The Sharpest Lives

Chapter Nineteen: And As These Walls Come Crashing Down Around Me...

Chapter Ninteen: And As These Walls Come Crashing Down Around Me, Take Me To Hell And I Will Call It Home

[Frank]

Waiting for my body to heal was fucking brutal.

I wanted so badly to just get up and leave, try and walk on my broken leg, just to make sure it really was as bad as they said, wave my arms over my head just to make sure the bruises I felt were really there.

But I was trapped on this hospital bed, which was about as comfortable as lying on the pavement outside. I could have sworn the pavement was more comfortable.

Then again, I was being over dramatic- like a certain someone. I couldn't be grateful enough for being alive.

Alive to experience the physical pain of healing, the wounds carved into my heart by the very man I loved.

Appreciate life, they say.  Value every moment. The bliss. The sadness.

Does that include this pain too? Am I supposed to cherish the anger and frustration, the suicidal thoughts? All because it's part of living?

I've always been mystified by the people who can't seem to understand these feelings. The people who make the jokes about how all the kids who dress in black are looking for attention. There's no such thing as depression. You're just an attention seeking cock wipe who does nothing but whine and slit their wrists.

If I'm completely honest, I'm jealous.

I wish I could be that undisturbed and oblivious. So happy, that I can't understand that kind of mental torture. To never live through that pain, and thus, never understand it.

I would never want anyone to go through this. I wish I never had. But there's nothing I can do about it. I can't make everyone agree with me, but I'll never stop trying to help out those who need it.

So this was the same man who wanted to die because he couldn't take life anymore? I didn't have a right to be even thinking about that- I am not the only one. I wasn't going to help anybody.

Besides , I had my mission to complete.

I couldn't go without telling Gerard that I loved him.

So, I'd just woken up from what felt like a week-long sleep, and was already getting restless. I hate not moving. It pisses me off. What's the point in having arms, legs, muscles, joints, if you can't fucking move them? Some of us just take them for granted, when we shouldn't.

And in an attempt to distract myself, I thought of the speech I would give once Gerard showed up again. My speech about how much I cared about him. My voice would be strong, confident, unwavering. I would give him the truth. I wanted to tell him the truth. That those kisses, the touches, the jokes, they stopped meaning nothing. Meaning cried from movement I made around him. I would tell him all of that. And I would tell him that…that

I…there was no denying that I…

Oh.

There was no way I had the balls to say 'I love you'. Not to his face.

And as I came to that conclusion, I saw my speech, by pretty little delusion slip away.  There was no way I could say it as confidently as that. There was no way I could say anything now. Suddenly I wanted the nurse back to drug me, so that maybe then, I could have the courage to speak and then blame it on the meds if it all went to shit later.

Honestly, I hated myself for being so weak. It was pathetic. Then again, I shouldn't have been so shocked that I was being such a pussy in the first place. Confidence was non-existent for me right now. I thought I knew who I was…what I wanted, how I felt about things…but I hadn't.