Author Note:
This chapter is dedicated to Adrian Watson, a wonderful man, who died tragically this week in a car crash. He touched the lives of many and will be sorely missed xx
Chapter Two
The next morning, Gerard awoke, still lying on his back, fully dressed, feet dangling off the edge of his bed. He could not find the will to sit up, and so there he lay, running through in his mind all of the things that he had to do that day.
He was just about to mentally fill his schedule until about 3pm when he suddenly felt a strange sensation on his forehead. A temperature contrast concentrated on a particular pressure point…
Drip.
Gerard's eyes flew open and took a second to focus on the ceiling. He gasped in horror as another drop of blood dripped down right between his eyes. Like a flick of ink it splashed across his face as he stared dumb up at the crumpled, broken body of Frank, spread out like a starfish on the ceiling. His once hazel eyes were frozen with a terrified glint staring straight at Gerard. His arms and chest were woven with deep lacerations, blood oozing from each crevice and trickling to the lowest part of his navel, before dripping down.
Before he understood what was happening, the body began to fall towards the petrified Gerard who could do nothing but wait to be engulfed by death.
Gerard sat up in a flash, his head whirling. He was panting, his breaths raspy and uneven. His clothes were covered in sweat as they were most mornings. His head shot round to look at the bed where he had just lain. No Frank. Another dream.
He took a moment to collect himself then, glancing at the ceiling as he rose, he made his way shakily downstairs.
The cereal cupboard was faithfully unappetising as Gerard reached in and grabbed a box of some E-number-fuelled kids crap. His crunching broke through the silence like the distant call of a gull way out in the ocean.
When he'd finished, he took his bowl over to the piled-up sink, found no room in it, and so traced along the surfaces until he found a space. Job number 1: Wash up.
He perched on the side and looked around the kitchen. There was little in here other than the kitchen appliances, a big white fridge-freezer, an oven, a trash can and a washing machine.
Gerard let his eyes wander over the cartoons stuck to the face of the fridge. There were some of his own, characters which he had worked on since he was a kid; a Batman which he was particularly proud of stood out above the rest. Others were Franks; one was a sketch of an Eagle tattoo he had planned to have, another a caricature of Gerard. How perfectly he had captured his tiny teeth, the way he smiled to the side of his mouth, his 'button nose' as Frank called it.
The corners of Gerard's mouth attempted a sad smile.
He slumped out of the kitchen to get his shoes, making a mental note to wash up when he got home. He grabbed his satchel and keys and made his way out of the door, locking it behind him.
As Gerard leaned his head against the bus window, He felt the vibrations running through him, vigorously massaging his aching temples. He watched the sheet of water collect on the pane, individual trails of rain converged to form pools on the window, distorting the view of the dull grey exterior of the vehicle.
His mind wandered to previous years when he had walked these streets, as a child holding the hand of his brother, gripping it tight because he was the older brother and had to look out for little Mikey. As a teenager, he had hidden behind that dumpster more than he cared to admit to escape Brett McFell and his cronies from school. Sometimes the corner shop owner, old Mr Myers, had taken pity on him, seeing the punishment for his unpopularity being brutally served, and scaring away the gang. The kind old gentleman had died not long past; heart attack. No family attended his funeral, and even the beggars searching for scraps of food kept their distance.
There was a screech of brakes, and Gerard half-heartedly jolted in his seat. This was his stop.
He got off the bus, and looked up at the looming tower as the bus sped away, taking it's inhabitants forward in their habitual existences. The hospital had colourfully painted railings, conning passers by that this was a happy building.
Gerard made his way up the ramp towards the doors, pushed the button to release them and let a lady in a wheelchair enter in front of him. She thanked him with a smile and it was all he could do to muster one in return.
"G'morning, Hunny. You're here early." said the friendly nurse.
Gerard nodded his head in her direction as he made his way to over to the coffee machine.
"Maintenance team fixed it all up this morning just for you, hunny!" she sang, humming a lilting tune as she made her way down the ward corridor and into room 13310.
Gerard fished in his pockets for some coinage, found what he needed and slit the selection into the slot. He pressed his regular sequence of buttons and listened to the now familiar whir of the machine. The droplets of hot milk dancing on the bottom of the empty cup stirred up the memory of his dream that morning, and Gerard made an effort to force the image of Frank's harrowing stare out of his mind.
He grabbed the cup and, careful not to waste a drop of the precious contents, he made his way along to corridor towards room 13318.
He peered in through the slot window to see a team of young doctors and nurses surrounding the bed, all of them scribbling furiously onto clipboards and charts and nodding intently. Gerard knew that they must be medical students doing rounds as there had been no significant change in Frank's condition for weeks for the official team to document.
He turned to lean against the wall instead of entering the room, not wanting to receive any young, interested faces who wished to offer their deepest sympathy and condolences or, more likely, quench their curiosity over a real-life gay man.
A few minutes had passed, then the door beside him swung open and the babble of lab coats fought their way towards the lift doors; time for them to swarm the cafeteria.
Gerard caught the door on the back swing and slipped inside the room. He was met with the usual sounds and smells, the alcohol gel and the regular beep of the monitors. He hooked his satchel over the back of the chair which had been pulled to the opposite end of the room. He returned it to the side of the bed, positioning it at a perfect distance so that he could rest him arm on the mattress and mindlessly play with frank's precious fingers as he lost himself in his thoughts.
As he sat there, Gerard noticed that the cardigan he had on was not his. The sleeves were twice rolled up and the corner of the collar was ruffled with tell-tale signs of Frank's chewing habits. He smiled, remembering when Frank had bought him his first cardigan, engrossing Gerard in the 'world of comfort' as he called it.
It drew his mind back to better days, like the summer before last…