Frank's POV
I wake up in my bed, with no recollection of how I got there.
I try to think, but nothing comes up, nothing at all. I sit up, rubbing my eyes and shaking the grip of sleep away. My door opens and, I already knowing what the orderly is here for, get up and walk to the hall with him for breakfast.
I don't even look at him on the way there, and I ignore the pathetic attempts of conversation he tries to prompt. He soon gets the message, and he shuts up. I force all of the food down me, even though, towards the end, I heave every time I swallow. I'm as quick as possible, so I can get out of the company of people and go back to the solitude of my room.
I stand up, leaving my breakfast bowl on the table, and walk out. I walk back to room, looking out for Jessica. Her company was nice yesterday, but today, I'm having an 'I hate everyone' day. I don't see her, fortunately, and get back to my room without being stopped or anything.
Like usual, I pay no notice to my surroundings until I'm lay on my bad and staring at the ceiling. Then, I'm alert to every noise, every crack in the walls, every mistake they made while painting them. And, because I'm alert and wide awake, I hear him.
I don't know who He is, but there is someone in my room, and they're definitely not a female. I freeze, my chest stopping it's movement. I slowly glance around the room using only my eyes, but see no-one.
But, even though I can't see anyone, panic grips me and pulls me under, making breathing relatively harder than usual. So much harder than usual, in fact, that I almost pass out. A noise stops me breathing altogether. The blackness around the edges of my eyes don't disappear, but they wan and flicker.
There aren't any noises until the footsteps. The footsteps are all around me, they are so loud and and terrible, and all around me. They scurry, they thud, they run, they walk, they stomp. They drive me crazy, and I end up screaming for them to stop.
It falls silent, but only for a minute. The laughter starts then, maniacal, loud. Again, it's all around me, echoing and bouncing off me. I screw my eyes shut and put my hands over my ears, muting the noise. But an invisible force pries then off, and I feel breathing on my neck.
My skin crawls, my hairs stick up. I stop moving, my heart slows down, everything freezes apart from this breathing on me. I open my eyes, and turn my head.
I stare right into completely red eyes. I stare at them, they stare back. I can't do anything, I'm paralysed by the fear. They blink, and everything starts moving again. My heart speeds up so fast it feels like it could take off out of my chest and fly away, my breathing fastens, and I let out a long cry. I jerk back wards, kicking and flying to the end of the bed.
I take in the other features. The floppy brown hair, the evil smile, the clothes. Even down to the socks poking out of his jeans, he's dressed the same as he was that night.
As quick as lightening, he's beside me, smiling still. I cry out again, wildly looking at the door. I try to scramble away from him, to get to the door, but he grabs me by the throat and slams me back against the wall.
My head thuds against the wall, making me dazed. I sit there for a minute, my eyes half-closed, feeling the headache creep up on me. I could pinpoint precisely when my motivation to fight leaked out of me, and it was when I felt the fourth thud my head was giving off.
My shoulders slump and I let my head droop. I feel his weight sit on the bed near me, and I freeze up. Finally, the lights have gone from my eyes and I can think properly again. My headache has gotten stronger, but I can live with it.
I turn to face him, my facial expression stoic. A smile slowly spreads across his lips, one that shows his teeth.
“Whoops...” He shrugs, the grin still on his face. “Does your head hurt?” I ignore him, I just continue staring at him passively. We stare at each other for a few minutes.
“How did you get in?” He just taps his nose, grinning.
“That's none of your business, Frankie,” His grin widens, and I flinch. “Nobody will bother us, either. It's just us for however long I need it to be.” Under his gaze, I visibly shudder, and his eyes glint more.
“Why are you here?” My voice is quiet and resigned.
“I came here to tell you something.” Slowly, there is an anger building up inside me, which is fuelled by his vague responses and the huge pain in my head.
“Which is?” It comes out as more of a sigh, and he quietly chuckles at me.
“I'm getting to that, Frank,” His voice is now sharp, his grin has faded a little. “How have you been?” He rests his chin in his palm, looking at me.
“What?” All I can do is stare at him with my mouth slightly ajar.
“What?” His voice is defensive. “We're friends? I can ask you how you have been, can't I? Or do you not like small talk?” He shrugs at me, studying my face.
“Miles, fuck you,” He looks at me with mild surprise, but there's more amusement. “Seriously, fuck you! You can't just come in here and smash me around, then ask me questions about how I'm doing! We aren't friends, we've never been friends! I didn't even like you when we went on the date, I ran out on you!” His face twists, his eyes darkening and his bemused smile turning into a snarl. I start shaking, and I can feel the color draining from my face.
“What did you say?” I shrink back from his voice, which is hollow but has so many layers and tones and pitches to it.
“I.. I... I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!” He just switches back to normal. His smile returns, wide and beaming, and his eyes clear. When he speaks his voice is normal again, too.
“Well, that's good, isn't it? I guess I can forgive you, Frankie, but only because we're friends,” I dumbly nod, and stupidly I find myself smiling back, like I'm in a trance. I stop smiling as soon as I realize I am, but he's seen it. “So, how have you been?”
“I'm in here, so I'm obviously not doing good.” I roll my eyes at him before I can stop myself, and his smile once again drops.
“Okay, Frank.” I tense up, half expecting him to hit me. His voice is evil. You can literally hear the poison seeping out of it.
“Um, how have you been?” It comes out as a messy jumble, but Miles smiles again.
“I've been okay! I've just been living free, really. I've just gotten back from the Amazon, actually.”
“Nice... How did you get there?” He looks at me like he's asking himself if I'm stupid, then he speaks.
“I ran?” He rolls his eyes at me, making my jaw clench.
“Miles, why are you here?” He loudly sighs, like an annoyed child.
“Fine, Frank. We'll do this your way! Don't mind me, I wasn't trying to create conversation or anything.” I have to close my eyes and count to five, but when I open them, I feel as annoyed as I did before.
“Sorry, Miles, it's just that I'm.. tired. I want to go to sleep.” I smile at him.
“Okay, whatever,” He pauses, sighing again. “You know, when you're like me, you don't have to sleep. Isn't that great?” He leans closer to me, his right hand finding a place on my knee. I edge backwards, slowly at first, but gaining speed until I fall off. “What's wrong, Frankie?” He appears next to me, making me jump and try to get away. “Do you want to become like me?” He bends down next to me. “Do you? It doesn't hurt, it's practically painless.” I shake my head, stading up and backing away.
“Miles, stop.” My back hits the wall, and Miles grins again.
“You've got nowhere to run, Frankie. Now, do as I say and sit down and shut up otherwise I'll rip out your throat and keep you alive until I've drained your veins dry.” I gulp, looking at him and then the bed. Miles stares at me with a raised eyebrow, his eyes so deadly serious.
I walk over to the bed and sit down again, gripping the duvet so hard it tears.
“Miles, don't... don't do anything to me.” We both know what I'm talking about.
“Like this?” Mental pictures spring into my head, of Miles and I. Of that night.
I finally get to see what actually happened while I was passed out, and it's worse than I imagined. It's terrible, I can't believe it happened to me. I can't believe that he actually did that to me, that that is me.
“Stop!” I gasp the word out, barely able to open my mouth and talk. I've frozen in place, my back straight, my fists clenched. My hairs are standing up on end, and shudders are starting to wrack my body.
Then, the tears start. Slowly and only occasionally at first, but they gradually pick up speed. Miles just stands and laughs at me.
The tears turn into a panic attack, and I pass out. When I wake up, my head is on something cold. I look at the thing underneath me, slowly realizing it's legs. I shift slightly, alerting the person who's legs they are that I'm awake.
“You're awake! Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty!” I shoot up when I hear the voice, my breathing picking up speed again as I remember who it is and what he's doing hear and what I've seen. “Now, do you still want to know what I'm doing here?” I just stare at him, but he carries on. “I can get you out of here.”
“Bullshit!” He sharpens his gaze, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Frank, I think you're forgetting what I am,” He points to himself. “I'm more important than anybody in here. If I want to get you out of here, I can.”
“Okay. Sorry.” He nods.
“You'll have to do as I say, when I say it. I can get you out, but it'll probably take awhile.”
“How are you going to do it?” He ignores my question completely, but he glares at me.
“And, there are rules. Rule number one, when you're in my presence, only speak when I ask you a question or when I want you to speak. Number two, you have to do everything I say with no hesitation, otherwise something bad will happen. Number three, when you're out of here, you have to stay with me.” I shake my head.
“No! No way. I don't want to live with you!”
“You do as I say, Frank, otherwise I won't help you.”
“Fine! Don't help me! I'd prefer to be dead than live with you.” I feel a sudden stabbing pain in my head, followed by another. I groan, holding my head.
Another stabbing pain, this time more violent. The next one lasts for a while, until I scream out in pain.
“Frank?” Gerard? Another stab, another wave of intense pain. “Frank!” Another stab of pain and I curl up in a ball, the world turning red. “Keep calm, focus on my voice! Don't fall asleep, don't close your eyes. I'm going to help you, okay?”
The attacks keep coming, my head feeling like it will literally implode. I feel another presence in my head, and something starts to block the attacks. As if there's a wall around my mind, and the attacks can't get past it, but they can dent it.
I hear Miles' voice, and it sounds confused, and the attacks stop. The pain doesn't, and it echoes around my head for ages. I can barely breathe, it hurts that much. It starts to fade, my chest eases and the headache dims.
“Frank, what the fuck is he doing there? Get him out, otherwise I'll have to come and do it myself!” Gerard's voice screams in my head, making me curl up tighter.
Shut up, Gee. I've just been fucking attacked or something, my head really fucking hurts. At least quiet down.
“Get him out of there. Get him out.”
I can't. He won't go.
I slowly start to sit up after that, and I try to block his voice out. Miles is already staring at me, his eyes shining with humor.
“Your head isn't doing very well today, is it?” He laughs, patting my shoulder. “I'm sorry it had to go that far, but I need you to comply,” I don't look at him, but I feel his fingers lift up my chin. His voice is soft when he speaks “I never meant to hurt you, you know? I... I just, I can't help myself. You look so pretty when you're hurting...” He pauses, softening his voice even more. “I love you, Frankie.” His confession- which is probably fake, but anyway- shocks me, and my mouth drops open. “I never meant to do what I did, I was drunk and out of my mind, and I'm sorry, it will never happen again. I mean it,” His thumb traces my lower lip, making me unintentionally shiver with disgust. I think Miles take it the other way, because he smiles at me. “If you come with me, you'll never want for anything again. You could have whatever you want, whenever you want.” My mind is reeling from surprise and slight panic, but all I can do is stare at him.
“W... What?”
“I mean, it, Frankie. Look into my eyes and you'll see.” I feel something making me look at him, whatever I try to do to stop it doesn't work. I stare in his eyes, and I lose all power over everything. My mouth, my arms, my tear ducts. I start crying while talking and throwing my arms around him.
“Okay, okay. I'll come with you. You can take me anywhere!” Miles hugs me back, his body suddenly warm and inviting and lovely.
Somewhere, deep in my mind, something is telling me that this isn't right, that I hate him. I ignore it, looking back into Miles' eyes until the feeling disappears. I find myself leaning closer to him, my lips dangerously close to his.
This time, I do struggle to pull myself away, to stop, because surely, this isn't right? It can't be. What's right is if Gerard was here and I was about to kiss him, if I was curled in his arms, but it's Miles.
It's Miles, my rapist. The thing I hate so much, yet I'm still leaning closer and closer to his increasingly lovely, inviting mouth, and his teeth look a lot nicer and his eyes look more like someone I know, someone that I used to love. Someone, that in this second, I can't remember, even though my heart almost bursts with love when I think about him sometimes.
And then I'm kissing him, and my body doesn't recoil, I can't pull away. I kiss him until I can't possibly kiss him for any longer, and even then, I feel no regret. I feel happy. This isn't right.
What's wrong with me?
The thing asking this is growing smaller and smaller, until I can feel it sliding away, along with anything that isn't isn't about Miles. My thoughts are slowly being consumed by Miles, and Miles is looking at me with those eyes and he's so familiar and warm and nice.
How long has it been? We could have sat here forever and I wouldn't have noticed. The sun isn't up any more, so hours have passed. We have just sat and looked at each other. Before my eyes, Miles has turned into someone completely different. His smile has changed, there's nothing underneath it to suggest anything different than the fact that he loves me.
His eyes are warm and so like that person I can't remember, the person that was so important to me not seven hours ago. But Miles' eyes are so different, too. They are full of love and kindness. I trust them, I trust them like I've never trusted anything before. Not even like I trusted the person I can't remember.
His name keeps falling from my grasp. I know that if I remember his name, I'll remember everything. But, I don't want to remember everything. I have a feeling that everything isn't too nice. I have a feeling that I'll probably not like everything, and I might end up not trusting Miles' eyes any more.
But I'm so confused and I feel like a walking, talking oxymoron.
I just do all that I can to keep my eyes on his, to not let them drift away. A feeling of dread that hurts my chest comes upon me when I think about looking away from them, and I choke up. But I don't look away, I move closer and study them harder. Imprinting them into my increasingly sparse memory.
Then, Miles is gone. The shadows start to grow, the moon's craters start to twist. He left with no warning, he just left. Things are starting to creep back up on me again, things I don't want to think about, like that person I can almost remember now.
Now, I realize how tense I was. My fists were clenched, my back was straight, my jaw is almost welded shut. And I realize how damn tired I was, and I fall asleep.
I wake up to a tap on my shoulder. I open my eyes, and they meet the ones I dreamt about all night. I forget about all of the things I was almost remembering, and I focus on the eyes again.
“Good morning.” I smile at him, making him smile back.
“Good morning!” I sit up and throw my arms around him, and he laughs. “Why did you go? I missed you.” He shrugs, and holds out a chalice.
I stare at it, taking it in my hands.
“Drink this, Frankie.” I look up at him, unsure, but when I see his eyes, I do as I say. I trust his eyes, they wouldn't let anything hurt me. I drink it, the liquid kind of gloopy, but it doesn't really taste of anything. I hand him the chalice back, and he beams at me. Suddenly, the chalice is gone, and Miles has sat down.
Without realizing it, I've opened my arms to him and we're both lay down.
“Look at me, Miles,” He looks at me, and I look at his eyes. “I love your eyes. They make me feel like nothing bad can happen.” He smiles at me again, turning around so he's on his stomach.
“Well, when you're with me, nothing bad will happen, Frankie.” I smile at him, and brush his hair from his eyes. Something flickers in me, and it makes me frown for a second before I smile again.
“Good....” I lower my voice, moving my face closer to his. “I love you, I think. You make me warm, just like...” I trail off, my eyebrows drawing together. I had his name, I remembered it. Now it's gone, and this time I don't think I'll remember it again.
“Just like who?” I shake my head, trying to make my face happy again.
“I can't remember...” He shrugs, lying his head on my stomach.
“He couldn't have been that important, then.” I let out a quiet laugh.
“No, I don't think he was, Miles.”

After a few weeks, I'm let out. I don't see Miles often, and for some reason, that's the only thing that can make me really sad. Nothing else really has the ability to. I can't remember anything, really, but I haven't told anyone that.
After the first few days of drinking that thing Miles gave me, I was really ill. I couldn't hold anything down, apart from enough liquid to keep me alive. But, after that, I was happy and I told Stacey what I felt and we had meetings everyday where we would just talk about things and she would write down a lot of things.
Then, one day, she said I could leave. But, I had to have some meetings with different psychiatrists, just to make sure I'm actually okay. The meetings went well, and I got assessed several dozen times, but today I can leave.
I'm leaving with Miles, and we're going to go somewhere. He hasn't told me where, he says that it's a surprise. He should be here any second.
Miles walks through the doors, and I run up to him and hug him.
“You're here!” I grin at him, and he nods.
“Of course I am, babe.” He finally grins back, and then gives me flowers.
“They're nice, Miles.” He nods, shrugging, and he kisses me on the cheek.
“Shall we go?” I nod, grinning.
Miles stopped by yesterday to pick up everything I need and to have a talk with Stacey about how to deal with me if I suddenly turn again or something. So, this means we can just walk out.
So, we do. We get into Miles' car and drive somewhere. I was so excited last night that I couldn't sleep, so after ten minutes of the car journey, I fell asleep.
I wake up when the car stops, and I feel like shit. I feel like how I felt before Miles came along. I've started to remember things again, like when I was asleep, I had a nightmare about my mom and dad. I can't remember it now, but it was horrible.
I don't mention it to Miles, a deep, heavy feeling settles in my stomach any time I think about telling him.
We've stopped at a house, a huge house with lattice patterns made out of the bricks on either side. Apart from the patterns, nothing else sticks out to me about it, apart from the trees all around us. I look at Miles, who's looking up at the house with a smile on his face.
“You like it?” I nod, smiling up at him. “That's good.”
“Why?” His grin widens, and he pulls me into a hug.
“Because, it's ours. Welcome home, Frankie,” I'm glad that he can't see my face, because my smile drops instantly and I stop breathing for a second. Our house? We aren't even together, I don't think.
When he pulls away from the hug, he's frowning and I have a bad taste in my mouth. “What's wrong? Don't you like it?” I shake my head, trying to smile.
“No, no, I love it... It's just... don't you think we're moving slightly too fast?” I get slapped before I can breathe out again, and I fall to the floor, unable to breathe.
“You're such an ungrateful little bitch,” Miles stands over me, staring at me. Tears well up in my eyes, and I can't meet his. “Do you know what? Fuck you!” He walks away, and I scramble up and run after him.
“Miles, Miles, wait! I love you, I'm sorry!” He stops walking and I jog over to him. His arms are crossed and he doesn't look at me.
“No, you don't.” I do the first thing I think of, and hug him.
“I do, I really do.” I stand with my arms around him for a while before he loosens up and hugs me back.
“You do?” I nod, my cheek rubbing against the fabric of his shirt, making it start hurting even more. “Good. I'm sorry, I guess.”
“No, don't worry about it! It was my fault.” He smiles at me and kisses me. I pretend to start coughing so the kiss ends.
“Let's go inside.” I nod and grab his hand. We walk inside, Miles glancing down at me every so often.
“It's big...” I look around, looking at the paintings and everything on the walls.
“It was my parent's house.” I nod.
“Where are your parents?” He shrugs, biting his lip.
“I don't know, if I'm honest. I grew up here, and they let me have it. I have to pay them every month and they get someone to do the grocery shopping and cleaning and everything.” I nod again, letting go of his hand. I look up at his face, my eyes meeting his. Everything else falls away, like the doubts about the house, about everything I'm almost remembering, about how Miles' eyes looked when he hit me.
I feel happy again, and I can't stop myself from giggling.
“This is awesome! Thank you, Miles.” He shakes his head, breaking the eye contact.
“It's no problem, Frankie.” I kiss his cheeks, then walk over to a door. It leads to the kitchen.
The kitchen is fucking massive. It's also very white, and it almost brings a memory back to the surface about blood and walls and stitches. I instinctively look down at my arms, which are clear apart from some messed up tattoos and some very faded white lines going across them.
I look closer, tracing the lines, and start to feel slightly sick. I don't know why, though. But, Miles walks in, and I stop looking at my arms and act like I was looking at the kitchen.
“Do you like it?” I nod, looking up at him and smiling. He smirks at me, draping his arm across my shoulders. “Do you want to go and check out our bedroom?” I hesitantly nod, a cold feeling coming over me and settling in my stomach. I look into his eyes again, but the feeling doesn't go away.
He grabs my hand again, pulling me after him and up the stairs. We get to the top of the stairs, but we turn a corner and there's another flight. We go up those, too.
We stop on the third floor, and he pulls me down to the room at the end of the hallway. He pulls a key from his pocket and drops my hand. The door is unlocked by him, and we walk in.
Like everything else in the house, the room is big. The walls are red and the bedsheets are black and shiny. Satin, perhaps. There's a bedside table, a wardrobe, a set of drawers, and paintings on the wall.
“What's in there?” I point to the a door near the bed.
“The bathroom.” I nod at him, looking around. He yanks my hand towards him, making me stumble into his chest.
I look up at him, a questioning look on my face. He just smirks and kisses me. I don't kiss back, I freeze and push on his chest. He stops kissing me and leans back a little.
“I... I'm sorry. I just can't..” I bite my lip, looking down.
“Hey, hey,” He pulls my face upwards gently. “It's okay, Frankie. I understand, okay?” I nod, a small smile on my face. He lets go of me and I step backwards. “Now, are you hungry? I can cook you something.” I think for a second, then shake my head.
“No, I'm good.” He frowns, shaking his head.
“No, you have to eat. What do you want?” I sigh, shaking my head harder.
“I don't want anything, Miles. Maybe later, I don't know.” He steps closer to me, his eyes changing from what I know to something more sinister. I step backwards as he steps forward, making his eyes turn darker.
“No, you eat something. Right now.”
“No...” My legs hit something and I fall backwards onto something soft. The bed, it has to be.
“Remember what you said? What the rules were?” I don't answer him. “Do you?” He hisses, somehow making his voice bounce off of everything and echo. It makes me flinch. “You said that you'd do anything I say, and without hesitation!” I can't recall saying anything like that, but I go along with it.
“Yes! Okay! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry.” He moves so fast that I can't even see him, but I feel him. He has a hold of my hair, and he's yanking my head backwards. I cry out in surprise and pain, but then I bite my lip to stop any other sound escaping, but it doesn't stop the tears from starting from the surprise and the sting.
“You're pathetic. Why are you crying? Am I hurting you?” He yanks my head back farther, and he tightens his grip on my hair. “Do you want me to stop?” I look at him, unsure if I should answer him or not. “Do you?” He yanks it back again, but then his grip slackens slightly. “Answer me, bitch.”
“Yes! Miles, I'm sorry!” It comes out in pained gasps, and the way my voice sounds reminds me of something.
It makes me remember everything that happened with my mom and dad. This makes me start shaking, and the shaking makes Miles laugh. He lets go of me, but not before slapping me.
“You can make yourself something now,” He starts walking away, not looking at me. “And you should clean yourself up, you look like shit.”
I sit in place for a while, too shocked to move. This isn't the Miles that was in the car with me, that visited me in hospital. This isn't the Miles that I said 'I love you' to, and it isn't the one that said the three words to me first.
This Miles is... he's really fucking scary. The way he just turns, how horrible he is when he does. I'd hate to see him really mad.
But, he said I need to clean myself up and make something to eat, so I guess I should. I mean, he still loves me, he just cares about me, is all. He wants to see me happy, healthy.
I walk into the bathroom and look into the mirror. He's right, I do look like shit. I have a bruise on one cheeks, and a bright red hand print on the other. My hair is all over the place and I have dark rings around my eyes. No wonder Miles keeps hitting me, I'm a mess.
I tidy myself up, making my hair flatten, splashing cold water on my face to make myself look more alert, and putting something cold on each cheek to stop the selling and bruising.
I take my time in there, stalling the time so I don't have to go out and face him. Even though I want to see his eyes, they'll tell me everything I need to know. When I come out, I look better, but I still look terrible.
I creep down the stairs, as quietly as I can. I don't bump into Miles while walk down, but he's in the kitchen. Waiting for me, staring at the door. His eyes are predatory. But, as I get closer to him, they morph into the eyes that I know and love.
I stare into them and everything becomes okay. I forget about my dream completely, I forget about how Miles has been today, I forget about everything I can really-nearly-almost remember and I remember the important things.
Like how Miles has this house for the two of us, and how he loves me and cares about me and just wants me to be happy. Like how I love him.
He opens his arms to me, a sad, regretful smile on his face.
“I'm sorry, Frankie.” I shake my head, walking into his arms and pressing my face against his chest.
“It's okay. I shouldn't have antagonized you, Miles.” He sighs deeply and grips me a bit tighter.
“I just want you to be happy and healthy. I don't want you to go into the hospital again. I love you, you know that, right?” I nod, a small smile creeping up on me.
“Of course I know that. And I love you, too.” He lets go of me, smiling down at me.
“Good. Now, how about I make something for you to eat?” I nod, leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen.
“I'll make it, if you want?” He shakes his head, frowning.
“No, I'll make it. What do you want?” I shrug, looking around the kitchen for inspiration.
“Um... Cereal?” He smiles then, rolling his eyes at me.
“Whatever you want, Frankie.”
I sit while he gets the cereal, tendrils of remembrance crawling in and out of my mind. Thoughts about a red-haired man, and the same man with black hair. A coffin, a gravestone. Small teeth, art, love. A woman, not my mother, but like that. Death. Lots of death. Pain.
Blood, stabbing someone. Fire, a phone call. Comas? Hospitals. The colour white, stained red.
I'm pulled out of my thoughts by Miles placing the bowl in front of me. I smile up at him.
“Thanks, Miles.” He sits down opposite me, and I start eating.
“It's okay, Frankie.”
We're silent while I eat. I struggle finishing the it, the food growing in my mouth and it becomes almost impossible to swallow at times, but I manage to eat it all. Miles smiles at me and he grabs my hand.
“Well done, Frankie.” I look at Miles with wide-eyes, staring at him. He slowly turns into someone else, someone with a proud smile on their face and really red hair. And, it suddenly all clicks.
It's Gerard.
The man is called Gerard.
Miles turns back into Miles, but I'm paralysed by the revelation.
He died, when he died he had black hair, and the coffin and gravestone I remember are his. But he's alive now, and I've been denying his very existence. He had red hair the last time I saw him.
“Frank?” His voice is unclear, but I blink, and everything's okay again.
I close my mouth, and look at Miles properly.
“Yeah?” He narrows his eyes at me, frowning.
“What was that? I was saying your name for two minutes before you answered.” I shrug.
“Um... I just.. remembered something?” A shadow crosses his face.
“What have you remembered? There was nothing to remember.” I study his face carefully, avoiding his eyes.
“Just a person from my past... It's nothing, really.”
“It didn't look like nothing. Who was it?” I shrug, putting a smile on my face to try and diffuse the situation.
“I can't remember their name.”
“Yes you can. Don't fucking lie to me!” He slams his palms on the table top, making a slight dent in it.
“Miles, calm down. It's no big deal.” He starts pacing, muttering things under his breath.
“No big deal? Okay, Frank. I'll calm down. But only if you tell me who it was.”
“Fine,” I pause, biting my lip. “It was someone named Gerard.” He stops dead in his tracks, his face thunderous.
“Gerard?” I nod, scared now. “I want you to forget all about him. He's bad.” My eyebrows draw together in confusion.
“He didn't seem bad... He seemed nice.” Miles is in front of me in a flash, his eyes dark and flaring.
“Don't go against me, Frank. I know best. I don't want you to think about him any more because it will upset you.” It's disconcerting to have him this close to my face and not be able to feel his breath.
“Okay. Anything you say.” My voice is quiet and shaky. Even to my own ears, I sound terrified.
“Good. Now, get out of my sight. I have things to do and I can't have you annoying me.” He steps back, and I scramble out of my chair and run upstairs. I feel something wet on my hand, and I see what looks like a tear drop. I wipe my eyes, finding them wet.
I will the tears to stop, and they do. Not immediately, but they do. I stand in the hallway, trying to figure out what to do.
I start walking up the other flight of stairs, suddenly so drained I feel my eyes slipping close. I can't sleep in the same bed as him, at least not for tonight, so I open every door, eventually finding a room with another bed in.

I collapse on top of it, my eyes closing shut. I fall asleep almost as soon as my eyes close.

Notes

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