Famous Last Words! (Frerard fic, also a bit of Mikey/Ray)

Overly Exagerated

Mikey's POV

My side ached and I had to bite my lip to keep me from screaming. I rolled my head, my eyes closing swiftly. The light streaming in the hospital room from the windows reflected in my face. My hazel eyes brushed over every object in the room. White walls coated over me, engulfing me.

The door crept open and I had to use all my self control to not yell at them to go away.

"Hey, buddy."

Oh fuck.

"Dad," I acknowledge.

"How do you feel?" he asked softly, creeping to my bed.

"I feel good," I shrug, but it hurts to move and I bite my lip harder.

"Careful, Michael. It's alright, I'm here," Donald, my father, smiled sweetly.

I tried to not gag right there. He's never been there for me. He's always fussing about Gerard. Gerard did this....he needs to be punished, Gerard did that...... he needs some time to sort himself out, Gerard said this....smack him for using that language. Gerard Gerard Gerard. It's always about him. It may not be in a positive light, who am I kidding, it's never in a good way, but he's always the centre of attention.

"You're never here. You spend your time scolding Gerard 24/7. You don't pay any attention to me!" I snap harshly.

"Excuse me?" his eyes widened, his voice innocent.

"You hate Gerard's attitude! So you yell at him 24/7. You tell him stuff like you're proud of me and not him, that he should work harder and be like me. But you don't even know what I have succeeded!" I snarled truthfully.

"That's enough, Michael! It's not your fault that Gerard has poor grades, that he can't work with computers or that he can't speak a different language!" dad started yelling.

But I've heard enough already.

"There you go again! Always talking about Gerard! It is MY visit, it is MY injury, it is MY fate! And yet you change the subject back to my older brother!" I scream.

My temper rose and I felt like punching something. I close my eyes sharply, very annoyed that it is always about Gerard.

My heart beat picked up a few paces, and my throat croaked and fell limp. My eyes swelled and my hands got very tight. My muscles gave up and my bones crunched under the stress. I try and breathe in, but nothing happens. A machine starts deafening me, but my heart race is too much for me to take. Donald stands up abruptly as nurses race in, checking the machine and masks.

I can't get any oxygen in my body and I began to hyperventalate. Sweat ran from my forehead to my neck, and  my short fast puffs became too much for me to handle that I almost blanked out right there. But dad stepped backwards slightly, and I caught the expression on his face.

His mouth opens and closes a few times, mouthing something too me. I've forgotten how to listen, as no sound can be heard. But my eye sight is working perfectly, and I've got another reason why I hate this man now that I know what he is mouthing.

"I'm sorry."