Oneshot! If you liked 'I'll say goodbye for one last time' I think, and hope, you'll like this one, too!
Glug down three bottle and swallow five pills,
Twenty-six bottles of booze on the wall..
He sighed a humongous, exasperated sigh that got Frank staring at him like he was crazy. After looking at Gerard for a while, he began to notice just how pale and ill-looking he was, and how he was slouching more than usual. He hadn't even shaved.
"You okay, man?" Frank asked tentatively as they both sat around the table on the bus.
Gerard shrugged. "Fine," he said blandly. He didn't rip his eyes from the cards in his hands.
Now it was Frank's turn to sigh. "You're not," he stated. He ran a hand through his hair, dropped the cards he was holding and frowned at his friend.
Gerard smiled triumphantly. "I can see your cards!" The older man waved his cards around tauntingly, then snatched up Frank's discarded hand and stared at it, swearing under his breath.
Frank sighed. Again. "Forget the game!" Frank slapped both his and Gerard's hand out from Gerard's grasp, not even pulling his eyes from his best friend's exhausted face as the cards fluttered to the floor.
Gerard slumped back in his seat and stared to his hands, fiddling carelessly with them.
Frank inwardly growled. "What's wrong, seriously, Gerard? I haven't seen you look this bad since you were Depressed."
Shrugging, Gerard looked up to his friend with glassy, hazel eyes. They reeked of sorrow. "I'm fine. Missing the family," he lied.
Frank's stiff shoulders relaxed as he got out of his chair and collected the scattered cards. "Me too, man. I know where you're coming from. But don't completely disregard your hygiene and looks for them. You can't stop caring for yourself."
"Can too!" Gerard mumbled, slinking out of the booth to fetch a pencil and some paper. When he returned, the cards were neatly stacked and Frank was fiddling about on his phone.
He only slightly glanced up at Gerard before shooting his eyes back to his phone. "What's with the paper?" he asked monotonously, distracted by whatever he was doing.
"Drawing," Gerard grunted. "What's on the phone?"
Frank shot his eyes to Gerard, then back to his phone. Again. "Action Potato. Game."
Gerard snorted before shimmying into the booth and crossing his jean-clad legs. He picked up his pencil and inhaled deeply, before deciding what he was to do.
I'm a liar. I'm a liar of the most extreme. I'm a faker, too. I suppose it's just good acting. I'm not okay. I never was okay. I can never, ever be okay, and I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how to deal with this. It's all so much, all too hard.
Lyndsey made things better for a certain amount of time, as did Bandit, but things don't always stay the same. Things can be reborn, people can be reborn, and illnesses can, too. Cancer can.
I'm starting to think of Depression as an old friend. Slowly killing me with daggers in my back, but always there. Never gone, never left. Just lingering. It's a fact some of us just have to face; a fate some of us have to live.
Well, not me. Not anymore.
I cannot deal with the stupid amounts of self-hating, self-conscious, self-loathing thoughts that buzz around my mind on a daily basis. The thoughts of suicide and darkness? It's like I'm in a hole, or an abyss, and the Devil is keeping me captive.
So I'm sorry Frank. I really am. I love you. I love Lyndsey. I love Bandit. I love Mikey. I love mum. I love Ray. I love Bob. But writing letters to my family would be so hard. Writing one to you is hard enough. Just tell them that I love them and that I hope they understand. That I'm sorry. That I didn't want it to end like this.
You're amazing Frank. I've always said you'd help bury the body. When this is over, please, please bury mine. Please Frank, try to understand. I'm not a weak person, but there's only so much of this I can take.
Your my best friend, and I would die for you.
I suppose I'm doing you a favor now, so you don't have to watch your friend die on the inside.
You're hyper, you're rebellious, you're.. You're Frank. You can get through what I can't.
Stay strong, be you, and keep the faith that I couldn't.
I'll always believe in you.
Gerard dropped the pencil to the table and ripped out the page, before mumbling something about going to sleep and curling up in his bunk, letting his mind waft into a restless blackness.
Gerard sat at the table. It was four in the morning and no one was up. The dim darkness from outside crept through the window, and the stonewashed moon was noticeable from where Gerard was sitting. It made the dark gloom around Gerard a little lighter, and the fact he was able to see the moon before he died made it better.
Lay out in front of him where pills and alcohol. Precisely 29 Vodka shots and 30 pills.
Gerard began to swallow them, accompanied by a shot of vodka each time. He decided the last two he'd take together. The last two would end his life as he slept. The last two would make the pain go away.
As he swallowed his fifth pill, Gerard pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket and lay it out on the table. It was the note to Frank.
The moonlight hit it directly and illuminated Gerard's scribbled handwriting.
As he placed his sixth pill on the back of his tongue, lifting the Vodka shot to his mouth, tears rolled down his cheeks. Did he want this? Did it have to be like this?
Yes, he decided. It did. He needed it. It needed to be like this.
So, Gerard swallowed his sixth pill, just as Frank watched him as he silently walked from the bunks. His hair was tousled, his cheeks were pillow-creased and his eyes were dopey and half asleep.
Gerard didn't notice him as he swallowed another pill.
It took a while for Frank to come to grips with the situation, for his senses to kick in. But they did, and as he ran over to the table, cursing and crying all at once, Gerard's eyes widened and tears blurred his vision.
"Stop it!" Frank cried. "Stop it, please Gerard, STOP!" He scurried on top of the table, knocking pills and glasses to the floor. They shattered and puffed, the ringing of the exploding glasses the only thing left in the silence.
"F-Frank!" Gerard whispered weakly. "Get out.. get out.. I need to do this, I have to do this!" He cried.
Frank shook his head like a stubborn child, picked up Gerard's note and clung to the older man's neck, crying. "Why? Why? You're still Depressed? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you do anything? Why Gerard? I could've helped, WE could've helped! I can't.. I can't watch you do this. Not again. We need you here! I can't.. I.. Don't leave!" Frank sobbed, his tears falling to the note as he re-read it.
Gerard's shaky figure could barely support Frank and he squeezed his eyes shut, wishing, praying, hoping this was all a dream. Like he did everyday.
But unfortunately for him..