Cupid De Locke | Frerard

[2]

A/N: I've got to say, this story has been doing a lot better over on AO3, but I'll still keep uploading on here, of course.

Also, this is quite a short chapter, but I swear there's a good reason behind it.

Gerard's POV.
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I don't speak a word as I enter the waiting room. I just turn to the woman at the front desk and tell her who I'm seeing and what my authority is.
I don't want to be here.

I don't want to speak to anyone.
I don't feel like responding to the false, generic smiles of the staff members passing by, or glaring back at the people giving me sympathetic glances as I make my way over to the sets of shitty plastic waiting room chairs, occupied by shells and sunken figures of broken people.

I don't want to look at the TV in the corner of the room, playing some corny British comedy, and listen to the overplayed laughs of the staff at the reception desk as they watch it out of sheer boredom and curiosity.
Everything is dull to me. Grey. Everyone's faces; sunken and tragic, many staring into space, lost in their own world of sorrow; others faking smiles and laughs. The four, white walls are lined with noticeboards. 'No negativity in this room!' one of the several posters reads. Many others feature phone numbers for mental health hotlines or counselling services that can be visited if in need. I scoff in disgust.

My chest is weighed down with impending sorrow. The hole that once contained my heart is now a pit of dread. My whole body aches and throbs in grief and regret. I can still feel the blood on my hands, pulsating from cuts and grazes, and the tears that once fell from my eyes like a waterfall now leave a sting against my lightly grazed cheeks.

My brain replays what happened over and over in my head until it hurts to think about.
My thoughts cannot be averted from this topic; for what I did was unthinkable, and the anguish of regret is all I can feel, seeping through my body.

A young woman sits herself next to me. I edge myself away from her, in fear of her accidentally brushing against my arm as she shuffles anxiously in her seat. She wears bright red lipstick and black pigtails. She looks so tired. We exchange a knowing glance, and then proceed to look down at the floor in opposite directions. Eye contact stings my eyes like the sun's rays sting a vampire to its touch.

She knows what you did, My brain screams at me, She knows that you fucking killed him. You should be fucking ashamed. You should be dead, Gerard.

"Do we have a Gerard Way in here?" A man with a large afro stands at the door, looking down at his clipboard.

I stand up and shuffle towards him, my arms tight by my side.
"That's me," I say, shyly.

"Hi, Mr Way. I'm Dr Toro, and I'll be monitoring Frank during his stay. If you would just follow me, he'll be in room 322." He gives me a weak smile. I can feel its touch of underlying empathy.