When We Part (on hold)

421 Days

"Gerard!" I called. I passed through the front door of his apartment. "I'm home! Gerard?" I turned the corner into the kitchen and saw a horror scene in front of me. Gerard was laying in his own vomit. A big bottle of hard liquor laid next to him. Some of its contents had mixed with the puke. Gerard was sobbing.

"I'm sorry," he shuddered. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh Gerard," I said. "Come on."

I held out my hand for him, and pulled him up. He was too woozy to walk on his own, so I placed one of his arms over my shoulder. I took him to the bathroom.

"We'll clean you up," I sighed.

"I'll get better," he said, the amount of alcohol he'd drunk was evident in his voice.

"Okay," I said. "You're going to need to take a bath, can you get your clothes off while I'm gone?"

He nodded. I nodded back, and turned the bathwater on. The kitchen floor was splattered with bile. I gagged when the smell hit my nose. I started to clean it up. When I got back, the bath was almost full.

"It's time to get in," I said. Taking my arm, he lowered himself into the water. "I'm going to be right here if you need help."

"Thanks Frankie," he said. "You're so-" burp "-grreeaat."

I cringed. That night, I had to watch him like a child. He need help with everything. He needed help washing his hair, his face, and he was too uncoordinated to put his clothes in the washer.

"I go put these in the wash," I said, holding up his dirty clothes. "Please stay here."

"Alrrrright," he said. "I will do that."

"Thank you," I said. Relapses, I realized as I turned the washing machine on, happen more often and worse than I thought. I went back into the bathroom. His head was under the water.

"Jesus fucking Christ," I gasped. I rushed to him and pulled his head back up. He spurted water. "I think we're done."

"Okay," he coughed.

When he was dressed I put him into his bed.

"Goodnight," I said. I turned to leave.

"Frankie," he said, voice shaky. "Don't go. Pl-eeeeaase."

I stopped. He didn't deserve to be so fucked up. He really didn't. But these kinds of nights make me fear for the boy in there, being consumed by the addiction.

"Okay," I said. I slid under the covers with him. "I'll stay. You're gonna get better."

"I'm gonna get better," he repeated. I held him close, his head on my chest. "Just don't give up on me."

Tear were welling up in my eyes. I tried my hardest to blink them back.

"I'd never-" I choked. My voice wavered "-I'd never do that. I promise."

"Okay Frankie," he said, eyes droopy.

"Goodnight."

++++++++++++++++++++++

"I don't want to get up."

"Me neither," I told him. "I'll get you some coffee." I pushed myself out of the bed.

He with me on the living room floor. We sipped the coffee silently. The silence hung in the air and covered us like a wet blanket.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It's alright Gee," I reassured him.

"No," he said. "You don't call me 'Gee'. You always call me Gerard."