This Is Our Fate
I've got more important things,
I am a monster. How could I do this to my big brother? Especially after I'm done yelling at Bob for hitting him? I can't will my legs to move, to crouch over Gee and help him. I'm frozen in place, helplessly witnessing my brother lying on the kitchen floor in a puddle of his own blood.
Gerard squints his eyes and tries to open his mouth to speak, maybe to ask why I'm not doing anything. But all that comes out is a low pathetic whimper.
"My god," I mutter to myself, before my limbs begin to cooperate with my frantic mind. I'm knelt down to Gerard's level in an instant. I reach out and touch him gingerly. His crimson blood stains my knees, but I pay no attention. Trying to cause him little pain as possible, I lift him up with a strength I didn't know I had.
Gerard's gripping onto my sleeve like a small child, and his whimpers become more constant, more agonizing. We need to go to the hospital. The same damned hospital where it all started. In an instant, I'm rushing out the front door in into my car, not bothering to lock the door. Or even make sure it's shut closed.
After Gerard's inside, I start the car up and head out. My hands are bloodied, a mix of his blood and my own. There still must be shards of glass in his back, and it must have cut my palms. My hands stung, and I felt a bit better knowing I was in pain too. Gerard groans out in pain, something illegible. He does it again, and I realize it's my name he's uttering out. Guilt hits me like a truck, all over again.
The rest was a blur. A strange, familiar blur.
I found myself seated at the same sickeningly clean waiting room, waiting for what seemed like ages. The same mask of hygiene almost seemed to mock me.
I contemplated calling Bob, letting him know what had happened. Then I thought about how badly he'd react... I call him anyways.
xxx
Gerard needs numerous stitches in his back. He also has to stay in the hospital for massive blood loss and its complications. And in the meantime, I feel like a pile of shit.
Bob had been visiting him regularly, being a typical concerned and loving boyfriend. He brought him food, flowers, fluffed his pillows-- the whole shebang. I, on the other hand, couldn't bring myself to even step foot in Gerard's room. What if he hated me? What if, in less than a few minutes, I've managed to ruin what he and I had?
The cup of coffee in my hand was scalding hot, but I paid it no mind. I could hear them talking from where I was sitting, their voices echoing through the hospital hall. Gerard and Bob laugh, and for a moment you wouldn't think Gerard was in pain.
I wish I were in there with him, distracting him from the large IV needle in his wrist with my wit and lame jokes. I wish I were the one kissing him goodnight when visiting hours were over. But no, I'm stuck here on an uncomfortable chair, reading the same magazine over and over instead. I can't take this. I get up and leave.
xx
Gerard squints his eyes and tries to open his mouth to speak, maybe to ask why I'm not doing anything. But all that comes out is a low pathetic whimper.
"My god," I mutter to myself, before my limbs begin to cooperate with my frantic mind. I'm knelt down to Gerard's level in an instant. I reach out and touch him gingerly. His crimson blood stains my knees, but I pay no attention. Trying to cause him little pain as possible, I lift him up with a strength I didn't know I had.
Gerard's gripping onto my sleeve like a small child, and his whimpers become more constant, more agonizing. We need to go to the hospital. The same damned hospital where it all started. In an instant, I'm rushing out the front door in into my car, not bothering to lock the door. Or even make sure it's shut closed.
After Gerard's inside, I start the car up and head out. My hands are bloodied, a mix of his blood and my own. There still must be shards of glass in his back, and it must have cut my palms. My hands stung, and I felt a bit better knowing I was in pain too. Gerard groans out in pain, something illegible. He does it again, and I realize it's my name he's uttering out. Guilt hits me like a truck, all over again.
The rest was a blur. A strange, familiar blur.
I found myself seated at the same sickeningly clean waiting room, waiting for what seemed like ages. The same mask of hygiene almost seemed to mock me.
I contemplated calling Bob, letting him know what had happened. Then I thought about how badly he'd react... I call him anyways.
xxx
Gerard needs numerous stitches in his back. He also has to stay in the hospital for massive blood loss and its complications. And in the meantime, I feel like a pile of shit.
Bob had been visiting him regularly, being a typical concerned and loving boyfriend. He brought him food, flowers, fluffed his pillows-- the whole shebang. I, on the other hand, couldn't bring myself to even step foot in Gerard's room. What if he hated me? What if, in less than a few minutes, I've managed to ruin what he and I had?
The cup of coffee in my hand was scalding hot, but I paid it no mind. I could hear them talking from where I was sitting, their voices echoing through the hospital hall. Gerard and Bob laugh, and for a moment you wouldn't think Gerard was in pain.
I wish I were in there with him, distracting him from the large IV needle in his wrist with my wit and lame jokes. I wish I were the one kissing him goodnight when visiting hours were over. But no, I'm stuck here on an uncomfortable chair, reading the same magazine over and over instead. I can't take this. I get up and leave.
xx
♠ ♠ ♠
you all have permission to throw rocks at me:(