I'm Not Okay (I Promise) • Geetrick

29

---Gerard---

At least once in everybody's life, someone will get taken to the hospital and you'll hear the call of sirens rushing to you.

The sirens. The lights. The yells. The flashes. Red and blue and black. The stars above me, the concrete below me. The shuffling of belts and the clicks of switches on handguns. My fists beating on the front door. The pain in my hands. The blood running down my knuckles. The blood I can't feel. The pain I can't process. The freedom of the air, the captivity of the ground.

Everything is pushed aside into a blur of hate, and it's all in my subconscious. I know it's there I just don't care. All I can care about is finding Sugar, Darling, Love, Mine. Patrick. Whatever you want to call him. He's my first priority. He'll always be my first priority.

If you love me, let me go.

I feel sick to my stomach. I feel like I'm going to puke up everything that I ate today at any moment and completely lose it. He sounded so scared. He sounded terrified, and I wasn't there to protect him.

I still can't protect him, not yet at least. The front door is locked. I can't get in no matter how hard I hit. I'm banging on the door, my knuckles are bleeding, my voice is cracking. I'm screaming Patrick's name into the cold night. I'm begging him to answer me. I'm begging for anything but nothing. I'm screaming, but I'm hopelessly hopeful. I can barely hear myself over the siren, anyway. All my attempts are for nothing. Just a small whimper among the screams.

I can't breathe as a cop pulls me out of the way. I can't breathe, I'm panicking because Patrick is in there are he's probably dead. He could be gone, and I can't do anything about it but watch as a firefighter breaks down the door, armed with a handgun.

I'm sitting with my knees against my chest, rocking back and forth on the curb of the block. How did I get here? Who dragged me here?

I'm terrified. Is Patrick alright? Will he survive? What if he really is gone? My heart sinks as more thoughts come into my mind.

What if he is gone? He sounded like he was in danger over the phone... oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.

Before I know what's happening, there's a tear running down my cheek, and I've puked on the street. Bile and food dropping onto the road in a yellow-orange shade. It's disgusting.

"LET ME GO YOU BASTARD!" A man shouts. My head turns so fast that I'm surprised it doesn't snap.

A large man with wide shoulders and greasy blonde hair is yelling and struggling against the cops' firm grasp. He's shoved into a car followed soon after by another boy I recognize as Kevin. That little shit.

I keep watching, waiting for Patrick. Praying for Patrick. He can't be gone. He has to be okay. Please.

"We need a medic!" Someone yells, "He's in critical condition!"

No, no, no. I watch as a woman runs into the house with a first aid kit in hand. No, no, no.

Someone is talking, but I can't concentrate. Is Patrick okay? How much pain is he in? Will he survive? What if I came too late?

"Kid!" A man shouts, finally grabbing my attention. As I turn my head, I see it's another medic, holding out a bag for my vomit, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine just worried," I reply taking the bag and wiping my tears.

"Is he your friend?" He asks, sitting beside me.

"He's my boyfriend," I reply with a soft smile.

And I break down.

"I can't lose him. Please," I whisper, as the tears begin streaming down my face, "I love him so much..."