The Light Behind His Eyes (Frerard)

About a few weeks after Gerard and I had...well, our deeply intimate moment for the first time, Gerard came down with a bad case of the stomach flu. It all started when we were in bed together one time, and Gerard woke up in the middle of the night, rushing right outta bed and to the bathroom, puking his guts out in the toilet. I of course sat with him the whole time to be there for him, despite just the sight of puking making my stomach churn. The poor thing was shaking so much and was barely able to keep his balance walking back to bed, until he suddenly fell to the floor and threw up again, right on the carpet. That was when I scooped him up in my arms and led him back to bed, giving him a bucket to puke in while I got the mess cleaned up. That’s what the rest of the night consisted of: me scrubbing the carpet and bathroom while Gerard continued to retch into the bucket, his body shivering under the many layers of blankets I provided him with. I am surprised at myself for not getting sick and throwing up as well the whole time. After I finally cleaned up the mess, I gave Gerard a plethora of water bottles to drink and some medicine before I relocated to the couch and slept there instead, knowing that the linens of Gerard’s bed are now likely contaminated with whatever germs got inside of his body. I think what was just as heartbreaking as seeing Gerard so sick and puking was the way he handled it all. Not only was he clearly embarrassed and in pain from the whole thing, but he also looked very guilty and ashamed, as if it were all his fault for becoming ill. He kept apologizing the whole time, guilt-tripping himself for making me go outta my way and sacrifice my needed sleep to help him, knowing that I had work early in the morning. I told him that I’d choose him over sleep, no matter what. I wasn’t saying that just to make him feel better. I truly do mean it. If I had to entirely give up the luxury of sleeping in just to be with Gerard and help him get better, I’d choose to do just that in half a heartbeat.
Later at sunrise, I called Monique and told her that I’m calling in for a no-show at work today to take care of Gerard (whom to her I just dubbed as my friend. I’m not sure how Gerard would feel if I went around telling everyone he’s my boyfriend or anything like that). She thankfully didn’t fight the matter and told me that she hopes he gets well soon. I then broke the news of Gerard’s sickness to Ray and Bob, then to Mikey, who just so happens to have the day off from work for the whole day. He insisted on helping me take care of Gerard and later ran to the store to get him some more medicine and soup, while I stayed at home and made him some chamomile tea, with Gerard in his bed downstairs, clad in pajamas with the puke bucket at his bedside. While it hurts seeing Gerard so weak and miserable, I like the idea of taking care of him and nurturing him back to good health. There’s just something so cute and precious about it, despite it being kinda gross, dealing with the puke and all. I wouldn’t do it for anyone else but him. That’s just how much he means to me.
After I prepared Gerard his tea and found him a heating blanket while rummaging through the closet, I headed back downstairs to his room, finding him still shivering and sweating under the covers, his damp hair plastered to his sweaty and pale face, his eyes shut tight as he kept groaning in pain. He turned his head to me and opened his eyes, smiling weakly.
“Hey, baby,” he muttered, taking the thermos cup of tea I handed him.
“Hi, Gee. How you feeling, hun?” I asked, setting up the heated blanket for him, plugging the cord into the wall and turning it on.
“Fucking fabulous, Frankie. What do you think? I feel like shit. My tummy is killing me,” Gerard snorted, taking a sip of his drink, his face contorting to a look of bewilderment and mild disgust eyeing the cup. “What is this?”
“It’s tea. Chamomile. What’s wrong, you don’t like it?”
“I want coffee, Frankie,” he pouted, to which I quickly declined to give him, shaking my head. Caffeine is one of the last things he needs when he’s this sick, and the same goes with tobacco. I took away his pack of Marlboros earlier, telling him that he needs to get better before he can continue to slowly kill his lungs, to which Gerard was not pleased with one bit. I wish that Gerard wouldn’t smoke at all, honestly.
“No, Gee,” I told him. “Coffee’s bad for you when you’re sick, it dehydrates you. Just water and tea for now, okay?”
“Oh, come on!” Gerard whined, slamming the thermos cup down on his nightstand. “Why do you gotta be so stubborn like this, Frankie? A little coffee isn’t gonna kill me,”
“It won’t make you get any better, though! You gotta keep drinking water to keep yourself hydrated. That’s why you’re sweating so much, Gerard. You’re dehydrated!”
“Then why the fuck would you give me tea?”
“Because!” I hollered, my patience with the sassy and stubborn Gerard starting to vanish. “It’s chamomile tea! It helps you sleep well so you’re not in pain all the time!”
“It’s gonna take more than just that to get me to fucking sleep, Frankie,” Gerard threw himself back down on the bed, his irritable eyes focused on the bare ceiling. “Might as well drink myself into a goddamn coma. That’s just about the only thing that’ll help me fall asleep,”
“Oh, no,” I refuted, shaking my head again. “You are not drinking, Gerard. Absolutely not-”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Frankie! I’m just kidding!” Gerard threw up his hands defensively, clearly looking just as annoyed as I am with him. “What’s gotten into you? Lighten up, okay?”
“No, you need to lighten up, Gerard!” I exclaimed, pointing an accusing and frustrated finger right at Gerard. “Seriously, enough is enough. I called in at work today to help take care of you. Me and Mikey are both going outta our way to make sure you get better, and here you are being a little prima-donna giving me a hard time. First the cigarettes, and now this, with the tea!”
I never thought I would ever raise my voice like this to Gerard, honestly. It’s kinda shocking, but I need to put my foot down. Gerard is definitely one stubborn guy, but I’ve been able to put up with it, until now. He was nowhere like this in the beginning (at least, not this defiant). Gerard’s developed this new side to him lately, one that I really don’t like; he’s not just being adorably sassy right now, he’s being a jerk.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Frankie!” Gerard hissed, slamming his fists down on the bed. “I just hate you coddling me like this, like I’m some poor little fragile thing! It’s just a stomach flu, not cancer or some shit like that! I’ll get better, okay? You’re so sensitive, y’know?”
“Well, excuse the hell outta me for looking out for you! You’ll one day end up getting cancer and die if you keep on smoking anyway, Gerard! I just wanna help you get better as soon as possible, that’s all! Smoking cancer sticks and drinking coffee isn’t gonna help you get over your flu-”
“Get out,” Gerard interrupted, his tone of voice ice-cold, looking somewhat defeated with his head hung down. “Just leave now,”
“What?” I took a step back, clearly floored with how ridiculous Gerard is being right now. “You can’t be serious, Ger-”
“I said get out!” Gerard hollered, his eyes wide and brimming with anger. That’s when I knew I had to run, which I of course did. I’d be suicidal if I let my dumb ass stay put around him right now. Doing so would just make things so much worse than they are now. I slammed the door shut behind me, hearing more of his disgruntled cries along with a few loud bangs against the wall, making the whole place shake a little. I ran right to the couch and threw myself down on it, taking a deep breath and running a frustrated hand through my hair. One thing that I know for a fact hasn’t changed much is Gerard’s short temper, and that honestly annoys me more than it scares the ever-loving shit outta me. I, unfortunately, have been around too many times like this to know that this is not a sign of one of Gerard’s meltdowns. This here is nothing more than a temper tantrum. I’m 99.9% sure that this isn’t a sign of one of Gerard’s psychotic episodes. If it were, he woulda already started hitting himself, or even me, god forbid. Right now, he’s just throwing a fit. He needs some space and time to calm down, and so do I. Maybe Gerard’s right, though. Maybe I was being a little too sensitive. Maybe I do coddle him too much, honestly. But that’s because I love him that much. I want Gerard to be well. I don’t want him to be sick. I don’t want him to be broken. I don’t want him to die from cancer. Fuck, I don’t want him to die at all.
I sat up from the couch to find a skeptical and worried-looking Mikey at the bottom of the stairs, a few grocery bags in his hands. Seriously, what is it with him walking in at the wrong time? There’s so many times he’s done that, that I swear you could make trading cards out of all of them!
“Frank? Is everything alright?”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “Everything's fine. Gerard's just being a pain in the ass right now,”
“What happened?” Mikey set down the bags and sat down next to me on the sofa. “He’s not being...y’know, manic, is he?”
“Oh, no. He’s just throwing a hissy fit because I wouldn't let him drink coffee. He also gave me a hard time for taking away his cigarettes. I told him he needs to stay away from that stuff so he can drink water and tea to get over this flu quicker, you know?”
“Yeah, I see what you mean. I just hope he's alright,” Mikey glanced blankly down the hall to Gerard's bedroom door, which continued to erupt with bangs against the wall beyond it, mixed with Gerard's loud and agitated cussing. “To be honest, he wasn't really any different than this when we were little kids, when mom and dad were still around,”
“Really?” I kinda laughed a little in my mind, envisioning a kindergarten-aged Gerard throwing a tantrum while sitting in time out for whatever it is that kids his age do to land themselves in trouble. “I'm honestly not so surprised,”
“Me neither. It was always Gerard that was the cry baby and the trouble-maker, not me. I was sorta the quiet one that followed him around, like he was the leader. He was like Batman, and I was his side-kick Robin,” Mikey smiled a bit, looking back at the fond memories of his older brother, before their innocence and youth was snatched away from them, along with their parents. “It’s kinda funny that that part of Gerard hasn't changed much, how stubborn and feisty he can be, aside from it being a pain in the ass,”
“I know. He just needs time to simmer down right now, just wait it out til he falls asleep,”
“Sounds like a good idea, Frank,” Mikey nodded in agreement. “I'll make him some soup later when he wakes up,”
“Be careful now, Mikes,” I sang playfully. “He might bitch you out for not making him the chicken noodle soup with the alphabet shaped noodles in it,”
“Alright, then,” he laughed. “What’re you gonna do?”
“Not sure yet. Might just take a nap here on the couch and check up on Gerard every once in awhile, take a peek in his room to see if he’s passed out yet,”
“Alright, then,” Mikey sat up, making his way back upstairs. “I’ll be up in my room. Lemme know if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay, then. Thanks, Mikes,”
I let my whole body collapse right back on to the couch, feeling myself sink into the cushions of it, asking myself if I’m even sleepy enough to take a nap right now. I really don’t know. I didn’t sleep very well last night, after what happened with Gerard getting sick as a dog, and me running all over the place for him. I got maybe a measly, unsatisfying four hours of sleep at most, and right now, I don’t feel all that fucking fantastic because of it, especially after the hard time Gerard’s been giving me all morning over his stupid cigarettes and coffee.
You know what? That’s what I’ll do; I will take a nap, like I told Mikey I would. I need time to unwind. I need to let Gerard recollect himself, and so do I. I will be sure to check up on him later. Because of all the meds he’s been taking for his flu, he’ll sure as shit be asleep sooner or later, like I will be momentarily.
_ _ _
It turns out that I really did need that extra few hours of sleep. It wasn’t long before I passed out, lying on the sofa and daydreaming about fuck all. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, realizing what I said I’d do later; I gotta go check up on Gerard. There’s a good chance he’s asleep. But if he isn’t, I’ll still go in and apologize. I was being a little irrational and out of line earlier. I shouldn’t be giving him a hard time when he’s not feeling his greatest. I know I wouldn’t be all smiles and laughs if I was sick as shit. The best I can do is help him and be there for him, and not be a pain in his side.
I got up and made my way down the hall to Gerard’s bedroom door, lightly tapping on it, seeing if he’ll respond if he just so happens to not be passed out. There’s nothing, just silence. I slightly opened up the door, taking a peek. Turns out he is asleep, after all. But there’s something not quite right with him, with the way he looks. He’s normally still, body wrapped up in the covers, mouth slightly agape and snoring lightly, looking at peace and sleeping like a baby. He looks nowhere like that here, though. He’s tossing and turning, his breaths heavy and labored. He’s still sweating, too. No, he’s not just sweating. He’s sweating profusely, much worse than before. His body is soaked to the bone in perspiration, like he just got done running a marathon. Something’s not right with him.
“No…” he mumbled, wincing in pain, face grimacing in discomfort. “No, stop it, please…”
I gotta wake Gerard up. He’s having a bad dream. He has to be, and I gotta get him out of it.
“Hey, Gee,” I shook his shoulder lightly. “Hey, wake up-”
“No!” he whimpered, his whole body recoiling into a weak little ball. “Please, no, Jack! Don’t touch me! Don’t hurt me, Mary Ann! please!”
Jack? Mary Ann? Who are these people?
“Gerard, wake up!” I leapt up over Gerard, shaking him much harder now, just begging him to wake up already. He’s just gotta wake the fuck up. He has to! “C’mon Gee, snap out of it! You’re having a nightmare! Open your eyes, Gerard! Open your-”
“No, stop hurting me!” Gerard’s legs under me kicked and flailed, his whole body struggling beneath mine, his hands doing that one thing to himself I just can’t bear to see him do, slapping and beating up his own scared and vulnerable self. “Please stop it, Jack! Leave me alone, please! Stop hurting me! Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop-”
“Gerard! Wake up!” I cried, shaking him like a ragdoll. “Wake the fuck up! Wake up-”
My body fell backwards on the bed as Gerard screamed, pushing me off as his body jolted up outta bed and collapsed to the floor, right on his hands and knees. He clenched his stomach with his hand, bile escaping from his mouth and splattering all over the floor and himself. It was at that moment where I had to turn away and cover my eyes, trying my damndest to not puke myself. He kept coughing and dry-heaving, curled up and shaking on the floor for what seemed like hours, even though it was only a matter of seconds before the heaving finally came to a halt, and that’s when I turned back to look at him. Gerard didn’t do anything after all that. He didn’t move a muscle to get himself cleaned up, or even turn to acknowledge me. He just sat there silently next to the pool of vomit, woefully quiet with his head hung down.
“Gerard?” I called to him, only to be given more of the silent treatment from him. “Gerard? Are you okay?”
Silence. It’s like he didn’t even hear me. I stood up off the bed and knelt down next to him, trying my best to ignore the mess beside him me made, as well as the one all over his shirt and pajama pants. It’s like to him it’s not even there, seeing how still and mute he is. It’s like to him I’m invisible.
“Gerard,” I said again, a little louder this time. “Gerard, it’s alright. You just had a bad dream, that’s all. I’m here,”
Still nothing.
Ready to just call it quits and give up on looking for a sign from him, I stood up and grabbed a bundle of clean clothes from the dresser, turning back to him as I set them down beside me. He looks so lost and sad, his eyes depressingly vacant. I can’t leave him like this, sitting in his own filth. I’m gonna get him cleaned up again.
“Come on,” I knelt down to Gerard again, right in front him this time. “Let’s go get you cleaned up,” I held out my hand, just like I did on that night when I first met him here in this very same place, asking him to take it and come with me. All the memories of that night are coming back to me, all so clear. I’ll never forget that fateful night. I go back there every night, without fail.
“Please?” I asked, my hand still stretched out and waiting for him. He’s gotta take my hand. He’s gotta hear me. He’s gotta know I’m here. He just has to!
Gerard’s eyes made their way from their hands up to my face, still empty and lacking as much life as his face, dull and expressionless. He then looked back down at my open hand, finally taking it, his grasp shaky and cold to the touch. I pulled him up to his feet with the slight jerk of my arm, taking the bundle of clothes under my free arm and led him outta the bedroom. I switched on the bathroom light, to which Gerard responded by letting go of my hand and backing away from me, retreating to the far corner of the hall outside the room, wincing helplessly as if he’s just been physically threatened.
“Gerard?” I turned to him, instantly confused. “What’s wrong?”
“N-no shower,” he stuttered, shaking his head violently side to side. “N-no shower, F-frankie...c-can’t use sh-shower,”
Oh, fuck. I forgot Gerard’s utter distaste for showering. Why, though? What makes him so repulsed by it exactly? It’s like he’s outright scared shitless of them, seeing him shaking and cowering in the corner. There’s almost no doubt in my mind now that something really terrible happened to him one time involving a shower, making him now avoid them like the plague. I’ll be damned if that’s not the case…
“Alright, then,” I stepped outta the bathroom. “Let’s go upstairs then, get you a bath. Come on,” I held out my hand again for Gerard, who this time didn’t take what felt like an eternity to accept it, surprisingly enough. In fact, he grabbed on to it like lightning, clutching at it with both his trembling hands, not unlike he’s done before in times of distress like this. Together, we made our way upstairs and to the bathroom. I set down the bundle of Gerard’s clean clothes on top of the toilet, then proceeded to start up the tub with warm running water, followed by putting a pinch of Mr. Bubbles in it, just for Gerard. He can just never have his bath without the bubbles. No way.
“Oh, hey Gerard! How’s your stomach ache?” Mikey walked in, the smile on his face instantly vanishing the second he got a good look at his brother, seeing his clothes stained in vomit and stenching of it. It almost hurts to see how embarrassed Gerard must look, speechless and forlorn, so much that I think he barely has the dignity to speak for himself what happened.
“He threw up again,” I said. “Gonna get him washed up,”
“Oh, okay,” Mikey responded, not at all looking bothered by what I just told him I’d do for his brother. He turned to Gerard. “You alright, bro?”
Gerard didn’t respond. He just nodded, looking anything but alright, clearly. I can tell Mikey so badly wants to ask him what’s wrong.
“I’m fine,” Gerard said flatly, his eyes focused down on the floor.
“You sure, Gerard?” Mikey asked doubtfully. “You want me to make you some soup now?”
“No, thank you,” he shook his head. Mikey turned to me, looking for more answers. He knows something here isn’t adding up. I can tell. I would tell Mikey more about what happened, with Gerard’s night terror, but that’s really not a good idea. Not in front of Gerard. He’s obviously still so shaken after it. What was going on in Gerard’s head in that dream? Who’s this Jack and Mary Ann he mentioned? I’ve got as many questions going through my head right now as much as Mikey.
“He’ll be fine, Mikes. He just isn’t feeling too hot,”
“Alright, then,” Mikey shrugged, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. After the bathtub got filled up with warm and bubbly water, I shut off the faucet and helped Gerard undress, who stood quietly the whole time, apologetic eyes on me, looking lower than a dog. When I took all his clothes off, he didn’t even budge to get his shivering body into the tub. He just kept standing there.
“Come on,” I motioned to the tub. “Water’s warm. Get in,”
“O-okay,” Gerard nodded, slowly stepping in. He curled back up into that little weak ball as he sat down, hugging himself, eyes down yet again. I grabbed the cup and Gerard’s squeaky rubber frog from under the sink, proceeding to wet his hair and lather it with shampoo, handing Gerard his little toy in hopes of cheering him up a bit.
“Here, Gee,” I said, the frog in my hands. “Here’s your friend,”
Gerard didn’t even bother to look at it. He shook his head, eyes still withdrawn and full of utter sadness. I sighed, setting it down. Something’s really bugging him right now. It’s gotta be that awful dream he had that’s eating at him. He’s gotta talk to me. I need to help him.
“You wanna tell me what that dream was about you were having earlier?” I asked, washing the shampoo outta Gerard’s hair.
“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “I’m sorry,”
“No, it’s fine, Gee. I understand,”
Jesus. That must’ve been a really horrible dream...maybe like the one I had that one time, with Gerard killing everyone and holding my severed head in his arms. Just thinking about it still gives me the chills, even several weeks later after it happened that night.
“Thank you,” he said suddenly. “Thank you, Frankie,”
“For what?”
“For waking me up,” Gerard smiled, but only a little. “I couldn’t wake up, no matter how hard I tried, but you helped me. You helped me wake up,”
“Oh,” I smiled back, feeling so touched. “You’re welcome, Gee,”
He didn’t talk for the rest of the time I bathed him. He kept his head down the whole time, sitting still. He didn’t even touch his frog. After I washed out the conditioner in his hair and the soap suds off his body, I got him all dried off and into his new clean clothes, walking back down to his room with him. Gerard sat back down in his bed under the covers, eyes still withdrawn and full of pure sadness, head still hung down. He’s still not alright. Something’s on his mind. There’s something he’s not telling me here. I still need to help him, damn it. I’m not putting this to rest until I get to the bottom of it.
“Gerard, what’s wrong?” I asked, kneeling at his bedside. “Are you still really torn up from that nightmare you had?”
No response.
“Gerard, it was just a bad dream. That’s all. You know that-”
“You don’t understand, Frankie,” Gerard’s head shot up, his voice sharp. “You just don’t get it,”
“Get what?” My brows furrowed. “What am I missing here? You had a really bad dream, and you told me I helped you wake up. Are you sure you don’t wanna tell me anything? Who’s this Jack and Mary Ann you were going on about? What happened?”
That’s when I think I pushed him over the edge, seeing the tears starting to leak from his sullen hazel eyes. He closed them tightly, looking like he’s trying his hardest to hold them back, but to no avail. It wasn’t long before he gave up, planting his face into his hands, his sniffles and sobs muffled under them.
“Gerard,” I said, cursing at myself for making him cry again, something I do far too much. “Gerard, I’m sorry! Don’t cry! I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m-”
“No,” he shook his head. “It’s all my fault!”
“No, it’s not, Gerard. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything-”
“Don’t leave me, Frankie!” Gerard clung on to me, holding on to me for his dear life, with his arms nearly suffocating me in his tight embrace. “Please don’t leave me. I’m scared!”
“Oh, hun,” I took him in, holding him close to me. I laid down next to him in his bed, no longer caring if I catch whatever sickness he has. He needs to be held. “I’m not gonna leave you. I’m here,”
“You swear, Frankie?” he whimpered through his sobs. “You swear you won’t leave if I tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I asked, only to be given no response, but more of Gerard’s crying. It’s already starting to eat at me. What does Gerard need to tell me? His silence is killing me! I need to know everything! “What do you wanna tell me, Gerard?”
“Frankie…” he whispered, his sobs finally coming to a halt. “I never told you, did I?”
“Tell me what, Gerard?”
Come on, Gerard. Just tell me. Spit it out. Just fucking tell me already!
“Frankie...I...I’ve…,”
“You’ve what?”
“I...I’ve killed more than just those kids that bullied me in high school. I’ve killed more people than that, Frankie. I really am a fucking murderer,”
I could’ve sworn when Gerard said those words, I felt myself on the verge of fainting. I feel like I’m gonna throw up. I can’t see him anymore. Everything’s gone blurry. Everything’s spinning. My hands went numb, letting go of Gerard as I fell to the floor, completely frozen in my own crippling fear. The whole world around me is going gray. As I shut my eyes, I felt myself delve into pure darkness, my consciousness slowly slipping away from me. There’s only one thing I can see in this blackness. It’s a figure right in front of me, looming over my paralyzed body. It’s Gerard. It’s the same Gerard from that horrid dream I had, his smile wide and wicked, blood seeping and dripping from his nose. He cackled, my severed head dangling from his hand, my own dead eyes taunting me. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t run away. I can’t move. I can’t even scream.

Notes