If You Say Goodbye Today

Frank's POV.

Did you ever feel happy one point in your life...and knew it wouldn't last for very long? Like you knew it was going to be ripped straight from you by something totally unexpected, and like something was telling you not to get too comfortable with the good feeling?

That's what I felt like right now. I was in my car, driving from Rob's house. We had just put out our debut album for Leathermouth two days ago, and according to Rob and a few other people from Epitaph (the label we released the CD on) the sales were doing really good, and everything was going good. I'd been in a good mood since they'd told me the news about an hour and a half ago. I was proud that I was finally getting absolutely everything out that I wanted to say, and was pleased with the record.

I wound my way around the Jersey streets, trying to find the best route home when my phone started vibrating in my pocket. I ignored it for a second, thinking it was just a text, but when it vibrated again, I realized someone was calling me.

I dug into my pocket, finally retrieving it when I pulled up to a red light. I flipped it open, not having time to discern exactly who was calling.

"Hello...?" I said down the receiver. That's when I knew that my previous good mood would soon dissipate.

"Frank...help me..." was whispered urgently down the other end of the receiver, almost inaudible to me. Something was wrong...

"Gerard?" I questioned almost as urgently as his voice had sounded. The light turned green and I made a left, pretty sure this was the way to Gerard's house. I needed to get there...fast...

"Gerard?" I asked again, this time more urgently as he hadn't answered before. I slapped my phone shut, and concentrated on driving to Gerard's house legally as quickly as possible.

Panic started to set it, and it took more attention than I had to take the correct roads and turn at the correct time to get to his house.

The panic grew more once I knew I was on his street, and sweat started to wet my forehead when I pulled into his driveway. I rushed from my car to the door, and was relieved when the door opened without much force, not locked or anything. I couldn't tell if that was good or bad.

I swept through the living room, and kitchen, and when I didn't find him there, I triedour his bedroom. When he wasn't there either, I checked the last place in the house he could be; the bathroom.

I ran in, and when I spotted Gerard laying on the ground with all these pills scattered around him, I couldn't help but let build up of tears in my eyes from the worry stream helplessly down my face as I rushed to his side.

"Gerard, what have you done?"

I stared at his beautiful, paler than usual face, and decided to try to get him off the floor.

I placed one arm under his neck, and another under the back of his knees and lifted. Gerard wasn't too heavy. The drugs and the hangover-purging had substantially lessened his weight. I carried him out into the living room, and laid him on the couch. It was then that it occurred to me that he may already be dead. The panic started to rise again as I frantically placed two fingers to his neck to check for a pulse.

Thankfully, I found it, and it was beating fine, or so I thought. I was no damn doctor...

I shakily stood, and walked back into his bedroom, tearing the comforter off the bed and taking it back to the living room where I draped it over Gerard, adjusting it to fit him comfortably.

He had to be okay...

I decided to make some coffee to try to calm my nerves, so I left Gerard's side, entered the kitchen and proceeded to fill the pot with water and put it into the machine, then putting the grounds in the filter, and finally hitting the 'On' button.

I leaned against the counter, my back resting on it so I could watch out into the living room and make sure Gerard didn't wake up while I was in the kitchen. I was still scared he wouldn't be stable when he woke up and all these doubts started crossing my mind.

What if he wasn't stable now?

What if he died soon?

Should I call a doctor?

What if he wasn't going to be okay...?

No he had to be...

I needed him to be...

The tears kept flowing and I was still scared as hell when the last sounds of the grounds being brewed died away. I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it up, reveling in the smell of the coffee, the sweet yet pungent aroma calming me down a bit. I placed the pot back into the machine part, and took my mug, reentering the living room and sitting next to the couch, patiently drinking my coffee, still scared out of my mind.

Now all that's left is the hardest part...to wait...