Brendon knocked on my door quietly before opening it at around 8:30-9 in the morning. I flicked my gaze to him, sitting on my bed, tuning my guitar.
He beamed at me. 'Morning, Frank,'
I nodded, smiling. 'Morning.'
Bren leaned on the doorframe. 'Y'hungry?'
Here it is. If I say no, there's gonna be this huge, long boring lecture about feeding myself properly in order to 'get big and strong'. I didn't want that.
I nodded slowly, again. 'I guess.'
He's only asking about my hunger because I haven't left my room for three days. I was depressed and still healing up, sore and cranky and not wanting to be around the crazies. I called them crazies because I wasn't insane, like them all here, I was just sick.
I was gonna get better. I'd be okay soon enough.
I slid off my bed afrer Bren gestured for me to follow him down the hallway, putting my guitar down safely on its stand and closing the door behind me. I believed there was no point in leaving a room if you left the goddamn door open. It basically meant you were leaving your personal space wide open, left for prying eyes to explore..
I shuddered as we neared the loud kitchen. Bren pushed through the doors and it suddenly quietened, everyone's heads turning to us with prompt interest. I glanced at my feet awkwardly, earning a reassuring nod from Brendon.
'He's alive!' Someone yelled, and everyone laughed.
'Barely!' Another voice called, and then the raucous laughter filled and echoed around the room. This is the exact reason I hated leaving my dorm. It was awful. Tears pricked my eyes as I felt my hands ball squarely into fists.
'Hey.' Bren scowled at them all, and they silenced immediately. He had that kind of intimidating, dominant vibe I digged. Especially in times like this. I sighed softly as he nudged my arm and led me through suddenly dropping heads, their eyes away from us, on eachother, quiet now.
We got food and sat outside. I ate as much as I could, feeling hungrier than I'd actually told myself, all of a sudden. Bren didn't eat but didn't watch me, either. I was glad.
'So,' I said, pushing away the plate a little. 'Ryan.'
Brendon's lips creased into a wide smile straight away. I liked this; being able to talk to Bren like my best friend instead of a guy who hands you your pills and makes you walk around 6 times a day. Not to mention, he was pretty rad.
He flicked his eyes on mine. 'None of your business,' He said, smiling. 'Now.' A folder was pushed towards me. 'I want you to take some time to read this on your own, because I feel like this will benefit your condition if you think it will go well.' Bren stood up, patted my shoulder and walked off.
I stood up, picked up the folder and walked slowly back to my dorm. I was so glad to be back in the comfort of my room. I'd been out barely an hour and I felt so suffocated around everyone else. Sighing, I plunged onto the bed, laying on my back and propping my head against the pillows, tearing open the top of the folder.
Inside was a file with a name on the top.
'Gerard Arthur Way,' I muttered to myself quietly. '15. Abused. Mute?'
I was confused. Mute? What did that mean? This guy didn't talk, like, at all? That must be hard.
Anyway, why had Bren given me this?
I read through it more and realised at the bottom it said: 'Way to be transferred to Greenside over 13s mental-care institution. Taking room 495 with long-term patient Frank Iero.'
I felt a sudden clump of nervousness gather in my throat. I almost wanted to die at that moment. Mute or not, the guy wouldn't survive here. Not with me.
I put down the folder carefully and read through the file again, making sure I'd read everything correctly and not missed anything out. Nothing.
A small droplet of blood fell from the ceiling, dripped heavily, only once, onto the corner of the page.
I flicked my eyes toward the sudden contrast of red against the white and black print.
They were coming for me.
I felt them.
Close.
