You're My Favourite Sound

The hazel orbs of Frank moved from his lap to out the window of the cab as it slowed down whilst turning a corner. He had no seat belt on. He didn't care. Maybe if the cab crashed he'd fly out of the wind screen. He didn't care.

He should be in that hospital bed. Not her.

"You alright, son?" asked the middle aged driver sat up front behind the wheel.

"Fine," Frank replied not at all enthusiastically, eyes fixed to the moving scenery outside. The driver looked at the broken kid sitting in the back of his cab in the rear view mirror.

"I know it's not my business, son... but I'm sorry for your loss." Frank closed his eyes after he had said that last word.

Loss.

"She'll wake up," Frank whispered.

"Oh... yes, I'm sure she will," said the driver. "Ignore me... but I'm sorry anyways."

Frank didn't want to think about that right now. He couldn't. Everytime he did, he felt his eyes glaze over, and he was sick of crying.

"Thanks," he said quietly, and opened his eyes again, sighing deeply, looking back out at the streets of Los Angeles. But all he could see was October's bloodless-looking body lying under those white sheets.

He'd stayed at the hospital last night and this morning had to fight the press just to get into the cab waiting for him. A week ago, the news broke out about October, and the media was doing anything they could to get an insight. They were permanently stuck outside the hospital every day, all day, until visiting hours were over and they knew no one else would be passing them to get inside and see the twenty one year old girl in a coma.

Once the driver had pulled up outside the apartment building and Frank had paid him, the punk rocker tiredly made his way inside and up to his floor. He came to his door and found Alex sitting up against it, reading the paper.

"Anything interesting?" Frank asked. He didn't know why, he really couldn't have given a flying fuck. Alex looked up from the paper to see Frank fishing his key out of his pocket.

"I don't know," he frowned, "I can't seem to take any of it in." He stood from his spot and folded the paper, tucking it under one arm.

"What are you doing here?" asked Frank as he unlocked the door, stepping inside.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," Alex replied, following behind his old friend into the apartment, closing the door behind him, "I phoned the hospital and they told me you'd just left, so I thought I'd wait."

"I'm fine," Frank said, walking to the kitchen and dropping his keys onto the table in the middle of the room. Alex came in behind and his eyes fell on the empty beer bottles sticking out of the top of the trash can, an empty bottle of whiskey sitting next to it.

"That's convincing," he commented. "Have they guys been over to see this shit?"

Frank shrugged, putting a glass on the table and unscrewing a brand new bottle of Jack Daniels, "It wasn't that full." Alex grabbed the whiskey from Frank. "Hey, watch yourself," the shorter man frowned, stepping towards the taller. Alex simply stepped back, keeping the bottle of out Frank's reach.

"If the guys were here, I know they wouldn't want you doing this," he stated.

"Well, they're not, so stop fucking around," warned Frank.

"Just think about what you went through last time-" Alex started, but was cut off.

"Have you ever had a girlfriend that slipped into a coma?"

Alex frowned himself, "... No."

"Then shut the fuck up and give me the drink."

Alex looked at Frank's tattooed hand, outstretched towards him, palm up. Without waiting for the bottle, Frank snatched it back and poured himself a shot. Alex sighed, rubbing his eyes, and pulled out one of the table chairs to sit down.

"How're the 'rents doing?" Frank poured another shot and swallowed it whole.

"How do you think they're doing?" he answered Alex's stupid question.

"Do they know what they're gonna do yet?"

"About what?" Frank asked, pouring another one.

"About the body." Frank stopped mid-pour and looked at Alex. "I mean, how long are they thinking of keeping October in the hospital? Have they thought about a funeral?"

Frank slammed the bottle down on the table.

"What?!" he hissed. Alex looked a little bewildered.

"Come on, Frank, you heard what the doctors said," he replied quieter, "She's never gonna regain conciousness."

"No, they think she'll never regain conciousness. Two completely different things," Frank shot back. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Just shut up, okay? Don't start saying things like that to me. They'll keep her in the hospital until she wakes up."

"You're right, you're right," Alex said, holding up a hand in defense, "I'm sorry. I... I don't know why I said that." Frank had been prone to biting heads off for the tiniest of verbal flaws, and Alex wasn't looking to start a fight.

Frank merely nodded and gulped down one more shot, before leaving the open bottle on the table and leaning back against the kitchen counter to light a cigarette.

"I miss her, too, you know," Alex whispered. He knew that he was walking a fine line, but it was the God-to-honest truth. Frank looked at him, exhaling smoke into the room. "I mean, I know I hadn't known her for as long as you, but she was a good person and a big part of you and the guys..." he trailed off.

Frank scoffed.

"What?" Alex asked, confused.

"There you go again," he replied angrily, "Talking about her like she's in the past."

Alex sighed, "I'm sorry, Frank."

"You know what? I think you should just leave."

"And what, let you drink yourself silly? Yeah, right."

"We're not kids anymore, Alex, I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, you sure as hell look like you can," Alex remarked sarcastically.

"If I wanna drink, I'll drink. If I want you to leave, then just go, would ya?"

"Damnit, Frank!" Alex cried, standing from the chair, "I'm just trying to help-"

"Well, don't! I don't need it."

"I don't want to leave you like this, not in this state."

"Listen, Alex, alright? I don't want your sympathy, I don't want you looking after me. I just wanna drink. That's it. Because drinking is my only way of dealing with this. And yes, it's what a coward would do, then so be it. I'm a fucking coward. Okay?"

Alex sighed in frustration, "Fine, whatever. I'll go."

Flicking the ash of the end of his cigarette into the ash tray on the side, Frank heard Alex mumble a "fuck", before slamming the front door behind him.