bugging out. His cheeks are still bright red, and he's sat on the floor. Once he sees me looking at him, he changes his expression and looks at me instead of staring.
“Okay, Frank. I'm sorry for you loses... What about a girlfriend?” His lack of knowledge about my background shocks my sleepy state.
“No... girlfriend..” I yawn, lying down again.
“No, Frank! Sit up again, okay?” I let my eyes close and I don't answer him.
Distantly, I hear footsteps and people talking. After that, I can't hear anything else because I'm asleep.
I wake up once again attached to various machines, but this time I'm too tired and sore to even think about running again without wincing. I just look straight ahead, at the ceiling, and try to forget about the throbbing in my arms.
“Ah, Mr Iero, you're awake.” The male voice snaps me out of my daze and I look at him.
He's pretty young, with a sharp jaw and brown eyes. His hair is blonde, and he's taller than Gerard.
I stare blank-faced at him, not answering. He looks slightly uncomfortable, and he looks away and reads my vital chart.
He leaves the room and after a minute he's back with the same doctor that chased me down. The doctor smiles at me.
“Mr Iero. How do you feel?” I look away, staring at the ceiling again. “Frank.” I look at him again, a horrible clown-smile on my face.
“Yes, doctor?”
“Um...” He looks away for a second and I drop my smile. “Well, you know why you're in here, don't you?” I nod, glancing at my arms.
“I cut myself up.” He nods, not looking me in the eyes.
“You lost a lot of blood, Mr Iero. A hell of a lot, and you've had several blood transfusions.”
“Anything else?” He checks over his notes, tutting every so often.
“You're malnourished. You were very malnourished when you were admitted to hospital after hurting your head, and your body kept rejecting most foods. This is the healthiest weight you've been in a while, and it's still very underwieght.” I gulp, blinking a few times.
“Um... Oh.” He nods, pursing his lips.
“Now, do you have any recollection on what's been happening to you recently?” He moves over to sit in the chair, leaning towards me.
“Um...” I clear my throat. “Um... I was in a coma, wasn't I? For two months?” He nods, so I continue. “After that I got put into that hospital... Um...?”
“Montcromary Way Hospital, Frank.” I nod, carrying on.
“Most of that is a blur. I was on a load of pills, and I had stuff going on. I can remember the last day, though.” He looks at me, narrowing his eyes.
“What do you remember?” I inhale deeply, closing my eyes.
“I did this to myself. I remember seeing things, like, of what I'd done. But, I can't remember doing any of it, it's all completely different. I got confused, and I totally freaked out. I did this and the wall and sheets in my room got covered in blood.” I lick my lips, swallowing hard.
“You didn't just do that,” I open my eyes sharply and stare at him. “Yes, you 'freaked out' but you didn't just hurt your arms and legs, you damaged your vocal cords badly from screaming, you broke an orderlies arm, you destroyed your room basically.” My mouth is open and hanging.
“I didn't.”
“You did. But, you should be speaking to a doctor from Montcromary to talk about all of this.”
“No.” He looks at me from looking down at his notes.
“What?” I shake my head.
“I am not going back there. I'm not going to step foot in that hospital again, doctor. That place is hell, it didn't make me better, it made me worse!” He closes his notebook, placing it inside a pocket.
“You have to go back. There are no if's, but's, or maybe's about it. You aren't safe to be out in the public, you aren't stable enough to go to a different, less stricter hospital. I'm sorry, Frank, but you are going back, and you're going back as early as tomorrow.”
“No! I'm not fucking going back!” I struggle to get up, the wires and tubes attached to me restricting my movement.
“Mr Iero, calm down before we have to sedate you.” His calm, droning tone only makes me madder, and I start- once again- ripping out the wires and the IV. I get up, wobbling. The doctor has also stood up and is pressing a red button on the wall repeatedly.
“Fuck you! I'm not going back.” I pull his head backwards using his hair, making him squeal slightly.
“Mr Iero, get you hands off of me, right now! Security is coming!” I yank harder, spitting in his face.
“No!” I yank his head down, and he falls to the floor, his chest heaving. The door bursts open and I manage to kick him once before I'm disabled and dragged out of the room. “Get off me! You're going to rip open my fucking stitches, you bastards!” They let me go, only one holding onto me to stop me from falling over.
Something goes around my wrist, something cold. I look down and see a handcuff round my wrist and the other one attached to a pipe. I growl and pull my hand backwards, towards my chest. I struggle with the handcuffs and soon I have to sit down because I'm starting to feel light-headed again.
I sit with my legs crossed and a wrist in the air. I glare at the security around me, snapping my teeth and spitting if one gets too close. I mutter curses to myself, getting more and more worked up and angry as the minutes pass. All of the security are staring at me.
“What the fuck are you staring at! Fuck off and stop fucking staring at me!” They all keep looking at me. “Stop it!” They look away, and the silence resumes.
After half an hour, two men and a woman come in, wearing nurse uniforms. They nod at the security, so one walks over to me.
“Touch me and I'll fucking kill you.” He gulps, staring at me warily as he gets closer.
“Listen, I'm only unlocking your cuff, mate.” I glare at him harder.
“Still, if you touch me, I'll kill you and your fucking family.” I smile at him, and he gulps again.
He carefully unlocks the cuffs, not touching me once. I honestly thought he would touch me, considering his hands we shaking that much.
I leave with the woman and the men silently.
“I have to go outside wearing this?” I gesture down at myself. They nod, making me groan and stop walking. “No.”
“Yes, Mr Iero.” I stamp my foot and shake my head. I stay like this for several minutes before they crack.
“Fine, we'll get you something else,” A man stays with me while the other two go and find me something else to wear.
“Mr Iero, my name is Phil. Your name's Frank, isn't it?” I drag my eyes to him, sighing.
“Yes, it is. But you can't call me that, Phil.” His face falls slightly.
“Why not?” I roll my eyes, crossing my arms.
“Because you can't. I say that you can't, and it's my name.” He looks at me for a second, mild annoyance on his face, then he looks away, sighing.
We stand in silence until they come back, with some sweatpants and a grey t-shirt.
“Get changed in there.” She points to the toilet, her voice impatient.
“Oh, thank you ever so much. I'm forever in your debt, ma'am.” I turn around, going into the bathroom. I lock the door and get changed, feeling so dirty as I do. I need a shower.
The woman drives back, and I'm sat in the back, sandwiched in between the two guys, Phil, and the other one. Honestly, the journey is painful. Phil kept glancing at me out the corner of his eye, and the other guy spelt painfully like old, stale sweat. The music on the radio was almost making me scream, the stupid repetitive verses and the horrible tune drove me crazy.
The hospital I was at isn't too far from from Montcromary, so I didn't have to put up with the music and Mr Sweaty for very long.
“Excuse me?” I tap the dude on the shoulder, making him look at me.
“Yes?” I smile.
“Have you ever heard of deodorant?” He blinks at me, the tips of his ears getting red.
“Uh..Uh.. Yes?” I nod, smiling.
“Perhaps you should use it, then. Just a tip.” I pat his cheek, then I follow Phil out of the car and back into Montcromary.
I pause at the doors, tempted to kick up a fuss and refuse to go in. I know my efforts would be in vain, though, because there's a high chance they'd just sedate me and carry me in.
Gulping, I open one of the doors and slowly walk in. Phil is now behind me, and I can feel how tense he is. I try to relax, breathing in and out deeply, but I just get more worked up.
“Calm down.” I feel a hand on my shoulder and tense up, spinning round and catching him with my fist. It was only Phil.
“Oh, God, I'm sorry...” He hold his cheek, shaking his head and trying to smile.
“Don't worry about it, I should have known.” I duck my head, walking in farther.
We're met by a doctor, not one that I recognize.
“Ah, Frank. You're back.” His enthusiasm is as false as his smile.
“Not voluntarily.” He purses his lips, looking at Phil.
“Whatever happened to you cheek? That looks bad, do you want some ice?” Phil, still wincing, shakes his head.
“No, I've got to go, actually,” He looks at me. “Bye, Frank.” He waves, and I wave back.
Once he's gone, the doctor looks back at me.
“Frank, you have a new room. Follow me, please.” I struggle to keep up with his pace, and almost lose him a few times, but I manage.
My 'new' room looks exactly the same as my old one, but we only make a short stop there so I can change into the clothes all of the patients wear, which is a white t-shirt and some grey, weird-looking pants.
“Okay, now, follow me again, please.” I sigh, pulling on my last shoe and following him again, almost having to run to keep up with him this time.
We stop at a oak door, and the doctor knocks. A smiley woman, around thirty years old, answers.
“Hello!” She looks at me for a second, smiling. “You must be Frank!” I nod, cringing at the falsetto of her voice. “Well, it's nice to meet you, come on in.” I look to the doctor, and he nods, so I go in.
He doesn't follow, and she locks the door behind her.
“Why am I here?” She gestures to a chair, so I sit, and she sits in the other one.
“In the hospital or in this room?”
“Just here in general. I'm not crazy.” She crosses one leg over the other.
“No, you aren't crazy. The definition of crazy is: mad, especially as manifested in wild or aggressive behaviour,” She looks at me carefully, fidgeting. “Would you think that's the definition? Something as simple as that?” I stare back at her, my eye narrowing.
“No, you wouldn't.” She smiles again.
“Would you say that you're wild? Aggressive?” I give her no answer, so she continues. “What would you describe yourself as?” She tilts her head, looking uncannily like a bird.
I think for a minute. “I... don't know. I'm not really anything any more.” She leans forward, her eyes glittering.
“I'm sure that isn't true, Frank. From what I can tell, you're intelligent, nice, you like tattoos,” I look at my arms, smiling slightly at the art. Well, the art is partially ruined now. “Think to before you came here, Frank. What would you describe yourself as then?” I keep my eyes lowered, and my voice is lower.
“Erratic,” I think back to all of the arguments I had with everyone, I think back to all of the alcohol, to Miles, to Gerard, to Mikey. “Idiotic. Scared, stupid...” I look back up to her.
“Why would you say that?”
“I... Something happened to me, and I lost it. I turned into someone else, someone scared and lost. That isn't me, the real me can manage a laugh without being off my face on drugs or alcohol.” She nods, a sympathetic smile on her face.
“What happened, Frank?” I bite my lip, swallowing.
“I knew someone, he was called Miles... and he... he...” I choke on my words, my foot tapping.
“Take your time, it's okay.” I sigh, nodding.
“I can't say it; what he did, it's too difficult.” She nods, leaning back in her chair.
“Let me tell you something, Frank.”
“What?” She smiles a faraway, thin-lipped smile.
“I have two kids, a daughter and a son. It's what I always dreamed of having. My son was born first, he's around seven now. I got married young, but we loved each other, and we still do,” She looks at me, her eyes shining. “But three years ago, we went out, just us. My son was with a babysitter, and we went and had some dinner, then we went to a nice little bar,” She pauses, bending down and grabbing her handbag. She pulls out her purse, and hold it out to me. “That's my son, Jason,” She points to a picture of a little boy, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cute little smile. “That's my husband, Mike,” She points to a middle-aged man. “And that's my little girl, Marcy,” Finally, she point to a toddler, with a brunette with wild curls.
“Your kids are lovely.” She nods, looking down at the pictures, smiling.
“Mike isn't Marcy's father, Frank,” She looks at me, setting down her purse. “Marcy's father is in a prison cell.” I raise my eyebrows.
“For.. um... ra-” She cuts me off, nodding.
“Yes, for rape. For the rape of me, Frank, and because of him I got given a daughter,” She smiles, her eyes brimming with tears. “A daughter I didn't want or was ready for, but still a tiny human being that I love with all of my soul,” Her watery smile drops and she looks at me seriously. “I felt... so dirty, so unclean after it happened. For months after it I wouldn't leave the house, eat properly, sleep properly. We didn't know I was pregnant until I started throwing up a lot and we went to the doctors- STD check.” I nod.
“So, Mike has stuck by you?” She nods, smiling.
“Mike has been great, Frank. He never once lost his temper with me, he didn't turn distant with Marcy. He's a great father, to both Jason and Marcy.”
“What about... him?” Her face darkens as she thinks about him.
“The night that it happened, Mike found me, bleeding and half-dressed, unconscious. I talk in my sleep, so that's how he knew, and that's why we told the police. I never would've went if else, I wouldn't have been able to bring myself to do it, you know?” I nod, thinking to how I was- the thought of telling the police never even crossed my mind.
“I understand.” She looks at me for a second, and as we lock eyes, I fell something I haven't felt in a while- not fully, anyway. She looks at me with total understanding and acceptance, because, unlike Mikey and Gerard, she knows.
“I know you do, Frank. My rapist got five years, but he could be out next year. It happened in a few states over, but that doesn't stop me being terrified, y'know?” I nod again. “I took a lot of time off from my job- which is a psychiatrist- and started seeing a therapist, started looking after my kids again, started looking after myself again. Having Marcy almost killed me, but it's one of the best things in the world- to hold your own child.” She smiles again, stopping her story and looking past me for a minute.
“What's you name?” She looks at me again, her eyes normal again.
“Stacey, and your name is Frank Iero, formally Frank Iero-Way.” At the mention of a certain Way, I stiffen up.
“How do you know that?” She pulls a file from under the desk, placing it in front of her and tapping it.
“I know just about everything from your past that has been reported to the authorities, Frank.” I eye the file, wanting very much to burn it.
“So... You know about my mom and dad, about Donna, Mikey, what happened in high school...” I pause. “About... Gerard?” She nods, tapping the file again.
“I know all of that, and probably more.”
“More?” She nods, leaning forward.
“Listen, Frank, you have a tendency to block things out, okay?” I narrow my eyes. “If I told you that in kindergarten one time, you gave one kid a black-eye, another a nosebleed, and a teaching assistant bruises and scratches all up her legs, would you believe me?” I stare at her, my eyes wide open.
I'm silent for several minutes, thinking hard. Memories are slowly coming back to me, like water trickling through a desert. The harder I think, the clearer these memories become.
Me, hitting and lashing out at the teacher assistant. Me, making some little kid bleed.
“Yes, I would.”
“And why is that?” I'm silent again for a minute, still thinking about that day.
“Because, as soon as you said it, I started remembering it.” She looks at me with somewhat renewed interest.
“You did? How?” She leans forward, resting her chin on her palm.
“I just thought really hard about it...” I shrug, looking down.
“And... the memories started appearing?” I nod, shrugging again.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Hm... okay,” She starts writing things down, looking through things. “Now, Frank. Things like that happened quite a lot until you moved here, with your mom. Do you want to know why I think it stopped?” I nod, so she continues. “Yet met Gerard, didn't you?” His name is like a knife twisting n my heart.
“I did. How would that have stopped things?” She smiles, shifting slightly.
“I'm just assuming things here, but you fell in love him quickly and hard, didn't you?” I smile at this, thinking back to before things went crazy.
“Yeah, I love him.”
“Well, the good energy from the love would have helped put a stop to it, and the fact that nothing really happened in that time to make you lash out and blackout, did it?”
“I had a fight with Gerard, surely that could have made me do it?”
“How bad was the fight?” She's frowning, her arms crossed.
“Really bad... We didn't just shout, we hit each other and everything.”
“Did you love him then, though?” I shake my head, making her smile.
“See? And when you got kidnapped, the trauma was so great that you couldn't forget about it and black it out.” Nodding, I lean forwards and look at her.
“What about when he died?”
“You're in here, aren't you? If you can sit there and say that nothing happened, you didn't blackout at any time- definitely- and that you're perfectly fine, then go ahead. Your file and where you're sat suggests different.”
“Well, what does the fucking file say, then?”
She opens the file, finding her place near the end. She flicks through the pages, keeping the place she started at, and then she slides it to me, holding several pages on her hand.
“Read it, it's easier.” I take the book off her, folding over a corner of the last page she picked out and starting from where she's pointing.
My first months in college were quiet, but I occasionally started fights with someone who pissed me off, then I started to get really bad. I would burst out crying, laughing, I would pick a fight with anyone, I did loads of crazy shit in lectures; I burnt books, threw chairs, almost stripped completely.
“Why didn't I get kicked out?” I pause, glancing at the file then her. “Why didn't I get arrested?”
“Your history with this made them more... considerate. I don't think you were ever told, but you were unable to diagnose. There are several options of what your condition could be, and you fit all of them for some symptoms.”
“Like what?” She looks at me, studying my face. It seems like she's asking if I really want to know, so I stare back.
“Schizophrenia, for instance. But schizophrenia is a constant thing, it's a long-term mental illness,” She pauses, sighing. “But, you have a lot of the symptoms. From what I've read, been told about you, you have hallucinations, delusions, confused thoughts.”
“Confused thoughts? I can think just fine.” She shakes her head.
“You can now, which is the thing that is puzzling us. You have the symptoms of several things, but then you also don't have them. You've been having hallucinations and delusions recently that Gerard rose from the dead and is a vampire,” Sighing again, she shakes her head and looks at me. “Do you understand what I'm saying, Frank?”
“Kind of, I guess. You're saying that sometimes I can have all of the symptoms to something, but them others I only have a symptom ot something?” She presses her palms together, nodding.
“That's a rough way of putting it, but, yes.”
“So... I might be schizophrenic?”
“You could be, but you also could be something else that we don't know about yet, okay?”
“You have absolutely no idea what's wrong with me, do you?” I smile at her, and she hesitates before shaking her head.
“No, not really.” She laughs.
“Fabulous...” I roll my eyes, laughing, too.
“Now, can we talk about what you did to your arms and legs, please?” I look down at my arms, gulping.
“Why?” She looks at me, rolling her eyes.
“Don't act dumb, Frank. Look at your arms, then see if you can still ask that question.” Sighing, I sit back in my chair.
“Fine. What do you want to talk about?”
“Gerard.” I close my eyes, exhaling shakily.
“What about him?”
“When was the last time you saw him?” I open my eyes, taking a deep breath and licking my lips.
“Before my operation over a year ago.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes.
“No, you just don't want to sound crazy, do you? When was the last time you saw him, Frank?” Biting my lip, I look down.
“At the party I was at before I hurt my head and was put in a coma.” I say it quietly and fast, talking down at my hands.
“The one your friend Craig died at?” I choke a little, freezing.
“Yes.”
“Was Craig your only witness?” I shake my head.
“I don't think so, but, for all I know, he could have been fucking invisible!” She jumps slightly when I slam my palm on the table.
“Who's party was it?”
“I don't know, Craig never told me.” She nods, looking down. She's silent for a minute.
“So, you have one witness that you know the name of, and he's dead?” I nod, making her purse her lips. “Okay... Can you tell me what happened at the party?” My cheeks flame as I think back.
“We went to the party in his friend's car, I don't remember his name. When we got there, I felt uncomfortable, and Craig got me a drink. But I saw Gerard, and he was kissing someone else, and I got mad. I got drunk, and I think I kissed Craig to make Gerard angry, and Gerard ended up attacking Craig. Then, we went out in the garden and the only thing I can really remember is falling over, bleeding and checking to see if Craig was okay. I think Gerard attacked him again or something, it's all blurry.”
“Are you aware that the only fingerprints, DNA, et cetera found at the scene was traced back to you?”
“What?”
“You were the prime suspect in the investigation of his death, Frank.” I start shaking my head, my mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“No... I didn't murder him! I wouldn't... Not ever... No!”
“We know. If we thought you were guilty, don't you think you'd have been questioned?” I start slightly, calming down as I find the logic in her words.
“But... Who?” I sigh, my words faltering.
“Who do they think did it?” I nod. “They have no idea. The blow that killed him had so much power exerted into it couldn't have been human, so it couldn't have been you.” I cringe, picturing him in my head, lying on the floor.
“How did he die?” She grimaces, shuddering.
“His chest cavity was completely destroyed.”
“Oh... God.” I feel all the blood leave my face, and my hands start shaking.
“I know, Frank. Poor guy...”
“Oh, God....” My eyes involuntarily close, screwing up tightly.
“Are you okay?” I shake my head, my eyes still tightly closed.
I sit for a few more minutes, rocking slightly. Once I stop feeling dizzy, I reopen my eyes and look at her. She stares back at me with worried eyes, and she smiles slightly at me.
“Okay, I'm good. I'm sorry.”
“No, no. It's fine, I mean, he was your friend.” I smile gratefully at her, nodding.
“Could I possibly go now? I... I need some time alone, I need to think about things.” She nods, getting up.
“Of course. We can continue this tomorrow, or the next day. I have a lot of things to tell you, to talk about with you.” I nod, following her to the door.
“Uh... Bye?” She gives me a little way, opening the door.
“See you tomorrow, Frank.” The door shuts, and I turn. The doctor from before is there, tapping his foot impatiently.
“Come on, it's dinner time.” Sighing, I follow him to the hall.
Everybody is already there, eating and talking in muted voices. I avoid all eye contact while getting my food and sit down at an empty table. I don't talk to anyone, and no-one talks to me. In a room full of the mentally insane, I'm the outsider. Kind of ironic.
I eat, not really wanting it, and not really tasting it. I feel kind of numb, my movements heavy. I think I need to sleep, and leave thinking until tomorrow. Or when I wake up from my nightmare.
Well, first, I really need a shower.
Once I'm nice and clean, I'm escorted back to my room. I'm trying to not let the whiteness get to me, but I'm failing somewhat. I have my eyes closed, I'm lying down, and I'm tired, but I can't get to sleep.
I feel like something bad is going to happen. Paranoia is settling and I really want to open my eyes, but I stop myself. I remember my conversation with Stacey about schizophrenia; about delusions and hallucinations.
A delusion is a belief held with complete conviction, even though it is based on a mistaken, strange or unrealistic view.
A hallucination is when a person experiences a sensation but there is nothing or nobody there to account for it.
I keep thinking about it, trying to ease my paranoia, my uneasiness with a distraction. It starts to work but I hear a noise, and freeze. I stop breathing for at least a minute, my palms face down on the sheets. And then I hear it again, it's like a shuffling of feet or something.
It's just a hallucination, a delusion, whatever. I can't seem to remember which one is which. I don't really care, though. I try to rationalize my thoughts; nobody could be in here, nobody could be in here; they would have checked.
But what if it's Miles. He's a fucking vampire-demon-thing, he could get past them as easily as I couldn't. He could take me or murder me or suck my blood. He could do anything. Absolutely anything, and I wouldn't be able to stop him, not at all, and neither would anyone else.
Well, no-one in here, anyway.
Gerard could... But Gerard isn't here, he isn't here, and he isn't going to be here. He left me, and he's not coming back.
I open one eye, and I stare at the ceiling for a minute while I build up some courage. Slowly, I look around the room. There isn't anyone there, not a soul. Breathing out a sigh of relief, I sit up and lean against the wall.
There may not be anyone here, but something feels off about the room now. Something has shifted; perhaps the atmosphere of the room. It seems colder, more shadowy. The white is harsher and the mattress is harder.
Looking around the room, I sigh. This room is possibly the place I could be in for several years, and I already think I'm going to have nightmares from the harshness of it and the badness oozing from it's shady corners.
Shaking my head, I lie down again, this time feeling ready enough to sleep. I close my eyes and count to ten, hoping the rhythm of the counting will send me to sleep, but I end up getting to at least five hundred before I sleep.
“Come on, get up!” I groan, and turn over.
“Not now, Gerard... Five more minutes...”
“I'm afraid my name isn't Gerard, Frank,” I freeze, disappointment making my stomach sink. “Come on, get up, please. It's the start of a brand new day, the sun is shining, get up an-”
“Shut the fuck up with your bullshit. I don't fucking care if the sun is shining or it's fucking snowing. I don't go outside, anyway.” Pulling off the sheets, I stand up and run my hands through my hair, trying to tame it.
“Who woke up on the wrong side of the bed?” The doctor-person smiles at me, making me cringe.
“Who doesn't want to wake up tomorrow?” I smile, making him squirm. “Or ever?” He looks away, looking at the floor. I push past him, and I hear his footsteps behind me.
“Where are you going? It's breakfast time.” Stopping walking, I turn around and glare at him.
“I'm not even going to look at any food until I get changed and have a shower.” I stare him down until he sighs and nods.
“Fine. Follow me.” He cuts in front of me, walking faster than I was before.
He gives me some clean clothes, so I walk into the shower, to.. have a shower. I clean myself, brush my teeth, things like that. I take my time so I piss the doctor off even more. When I come out, he's looking at his watch and pacing up and down.
“I'm done!” I dramatically throw my arms out to the side, singing the words. He gives me a glare and stalks off, muttering to me to follow him.
By the time we get to the hall, barely anyone is in there, just a few stragglers. I eat quickly, barely tasting the food again, but I start to feel slightly ill, anyway. This hasn't happened in a while, and I know that if I keep pushing myself, I'll throw up.
Pushing the food away, I stand up. The doctor looks up at me with a disinterested expression.
“What are you doing?” I look straight back at him, an eyebrow raised.
“What does it look like?”
“I ask again, what are you doing?” Crossing my arms, I roll my eyes.
“I'm leaving and going back to my room.” He stands up, too.
“No, you aren't. You haven't finished eating, yet.” I glance at my abandoned food.
“Yes, I have.” He shakes his head, taking a step closer to me.
“No, you haven't. Sit back down and have some more.” I shake my head, pursing my lips.
“No. You can't force me, and I can't eat any more.”
“True. But, do you want to get ill again?” The question stuns me for a minute, and I just look at him. “Your body has only just really started to get better, and if you start not eating again, you'll become bad and your body will start shutting down.” I look from him to the food, starting to feel queasy.
“Fine. I'll try.” My voice is a lot lower, and I sound defeated.
“Good. Take all the time you need.”
I do take all the time I need, and even then I felt rushed. By the time I did finish, my stomach was turning like a tornado. I didn't have to run to the bathroom, though. I just had to lie down still enough, for long enough for it to settle. All the while, I was cursing the orderly that made me eat it.
I think I had been given some pain medication for my arms and legs, because all of a sudden, the flaring pain started up in them. I tried to ignore it at first, but it got to the point where I was almost crying.
So, I started banging on the door, and an orderly with a kind but wary smile came and opened it.
“What's wrong?” I started talking to her rapidly about the pain, and my legs and arms. “Woah, calm down. I need you to take a deep breath and start again, slowly this time, okay?” I nod, and I breathe in and out deeply several times before I talk again.
“I need something for the pain, in my legs and arms. They really hurt.” She looks at my arms for a second, then she nods.
Her eyes are still wary of me, and I can tell she's scared of me, even if it's very slightly. I try to smile at her, because knowing that a woman is scared of you sucks. Sure, having a man scared of you isn't bad, really, but no woman should ever be scared of any man.
“So, how are you doing, Frank?”
“How do you know my name?” She looks at me, her pace slowing down a little.
“Everyone knows who you are. You're kind of famous around here, I guess.”
“Because I'm a violent, crazy freak?” She shakes her head, an eyebrow raised.
“No, of course not. You broke someone's arm with one hand, Frank,” Instead of looking grossed out or scared, she looks kind of impressed. “You're a very skinny and small guy, as well. I mean, I'm not saying that violence is good or anything, but it is a pretty cool story.” She smiles at me, her pace returning to her original speed. I smile back to her, even though she can't see me.
“Thanks, I guess,” I pause, looking down. “And, I guess I'm doing okay, I mean, today has been okay. It's not that bad today.” She looks at me again, her eyes sympathetic.
“Frank, let me tell you something. It will be okay. I don't know when, I don't know how, but it'll be okay. Just be strong.” Her words remind me of Craig, and it chokes me up a little.
“I had a friend that said that to me once.”
“Had a friend?” I nod, looking away and biting my lip for a second.
“Yeah... He got murdered.” Her eyes drop, and she doesn't say anything for a minute.
“Craig?” I nod, looking away again.
“I miss him, y'know? I haven't really thought about him, but now that I am, I really miss him. He was awesome.” She nods, sympathy creeping back into her eyes.
“I understand, Frank.” We get to the medication kiosk before I can say anything back, and then she's talking to be about how bad the pain is.
“It's... around a six, I guess.” She nods, opening a drawer and pulling out a little box.
“Here, take these.” She pushes two red pills to me, and a glass of water. I groan at the sight of the water, but I drink it anyway.
“I fucking hate water.” Looking at it in disgust, I push the glass away.
“I know, so do I. It sucks that they don't give you anything but that.” I nod, smiling a little.
“Can I go back to my room now?” She nods, tipping away the rest of the water and putting the pills away.
“Sure you can. Come on,” We walk back to my room in relative silence. “If you need anything, just shout me and I'll try to help.” I nod, thanking her and walking back into my room. She locks the door and walks away, smiling.
This sucks, I think, and walk to my bed and drop down on it.
I lie in silence, slowly feeling the pain in my arms and legs fade away bit by bit.
“It does suck, Frank.” I jump up, my body tense and my eyes wide and alert. Looking around, I find nobody.
Am I hearing voices now? Maybe I do have schizophrenia like Stacey said.
But this voice sounded a lot like Gerard.
I remember what Stacey said, 'You've been having hallucinations and delusions recently that Gerard rose from the dead and is a vampire.'
Delusions, hallucinations. Schizophrenia. Could all of my time with vampire Gerard have been made up? I can't even ask Mikey, he hates me. I don't blame him for hating me. Could I have just made up completely? I can't ask anyone, they're either dead or they hate me.
I'm stuck, I can't prove that Gerard is real unless he actually shows himself.
“I am real, you dick.” I shake my head, and stand up and start pacing.
If you were real, you'd be here, Gerard. I wouldn't be going through this, people wouldn't be scared of me and think I'm crazy. I wouldn't think I'm crazy. You aren't real, you're not there. You're buried in a graveyard.
“No, I'm not. I'm real, I'm not exactly alive, but I am real.” I shake my head again, laughing.
That's exactly what a voice in my head would say. You can't prove it, I can't prove it. You aren't real.
As I say that, silence comes. He says nothing. He makes no remark or argument challenging me, which only helps to prove that he isn't real even more.
I continue pacing, angrier now more than anything.
“I am real, and I love you. I can't come to you, because I was legally declared dead over a year ago! I would give anything to come to you, to touch you, to hear your heartbeat again, okay? But I can't, and it's killing me.” An overwhelming sadness comes with that message, one that makes tears drip down my cheeks.
Leave me alone. Please, I can't take it any more. This is a fucking hallucination or something! You aren't real.
The tears comes faster now, and I drop to my knees. I hear nothing else from Gerard while I cry for a while. And, when he does speak again, it seems like a goodbye.
“I'm sorry, Frank. Really, really fucking sorry. I love you, I love you so fucking much, but if you want me to leave you alone, I'll leave you alone.”
I start crying harder, my shoulders slumping. I miss him, I miss him so fucking bad, but he's dead. He is dead. I made it all up, and the quicker I can come to terms with that, the better. These past however many months were made up, I bet Mikey never even came and stayed with me. I doubt Miles even did the thing to me. I made it all up, probably.
Donna's dead because of me, Mikey hates me, and everyone thinks I'm crazy.
Absent-mindedly, I start picking at my stitches. I can't feel anything, and my crying has stopped. I'm just staring at the wall, sitting cross-legged. Only when my fingers get wet do I look down. One of the cuts are bleeding again, my fingers are red.
I get only slightly alarmed, and I brush my fingers over the blood on my arm, spreading it. My door opens, and the woman that gave my pills earlier rushes in. I feel a corner of my mouth lift up, and I think I start speaking, but I can't hear myself.
Her face becomes even more alarmed and she crouches down beside me. Her mouth starts moving, she looks between me and my arm. A cloth gets pulled from her pocket and she presses it against my arm and looks me right in the eyes.
Her mouth forms my name, but I can't make out anything but that. She grabs my other hand and presses it to the cloth, so I keep my hand on it while she stands up. Everything after that is a blur, but I remember seeing red droplets on the floor behind us as we walked.
I start hearing her voice, and it's high and panicky.
“Frank. Look at me, Frank. Keep your hand on your arm, on the cloth, I need to help you walk, okay?” I dumbly nod, looking down at my legs. They appear to be fine...
“I don't... need help?” She doesn't answer me, and we keep walking.
We get to the infirmary, where there is a few nurses waiting already for me, I think.
“How much blood has he lost?” Their voices are hushed, but suddenly I can hear them perfectly.
“I'm not sure. Not much, but enough to make him clumsy and dizzy, I think.” I'm told to lie down, and my hand is moved away from the cloth.
“I'm going to have to re-stitch this, okay? Hold still.” I do as she says, my gaze wandering around the room. Medicine-woman appears in my line of sight, her eyes worried.
“Why did you do that, Frank?” I look at her for a second, my mouth trying to clumsily form the only words I can think of at the minute.
“I want to die. I don't want to be here, like this any more,” I go to say something else, but I'm taken by darkness.

Notes

I'm sorry for killing, like, everyone off, I don't think anyone's going to die for a while...