FicWad

After we eat, Gerard takes me home. I say I have stuff to do for school, but I just need to think. And if I’m being honest, I really want to sleep more. But I’m not going to tell him that.
My head hurts again as I drop into a chair, putting my head in my hands. I have to help him. I laugh once, bitterly. I can barely keep a hold on myself. How in the hell can I help him?
I inhale deeply, and the fabric from Gerard’s pants clings to my face. It smells like he does.
A single tear falls from my eye. I will do anything. Anything to help him.
I keep breathing in, not wanting to lose the smell. I curl up, into a ball and before I can stop myself, I’m asleep.
When I wake up, it’s because my phone is ringing. I gasp, rolling over to grab it off the nightstand.
“Hello?” I say groggily, clearing my throat. I look at the clock. It’s four in the morning.
“Are you ok?” An unsteady voice asks me.
“Gerard?” I know it’s him. Before he answers.
“Yeah. Are you ok?” He asks again, desperate.
“Yeah. Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure.” He’s been drinking.
“Gerard-“
“Bye Rain.” He says.
The call cuts off.
“Damn it.” I swear.
That’s it. I’m going to see him.
I’m still in the chair, still dressed; half in his clothes. I grab my phone, and get my keys off my bed. Then I’m running downstairs, without the slightest hint of a plan of what I am doing, or what I am going to say to him.
Unfortunately, I have no time to figure anything out. It takes two minutes to drive to the boy’s dorms and find his room. I knock three times, loudly. It sounds even louder in the silence.
The door swings open just as I’m about to knock again. Gerard is standing there, looking mostly normal. His eyes are bloodshot though, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Rain? What are you doing here?” He asks, in the same voice I heard on the phone.
“Well you called. I thought I could come see you. I need to talk to you.” I still have no plan. It’s pure improvisation when I breeze past him, into his dorm. There’s a bottle of vodka on his desk, and at least three bottles of pills. I stare at them deliberately, then look back to him. He puts his hands in his pockets nervously.
“Gerard, how many pills are you on?” I ask him.
“I’m-“ He starts to protest- I can hear it in his tone.
“Gerard, I already know. Don’t lie, please. I want to help you.” It seems to be a common theme, us helping each other, And us still each having problems.
He sighs, but it’s sort of a moan too. I can see how pale he is. I’m scared for him.
“Gerard, please just talk to me. “
He looks up from the floor, staring me right in the eye, catching me off guard.
“Ok.” He says.

Short again. Yeah. I know. Sorry.