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Gerard's P.O.V:
I groaned quietly and clutched my stomach. I coughed uncontrollably. "Gee?" Mikey's eyes fluttered open and he looked confusedly at me. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. You go back to sleep, sweetie," I stroked his hair gently.

"You're really pale, Gee," He sounded worried.

"I always am," I attempted to comfort him then coughed again.

"Gee. I think you're sick," He struggled to sit up. I shook my head.

"I'm not sick, I'm fine," I lied.

"Maybe... Gee, maybe it's that stuff he injected you with. Let me see your arm," He said, rolling up my shirt sleeve. He gasped. I looked down at my arm and bit my lip to keep from gasping myself.

Most of my upper arm was covered in a red, angry looking rash which was almost scaly in places. I'd never noticed before, but now that the cold air of the room was making it itch like the devil. I didn't scratch it though. I knew it would just break the skin and make it bleed. I swallowed. "I must've been allergic to it or something..." I whispered.

"He can't leave it like that, not if it's an allergic reaction - you might die," Mikey stroked his cool fingers over it soothingly.

"I won't - I'll be fine," I said, though I'd been thinking it myself.

I didn't want to die. I was too young too die. Plus, there were far too many people I'd be without. Mom. Dad. Grandma. Mikey. Ray. Bob. Frank. Oh, Frank. My beautiful, sweet little Frankie. I swallowed. I couldn't die and leave him behind. It'd crush him. I felt tears welling in my eyes. Say Mikey and I never got out of here? That'd be even worse. Having to live with the knowledge that I may never hold Frankie in my arms, never kiss his sweet lips, never make love to him again... that'd damn near kill me. I took a deep breath in and then let it back out after holding it for a few seconds. I wasn't going to die - I had to stay alive for my Frankie.

It was the last thought I had before I collapsed onto my hands and knees and vomited violently all over the floor.

*

Mikey held my forehead while I was sick, stroking my hair with one hand. "Poor Gee," He said, when I was done.

"I'm fine," I sat up, only then noticing that the tatooed man was back.

"Aw, are you, sick, beautiful?" He chuckled.

"Stop fucking calling me beautiful," I snarled.

"Oh, but you like it when little Frankie calls you that," He said. My head snapped up and I met his eyes.

"How the fuck do you know about Frankie?" I snapped.

"Well, since you're asking," He delved into a bag that he had beside him and threw several photos of me. I gathered them up and gasped. They were all pictures of things or people close to me. Our house. The park where Mikey and I used to play as kids. Mikey and I's school. Our mom and dad's car. But most of the pictures were of Frank; Frank walking home from school, Frank sitting in his garden, Frank walking his dog, Frank holding onto my hand as we walked along the street. Even one of Frank sitting in his bedroom, listening to music and reading a magazine.

"How the fuck did you get these?" I demanded.

"He's not exactly very... observant, is he?" He chuckled. "Anyway, that's not the reason I can in here." He dug through the bag again and pulled out a bundle of clothes. He tossed them at Mikey. "You stink, bitch. Change out of your pissy clothes - and be fucking quick."

"Er..." Mikey blushed, looking at me and blushing. I covered my eyes while he removed his underwear and put on the ones the man had brought him - which seemed suspiciously out of character. I moved my hands away when the rustling of clothes stopped. The man roughly grabbed my arm and spread some kind of ointment on my rash.

"What... why are you doing this?" I asked.

"Don't want you to die now, do we, beautiful?" He chuckled sadistically.

"Er..." I didn't know how to reply to that.

"After all. I'd never be able to have fun if you were dead..." He kissed me on the cheek before he left the room.