Night Terrors [Frerard]

Polluted From Gutter Institutions

I paced up and down in the dull room. A plain twin-sized bed with chemical-smelling blankets folded neatly at the very end of the mattress. Unrealistically clean ivory carpet with a flawlessly matching nightstand. No personality. It looked like the room to the left, and to the left of that, and to the left of that... on and on, all looking the same.

 At least everything wasn't that monochrome look you would usually expect from such a place. But just because everything wasn't peroxide-white, it didn't mean that everything didn't lack vibrancy. All the colours in the room were muted. The sheets were a pale blue that was ridiculously close to the dreaded white, along with the walls. My pale hands and hospital clothes seemed like just another part of the small room. If you scooped out my dark eyes and shaved my even darker hair, I'd blend right in. Even the dry blood on my mouth seemed like part of the decor.

I let my fingers linger on the surface of the bed as I paced past it, barely letting my fingertips touch the sheets. I didn't want to touch anything. Even my sock-clad feet on the floor was too much. I didn't plan to stay here for long, especially not long enough to get a good feel of everything. And especially not long enough to reek of the official smell of hospitals; bleach and misery.

I sighed as I removed my hand from the bedding. I stopped in front of the faded-periwinkle wall, the only window being high up and covered with a thick curtain.

--

''You can do this the easy way or the hard way,'' The doctor warned, ''But the hard way will consist of anaesthesia injection.''

Oh, God, I said to myself, feeling my bottom lip pool with blood from how hard I had been biting it. The threat, rather empty or not, terrified me; it meant facing both needles and wasting all my efforts on staying awake. I sunk my teeth deeper into my lower lip. That couldn't happen - but neither could this. Right?

I'd get out of this somehow, I knew it. I just had to think of something. Something that wouldn't involve me being stabbed with a syringe. Something that would not end with the edge of a metallic little needle being pressed against one of my veins. Something that would not result in the liquid slowly being injected into me, and I'd lose everything I fought for...

I grabbed the armrests of the hospital chair tightly. I could hear Frank's footsteps as he crouched down beside me, giving me a sympathetic look. I softened when I saw him huddled close to me, next to my chair. I needed him now more than ever, but I was being taken away from him.

Without a word, I swung my legs over the arms of the seat, until I was practically on his lap. I threw my arms around him tightly. From where my head was angled, I could vaguely see him close his eyes and smile in content, before his lips curved into a frown again.

There were no tears, this time, just rapid breaths coming from us both and a static filling my mind. I held absolutely still, arms tightly wound around Frank's neck. I didn't even close my eyes shut like he did. I could've, it would help me pretend that I wasn't in the office of a hospital. But I didn't. I kept them open, glued aimlessly on the white walls. I felt them ache from crying and lack of sleep, and I could only imagine how bloodshot they looked. Or just how sloppy in general I looked. I had dishevelled hair that was greasy from not washing it, with beads of cold sweat on my forehead. My mouth was completely sealed shut, chapped and bleeding lips pressed tightly together. 

I took a shuddering breath. I couldn't bring myself to move, I couldn't even bring myself to blink. All I could bring myself to do was hug this man and wish the world didn't exist anymore. I'd give anything for that.