It's Not a Fashion Statement

FRANKS POV
I feel myself stir and gain consciousness, though I’m unable to move or open my eyes. I think I can hear someone crying, but I’m not too sure. I try my hardest to focus on the quiet sobs, as they gradually gain volume and I know someone is crying. I listen carefully, and I can hear talking and muttered words. The cry then becomes even more notable, when I carefully listen to the irregular sobs. They aren’t just crying, it sounds so much worse. Like they are in actual pain. There’s a difference between crying because you’re sad, and crying because you’re in pain, emotionally, mentally or physically.
They sob and let out another heart-wrenching wail, as I then gain another form of sense so that I can feel someone softly rubbing circles on my hand. I feel my heart rate increase as their soft thumb dances over my knuckles and tickle the skin. It sends a jolt of warmth, compassion and belonging throughout my limp body, reminding me this isn’t just anyone, it feels special, even though I can’t place who it is. I do know I feel some kind of connection, like I recognise this sort of affection. (This rhymes, I feel like a poet)

I wouldn’t call it an ugly cry; it’s more like heart breaking, their weeping is a neither delicate nor a nice sound. It’s a sound that you can sense true emotion and despair behind. It’s raw and raspy, loud and bellowing, you can tell the person is going through something really hard that causes them to feel nothing but pure pain, loss and sorrow. Something like a conflict of guilt and blame within their head.
I feel a gentle hand brush my cheek tenderly, as it send a flutter to my head, heart and stomach.
“Oh Frankie, please wake up darling…”
Their euphonious tone calms my whirling thoughts, relaxing me, but at the same time confusing me, as I just want to tell them I’m awake. I can’t bare to listen to another one of the bitter, disconsolate, languishing cries that are pleading me for a reaction, just to show them that I am here.
“It’s all my fault, I’m so sorry honey-,” they sob out lugubriously. I was right, guilt and self blame. It makes me feel sad knowing this person is at war with his/her own mind, believing that have done something wrong and I have to pay and take the cost. I can only imagine the sort of guilt that would eat away at you, I almost feel sorry for them thinking in that frame of mind. I’m sure this wasn’t even their fault.
A moment later a quiet, canorous, sweet sound fills around the room, bouncing off the walls and filling my ears. Something tells me I recognise this soft melodic voice, even though I still can’t place whom it is coming from. It would make sense to be made by the same person who was crying in anguish, who soothingly rubbed circles on my knuckles and who calmed me with their soft-spoken words earlier, the person who gently graced my cheek and begged for mercy.

“Hand in mine, into your icy blues
And then I'd say to you we could take to the highway
With this trunk of ammunition too
I'd end my days with you in a hail of bullets
I'm trying, I'm trying
To let you know just how much you mean to me
And after all the things we put each other through
And I would drive on to the end with you
A liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full
And I feel like there's nothing left to do
But prove myself to you and we'll keep it running
But this time, I mean it
I'll let you know just how much you mean to me
As snow falls on desert sky
Until the end of everything
I'm trying, I'm trying
To let you know how much you mean-“

The passion behind the lyrics and their voice makes my heart hurt. Actually hurt. And as odd as it sounds, sort of in a good way. It makes me feel loved and cared about, which is strange. Towards the end, their voice is so powerful and filled with emotion and meaning. They break off because they erupt into another fit of relinquished sobs, that sound as though they have been held back and now the person is finally giving in and letting the tears fall freely. I can’t see them, so I can’t be 100% sure there are tears, but by the sounds of their bawling, I’m pretty sure they are producing tears.
I feel a sudden soft wetness on my lips, and what feels like tears drip onto my face.
“I love you, please just wake up…”
I feel their soft, warm, big hands wrap around me and I so desperately feel the need to hug back, but I honestly can’t.
Isn’t it amazing how I could carefully depict every emotion this person is going through, purely because of the way they were crying?
I just need to open my eyes; I have to know who it is. I can’t last hearing another broken sob escape their lips and not be able to comfort them. Funny that, how I feel such an urge to comfort someone else whilst I’m in this situation. I don’t know what situation exactly, but I feel as though it’s something to do with hospitals. Whether it’s the smell of disinfectant or the taste of the medicines in my mouth, or maybe it’s even the feeling of oxygen being pumped around my body with out me having to breath, I’m not sure. Thinking about it, I can finally smell, and taste. I couldn’t do that a few minutes ago. Or maybe it’s been hours and I can’t tell. Or maybe, it hasn’t been any time at all.

My eyes suddenly fly open and I sit up way too quickly, causing my head to rush. I look around the room and I cross my eyes over a pair of anguished hazel ones.
Tear-lined and desperate, they immediately meet mine and the distressed look of agony instantly vanishes and changes to a look of hope and certainly, love.
The moment I meet eye contact, I am reminded of who he is, I could recognize those eyes anywhere.
I throw my arms around him, engulfing him in a huge hug and leaning my head into the crook of his neck, inhaling his smell and letting all the memories of over the past few weeks commemorate in my head. Gerard… how could I ever not recognize that delicate touch, his beautiful singing and those soft lips of his.
He grips onto me tightly, as though if he were to let go he’d loose me forever.
I feel my hospital shirt get damp because the tears he’s producing are seeping through the gown and onto my shoulder. I don’t mind though. At least his cries aren’t so pained anymore; they’re more a mixture of sadness, but also relief and happiness.
“I was so worried, fuck, I’m so sorry baby,” he whimpers, holding me close to him and kissing my forehead. It’s rather like a motherly act, or so I’m feeling. It feels like a love that will not die out no matter what I’d do, he’d always love me.
I try to think about family, but all I can feel is some form of negative emotion. I try to picture the stereotypical motherly image, but it just doesn’t feel right. Then I remember.

I grip onto Gerard tighter, as his fingers run through my hair combing it out and his other hand still gripping me into his chest.
Is Gerard really all I have?
Not that he isn’t enough, but I still can’t help feeling slightly unwanted. I think over to all the times he’s comforted me, he’s served me in so many ways. Like a friend, a brother, a mother at times, and of course, a lover. If that’s what I can call this?

A lover… that sounds so right, now that I’m held in his arms and he’s affectionately rubbing up and down my spine as I let out choked sobs. I don’t care what happened, I’m just so glad I have him.

Before either of us have a chance to compose ourselves, a female doctor rushes into the room followed by a male nurse holding a board, two other people closely behind… I recognize them, especially the boy with chestnut brown hair and amber eyes, for some reason.

“Frankie! I’m so glad you’re okay,” he exclaims, rushing over and gripping me into a hug. I nod and hug him back, still not too sure who he is. The other man in a black t-shirt and skinny blue jeans moves over to pat Gerard on the shoulder and whisper something in his ear.
“Frank, I’m afraid we have to do a few tests, but your friends can stay. It won’t take too long,” I nod and lie back down into the soft cushions, resting my head, although it’s spinning from all the sudden movement.
“Take a deep breath in and hold it until we say, okay?” one asks, as I oblige and do as I’m told. She suddenly pulls away the tube I completely forgot was running up my nose and she tells me to breath out and in like normal, which thank god, works.
She then starts asking me questions, the majority which I am unable to answer. Stuff like, “what’s your name and age” I can answer, along with “what do you remember?” I can just about honestly reply, although I still feel there is something missing from what happened last night that I don’t remember. I’ve told them about the drink, fainting, being found and then being taken away in an ambulance. It doesn’t feel enough though.

There’s then questions like “who are these people” and general math sums etc. That I do however struggle to answer correctly. Apparently I just need to give it a while and I should be okay and with a fully regained memory.

“Do you remember me though?” Gerard carefully asks, concerned.
“Of course I do, gee,” I reply, turning my head to face him sitting next to me, my sore throat making my words croaky and barely audible. He smiles slightly and sighs, then putting his head in his hands and letting out a quiet whimper.
“Wait… that’s Ryan… and... Brendon?” I state, well more like question, when in reply they both eagerly nod. Thank fuck.

“The only question remaining, do you know how you broke your wrist?” the male asks, waiting for me to answer.
I look at my wrist and try to remember what happened. I shake my head, unable to put my finger on how it happed, and that’s when Brendon talks for me.
“Well we only found him after, but there was another man in there, very angry. I’m almost positive it may have been something to do with him…” he sighs, Ryan nods along with confirmation, whilst Gerard is worriedly exchanging glances between all of us.
I retrace my thoughts back to last night, the awful pain in my stomach… Parlar, I think he’s called, leaving to get me something to ease the pain.
Then I remember, the unknown figure, barging into the room and- I gasp and break down into tears when I remember what happened.
“Frankie, what is it?” Gerard grips onto my hand, staring into my eyes, concerned.
I look up and all eyes are on me, the doctor and the nurse on the edge of their seats, Gerard’s practically on top of me, whilst Brendon and Ryan are both crowding around the bed.
I gulp and look around, until I can’t bare the pressure and I close my eyes and say it.
“I- I was… he touched me and punched me… then grabbed my wrist when I tried to escape and-“ I couldn’t get the words out, the memory flooding back into my head, causing me to cringe and sob at the thought.
“He touched you?” Gerard asks, surprisingly calm, although I can sense some sort of anger and also regret in his voice.
“In what way?” Ryan asks, carefully watching me. I turn and notice Gerard’s teeth clench, evident anger now coursing through him.
“What exactly happened… who was it?” the nurse asks, jotting down something on his clipboard.
I gulp and clench my eyes shut, not wanting to think about the way he touched me and slid his hands down my pants, then exposed me. I guess it could’ve been worse…
I explain and I hear Gerard gasp, as tears fill his eyes and he doesn’t even bother wiping them away.

“What did they look like? Did you know them?”
But all I seem to be able to think about is how Parlar never returned.

Notes

i hAD TO RE EDIT THIS LIKE 2O TIMES BC MY INTERNET KEPT CRASHING smh anyway here you go, i promise i will be updating again tonight :))