The Kill

Gerard took Frank back to the hotel after that. He apparently was in no shape to be around other people.

"Frank," Gerard said. "Are you okay?"

Frank was silent. He stared at his hands, which were clasped in his lap, palm to palm. He couldn't look Gerard in the eye. He felt like a dirty monster. He had no issue with ridding of horrible people but when he thought about his past, it drove him up a wall. Maybe that's why he never made it through therapy.

"I'm fine," he finally replied. His voice was so quiet Gerard barely heard him.

"You're lying," Gerard retorted. He touched Frank's arm lightly. "I know you are. I know you better than anyone. So don't lie to me."

Frank sighed and covered his face with his hands, pulling his knees to his chest. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, you need to," Gerard argued.

"Dammit, Gee," Frank cursed. He glared at Gerard with his bloodshot eyes. 'That's why I didn't survive therapy. I can't express how I feel through speaking." He wiped his eyes, checking for stray tears. "It's hard to communicate when words aren't your friends."

Gerard looked at Frank with a stony expression. "Well, I guess we won't be talking then," he replied. He rose from the bed and walked to the door.

"Where are you going?" Frank asked, his voice cracking.

"On a walk," Gerard replied. "Don't talk to me until you find your words."

"Gee-"

"Build God, then we'll talk." With that, he unlocked the door and exited, not bothering to shut it behind him.

Notes