Cupid De Locke | Frerard

[10]

Gerard's POV

-

I creep into the darkened hospital room and take a seat beside Frank, still unmoving and drained. My heart drums inside my chest with anxiety.

The beeps and hums of the cold machines around us are rhythmic and droning, never changing in tone or pace.
Always the same.

My tear-flooded eyes are rimmed with natural browns and deep reds, settling darker day by day like increasing bruises against my pale complexion; my hair, having gone unwashed for days, settles over them.

I stare at the half-lifeless body of Frank. His life seems to slip away with every artificial breath his ventilator takes. He's dying.

"Oh, Frankie." I sigh, tears suddenly beginning to spill over my eyes and running down my cheeks. "Wake up, baby." I whisper, as if I was simply waking him up like I do almost every morning.

His unresponsive state brings back the vivid memories of what happened that night. The bruising on his face; the neck brace; the pale hospital gown; the stitches beneath the bandages that wrap tightly around his pale, needle-pierced arms.
It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault he's in a coma and he's never going to fucking wake up.

"Can you hear me?" I pick up his bandage-clad hand. It's cold and pale. "Do you miss me? Because I miss you. I miss you so fucking much and I don't know what I'm gonna do."

It's like the steady beeping of his heart monitor narrates the scene before it.

"Your parents, Frank, they- they're making me pay your medical bills, I- I think." I run along the palm of his hand with my thumb as tears roll down my cheeks. "They rang me the other night- the night you- y'know. They said that- that they'd help pay, a-and that they'd get back to me in a few days, a-and they haven't said anything since.

"I seriously don't know what I'm going to do- I- I'm gonna have to book a load of extra hours at the shop- a-and maybe even get an extra job or something, I-I mean the pay at the comic book shop is really shitty and- and-" I can't continue. I let go of his hand and slump my arm over his abdomen, where I rest my head and cry gently. My head pounds.

"You don't deserve this. You're so wonderful. So fucking perfect. And now- now you're basically gone. And I can't even bear to look at you anymore. I'm so, so sorry.

"I love you so much, Frankie. I don't want you to ever forget that, no matter what happens to the two of us. I don't fucking care if you can't hear me, but I hope you know this, wherever you may be in your dreams right now."
I quickly raise my head from my arm and look up, half expecting his eyes to slit open slightly; for him to sleepily mutter- "I love you too, Gee," before drifting off to sleep, and for all of this to be just some horrible nightmare.
But there's no response. Just the sunken shell of a man, whose life is slowly diminishing, falling apart by the second.

"Oh god, baby. Please wake up."

Suddenly, I hear the door creak open. It's the doctor with the fluffy hair.

"Hey, Mr Way." He grins. I focus my eyes on the name badge that's clipped to his breast pocket. 'Ray Toro', it reads.

"Hey, Ray," I reply, not realizing I've referred to him by his first name. I look at him and back at Frank. I wonder if he knows Ray too. I wonder if he can hear him running tests on him or monitoring him. I just hope he can hear me.

He seems to brush off my mistake, and proceeds to walk over to the chair I'm sat in. He stands by me in silence, watching over Frank with me.

"How's he doing?" I ask shakily, stroking Frank's hand.

"He's stable for now." He sighs.

I don't respond; instead, staring blankly with vacant, stained eyes at the slightly crumpled bedsheets that I grip in one hand, I say,
"I miss him."

"We're gonna try our best to help you two get through this with the best possible outcome, okay?" He gives a sympathetic smile. "We can't really start promising anything at this stage in his recovery, but whatever happens, we'll try our best to get you guys through it."

I nod weakly, desperately holding back yet another bout of tears.

"Saying this, we need to discuss the outcomes- something I forgot to tell you the last time you visited." He moves himself towards the end of the bed.

"O-okay."

"Okay. Frank's suffering from severe brain trauma. The uh- the accident-" His voice falters in saying that, but he continues, "also led to spinal damage, a collapsed lung, as well as some minor to moderate wounds and bruising."

"Oh my god." More tears begin to rush to my face, worsening my ongoing headache.

"What I'm saying is- Frank actually being in a coma is the best way of healing. It's like the body's own response to severe damage." He sighs. "There are several outcomes to situations such as Frank's. Either Frank wakes up with lasting complications of some sort, or he doesn't wake up at all. I can't specify what kind of damage, as we don't know at this point, but we have to warn you that there is going to be some there."

"This could be cranial damage- whether it be a case of amnesia or severe damage, that could be an issue. Another problem would obviously be motor damage. For example, problems concerning him being able to walk and move around, et cetera."

"Y- yeah." I look back at Frank; my throat is hoarse with angst and raw, bubbling grief.

"Sir, you do have to understand though, that no matter what happens, if and when he wakes up, we're going to get you through this, no matter how long it takes." He sounds genuinely sorry.

"Do you really think he'll pull through?"

"Only time will tell, I guess. It's really just a waiting game. Patients can be in comas for a few days to a few months. There's even cases of coma patients being under for several years. That's rare, though."

"Fuck."

"I'm here if you ever need to talk. I know I'm just a doctor and all, but I'm genuinely so sorry. This is my first time being assigned to a specific patient before, and it's really made me realize the shit their loved ones go through. You guys don't deserve this shit."

My brain wants to scream at him.
Tell him that I did it.

He looks at his watch abruptly and turns back to look at me.
"Well, my shift is over now. I'll see you guys soon, I guess."

I give a weak smile and wave him out of the door, before clutching Frank's bedsheets with both of my hands and sobbing into them.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so fucking sorry. I-I just wanted for us to be happy." I wail, "We could have had a family. We could have got to that concert, and we would have been engaged by now if it weren't for me; not looking where I was fucking going."

I raise my head and stare at his cold, color-drained face. "I'll never let them hurt you, I promise. I won't let them take you off these machines until the day you wake up. We're gonna get through this together, no matter what happens, baby." I grip his hand as tight as I can as tears stream down my face. "I love you so much."