I'm Not Okay (I Promise) • Geetrick

63

---Patrick---

Every-fucking-thing is down to a percentage.

That percentage is down.

We are all down.

Twenty, fifteen, ten.

We can't lose him. We can't lose him. Please, please, please.

Donna has been talking with the doctor about "pulling the plug," and I can't stand it. I can't stand the thought of losing him. We can't give up. We have to have hope. We can't do this... Please. I've been visiting him at least once a day, but I still refuse to go to school. I don't care about my grades dropping, I need to know that he'll live. I need some sign that he'll be okay. I need something. Some form of hope. I die a little more inside every time I hear her say it.

I've tried to stay clean.

I've gone to a point where I've started praying for his fucking life, and it's pathetic. I don't even believe in it, but I'll still do it. I'm desperate for any comfort I can get. I've written more and more lyrics in my notebook. I look at myself in the mirror, and I look more and more beautiful each day. I'll listen to 21 Guns on repeat, I'll try to get the smell of Gerard back in my nose but I can't. When I go to the hospital, he only smells like Mom before she was dying and trust me, it does not bring back good memories. I just... I want him to wake up. I've prayed, and cried, and sobbed, and wept, and begged for him to wake up but no matter how much I try, no matter how badly I just want him to open his eyes.

He won't.

***

Nine, eight, seven, six. Five.

"It's going to be okay..." Pete says as Donna, Mikey, Brendon, Frank, Joe, Ryan, and I watch the doctors surround the boy, pulling out the needles from his arms.

My hands are shaking as they look up at each other in agreement, their eyes meeting. They make sure they're all ready like they're agreeing to end this boy's life. One more life on their hands. Just another life for them to finish off. Just like Mom. Just like Donald. Gerard is just another case. One of them places their hands on the cord connected to the nubbins his nose.

And they pull.

His chest deflates.

I can't watch, but I have to... I have to see him take his last breaths and I have to see him wake up, and I have to tell him... I have to tell him the truth... He has to know what's happened. He has to hear and know and... understand how my thoughts have changed.

But the doctors have already left the room with the ventilator and their equipment. There's complete silence. Gerard's eyes don't magically open. He doesn't magically start breathing. He doesn't have any last words. The heart rate monitor beside his bed continues to beat, weaker and weaker...

And weaker...

We all take in what's happening. As we witness Gerard take his last few breaths and he we all have our eyes on the monitor.

I can't take it.

I walk forward, my knees weak, as weak as they were when I walked over to Ms. Kristen's desk on September 2nd: the day I met Gerard.

"Patrick, wait-" Pete starts, but Mikey cuts him off, pulling him back and shaking his head.

I stop at the edge of the bed, tears falling from my eyes as I look upon his resting body, "I love you, Gerard... I've always loved you, and I'll never stop loving you... You saved my life. You saved me and I could never repay you enough for that.

"I...

"I really am beautiful, Gee..."

The monitor lets out a long screech. His heart stopped. It's all over now.

"I promise."