Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Holiday in Cambodia
Hey lads wassup?
So, hoping the last chapter was okay, not too soon or anything? Who am I kidding, Frerard is never too soon. Well this chapter is a little different but hopefully to you guy’s liking, a bit less of the “ha ha making humorous gestures in wartime” thing and a bit more of the general “war” theme that we got going on, because...well...it’s set in Cambodia...so...y’know.
Oh yeah, and I meant to say this actually a few chapters ago but I forgot. So I was looking through my alerts the other day-of which I have A LOT of, by the way-and I was looking at Adnarim Smada’s profile, and if you’re reading this, I really freaking love your writing, you have a gift for writing smut XD and I just want to advertise your story “Salt Skin” and another one that’s S&M but I can’t remember the name of. If other people are reading this-hopefully-check that girl out, she’s cool and her stories are dirty-in a good way.
So, congratulations. You just got a promotion from the freakiest writer on FicWad.
Other people YOU SHOULD REALLY FREAKING READ include like DeathCookie,xx_eddi_xx,ChloesGreenDay,FlyingSmoke-I look forward to your reviews,they’re always long and make me laugh-ilovefrankieieroxx, Jesus there are a whole lot of damn good writers on this site. I’m just promoting them because they’re my friends, and because they’re very talented. And other people like CosmicZombie, theescapist99 and XxfrankieieroxX whom I do not know but their stories are freaking epic.
Oh, and if you like poetry/haiku’s check out kill_the_mainstream. I sure as hell couldn’t write like that when I was thirteen...
My sister Jane said she might join FicWad but I won’t advertise her because 1.there’s only room for one Ni Ionnrachtaigh on a site this small with a name that fuckin long
2.you suck at writing
Well, you don’t suck that bad. It’s just that I’m a lot better.
Okay Lauren stop blabbering and get on with the damn story.
If you don’t check out those stories I will come to your house and steal all your food yes even if you live in like fucking Florida-where a lot of FicWadians seem to reside-and I live in Ireland.
Yeah. Look under your bed when you’re finished reading this.
(Okay, this is creeping me out.)
Xo lauren.
(btw, go onto Youtube and watch Dara O’ Briain-if you don’t know him, he’s an Irish comedian-on Friday Night with Jonathan Ross. The “Persian” that he’s speaking is actually Irish. So now you know what I can speak :D)
(btw, calling it “Gaelic” is wrong. I remember suzyrevenge-now THERE’S someone whose stories you should read XD-said that once in an email and was like “your Gaelic ass”-that’s not insulting, that’s just wrong. Gaelic is a collection of languages like Baltic or Acrylic. It’s comprised of Irish and Scots Gaelic/Galic.Didn’t you say once you’re from Scotland?)
Hahaha I love it when haters get pwned. By themselves.
Holiday in Cambodia
Chapter Six: Sergeant
It’s...cold. So...damn...cold.
It’s so cold I can’t even think properly. My mind is frozen and I just can’t process thoughts. I feel like I’m paralysed.
“Gerard? That you?”
Hey God, I know we’re not on exactly the best terms, me being queer and all, but I would just like to thank you now on behalf of myself for the saviour that is Ray Toro.“Yeah, man. So...fucking...cold.”
A tall figure emerges from the shadows, shaking slightly, gun clicking, teeth chattering. It moves swiftly over and cautiously sits down next to me.
“Jesus Gerard,” exclaims Ray, “what the fuck happened to you?”
I don’t even bother to look. I know what he’s talking about. My hands are caked in mud and blood, and general shit is all over my jumpsuit. There’s a bit of brain and cartilage on my face from when Watson’s head was blown off in front of me.
“Raid,” I reply simply. The soaking wet slush beneath me is slowly sinking into my trousers; it’s unbelievably uncomfortable, but I couldn’t be assed shifting.
“Christ,” Ray sighs, lying his gun down on the ground and stretching,” fucking hell. Y’know Miller? Big, muscley Corporal?”
No. “Yeah.”
“He was blown apart right in front of me.”
I look at Ray sideways. “Blown apart?”
“Uh huh,” he nods, taking out some gum and offering it to me,” swear to God. His abdomen came off his goddamn legs.”
I gulp loudly. About two hours ago we were sent out on a hike-we were just told to shoot everyone we see. As far as I know, I arrived back at base camp first. Gonna be honest; I’m pretty shit at this whole war thing. I haven’t shot anyone yet-
except Bob
SHUT UP-I just run really fast through the forest. I did see a dog that I presume was Cambodian but I thought of Frank, and how he would never talk to me again if I even thought about shooting a dog.
But now I’m getting worried. Our deadline is in one hour, and even though I’m happy Ray is with me, it is scaring me slightly that two guys out of twenty-nine are back after two-thirds of the hike.
And now it’s raining. Great.
“Fucking hate the rain,” I mumble to myself, pulling up my hood.
“Dude, it’s not raining. You’re bleeding.”
Sure enough, a red drop slowly makes its way down my nose and continues to fall into my mouth and down my chin. I subconsciously raise a hand to my head, where my fingers find contact with a patch of raw, tight, wet skin just below my hairline. It stings when I go near it and I let out a slow hiss of pain.
“Don’t touch it!” Ray scolds, grabbing my hand roughly. “You’ll get it infected with all that shit on your hands. Damn, if only Mikey was here, he’s trained in First Aid or whatever...”
My head snaps up. Mikey.
“Oh My God,” I breathe, “oh Christ, no.”
“What? Is your head hurting really badly?”
I jump up to my feet, grabbing my weapon.
“Ray, I will not let Mikey and Frankie die like Bob. I’m going in to look for them. You can come with me if you like.”
Ray stands up aswell. “You think I’m gonna wait here while you be the hero and save their hopeless asses?” He scoffs. “Mikey’s probably shit his pants by now.”
We’re running now, guns clasped in sweaty hands, panting, laughing shakily.
“Oh come on, that boy shit his pants when I took him to see Jaws”-this was actually released in 1975, so this bit was possible-“the least scary movie of all time.”
“There it is,” Ray points down to the forest below, filled with gun shots and screams of agony, “which side will you take?”
“That way.”
I point to the quieter, darker section of the forest. Ray realizes the advantage but keeps quiet. He’s a better soldier than me, a fact we both know.
“Fine. Try to be back at base by the hour.” He glances at his watch. “It’s 2200 now. See you at 2300 hours, or I’ll presume the worst.”
“2300 hours? What’s that in people time?”
“Just...come back when you’re done, yeah?” A shriek of “fuck Johnny no! I’m fucking hit!”silences us abruptly, and Ray moves closer to the forest. “Alright. See you soon.”
Will you?
X X X
“Mikey?” I ask the forest. “Frankie?”
Please don’t be dead, I will desperately, I love both of you so much, please don’t be dead.
A twig snaps far off in the distance. I see a swish of red whizz by.
Fuck. They’re not called the Khmer Rouge for nothing.
I crawl on, my teeth chattering from fear and cold, gun poised and hooked under my arm, when, suddenly, a hollow hole is pressed to the back of my head.
“Down,” commands the voice, “git down, now.”
No. No. Not when I’m coming to save my little brother and the boy I’m in love with. Not when I kissed said boy for the first time last night and haven’t washed my mouth of his taste since. Not now. You can’t kill me now.
“Round,” barks the voice now. “Turn round.”
I do as he says; breathing deeply what could be my last breaths.
“Put it down.”
“Huh?”
He gestures towards my weapon with the barrel of his own. But he’s got nothing to worry about-his gun is three times the size of mine, and by the looks of it is Russian. Damn Russians. They don’t care who it is; once some country is fighting Americans the Russians supply them with the best artillery known to man. (This bit is actually very true.)
I throw it down instantly. Now my body is racking with the shakes; and I’m starting to accept the fact that I may piss myself right now, right here.
I raise my head slightly to look at the guy. I don’t believe it. He’s as young as Mikey. Fuck, he may even be Frank’s age. He looks as scared shitless as I do.
Right Gerard, my brain informs me, you have two options here. Number one; you die with honour and dignity and patriotism and all that other stuff that bullshit Lieutenant talks about, or, number two; degrade yourself ultimately by begging this kid for your life to be spared.Crying might help that.
So, what’s it gonna be?
Are you crazy? Number two.
“Please,” I whimper, clasping my hands together in prayer-form, “please, please let me live. I just came here to find my brother and my boyfriend”-I’m praying to fuck this guy ain’t a homophobe-“because they haven’t come back. Please, let me go, I promise I’ll grab them and just get out of your hair.”
He looks at me. Not with malice; or with hatred; but with slight interest.
“Come on, kid,” I say with a little more ease-he hasn’t shot me in the face yet, and I call that a success-“how old are you?”
The gun is lowered slightly. That must be a good sign.
“Eighteen.”
“That’s my brother’s age,” I gabble quickly, “please, he could be dead, he’s already got asthma, I need to find him.”
Now he looks confused.
“Ass-ma?” He pronounces, his tongue clicking, “my sister have ass-ma. She very sick.”
I nod, cold sweat running down my neck. “Yes. My brother, Mikey, he has it. Please let me go.”
What happens next can only be described as an act of God.
He grabs me roughly by my collar, dragging me upwards so that we stand face-to-face.
“You tell anyone, I kill you. And your platoon.”
“Okay,” I squeak.
“Now go find your brother and your friend. And then leave.”
“Uh-huh, thank you so much, thank you,” I babble, scrambling away as fast as my legs will take me.
I crawl off to a little rock, wondering what the fuck I’m gonna do now, when I hear:
“I’m your boyfriend?”
Ohthankyougod
Picture this scene like in Forrest Gump when he finds Lieutenant Dan. Except, like, minus all the anger and hate.
Frank. Oh My God, it’s Frank.
“Frankie, oh fuck me, oh Jesus Christ, you’re here.”
Surprisingly, he’s not bleeding. But his face is covered in bruises, and his leg is bent at a weird angle.
“Frankie? What happened?”
“Beaten,” comes the rough reply. “This guy-Cambodian-was taking a piss-saw me-didn’t have his gun-got a stick-beat me up.”He lifts up his head. “You’re bleeding.”
Stick? More like a fucking tree trunk.
“Gerard. Open my shirt. He broke my ribs and I can’t breathe.”
I grit my teeth and I feel my jaw clench. I want to fucking rip up the man who beat a sixteen-year-old senseless.
Nonetheless, I lean over and begin to unbutton his shirt. When the khaki falls open, my stomach lurches and my bile rises. Large rectangles of bright purple and yellow, stringed with red, are printed across Frank’s-former-flawless olive skin. Three ribs are poking out from his chest. His fingernails have been ripped out. And I’m no medical expert, but you know a broken leg when you see one.
“Oh Frank,” I say, tears welling up in my eyes, “what the fuck did they fucking do to you?”
“Is it bad?” He whimpers.
“Yeah,” I admit, “but I’m gonna help you, okay?”
I start to stand up, retrieving my weapon. I notice a machete on the ground, which I also pick up and shove in my holster belt.
I find some strong sticks and unwrap some silk from a medic’s bag that I find. I notice that one of the sticks is washed in fresh, wet blood; Frank’s blood.
“Gerard,” he moans, tears streaming down his face, “it hurts so goddamn much.”
“Shh, baby, hold still a minute,” I hush, rolling his trousers up gently so I can get at his leg, “I’m going to help you.”
I carefully wedge the longest stick I can find between the curve of Frank’s ankle and the soft of his calf. The fibula is shattered.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you, Frank,” I mummer.
He mewls in response.
I pull out a clean t-shirt from the bag and kneel next to Frank’s head.
“Frankie,” I breathe into his ear, caressing his hand gently, “I’m going to do something now. It’s gonna hurt for a second and then afterwards it will be so much better. Can you do that for me?”
“Um...yeah?” He answers quietly.
“Thank you.” I kiss his forehead and press the t-shirt into his hand. “Bite on that.”
“Will you hold my hand?”
That is simply the cutest thing I have ever heard.
“Of course, baby.” I slip my hand into his loosely, because I know that in a matter of seconds he will be gripping my hand like a vice.
“Ready?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Okay then.”
I raise my bent elbow just above Frank’s shin and breathe deeply. Frank is clenching my hand so hard I’ve lost all damn feeling there. I bring my arm down with a crack on Frank’s bone. He lets out an ear-splitting scream.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
I give his hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance, which is already drenched in sweat.
“I’m sorry, baby, but it should be better soon.”
He nods, white as a ghost.
“Let me just wrap it up and I’ll be done.”
My walkie-talkie-how freaking cool is it that I have a walkie-talkie-sounds.(If you’re wondering, neither Frank nor Mikey have one, which is just so convenient. Let’s not question the story line, okay? More Freardness that way.)
“Gerard?” It’s Ray. “You there?”
“Yeah, man, Frank’s hurt, fixing him up now.”
“Okay. Just thought you should know Mikey’s back here with me, he got back around five minutes ago.”
“Oh, thank fucking God. We’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Right. Over and out.”
I carefully wind the white bandage around Frank’s leg, making sure I don’t kill him or something.
When I’m done, he sits up.
“Whoa, that’s really cool, Gerard.” He looks at me. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem. Now, we have a problem though.”
“Why?”
“I’ll have to carry you back to camp.”
“Well, I certainly ain’t walking.”
“Okay,” I sit myself between his legs, taking his broken one in my arm,” come on Frank, just wind yourself around me.”
He does, wrapping his arms around my neck. He nuzzles into my shoulder.
“Look,” he says in my ear,” stars are out.”
I glance at my watch. Half past eleven. Fuck it.
“Mmm, they’re pretty,” I mutter back.
“Not as pretty as you.”
“You are such a girl.”
“Shut up.”
Something rustles in the bushes. Frank’s fingernails dig into my skin.
“What was that?”
The young boy who let me go pops out of the bush, recognises me, nods, and lets me pass.
“Thank you.”
He nods at me.
“What the hell was that about, Gee?”
“Eh,” I shrug, “I know some guys.”
So, hoping the last chapter was okay, not too soon or anything? Who am I kidding, Frerard is never too soon. Well this chapter is a little different but hopefully to you guy’s liking, a bit less of the “ha ha making humorous gestures in wartime” thing and a bit more of the general “war” theme that we got going on, because...well...it’s set in Cambodia...so...y’know.
Oh yeah, and I meant to say this actually a few chapters ago but I forgot. So I was looking through my alerts the other day-of which I have A LOT of, by the way-and I was looking at Adnarim Smada’s profile, and if you’re reading this, I really freaking love your writing, you have a gift for writing smut XD and I just want to advertise your story “Salt Skin” and another one that’s S&M but I can’t remember the name of. If other people are reading this-hopefully-check that girl out, she’s cool and her stories are dirty-in a good way.
So, congratulations. You just got a promotion from the freakiest writer on FicWad.
Other people YOU SHOULD REALLY FREAKING READ include like DeathCookie,xx_eddi_xx,ChloesGreenDay,FlyingSmoke-I look forward to your reviews,they’re always long and make me laugh-ilovefrankieieroxx, Jesus there are a whole lot of damn good writers on this site. I’m just promoting them because they’re my friends, and because they’re very talented. And other people like CosmicZombie, theescapist99 and XxfrankieieroxX whom I do not know but their stories are freaking epic.
Oh, and if you like poetry/haiku’s check out kill_the_mainstream. I sure as hell couldn’t write like that when I was thirteen...
My sister Jane said she might join FicWad but I won’t advertise her because 1.there’s only room for one Ni Ionnrachtaigh on a site this small with a name that fuckin long
2.you suck at writing
Well, you don’t suck that bad. It’s just that I’m a lot better.
Okay Lauren stop blabbering and get on with the damn story.
If you don’t check out those stories I will come to your house and steal all your food yes even if you live in like fucking Florida-where a lot of FicWadians seem to reside-and I live in Ireland.
Yeah. Look under your bed when you’re finished reading this.
(Okay, this is creeping me out.)
Xo lauren.
(btw, go onto Youtube and watch Dara O’ Briain-if you don’t know him, he’s an Irish comedian-on Friday Night with Jonathan Ross. The “Persian” that he’s speaking is actually Irish. So now you know what I can speak :D)
(btw, calling it “Gaelic” is wrong. I remember suzyrevenge-now THERE’S someone whose stories you should read XD-said that once in an email and was like “your Gaelic ass”-that’s not insulting, that’s just wrong. Gaelic is a collection of languages like Baltic or Acrylic. It’s comprised of Irish and Scots Gaelic/Galic.Didn’t you say once you’re from Scotland?)
Hahaha I love it when haters get pwned. By themselves.
Holiday in Cambodia
Chapter Six: Sergeant
It’s...cold. So...damn...cold.
It’s so cold I can’t even think properly. My mind is frozen and I just can’t process thoughts. I feel like I’m paralysed.
“Gerard? That you?”
Hey God, I know we’re not on exactly the best terms, me being queer and all, but I would just like to thank you now on behalf of myself for the saviour that is Ray Toro.“Yeah, man. So...fucking...cold.”
A tall figure emerges from the shadows, shaking slightly, gun clicking, teeth chattering. It moves swiftly over and cautiously sits down next to me.
“Jesus Gerard,” exclaims Ray, “what the fuck happened to you?”
I don’t even bother to look. I know what he’s talking about. My hands are caked in mud and blood, and general shit is all over my jumpsuit. There’s a bit of brain and cartilage on my face from when Watson’s head was blown off in front of me.
“Raid,” I reply simply. The soaking wet slush beneath me is slowly sinking into my trousers; it’s unbelievably uncomfortable, but I couldn’t be assed shifting.
“Christ,” Ray sighs, lying his gun down on the ground and stretching,” fucking hell. Y’know Miller? Big, muscley Corporal?”
No. “Yeah.”
“He was blown apart right in front of me.”
I look at Ray sideways. “Blown apart?”
“Uh huh,” he nods, taking out some gum and offering it to me,” swear to God. His abdomen came off his goddamn legs.”
I gulp loudly. About two hours ago we were sent out on a hike-we were just told to shoot everyone we see. As far as I know, I arrived back at base camp first. Gonna be honest; I’m pretty shit at this whole war thing. I haven’t shot anyone yet-
except Bob
SHUT UP-I just run really fast through the forest. I did see a dog that I presume was Cambodian but I thought of Frank, and how he would never talk to me again if I even thought about shooting a dog.
But now I’m getting worried. Our deadline is in one hour, and even though I’m happy Ray is with me, it is scaring me slightly that two guys out of twenty-nine are back after two-thirds of the hike.
And now it’s raining. Great.
“Fucking hate the rain,” I mumble to myself, pulling up my hood.
“Dude, it’s not raining. You’re bleeding.”
Sure enough, a red drop slowly makes its way down my nose and continues to fall into my mouth and down my chin. I subconsciously raise a hand to my head, where my fingers find contact with a patch of raw, tight, wet skin just below my hairline. It stings when I go near it and I let out a slow hiss of pain.
“Don’t touch it!” Ray scolds, grabbing my hand roughly. “You’ll get it infected with all that shit on your hands. Damn, if only Mikey was here, he’s trained in First Aid or whatever...”
My head snaps up. Mikey.
“Oh My God,” I breathe, “oh Christ, no.”
“What? Is your head hurting really badly?”
I jump up to my feet, grabbing my weapon.
“Ray, I will not let Mikey and Frankie die like Bob. I’m going in to look for them. You can come with me if you like.”
Ray stands up aswell. “You think I’m gonna wait here while you be the hero and save their hopeless asses?” He scoffs. “Mikey’s probably shit his pants by now.”
We’re running now, guns clasped in sweaty hands, panting, laughing shakily.
“Oh come on, that boy shit his pants when I took him to see Jaws”-this was actually released in 1975, so this bit was possible-“the least scary movie of all time.”
“There it is,” Ray points down to the forest below, filled with gun shots and screams of agony, “which side will you take?”
“That way.”
I point to the quieter, darker section of the forest. Ray realizes the advantage but keeps quiet. He’s a better soldier than me, a fact we both know.
“Fine. Try to be back at base by the hour.” He glances at his watch. “It’s 2200 now. See you at 2300 hours, or I’ll presume the worst.”
“2300 hours? What’s that in people time?”
“Just...come back when you’re done, yeah?” A shriek of “fuck Johnny no! I’m fucking hit!”silences us abruptly, and Ray moves closer to the forest. “Alright. See you soon.”
Will you?
X X X
“Mikey?” I ask the forest. “Frankie?”
Please don’t be dead, I will desperately, I love both of you so much, please don’t be dead.
A twig snaps far off in the distance. I see a swish of red whizz by.
Fuck. They’re not called the Khmer Rouge for nothing.
I crawl on, my teeth chattering from fear and cold, gun poised and hooked under my arm, when, suddenly, a hollow hole is pressed to the back of my head.
“Down,” commands the voice, “git down, now.”
No. No. Not when I’m coming to save my little brother and the boy I’m in love with. Not when I kissed said boy for the first time last night and haven’t washed my mouth of his taste since. Not now. You can’t kill me now.
“Round,” barks the voice now. “Turn round.”
I do as he says; breathing deeply what could be my last breaths.
“Put it down.”
“Huh?”
He gestures towards my weapon with the barrel of his own. But he’s got nothing to worry about-his gun is three times the size of mine, and by the looks of it is Russian. Damn Russians. They don’t care who it is; once some country is fighting Americans the Russians supply them with the best artillery known to man. (This bit is actually very true.)
I throw it down instantly. Now my body is racking with the shakes; and I’m starting to accept the fact that I may piss myself right now, right here.
I raise my head slightly to look at the guy. I don’t believe it. He’s as young as Mikey. Fuck, he may even be Frank’s age. He looks as scared shitless as I do.
Right Gerard, my brain informs me, you have two options here. Number one; you die with honour and dignity and patriotism and all that other stuff that bullshit Lieutenant talks about, or, number two; degrade yourself ultimately by begging this kid for your life to be spared.Crying might help that.
So, what’s it gonna be?
Are you crazy? Number two.
“Please,” I whimper, clasping my hands together in prayer-form, “please, please let me live. I just came here to find my brother and my boyfriend”-I’m praying to fuck this guy ain’t a homophobe-“because they haven’t come back. Please, let me go, I promise I’ll grab them and just get out of your hair.”
He looks at me. Not with malice; or with hatred; but with slight interest.
“Come on, kid,” I say with a little more ease-he hasn’t shot me in the face yet, and I call that a success-“how old are you?”
The gun is lowered slightly. That must be a good sign.
“Eighteen.”
“That’s my brother’s age,” I gabble quickly, “please, he could be dead, he’s already got asthma, I need to find him.”
Now he looks confused.
“Ass-ma?” He pronounces, his tongue clicking, “my sister have ass-ma. She very sick.”
I nod, cold sweat running down my neck. “Yes. My brother, Mikey, he has it. Please let me go.”
What happens next can only be described as an act of God.
He grabs me roughly by my collar, dragging me upwards so that we stand face-to-face.
“You tell anyone, I kill you. And your platoon.”
“Okay,” I squeak.
“Now go find your brother and your friend. And then leave.”
“Uh-huh, thank you so much, thank you,” I babble, scrambling away as fast as my legs will take me.
I crawl off to a little rock, wondering what the fuck I’m gonna do now, when I hear:
“I’m your boyfriend?”
Ohthankyougod
Picture this scene like in Forrest Gump when he finds Lieutenant Dan. Except, like, minus all the anger and hate.
Frank. Oh My God, it’s Frank.
“Frankie, oh fuck me, oh Jesus Christ, you’re here.”
Surprisingly, he’s not bleeding. But his face is covered in bruises, and his leg is bent at a weird angle.
“Frankie? What happened?”
“Beaten,” comes the rough reply. “This guy-Cambodian-was taking a piss-saw me-didn’t have his gun-got a stick-beat me up.”He lifts up his head. “You’re bleeding.”
Stick? More like a fucking tree trunk.
“Gerard. Open my shirt. He broke my ribs and I can’t breathe.”
I grit my teeth and I feel my jaw clench. I want to fucking rip up the man who beat a sixteen-year-old senseless.
Nonetheless, I lean over and begin to unbutton his shirt. When the khaki falls open, my stomach lurches and my bile rises. Large rectangles of bright purple and yellow, stringed with red, are printed across Frank’s-former-flawless olive skin. Three ribs are poking out from his chest. His fingernails have been ripped out. And I’m no medical expert, but you know a broken leg when you see one.
“Oh Frank,” I say, tears welling up in my eyes, “what the fuck did they fucking do to you?”
“Is it bad?” He whimpers.
“Yeah,” I admit, “but I’m gonna help you, okay?”
I start to stand up, retrieving my weapon. I notice a machete on the ground, which I also pick up and shove in my holster belt.
I find some strong sticks and unwrap some silk from a medic’s bag that I find. I notice that one of the sticks is washed in fresh, wet blood; Frank’s blood.
“Gerard,” he moans, tears streaming down his face, “it hurts so goddamn much.”
“Shh, baby, hold still a minute,” I hush, rolling his trousers up gently so I can get at his leg, “I’m going to help you.”
I carefully wedge the longest stick I can find between the curve of Frank’s ankle and the soft of his calf. The fibula is shattered.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you, Frank,” I mummer.
He mewls in response.
I pull out a clean t-shirt from the bag and kneel next to Frank’s head.
“Frankie,” I breathe into his ear, caressing his hand gently, “I’m going to do something now. It’s gonna hurt for a second and then afterwards it will be so much better. Can you do that for me?”
“Um...yeah?” He answers quietly.
“Thank you.” I kiss his forehead and press the t-shirt into his hand. “Bite on that.”
“Will you hold my hand?”
That is simply the cutest thing I have ever heard.
“Of course, baby.” I slip my hand into his loosely, because I know that in a matter of seconds he will be gripping my hand like a vice.
“Ready?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Okay then.”
I raise my bent elbow just above Frank’s shin and breathe deeply. Frank is clenching my hand so hard I’ve lost all damn feeling there. I bring my arm down with a crack on Frank’s bone. He lets out an ear-splitting scream.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
I give his hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance, which is already drenched in sweat.
“I’m sorry, baby, but it should be better soon.”
He nods, white as a ghost.
“Let me just wrap it up and I’ll be done.”
My walkie-talkie-how freaking cool is it that I have a walkie-talkie-sounds.(If you’re wondering, neither Frank nor Mikey have one, which is just so convenient. Let’s not question the story line, okay? More Freardness that way.)
“Gerard?” It’s Ray. “You there?”
“Yeah, man, Frank’s hurt, fixing him up now.”
“Okay. Just thought you should know Mikey’s back here with me, he got back around five minutes ago.”
“Oh, thank fucking God. We’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Right. Over and out.”
I carefully wind the white bandage around Frank’s leg, making sure I don’t kill him or something.
When I’m done, he sits up.
“Whoa, that’s really cool, Gerard.” He looks at me. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem. Now, we have a problem though.”
“Why?”
“I’ll have to carry you back to camp.”
“Well, I certainly ain’t walking.”
“Okay,” I sit myself between his legs, taking his broken one in my arm,” come on Frank, just wind yourself around me.”
He does, wrapping his arms around my neck. He nuzzles into my shoulder.
“Look,” he says in my ear,” stars are out.”
I glance at my watch. Half past eleven. Fuck it.
“Mmm, they’re pretty,” I mutter back.
“Not as pretty as you.”
“You are such a girl.”
“Shut up.”
Something rustles in the bushes. Frank’s fingernails dig into my skin.
“What was that?”
The young boy who let me go pops out of the bush, recognises me, nods, and lets me pass.
“Thank you.”
He nods at me.
“What the hell was that about, Gee?”
“Eh,” I shrug, “I know some guys.”
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