I came to in a small bedroom, a little old fashioned, but comfortable. The blankets piled on top of me were thick, and someone had managed to find me some pajamas. I tried to sit up, but cried out softly and sank back, holding my side. The door slammed back and a lady I figured to be about in her sixties hurried in.
“Are you okay?”
I blinked, staring at her blankly. “I'm alive,” I mumbled.
She smiled sadly. “That's a start. What's your name?”
I rubbed my eyes shakily. Everything hurt and the pain was almost overwhelming. “Frank, Frank Iero.”
“Is there anyone we can call?”
I sniffed, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds. “I can write you out a number.”
“Okay. Here..” She handed me a pen and paper and I scribbled the number down, my handwriting shakier than usual.
“Who's this?” She asked quietly.
“His name is Gerard, he's my friend,” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Tell him that Paul showed up. He’ll know what it means.”
The lady gave me a look. “This better not be about any drugs.”
I shook my head. “No, it's not. I promise.”
She sighed and left the room quietly.
I stared at the ceiling for a while, forcing myself not to think about anything until she came back.
“He's coming to pick you up now, he says he's an hour away. Would you like to move downstairs? I can put the tv on for you.”
I nodded slowly. “That would be great. Um...I didn't catch your name?”
“I'm Grace. My husband brought you in, but he had to go to work. We did our best in stitching you up, but when your friend gets here he should probably take you to the hospital.”
I smiled slightly, forcing myself to sit up. “Y-yeah. Feels like that might be a good idea.”
Grace smiled, helping me swing my legs around to sit on the edge of the bed. “You're a tough one, aren't you?”
I nodded slightly. “I like to think so.” I slid down and winced as my sore ankle touched the floor. “Crap..”
Grace leaned down, helping me put my arm around her shoulders. “Here, I've got you. Just take it slow, we’re not in any rush.”
“Thanks..” I gasped out, trying to take a step and nearly falling.
It took almost fifteen minutes and a lot of bitten-back swear words from me, but we managed to get downstairs. I collapsed onto the couch, chuckling to myself. “I am never moving again.”
Grace laughed and handed me some pillows and the remote. “Fair enough. I'll go and get you a blanket, okay? And then I guess you'd better have some breakfast.”

By the time Gerard arrived, I had had a rather large plate of pancakes and a handful of painkillers. Grace went to let him in, but as soon as he walked into the living room, he froze. I smiled at him a little shakily. He seemed to shake himself and hurried over, stroking my hair back from my face. “Holy...are you okay?”
I nodded slightly, gently grabbing at his arm for comfort. “I think I need to go to the hospital,” I whispered, starting to feel a little drowsy. Gerard nodded, scooping me up off the couch and glancing at Grace.
“Thank you so so much for calling me and I'd love to stay and thank you properly, but-”
“He needs to go to the hospital, I know. You boys go, I'll call you tomorrow, Gerard. It'd be nice to know how he is.”
“Of course. Thanks again..”
I waved as Gerard carried me out of the door, but as soon as he'd stepped off the porch, I started to sob.
“Oh Frankie,” Gerard murmured, hurrying to the car and carefully setting me in the passenger seat. “It's gonna be okay. Shh. Don't cry, sweetie, don't cry.” He hugged me tightly, but pulled away quickly. “Come on. We have to go. The nearest hospital is twenty minutes away, are you gonna be okay?”
I nodded shakily, burying my face in my hands. Gerard shut the door and hurried around, getting in behind the wheel. He leaned over, buckling my seatbelt for me before flooring it down the driveway.

I could hear a quiet beeping and I could feel warm fingers on my arm. “Hey..”
I managed to turn my head enough to see Gerard. “Hi,” I rasped, shivering slightly. Gerard quickly pulled another blanket over me, smiling sadly. “What's the damage?” I asked shakily, trying to sit up. Gerard pushed me back gently, shaking his head. “Broken ankle, lots of knife wounds. Your feet are all cut up and sore, and...yeah. Lots of bruises. A couple broken ribs.”
I clenched my jaw, glaring at the ceiling.
“Should I call Mikey?” Gerard sounded uncertain, worried.
“No!” I snapped, my lip curling briefly. “He promised to protect me and he did fuck all!”
“Frank, I-”
“You two didn't even look for me!”
Gerard took a deep breath. “We had the police out trying to find you, but he took you into a different county, sweetie.”
“I'm not your goddamn sweetie!”
He rubbed my forearm slowly, watching me worriedly. “Frank. I know you're angry and hurting right now...I get it. But hurting Mikey and me won't make you feel better, not in the long run.”
“I want to go home,” I said flatly, looking at him.
Gerard nodded slightly. “Okay. Okay. I'll take you home. Let me just go talk to the doctor, we need to get you some crutches and stuff.”
I nodded, watching him go. The anger was like a fire in my stomach, flickering and burning. It spat out words I didn't want to say, and fueled itself, feeding more rage into every part of me.
Gerard slipped back in, handing me a clipboard. “You have to sign the release papers and then there's some paperwork with doctor’s instructions and stuff, okay?”
I nodded, scribbling my signature and folding up the papers and stuffing them in the small bag the hospital had given me with bandages and antiseptic. Gerard helped me to my feet, handing me the crutches. “There you go. Are you okay?”
I swung the bag over my shoulder, ignoring the intense pain. “Fine,” I growled, heading out of the ward and towards the elevator quickly. Gerard jogged after me, pressing the button for the elevator for me.
“I'll take you home now and Mikey will be at work, okay?”
I glanced at Gerard. “He lost his job.”
“Angelo said he can wipe tables for a couple months, if he stays clean he'll bring him back.”
I grunted, stepping into the elevator as it came and pressed the button for the ground floor. “Good for him.”
Gerard tried to touch my shoulder, but I shook him off quickly. “Don't touch me.”
He took a small step back and as soon as the elevator stopped, he walked out, leading the way to the car.

As soon as Gerard dropped me off, I headed up to the apartment, not saying a word to him. I grabbed several bags, shoving clothes and toiletries into them. Paul had taken everything is had on me, but I still had my spare set of car keys. I hurried back down, shoving everything into my car and getting in behind the wheel. I pulled out of the parking lot and was soon on the highway, blasting Black Flag from my speakers and trying not to think about anything.

After my mother had died, the house had passed to me. I hadn't sold it, but I couldn't bear to live in it. Now, I hobbled up the steps, unlocking the door. It smelled musty and unused, but everything was intact. I dragged my bags in, dumping them in my old bedroom, then checked under the mattress and tugged out the wad of cash I’d hidden there years ago, just after Paul had turned abusive. It was nearly three thousand. I locked the house up again and drove to the grocery store, buying myself several pints of ice cream and several bottles of booze as well as some real food and a shitty burner phone. It was probably only a matter of time before Gerard figured out where I'd gone, but Mikey wouldn't know about this place. There was a lot he still didn't know about me.
I curled up on the couch and ate ice cream for lunch, watching whatever shit I could find in the DVD cabinet.
I dug my laptop out from one of the bags I’d brought from the apartment and checked my email. Two from Mikey, one from Gerard. I opened the ones from Mikey first.

Gerard told me you don't want to see me. Please call.

Frank, where are you??? Gerard told me you ran off! Please please call me I love you.

Gerard’s was a little more calm and collected.
I know where you are, Frank. I'm going to give you a week and then I'll come check on you. Mikey's worried sick, he won't stop pacing. Please call him or email him back, just so he knows you're alive. I hope you're doing okay. Don't rip any stitches or anything stupid. We both love you so much. Please be home soon.

I picked up the flip phone, punching in Mikey’s number angrily. It rang once before he picked up.
“Frank? Is that you?”
“Yeah,” I growled. He hesitated.
“Are you okay?”
“That's a fucking stupid question.”
Mikey sighed. “Okay, so are you dying? Do you have everything you need? Are you taking care of yourself?”
“No, yes, sort of. Was that it?”
There was another pause.
“Frankie, I know you're angry, but-”
“You have no idea how angry I am. You have no idea how I'm feeling. You promised you'd fucking protect me, you promised you'd be there and you weren't. He nearly killed me, Mikey. I don't want to talk to you again. I don't want to see you again. We are done. Do you understand?”
Mikey hung up the phone and I threw it at the wall, the rage flaring up. “FUCK!”

---

Gerard did as he promised, turning up a week later with a six pack of beer and a tub of ice cream. I let him in, stumbling a little.
“Did I miss the party?” Gerard chuckled, following me into the house and catching me gently. “You're drunk, Frank. Come sit down.”
He set the beer down and grabbed two spoons from the drawer, following me to the living room and sitting down next to me. “Here. Have a spoon.”
I took it shakily, looking up at him. “Why are you here?”
“Because you're my best friend, Frank. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“What about Mikey?”
“He's staying with a friend,” Gerard said shortly, his smile vanishing.
I rubbed one eye, squinting at him. “I never meant to hurt him.”
“But you did, Frank...I'm sorry.”
I started to cry, dropping the spoon and grabbing onto Gerard. “I'm so so sorry!”
He sighed, wrapping his arms around me and rocking me slowly. “It's okay. Shh. It's alright. You're drunk, Frank, you don't know what you're doing..”
I pulled away slightly and kissed him desperately, sloppily. “I love you,” I announced a little louder than necessary. Gerard stared at me for a couple seconds, then brushed the backs of his fingers over my cheeks. I was crying again, for a different reason I couldn't explain.
“I've always loved you, Frankie,” he said softly, studying my face as he talked. “So much. I've always wanted you. The day you told me you were gay was the happiest day of my life. But I couldn't have you. My dad was homophobic, he would have kicked me out. And then you met Paul and I thought it would work out...when you got divorced, I couldn't bring myself to make an advance...I thought it would just make you feel worse again. So I lied to you for years. And I hope you can forgive me. But I also hope to God that you don't remember this when you wake up.”
I sobbed softly, choking on air. “I've always loved you,” I whispered, swaying before I felt my eyes close up and I fell back.

Notes