Cupid De Locke | Frerard

[6]

Gerard's POV

-

"Should I leave you alone with him for a moment?" the doctor asks, after noting down several things on the clipboard he holds.

I nod, and he quickly exits the room, closing the door behind him.

A deafening silence settles around me. All I can do is sit in the shitty plastic chair beside Frank and let myself sob; sob until I can feel my head pounding, until my throat is raw, and I'm retching on my tears and choking when I open my mouth to speak. Three words loop around my mind as I cry, reminding me of what I've done.

He barely survived.

The only reassurance that he's alive is the breathing tube in his mouth, resting between his slightly parted lips, and the various machines he's attached to. There's no rise and fall of his stomach; no soft sighs. Just the beeping of the monitors surrounding his almost-lifeless body.

I can't speak. I can't think of anything to say- no sob stories, no deep-rooted apologies, or supposed goodbyes. Nothing.
I shakily caress his cold, pale cheek and scan my eyes over his face. Bruising begins to settle around his left eye in an array of purples, reds and yellows, and the wounds that once bled across his face are sealed with stitching and surgical tape. A mark. A reminder of what I did.
He looks empty; drained of all signs of life.

I can feel the words at the back of my throat slowly start to unravel into small sentences, one by one.

"Hey, Frankie," I cough, trying to hold myself together and choke back my emotions. "I really don't know whether you can hear me right now or not, but-" I pause and let my head fall into my hands. My tears wash away my words into a sea of sorrows.

All I can think about is Frank falling limp into my arms; his small, unsteady breaths, his pained whimpers and cries for help, the blood on my hands, and the ever-slowing pace of his heart. The concerned looks on the paramedics' faces in the ambulance will forever be carved into my memory.

"I'm so fucking sorry." I slide my hand into his, half expecting him to squeeze it back. His arms are bandaged from top to bottom, fixing needles from several IV tubes in place, or covering freshly sealed wounds. "Please, wake up. You're all I have, baby."

I cry against his hand, "Please don't leave me like this. I love you so, so much. I won't let you die this way." My whole body shakes. A cocktail of anxiety, fear and guilt settles in the pit of my stomach. My leg bounces repeatedly, loudly tapping against the tiled floor.

"I didn't mean for this to happen. Maybe if we had left the house a minute later- I- I could have saved you."