Frank goes out to buy food and leaves Gerard alone in the house.
“Your hair’s still wet.”
“Yeah, Gerard, I know.” Frank said, pulling on a jacket and forcing his feet into his trainers
“You can’t go out if your hair’s wet, you’ll get sick.” Gerard said, staring at Frank with childish innocence that made him feel bad for upsetting him. Frank walked over to Gerard and held both of his hands, looking up at him reassuringly. “I’ll be fine,” he smiled weakly and stretched up to kiss Gerard’s nose before half smiling at him then walking over to the front door, his shoes making muffled thumping sounds against the dirty floor. “I’ll be back soon, don’t do anything until I get back!” He called with his hand on the door handle, reluctant to leave Gerard alone here but having no choice – he had to go buy food and the idea taking Gerard with him was silly, Gerard didn’t go out. And they both knew what he meant by “anything”. Frank tore his eyes away from Gerard’s face - he looked so disappointed – then pulled the door open, stepped over the yellowed white frame and closed it behind him with a dull thud.
“Bye.” Gerard whispered, looking down at the speckled dirt on the faded floor tiles.
He stayed standing there for a while, just staring at the faux marble tiles and his ghostly white feet on the ground, swaying slightly but apart from that, not moving at all, lost in his thoughts. He blinked his dark eyes slowly, feeling his long eyelashes flutter gently against his skin and chewed on his bottom lip absently. Everything he did was absent, most of the time. Gerard winced, suddenly, and hissed as his lip burned, for a moment not knowing why. Confused, he felt his mouth cautiously with his index finger to find blood dripping from it where he’d bitten it too hard. He sighed and sucked on it hard, trying to stop the bleeding, then walked slowly across the kitchen and into the main room with the TV and his papers in it. He pricked his toe on a stuck up nail when he stepped over the doorframe but barely even noticed.
Gerard looked around the room. Why had he come in here? He glanced down at the papers and remembered - he had to find the one he’d written his notes on the other day. He couldn’t remember what he’d written but he knew it was important, and he knew he’d know it when he saw it. In a dreamlike haze, he floated over to the centre of the room and started picking up papers here and there, scrutinizing them for minutes at a time before cursing or making some form of frustrated sound and tossing them aside.
After what could have been an hour of futile searching through blank or meaningless documents, he shot his gaze across the room to where they kept a stash of alcohol – or rather, where hekept it – and slouched over to it to see what they had. He couldn’t focus, his vision was hazy and he couldn’t concentrate on finding this… thing. He just needed a drink. But hadn’t Frank said something about alcohol, today? Gerard screwed up his face and tried to remember, but couldn’t. He swore in frustration and grabbed a near empty bottle of Smirnoff, untwisted the cap took a large mouthful straight from the bottle, then tossed it aside where it landed in the corner with a clinking sound. Fuck Frank. From what Gerard could remember, this was all his fault, Maybe if Frank hadn’t had broken into that guy’s house, then… No, that wasn’t right. It was a store; Frank had broken into a store and stolen something. Maybe it’d been money, or cigarettes, alcohol possibly. He’d definitely stolen something. Why couldn’t he remember, he was there… Wasn’t he?
Gerard shouted in self-inflicted anger and punched a wall, causing the old, faded paint to splinter and fall away, then whimpered sharply as his hand throbbed painfully. He looked at it fearfully to find that his knuckles were turning slowly from white to purple and he was bleeding slightly, as though he’d been scratched by a cat. He sucked on his knuckles where they bled and leaned against the thin wall behind him, sliding down it until he was sitting in the corner with his knees up to his chest. He felt tears falling from his eyes, and though he didn’t know quite why he was so depressed so suddenly, he knew it wasn’t the pain of his hand causing it. Slowly he moved further back into the corner and folded his arms around his legs then leaned his head on his knees, making choked gasping sounds as he cried, his hand throbbing and his head spinning.
It wasn’t fair. Why was he like this? He hadn’t always been, he knew that. He had faint memories of who he’d been before whatever had happened to him that made him act so differently had happened. He remembered laughing with Frank and his brother and…someone else. He didn’t remember who. He missed his brother, what had happened to him? Gerard couldn’t remember. He missed his mother too, but he was unaware that that was who she was. All that remained of her in his mind was an image of the blonde woman who'd cared about him so much, and random, insignificant scenarios, such as her making coffee for him in mornings and looking after him when he was sick. He was sick now, where was she? He needed someone here, to look after him and tell him everything was going to be okay. Gerard held his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes before realising that he no longer knew where Frank was.
“Frank?” He shouted, wondering where he had gone. He hadn’t left him, had he? Upon getting no reply, Gerard gripped the window ledge next to him tightly and forced himself to stand, losing his balance at first but regaining it after a couple of seconds. He felt so sick. Shaking like a man stood in a snowstorm, he pushed his greasy hair off his face and shouted again, but was unanswered for a second time. Worried and confused, Gerard walked into the kitchen to see if Frank was in there, and went even paler than he already was when he discovered that he wasn’t. He felt himself close to tears again, terrified at not knowing where Frank had gone despite his leaving only an hour ago. Then his panic turned to blind rage at being left here alone, without Frank even telling him he was leaving. He’d just gone, how dare he? “Fuck you, Frank,” Gerard slurred, leaning heavily against the kitchen sink, “I don’t fucking need you anyway you piece of shit!” He dragged his torn sleeve across his mouth which was still dripping with dark, red blood and his head spun before he abruptly leaned over the sink and threw up into it, wretching and coughing up blood. “Fuck,” he groaned, then sat down on the floor with head pounding in his hands, tears once again spilling from his hazy eyes until he blacked out on the floor.
He didn’t even notice when Frank ran over to him and started crying and screaming at him to wake up.