Fantastic Bastards in Monroeville (Frerard)

“We’re almost there,” an EMT told me a little too happily as he drove me in an ambulance, my body strapped down in a gurney. I didn’t say a fucking word. I haven’t said anything since I tried to end my own life, and failed miserably. Mikey came home and found me on the floor...and saved my goddamn life against my wishes, the bastard. Now I’m here in the back of this fucking ambulance coming from the hospital, taking me to a fucking loony bin. This is what my failure to kill myself resulted in, and now more than ever, I wanna fucking die. Not only am I without Lindsey, but I’m also to be taken to a place for psychopaths, where I’ll be locked away for god knows how long. Thanks, Mikey.
I can barely remember anything since I tried to kill myself. I don’t remember being resuscitated back to life, or rushed to the hospital. In fact, my whole stay at the hospital was nothing but a blur to me. I remember seeing Mikey and my parents, but that’s all. I don’t remember how they were when they saw me in my hospital room. I don’t remember what I ate, or if I even ate anything at all. I hope I didn’t, I thought. Eating makes you fat, and that’s the last thing I need to be, more than I already am. I don’t remember talking to a psychiatrist, or if I even spoke at all. But here I am, being sent to a psychiatric hospital by a shrink’s orders, and against mine. I cursed inside my mind, cursing out Mikey’s name for fucking saving me when I didn’t want any of that. Why did he have to save me? Why did he have to call 911 to have the goddamn EMTs resuscitate me? Why did he care? I’m nobody special. I’m just a fat, pathetic excuse of a human being with a weight problem and a girlfriend who left him forever because of it.
“We’re here!” the EMT sang in that stupid childish voice he’s spoken to me this whole time throughout the ride. I wish he would just shut up. He knows I’m not gonna talk, and never have since that day I almost died. “Let’s get you outta here, okay?”
Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Please.
The EMT got out from the ambulance once he parked and opened up the back door with his partner of work, and pulled my body on the gurney out. As they wheeled me out, I looked around, finding myself in a parking lot near a brick building surrounded by neatly-kempt plantation, all the windows barred and blocking the outside world I’m soon to be hidden from. I looked over to the large sign near the building, reading it--
Monroeville Psychiatric Hospital, established 1895.
So that’s the name of the place, huh? This is the name of the place I’m gonna be stuck in with a bunch of schizos and addicts? That’s just fucking dandy. Oh boy, I can hardly wait! I sighed deeply as the EMTs wheeled me in through the front doors and into a large white lobby, with a lady at the front desk who looks like she’s been waiting for my arrival, paperwork in her hand.
“This is the new admission?” she asked the EMTs, pointing a manicured finger to me.
“Why yes, it is,” the EMT with the overly-happy voice replied with possibly the fakest smile I’ve ever seen on anyone. The lady at the desk smiled as well, her’s just as faux and empty.
“Welcome, Mr. Way. We’ll take you upstairs,” she said, handing the EMTs the paperwork and guiding them to the elevator. I wanna punch their faces clean of those shit-eating grins. I hate smiling. The lady and EMTs took me up to the fifth floor, where I was greeted by a hallway leading to a locked room with a buzzer next to it. The lady pressed the button and spoke into the box, announcing my arrival to the other person beyond the door. We waited a few minutes before the door opened, revealing the hell I’m soon to be dumped into, with another lady standing in the doorway. She looks pretty young, like somewhere in her mid to late twenties. She also appears to be a nurse here or something, seeing the white scrubs she’s wearing, contrasting against her red-orange hair. She welcomed us in, the EMTs wheeling me inside and lowering the gurney before they released me from it and left. The door behind me closed shut, forever entrapping me in this godforsaken place. Released from the gurney I’ve been strapped up in, I stretched a bit, looking around my new “home”. Everything is white. Too white. Not just the walls and the scrubs of the nurses, but also the gowns of the wandering patients, as well as the furniture. It’s a white that stings my eyes, making me squint in pain. This place is a white hell. Now I have a good enough reason to hate white.
“Welcome, Mr. Way,” the lady smiled. “My name’s Hayley. I’m one of the nurses here. We’ll get you settled in soon. Let’s first take you to your room, shall we?” she said, offering her hand to me to follow her. Unsure what to do with it, I just stood there. Does she really want me to hold her hand like a fucking child? Who the hell does she think she is?
“Come on, let’s go,” She laughed a bit, despite the annoyance in her voice, taking me by my wrist and nudging me to follow her down the hall. Having no choice, I did just that, silently walking with her with her hand firmly wrapped around mine...just like a little kid. As we walked down the tiled hall together, I kept my eyes down, feeling all the eyes of bypassing patients on me.
“This here is the day room,” Hayley said, pointing to a room with windows and couches, as well as a television and a bookshelf full of board games and books that look like they haven’t been touched in ages. “We have our daily activities such as group therapy here. It’s also where you can spend some free time, like watching T.V or playing a board game with fellow patients, whatever you like,”
I looked inside, finding a bunch of patients in there staring right back at me. There’s a couple of them on one of the sofas, one with short brown hair who looked like he done a good deal of crying, and right beside him is another man with a rat’s nest of black hair, laughing when his eyes came to mine. There’s also a couple of other patients at a table, one with an afro of brown hair and another with short blonde hair and some stubble on his chin, the both of them looking like they’re playing some card game. The afro guy smiled and waved at me, while the blonde man cringed in disgust and looked back down at the cards in his hands.
“Hi, Ray!” Hayley sang, waving back and smiling. She turned to me as we walked further down the hall. “That guy there is Ray. He’s a really friendly guy. I’m sure he’ll do good in helping you get acquainted with this place,”
No thanks, Hayley. I’d rather not. I’d like to be out of this place, thank you very much.
“Here’s the dining room,” Hayley said, pointing out to a large room with a series of tables, as well a kitchen near it where the food’s served. A couple other patients sat at the tables, eating what appears to be soup. They both looked up at us and stared blankly, then back to their soup. When we passed the dining room, we then eventually turned the corner, with Hayley leading me to a door with the numbers 527 beside it on a little sign. “And here’s your room, Mr. Way. You can go ahead and take a look inside, okay?”
I nodded, kinda curious where I will be sleeping. I opened up the door and peeked inside, finding a single bed near a barred window and a series of rounded shelves up on the wall opposite of the bed, as well as a bedside table and a nightstand. Everything is, of course, fucking white, much to my dismay. Whoopie.
“Well, now that we’ve showed you around a bit, let’s go to group, shall we?” Hayley asked, taking my hand again and nearly dragging me with her without protest. Of course I gotta go to group. Just what I wanted to fucking do as soon as I get dumped into this place. I didn’t even get to step inside my room and look around a bit. Now I have to be in a circle full of chairs with some of the weirdos I just met. Oh boy, how exciting…
Hayley lead me back into the day room, where everyone sat either on the sofas, pull-out chairs, or on the floor in a big circle. Beside them in a chair sat another lady with her legs crossed, who stood up and smiled. She also looks pretty young, her face made up and her blonde hair up in a bun.
“Hello there, Gerard. I’m Dr. Haycraft, and I’m the coordinator of group therapy,” she said, holding out her hand to me, which I just stared at blankly. Realizing that I’m not gonna shake her (probably) filthy hand, she took it back, smiling awkwardly as she turned to the patients all sitting in a circle around us. “Everyone, this is Gerard, a new patient. I want you all to welcome him,”
“Hello, Gerard,” a group of patients spoke, sounding anything but thrilled. Dr. Haycraft showed me to an empty pull-out chair right beside the crying brown-haired boy from earlier, who looked up at me with raw tears. I sat down, keeping my eyes away from him, as well as everyone else. Dr. Haycraft smiled again up at the group, making me grit my teeth in frustration with the amount of fake smiles in this godforsaken place.
“Gerard,” she turned to me. “Why don’t we all start off by you introducing yourself, hmm?”
No. I can’t. What the hell can I even say? I haven't spoken in so long, and I still refuse to utter a single word. It’s like ever since I tried to end myself, a mute button was pressed on me, silencing me, and I want it to stay like that. I shook my head and looked down, hoping that Dr. Haycraft doesn’t try to jerk anything outta me, the bitch.
“Gerard, are you sure you don’t wanna say anything?” she asked, leaning in closer to me with those big blue eyes of her’s. Yes. Yes, I am fucking sure I don’t wanna talk. Can you stop looking at me so stupidly and leave me alone? Please? Is that too much to ask for? I shook my head again, hoping that she can take the hint. When I did, she sighed, pulling out her notebook and jotting down some notes, probably about how much of a stubborn son of a gun I am. I could only wonder what she’s writing about me…
“Alright, Brendon. How about you?” Dr. Haycraft asked, her eyes up at the crying guy next to me. He nodded, wiping at his eyes.
“Well...what should I say?” Brendon asked, sniffling.
“Just introduce yourself, Brendon. You know how it goes,” Dr. Haycraft grinned. “Say your name, how you feel on a scale of one to ten, one being the worst feeling you’ve ever been, and ten being the best, and why you feel that way, your goal for today, and why you’re here,”
“Well…,” Brendon sighed. “My name is Brendon Urie. On a scale of one to ten...I’m a one, but...I’d rather not explain why. My goal today is…,” he paused, thinking a bit. “My goal for today is to read. I’m here, because...because…,”
Brendon covered his face and wept, his sobs loud and muffled. Dr. Haycraft frowned, handing him a box of tissues. What was this guy so sad about? Had he cried all day? It looks like he has...but what for? He reminds me of something that happened to me--the day I cried so hard, the day I tried to kill myself. I cried so hard just like he did, something I’ve never done before. I cried so hard because I lost her, but what’s this guy’s purpose of weeping?
“You’re here because you’re a big fucking crybaby, Brendon!” another patient across from him sneered, the one with the messy rat’s nest of hair that laughed at me.
“Jimmy, that was very rude!” Dr. Haycraft yelled, making Brendon succumb further into his sobs. “You apologize right now!”
“I’d rather not,” he laughed, sitting up from his seat and storming straight out of the room. Dr. Haycraft sighed deeply, scribbling down more notes. As she did, I looked up and noticed the empty seat next to Jimmy’s--a young man, all curled up in his seat, muttering under his breath as he looked down at the floor, his long black hair obscuring his face. He started to do this after the conflict between Jimmy and Brendon broke out...but why? Knowing the kind of place I’m in, full of sick people, there could be a million reasons why...but there’s also a million reasons why I can’t stop looking at him. It’s not because of his strange behavior, but something else. He looks...beautiful, for a guy. His hazel eyes are like forest orbs that graciously contrast against his pale skin and black hair. He has a face I can easily paint. He’s got that kind of pretty and young face, and I can’t stop staring at it. How could someone so young and so beautiful be stuck in a place so ugly? How someone so precious and youthful be so sick? It’s beyond me. I need to know who this guy is. I need to know his name, as well as why he’s here in this hell hole.
“Ray? How about you?” Dr. Haycraft asked, turning to the afro boy sitting next to Brendon. He smiled a bit.
“I’m Ray Toro. On a scale of one to ten, I’m a seven. My goal for today is to meditate, and I’m here because…I have generalized anxiety disorder and depression, and I’m here to get better,”
“Wonderful, Ray,” Dr. Haycraft smiled for the thirtieth time. After a few more patients introduced themselves, the group eventually got to the black-haired boy, all eyes on him.
“Come on, Frank!” Ray cheered on. “You got this,”
Ah...so that’s his name, huh? I like it...a lot.
Frank squirmed in his seat a bit, looking down at his feet. His lips quivered, his eyes darting back and forth all over the room, like he’s on something...or he’s scared, but of what? He then shut his eyes and sighed deeply, then opened them back up, those hazel orbs of his revealing themselves to me. I never wanna look away from them, or him either. He’s got such beautiful eyes I could stare at for hours on end, just like her…
“I’m Frank Iero,” he started, his young voice sending chills down my spine. “On a scale of one to ten, I’m a five. My goal for today is to talk to my daddy,” he smiled briefly, those eyes of his brightening up at the mentioning of his father. “And I’m here because…,”
The light behind Frank’s eyes vanished instantly, as well as the smile on his face. It’s like someone just slapped him clean across the face. His face contorted to a look of utter discontent within seconds flat, his eyes flickering with inner rage.
“I’m here because my mom wants me here. She says I’m sick...but I think she’s a fucking liar,” he growled. He curled up tighter into his seat, sitting in fetal position as he rocked back and forth and cursed under his breath.
Oh no...this boy looks really, really sick. There’s probably a good reason his mother sent him here--to get help. But what do I know about him? I could be wrong, though. Maybe his mother really did throw him in here for very shallow reasons. I know for a fact I don’t belong here. I belong to be six feet under. That’s what I want. Who would want to be stuck here anyway? Not me, and I don’t blame Frank for thinking the same thing.
“You do know you’re here to get better, right?” Dr. Haycraft asked. “You’re here because you need help--”
“Bullshit!” Frank spat. “I was put in here against my will! I don’t need help, and you know it! I’m fine! You can go ahead and write notes in your notebook about how sick I am, but none of it is true!”
Dr. Haycraft shook her head remorsefully, doing just that--flipping through some pages in her notebook and writing down more notes about the stubborn patient in front of her. As she did, I found myself looking back at Frank yet again. I’ve never seen anyone with such beautiful eyes, I swear...or even a beautiful face; not since I’ve met Lindsey. She’d be jealous if she saw him, I think. There’d be some fierce competition going on, indeed. It’s those eyes of his that really bring the beauty out. It’s like his eyes are the doors to a world of his very own, and he’s welcoming me in. I still have yet to explore just what is inside of them.

_ _ _
After dinner and some free time, as well as our second session of group therapy, we were sent to bed at ten o'clock sharp. I spent the last god knows how many hours staring up at the ceiling. For the life of me, I just can’t sleep. I don’t know how long it’s been, because there’s no clocks in this room. I can only assume it’s for safety reasons, since someone can simply take out the battery of the clock and eat it if they’re that fucking suicidal, like...oh, I don’t know, people like myself?
There’s another reason I can’t sleep, and it’s because of Frank. I’ll never forget those hazel eyes, that pale skin, and that raven black hair. He looks so familiar because Lindsey had all those features, and I guess that’s what draws me to him.
No, wait...that’s not just why. It’s those eyes of his. Those eyes of his seem to hypnotize me, drawing me deep into the world that I said I have yet to explore. Why is he here? Why is he the way he is? What is wrong with him--
“They’re gonna kill me! They’re gonna fucking kill me!” a sudden voice screamed, one that I’ve heard before. It’s coming from the room next door to mine...or I think it is, at least. It made me jump a bit, wondering who it is that’s screaming and crying in sheer horror.
“Calm down, you’ll be fine,” another voice spoke, likely the nurse. “No one’s trying to kill you. Just relax and--”
“No! Get away from me! Please, go away!” the distressed voice screamed, followed by the sound of banging on the walls that echoed throughout the vicinity. “Leave me and my daddy alone! Leave us alone!”
“I need backup, and a sedative now! Code white!” the nurse yelled, sounding like he’s in a struggle as a bunch of other aides ran in the room. “Sir, you need to calm down, or we’re gonna have to sedate you--”
“No! No, no, no! I don’t need anything! I don’t fucking need anything! Just leave me and daddy alone--ahhhh!” the hysterical man screamed in agony, his voice subdued to cries and moans as it died out.
Wait a minute...daddy? Was that Frank who was screaming? Was it him that was having an episode in there? It has to be. I know he was going on about talking to his daddy earlier during group therapy, so it must’ve been him...right? If so, I was right. This man is very, very sick...and there’s gotta be someone to help him.

Notes