***TW drunk driving, self harm***
Suggested song: I'm Alive by Flyleaf
chapter 11
Gerard lies in the dark beside Amy, her back against his chest. He watches the numbers on her digital clock slip by, and he knows he's not getting sleep tonight.
Slowly, he creeps out of bed, making a beeline for the kitchen. He rummages in the cupboards for a while before finding his prize; a big bottle of bourbon on top of the fridge. He chugs half in the first sip, enjoying the burn. He sets the bottle on the counter and catches his breath; then, he eyes his bloody pants, folded on the counter. As the liquor starts to make his head spin, he carefully fishes in the pocket, pulling out the blood-crusted razor. He presses it gently to his wrist, testing it; then, for the first time in probably twenty years, pushes down hard and tears his flesh.
The sting is refreshing and he takes another gulp. He feels warm blood pooling down his fingers, and revels in the almost forgotten feeling.
He places the edge against the tender flesh just below his elbow. His scalp prickles as he pushes even harder; the alcohol and something else numbs the pain. He can't hold in the insane giggle that spills from his lips as the blood begins to fall in droplets to the counter top. He hasn't gone this deep before.
As he polishes off the bottle, his thoughts start to stir up. Something like a conscious tells him that Frank could be dead and it would be his fault, that he could never even hope to deserve him. It says that he should be the one in that hospital bed. Gerard loses count of how many more times he plunges that razor into his arm; finally, he feels light-headed, and he figures he should clean this mess up.
He takes his shirt off and attempts to wipe his blood of the counter. Then he stumbles to the bathroom and searches for a first aid kit; sloppily, he patches himself up.
The next thought in his head: I need to go see Frank.
He feels blindly along the kitchen counter. His fingers close around his car keys; he doesn't even bother to put a shirt back on. Barefoot, drunk and half-naked, he makes his way to the elevator. He's grateful it's nearly 4am and everyone here is asleep or in their room for the night.
The elevator pings and he spends far too much time trying to find his car. Then, finally, he crawls into the vehicle, turning it on and sitting idle for a minute. The only thought left in his mind: if I drive then I might die tonight.
Chuckling ruefully, he double-checks that his seatbelt is fastened securely. Then, jerkily, he begins to back out.
Frank lies awake, staring at the white ceiling. He can't shake the chest-aching panicky feeling that something is horribly wrong. But, then again, he's had that feeling a lot lately.
He just can't wrap his head around why Gerard didn't come. I hate hospitals, he thinks. He must know that I need him here.
He just hopes that he's okay.
A sick feeling takes over his stomach as he remembers something. Back when they were just teens, nearly prepubescent. The night he found Gerard in his bathroom one night at a sleepover, his blood dripping into the sink. It was him, of course, who had done it first. It just stuck with Frank. It was one of the things they'd shared for so long, and tried to help each other recover from; and then, when he'd left, Frank had no motivation to stop anymore.
The hospital at night is far too loud. Frank feels smothered by the sickness and death around him. He burrows further under his flimsy blanket and clutches his wounded wrist to his chest. He's glad they've unrestrained him. He begins to pull at the gauze around his cuts, slowly unraveling the stained fabric. Then, he runs his fingertips along the damp wounds.
He pulls at the wiry strings stitching his wounds closed, feeling slick hot blood pour down his hand. He smiles at the aching pain. He picks at the wounds until he can feel a small pool of blood through his shirt and on the blankets. Finally, he finds he might just be able to fall asleep.
chapter 12
Gerard pulls slowly towards the freeway, his heart racing. He tries to keep the car steady; a semi flashes past and dread courses through him. In his intoxicated state, the fear and the pain feel amazing. Finally, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and pulls onto the freeway.
The taillights of the other cars blur and Gerard nearly smashes into the person changing lanes before him. He swerves his way to the slow lane and creeps along at 55, begging whatever gods or deities exist to just keep him in his lane. His foot is jerky on the pedal, and he finds his speed creeping up without him knowing.
His phone begins to vibrate on the seat beside him, and immediately he looks at the screen. He sees Amy's name; then, he looks back up, just in time to see the semi-truck pulling directly in front of him.
He smashes on the breaks; his confused muscles, however, decide not to compute the part of the equation where they moved off of the gas.
Frank is awoken by a frantic nurse retying his bandages. He's restrained again. Great.
Her shrill voice scolds him but he doesn't listen to the old bat. Finally, she's gone.
He spends his day staring mulishly at the wall; finally, Lacey's shift starts.
But Lacey doesn't show up.
He questions the guard at his door, who informs him that today is her day off. Frank can't help but feel betrayed by her absence, although he doesn't blame her. He wouldn't want to spend all of his free time in the hospital, not for anybody. Except Gerard, chimes the sardonic voice in his head. He shakes the thought away.
Finally, at fiveish a somber looking doctor comes to his door.
The doctor shifts uncomfortably. "Mr. Iero…" He begins awkwardly. "May I um… May I ask the name of your… The man who reported your attempt?" He looks away. Frank's cheeks flush.
"My boyfriend?" He says, just to see the doctor squirm. "Gerard. Gerard Way."
The doctor is silent for a long moment. The look on his face makes a cold, hard ball of dread form in Frank's very core.
"Frank… last night a patient came in. DUI." He takes a deep breath. "A witness said he actually sped up when the semi pulled in front of him."
Frank feels like the world has stopped turning. He forgets to breathe.
"Is he alive?" is all he can choke out.
"He's in intensive care. But, Frank…"
"What?"
"He's suffered some really major trauma. He hasn't woken up and… we don't have much reason to believe he will."
~update: this is the final chapter in the first book. I may start posting the second soon, but I've gotten no reviews or anything soooooooooo~