Night Terrors [Frerard]

The Hardest Part Is Letting Go Of Your Dreams

If you asked anyone else, acknowledging that your first love was imaginary would be humiliating if not pathetic.

Gerard had that mindset for a long time.

He was sent home from Ancora Mental Institution nearly a year after being admitted there, where he proceeded to act like nothing at all happened. It was embarrassing. He was a delusional teenage boy who fell in love with another boy who wasn't even real, and because of what? He had nightmares? Pathetic. Gerard was simply pathetic.

His mom turned out to be very accepting and supportive of his sexual orientation -- she had declared this almost immediately upon seeing her son for the first time in several months --, but when she tried to bring up Frank, Gerard turned his head away and asked who she was talking about.

Even his best friend, Ryan, had started getting worried. He had been released from the institution just three months prior to Gerard and had started living with his aunt in a location fairly close to the older boy and his family. He visited often; Gerard's mother adored him and was extremely grateful that there was someone that her son trusted.

"Gerard," Ryan had sat down next to him, perched on the ends of his bed, "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he had scoffed, "What's wrong with you?"

"Gee..." Ryan started sadly, "You've been really irritable lately. You've gone through so much this past year, and it hurts to see you losing your hard-earned progress."

"I just want to know what's going on," he had pressed on, "Are you still having the nightmares? I thought the meds were hel -"

"Not the fucking nightmares," Gerard had snapped curtly.

"Oh," Ryan had realised. How had he been so naive? "Frank -"

"I don't know who the fuck that is. Leave me alone."

Ryan didn't leave him alone. He had stayed the night with the broken boy and pretended he couldn't hear his incessant tossing and turning throughout the night.

Months later, Gerard had shamelessly eavesdropped on a private conversation between his mother and therapist, where phrases such as "going back to the hospital" and "antidepressants?" were thrown around in conversation like they were going out of style.

"Him discovering the truth about Frank and having to let him go is similar to having a loved one pass away," he had heard his therapist state simply, "Denial is a way of coping with the grief."

He should've been relieved by her words. It meant that he wouldn't have to undergo more stays at the institution or be on more medications, but it only frightened him. He had known that it was true, but he was in denial of that, too. In denial of his denial.

His disbelief that there was anything wrong with him had manifested itself in various ways. From an outsider's view, Gerard had been taking the whole Frank situation very well. He hadn't cried once. He carried on with life as usual (as usual as Gerard could get, anyways), but he was running from the reality of it all, not facing it. He hadn't gotten over Frank or came to peace with what happened -- he was hiding from it. He was being cowardly. He wasn't dodging bullets, just denying that they hit him in the first place.

"Was living with some... some relatives down in New York. My grandpa was really sick," he had told Lindsey when she had asked where he was for the entirety of his senior year.

Concerned smile. "Oh, well how is he?"

"He died." And it wasn't a lie. His grandpa had died... when he was two.