Asleep or Dead (Frerard)

Chapter 23 (Frank's POV)

     Holy shit. When I got home, I booked to my room like the world was ending and my room was the only safe place on earth. While I was driving, the velocity of what had happened at the hospital. It couldn't be real. I want to prove it.

 I crouched down at the foot of my bed and lifted the sheets, reaching around blindly before grabbing the neck of a bottle of alcohol. I pulled it out and raised it into the sunlight, grinning at it like it was a test paper with an ‘A’ written in glistening red in the top right corner.

 I pulled out my phone and connected it to my speaker, scrolling through my music library and clicking on some Misfits. I dragged the volume circle to full, letting the music swell in my relatively small room. This would help drown out any drunken shit I do.

 I sat down on my bed, letting it submit to my weight and gently envelope me in its warmth. I let another smile slide into my face, placing my phone on my bedside table and taking the bottle again. I stared at the cap for a second, my mind blanker than an uninspired writers paper. I eventually picked my sense up and stuffed it far enough into my brain for me to get the idea to tuck it under my shirt to twist it off.

 I now focused my gaze on the liquid that danced in the bottle in a sort of tantalizing way, taunting me with every splash and scoffing with every swirl. Fine, you prick. I lifted the bottle to my lips and tipped it back, letting the bitter liquid pour into my mouth.

 I wasn't a fan of alcohol, per say, but I had a definite knack for it. I'd drink it if I wanted to, but it was far from an addiction. I breathed through my nose so I could keep the flow steady, smiling against the lip of the almost half-empty bottle. I felt my body slowly succumb to the effects. Good.

 My mind became cloudy and erratic with thoughts. Most of them- all of them- were in regards to Gerard. How does he feel about me? Hate? Love? Hate, hate, hate, love, hate, hate, love, love, LOVE, hate, HATE, HATE, HATE.

 Hate. Hate. Hate. He hates me. Loves me out of pity. Can't bare to see little old me all heartbroken and shit. Fuck. Oh… oh… oh no.

 I threw the now empty bottle at my wall, watching the glass shatter and reflect all sides and crevices in my room as they rained onto my carpet. I then stood up and stared at space in a desperate attempt to get myself together. No. No.

 Dark. Pain.