Stockholm Syndrome (Frerard)

15: Blood Infections

Media: Frank and Gerard on the couch.

"Fuck, you're gay now too? Fucking bullshit. Something has gotten into you, Frank. Oh, it was probably emo over here's dick, right? Get the fuck over here, faggot." I pulled away from Gerard and looked over to see my dad leaned up, propped on his elbows as he sat on the floor, conscious now. Shit. If he was pissed at me before, I don't know what he'd think now...

"No, he will not get the fuck over there." Gerard spat, standing up and walking towards him slowly. "Punch me if you wanna do anything productive. He didn't run away, I took him. And no, he's not a faggot. I am. I'm the only fuck he can get right now. So no, he will not get over here so you can hit him. Hit me." He was seething. He was standing over my dad now, fists clenched.

"If that was the case he wouldn't want to go back and live with you. He's a fuckin' faggot. And so are you, so get the fuck out of my house and let me deal with him."

"No. I told him to come back to live with me, by the way. He wanted to stay with you. He made me drive him here so he could make sure you were okay and you just wanna fucking hurt him? I don't think so. He's not just your fucking punching bag. I'm not letting him stay here."

"I'm calling the police. Nobody fucking takes my son from me. Frank, get me my phone now." He spat at me, and I looked at the coffee table, where his phone was.

"Frank. Nn-Now." He demanded, but he trailed off in kind of a slow voice, his eyes going all weird, rolling back. Panic and confusion started to set in, he was fine before, and now he looked like he was dying? Suddenly, he dropped. He was already on the floor, but he just- went limp.

"What the fuck?" I exclaimed, running to his side. I pressed two fingers to his neck, getting no pulse. "What the fuck did you do?!"

"Don't look at me," Gerard defended, stepping away from him.

"What the fuck?!" I repeated, looking around. My eyes landed on the coffee table. I don't know how I missed it. Gerard turned and followed my gaze.

"Oh.." He spoke. I stood up and walked to the coffee table, counting five syringes. Five needles. He fucking overdosed and it wasn't an accident.

"Dammit! Fuck!" I spoke sharply, turning around and gripping my hair. "No!" I went to my dad's side again and just looked at him. He was fucking dead.

"Frank,"

"No, Gerard. Leave me be."

"No, look-" I turned around and he was holding a piece of folded paper. "It was on the table..."

I reached up, taking the paper from him. I knew what it was. I didn't open it because I knew what it was.

"We should get out of here..." Gerard said. "Let's put him on the couch- leave the note... We were never here, okay?"

"I can't just leave him here! Are you crazy?"

"Frank..."

"You just want an excuse to get me out of going to the police! Not happening, Gerard. I'm going. And we're not leaving him."

"Frank, calm down. Think about it. I'll take you to the police as soon as we leave but we can't be involved in this..."

I thought for a moment, my heart and mind racing. I didn't know what to do. "I- i" I stuttered, looking from my dad to the paper in my hands, and then to my dad again. "Fuck,"