A Certain Kind of Death

He hadn't been fine, but he was determined to be.

His body felt new, powerful, but uncoordinated. It took him the next few weeks to fully understand how it worked all over again, or why he physically just felt...good. Gone were the days where his crippling depression made it hard to leave bed or sleep properly. He'd been wary, but realized it was just gone. He'd stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror, checking every inch of himself, but could not find a single bullet wound, or evidence of anywound at all, including the scar on his knee from falling as a kid and others he had acquired over his life span. He was as blank as xerox paper. His body no longer craved substances to even it out, had lost its allergies, and was gradually losing its pudginess, despite having a voracious appetite. Coffee and cigarettes were no longer coping mechanisms, having been reduced to simple tastes; he could just as well start a day with water and Saltines.

It was very strange to him, the concept of living a life without feeling tortured by his own body and mind. Everything seemed so much brighter, his previous memories being comparable to seeing the world through a dirty lense. Emotions were now a product of how his personality would have him react to his experiences, not how his mental illness fucked with his head. It was a time to reinvent himself, who was he when he wasn't constantly hurting? Where did his need to create come from now? Was it even there at all anymore? He would mull those questions over during his hospital visits to Steph.

Gerard knew her parents weren't too thrilled with him visiting every day. "Don't leave them alone too much," Mr. Calvert had said to his wife when he thought they were out of earshot, which left him seething. They were right to blame him for what happened, but very wrong to think restricting his visits would keep them apart, especially since her time in the hospital was at an end. He had been there through it all, but could still not find common ground with them. They were the sort of people that didn't really understand why someone with a business degree would hang around with someone with a cartooning degree, let alone date them seriously. He wasn't enough for them, he was too much of a dreamer, and stuck out like a sore thumb.

"I have a question," Steph told him, breaking his train of thought and sitting up in bed. Gerard observed her quietly over the rim of his styrofoam coffee cup. "But don't try to weasel out of it or you're really going to irritate me."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"What happened with that guy?" It was a much broader question than it seemed. They'd told everyone it had been a drive-by shooting, not a specific attack. She hadn't brought it up once since then, which meant she'd been piecing things together herself and formulating the perfect way to ask. Gerard sighed, figuring he might as well. Sammy was dead anyway.

"Drugs, Steph, I know you know. I owed him a lot of money, and I was just in really deep with the wrong people because of it."

"He said he'd kill your family."

"I know, I took care of it. Nothing's gonna happen to anyone."

"How?"

"I payed him."

"How?" she repeated. "You didn't have money then, so how did you just come up with it?"

"I took out a lone, it's-"

"You're lying," she interjected. "You literally think I was fucking born yesterday, don't you?" Gerard opened his mouth to respond, but the door opened and her parents came in, her mother carrying an overnight bag. They fell silent.

"Well, let's get you changed, piggy. Time to go home," June announced. "Outside, boys, we won't be long."

"Actually, mom, G can help me," Steph said matter-of-factly and tossed off the sheets. Her parents and Gerard looked shocked and embarassed, her father ducking out having mumbled something about getting the car. It was just like her to put them all on the spot to get what she wanted, he could have laughed. Almost. He loved how she would never shy away from their relationship in front of anyone, which had been one of his greatest insecurities when they had started dating.

"Don't be inappropriate, Stephanie!"

"I'm so sorry, I'll step right out," Gerard told June, getting up. "Steph, just let your mom help you." He was red with embarassment, accidentally spilling what was left of his coffee on his pants and sketch pad.

"Well, it isn't anything he hasn't already seen, mom, so just go with dad," Steph continued, hanging her bare legs over the side of the bed. Gerard continued apologizing, but June turned on her heel and shut the door, clearly disgruntled.

"What was that about?" Gerard asked. "You want them to hate me more?" He unzipped the bag and pulled out a pair of navy stretch linen pants, a grey cashmere sweater, and white canvas shoes. Very prim, just like June would have things be. He wanted to rip holes in the sweater and dirty up the shoes for some reason.

"No, but we weren't done talking, and it isn't that big of a deal. Just put those pants on me under this stupid robe."

"I don't know what more you want me to say," he sighed and put her feet through her pant legs. He helped her stand and slid them up her long legs, pulling its strings and tying them at her waist. She turned around while Gerard undid her robe and slid it off, running a hand down her back, to the curve of her waist and turning her again so he could see her bare upper body. His mind began to race with ideas, not all of them good or things he would normally want.

His eyes roamed over her stomach that had shrunk dramatically, over her ribs, her breasts, to the circular scar that looked pink from newness. She clearly hated having it, and it made him feel a mixture of guilt and attraction. He despised the fact that he had put her in danger, but found some bizarre, primitive satisfaction at having marked her in such a way. It made him feel like a total creep, so he hurried in helping her slide on her sweater.

"Fine, I'll drop it, but you know you're lying," she said at last as he tied her shoe laces. He slid the bag over a shoulder and took her hand, leading her out of the sterile place to the front entrance where her parents were waiting in their long family car.

"I'll call you later to see how you are, okay?" Gerard pretended not to notice the bewildered look she shot him and opened the back door for her to climb in. "I have work, and I came in my car," he explained, giving her the lightest peck and saying goodbye to her parents, feeling instantly relieved when the car pulled away. It was whispering in his head again, horrible things it wanted him to do to her. Gerard slapped the side of his face as he walked to his car.

"You can't have her," he repeated until the words didn't sound like words anymore.

Notes