It’s too loud in here. There are too many people, and it’s too damn loud. Everything about coming here has been a fiasco. First someone crazy pill head barreled through the doors behind us, pushing us aside so she could sprint to the registration desk before we could. Then the guy that was taking all our information heard Gee coughing and forced him to wear one of those degrading blue safety masks. He whined a little when the man handed it over but put it on without much defiance. Finally they told us to wait. We’ve already been waiting at least a half an hour, and still the waiting room fills with more and more people.
And most of the ‘patients’ don’t even look like they’re suffering. A couple do; there’s one older man in the corner, who came in a little after we did, and he’s cradling his hand with a bloody towel wrapped around it. There’s also a bright smear of blood on his shirt, making me gag and look away. Another woman is holding her kid who’s been paper white and twitching the entire time.
And then there’s Gerard. He’s curled into a little ball on a double-seated chair, which I actually think is for really fat people, but nobody says anything to him as he naps. It’s kind of scary actually. I’ve never, ever seen him like this; all silent and docile. I can tell he truly feels like shit because normal Gerard would take every opportunity to people watch and make endless remarks on all insignificant things around him. He’s said maybe two words, and they were really a handful of jumbled nonsense he sighed out to the nurse before collapsing onto a chair. Now he’s just staring off into space, trying his hardest to not spit up his lungs onto the floor. He shudders deeply and looks at me, “Will you rub my back?”
His voice is so raw and pathetic that I almost feel like crying. Fuck, I don’t know how to take care of sick people, seeing as how I’m too usually busy being sick myself. I reach over and stroke him between the shoulders, my hand curling up to play with the tattered fringes of his hair. My phone vibrates in my pocket and Gerard mimics the sound before coughing. I fish it out and flip it open, facing a picture of Mikeyway reaching through a fence to pet a baby buffalo at a petting zoo somewhere in Texas.
any word on G?
I look over at his prone form and sigh, typing out: Still waiting :(
Gerard gives a deep, wet cough, his back shaking as he hacks towards the floor, and stuffs his face into the front of his hoodie to keep quiet. I rub his shoulders again, cooing quietly to him. He’s talking, or his mouth is moving at least, but he’s not making any noise. I wonder if he’s dreaming…
“Gerard Way?” a timid voice calls.
Both our eyes shoot up to a nurse dressed in hideous purple scrubs. She looks as tired as we do, and sighs when a baby in the far corner wakes from his nap and starts screaming. I raise my hand and stand up, before pulling Gerard into me and holding him close. His steps are slow and uneven, and I can feel his shoulders shaking against mine as we shuffle across the room. The nurse smiles, and opens a frosted glass door, taking us down a hallway lined with beds and dividers. He has another bout of shivering and practically curls up under my arm. He’s still wearing that stupid mask, too, so I tug it down to hang around his neck. It actually looks kind of badass.
All the beds we pass are full, and every few seconds someone coughs or vomits or cries out in pain. The nurse turns to face us, “As you can tell, we’re swamped, and there isn’t a doctor available right now. But you can lay down and I’ll get a chart started so we can treat you that much faster.” She calls, bustling down the hallway.
I drown out what the girl is saying, paying attention to the trembling man who is getting harder and harder to carry with every step we take. An old man in a robe toddles past us, giving Gerard and I the dirtiest look and I just glare back. Fuck him. We pay taxes for his social security and his medicare. He can fuck off and break a hip for all I care.
