Obsessive thoughts are all Frank has ever known. One day, his damaged mind gets the best of him.
I lie awake at night. Gerard's quiet breathing is subtle and sweet. At first, I strain to listen to it, hoping it'll bring me peace. Then as the night goes on and hours pass, its dull throbbing fills the room, overpowering all other sounds. I cringe and wait. Wait for the thoughts to creep along and fill me with such rage I can hardly move. I feel my face grow hot. The sweat collected on my palms seems so thick it could drip. I angrily wipe it on the crumpled blanket beside of me. The one that's covering my boyfriend.
Gerard. He knows how I can be. There for a while he would even stay up with me on nights like these. I don't know what changed, but it's only made things worse. I can't even bring myself to talk to him about it anymore. Occasionally, I'd mention it. Just to see if it would trigger some remorse; just to see if it'd make him care. But nothing worked, and I'm not one for playing the card of pity every fucking chance I get, so I let it all go.
Now it's up to me to deal with my slipping mind. The doctor I've been seeing hasn't given me much hope. Just a lot of un-opened meds. I see Gerard eyeing them sometimes. Everyone knows how the guy used to be. He claims to have quit for good, though. I'll hold him to that.
I lift my hand to touch my neck. The vein that sticks out so awkwardly seems to whisper such fucking filth in my ear. I start to look; just searching for some light to make this night seem almost over. If I can just get through another day. Another day. That's all I ever tell myself anymore. Another day Frank, and you'll be fine. Just another day. My mind can sift through bullshit now, though. I can practically see its sneer. How it taunts my sanity into melting away like it should have years ago.
I'm nearly scared out of my mind when Gerard suddenly scoots closer. An arm finds its way over to my propped up back. He rubs subconsciously, prescribing me with a dose of comfort he won't even remember once he comes to. I take what he's willing to offer and melt to his touch. That touch used to be all I needed to make nights like these seem few and far between.
The throbbing speeds up and fear enters the room. If he keeps touching me like this, I'll want to touch him back. I'll want to wake him. I can't let him see me like this. Sweat matted to my forehead like I've forgotten how to bathe; my hand practically clutching the side of my neck like I'd just gotten home from a run-in with Dracula himself. I slowly bring the sheet off of me, pulling it back and away so I can climb off of the bed without tripping. Once my feet touch the hardwood, I start to pad away in search of the bathroom.
I make it, barely avoiding a nasty collision with the corner of Gerard's dresser. Once inside, I close the door and turn on the light. I almost expect to see someone else in the reflection when I dare to look in the mirror. Pale white, faded skin seems to glow and give a certain false sense of beauty. I start to wonder why the hell I stopped going out in the sun. Next, my eyes trail to the object of my torture; my own personal enemy. When I look close enough, its throbbing grows visible. The pulsing and pounding of that single, long vein. It's like it was made to haunt me; like it was created to keep me awake at night. I lean in, hoping to see that my eyes were only playing tricks on me. Instead, it seems to grow larger right before my eyes; taking up more and more space near my throat. Practically begging to be taken care of.
Suddenly, I can't take it anymore. It has to stop. I pull open the drawer - not even caring if I wake Gerard or not - and sift through our belongings until I find what I've been looking for. Settled nicely in the tin First Aid Kit is a sizable scalpel; just sharp enough to do what should have been done ages ago. I observe the gleaming of its blade for only a moment before lifting it to my neck and watching my face in the mirror.
The contrast is so desirable. Just a perfect image of morbidity as I see it begin to sink into that vein. I watch as my pulse practically swallows the feeble blade; allowing itself to be eaten by the growing life of what has been bothering me since childhood. The room is quickly filling with another, less-familiar sound. The sound of heavy gasps, and screaming. Desperate yelps and foreign cries. That vein; that damned [I]pulseI]. It just couldn't keep [/quiet, could it? It just had to yell and grab as much attention as possible.
"Frank? Baby! What are you doing? Oh my God, oh no! Oh, Frankie!" Gerard shrieks, absolutely terrified of what has brought him awake and into this small bathroom. I give him a questioning glance. One of his hands instantly covers my seeping wound while the other grabs the tool I was using to silence what should never have been loud in the first place.
"Gee..." I whisper, suddenly aware of how feeble and slow my voice has become. This wasn't the plan. It wasn't meant to happen like this, with him watching in fright and terror as I bled out. It wasn't meant to be like this at all.
"Frankie, why the... WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THIS TO YOURSELF?" Gerard asks, his voice cracking several times throughout his outburst. As I slowly slide to the ground, his body slouches down right next to me, his hands putting more and more pressure on my wound. The gushing of my own blood slips and seeps between his slightly parted fingers, landing in heaps onto both of our shirts and staining the night with a dutiful red.
I raise a hand, trying to pull away his own from my neck. I have the insufferable urge to use my remaining energy to finish the job. To pull it out and throw it half across the room. To destroy it once and for all.
"Stop! Goddammit, stop!" Gerard screams in my ear, nearly hysterical as his only reaction to all of this is to gently rock me back and forth. After a moment or so of scattered thought, I decide the movement is futile and relax into Gerard's lap. His hand shakes as it ruffles my hair a bit at the top, resting lightly in the midst of the scruff I've been too lazy to trim. I hear him mumble about "Not having a fucking phone!" before the room grows too dark to see, and I'm left in a limbo of sorts, waiting for the consequences of my actions to do me in.
"'Night, Gee." I nearly yawn as I'm finally tired. Finally able to go to sleep. That's all I ever wanted, afterall.
"Goodnight, baby." Gerard whispers over top a small sob, his tears flowing down his face and carelessly soaking into my scalp.
The last thing I notice before being taken off to God knows where is the complete and utter silence of my surroundings. Nothing can be heard in this peaceful, perfect world. Nothing at all; not even the dull pulsing of a once troublesome vein.