Through the Light of the Bottle

“Severe Alcohol Poisoning,” the doctor’s words carries to my ears. I scoff at the doctor’s persistence to talk about my condition outside my room to them.

“When is alcohol poisoning not severe?” his cocky tone fires back and I inwardly smile.

“Sir, you’re technically not supposed to hear this information, but under the circumstances-” the doctor’s voice is slow and steady, as if speaking to a five year old.

Though, some could argue that Frank Iero acted like one pretty often.

“Yea, I think me and him finding her in a bathtub unconscious and bringing her here are pretty damn good circumstances to know what the fuck is going on.”

“Seriously, Frank, calm down,” another man’s voice croaks, I sense the worry etched in his voice, “Sorry Doctor, please continue.”

The creaks of the hinges on the door suddenly fill the space where the doctor continued talking. The squeaks of his sneakers sounded across the room and gradually made their way to my bed.

“I fucking hate him,” he states, flopping into the chair next to my bed.

“Why do you even care about my condition,” I laugh faintly, wincing slightly as a wave of pain moves through my head.

“Cause you were in my goddamn bathtub! I mean, what the fuck?” he throws his hands into the air, all but yelling.

“Sorry to inconvenience you and your personal hygiene,” I roll my eyes, resulting in another throbbing pain from my head.

“Oh fuck it, you know what I mean,” he stands up suddenly, striding towards the window, “I may act like I fucking hate you but, you know, it was pretty goddamn scary seeing you like that…” he trails off, “plus, Jamia likes you for some reason, so you know, gotta make her happy,” he adds with a small smile, turning towards me.

“Oh shut up, you just want her to put out,” I tease back, letting my newly found comfortable state with the guitarist show through.

“That just happens to be a wonderful result of keeping her happy,” he grins, taking a seat in the chair once again, leaning back in the plastic mold.

“You know where Michael is?” I ask nonchalantly, hoping not to ensue any animosity that had been resolved as of the last few minutes.

"as in...?" he trails off, waiting for clarrification.

"As in the guy who gave me this ring," I hold up my hand, my gold ban and diamond flashing in the sun's rays, the light dancing off his face,"

“Oh, right," he turns his head back towards the window, "Well, there’s a shitload of reporters down stairs, he’s probably chatting it up with Katie Couric as we speak,” his tone hardens instantly, but he takes a deep breath and faces me, “Sorry, I have no idea, he’s probably just getting a coffee or something,” he adds with a much softer tone.

“All right,” I say quietly.

“Why don’t you talk about him,” he speaks suddenly, breaking the silence, “or better yet, why don’t I see him until your near death in a hospital?”

“He’s a lawyer,” I state simply, hoping the answer will suffice for his questions. He raises his eyebrow, head moving closer to my body, cueing me to continue. “He’s the head of some big ass firm in New York City; I’m a spokesperson for fucking alcohol. We don’t have a lot of time to snuggle next to warm fires.”

“So why are you getting married,” he asks sincerely, eyes staring intently into mine. I quickly divert my line of vision to the off white walls.

“You and my father should really get together sometime,” I smile cynically, “seriously; I think these were the same questions he asked me when we told him we were engaged.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he states simply, ignoring my path to divert the subject of this conversation.

“Why not? He’s stable, he’s reliable, he calls me on my birthday and helps me paint my bedroom, what else am I supposed to want, and don’t you dare say fucking love, cause if you do, I may have to hurt you,” I point my finger at him, “This conversation is taking a dangerous road to being some sappy Julia Roberts movie, so let’s drop it, shall we?”

He laughs slightly, nodding his head, “fine, it’s your decision,” and I know he isn’t taking about my subject change.

I take a deep breath, nodding my head slightly, “Anyways, shouldn’t you be performing in…Virginia Beach? Wasn’t that your next show?”

“No, it’s kind of bad press coverage when a girl ends up nearly dead in the guitarist and drummer's bathroom. We’re taking a slight break. Besides, Virginia Beach was two weeks ago,” I see him slightly tense up, his words from the last comment are heavy to my ears and he knows it.

“What do you mean? No, we we’re in Baltimore, and then we had a two day break and it was off to Virginia Beach, and-“

“Kate,” his voice slightly gives out, and he takes a shuddery breath, trying to find the right words. “Your BAC when they found you was extremely high, like near death high,”

“What the fuck is near death high?” My voice breaks, my shock seeping through every word.

“.387,” he quietly answers, “and you had nearly drowned on top of it. They didn’t think you we’re going to make it, most people die from that, nut…you obviously didn’t,” he added with a nervous laugh. “But you fell into a coma, for two weeks to be exact.”

A silence falls over the room. I take a deep breath.

“Shit,” I mutter as I slowly exhale.

“Yea,” he traces the outline of the rail on my bed.

“Thanks, for you know, bringing me here, and being here,” I nod towards the empty chair, a faint imprint from a body lies in its cheap cushions.

“No problem, but you know, it wasn’t me who stayed here most of the time,” a smile leaks from his previously serious features.

“I know,” and for some reason, I feel my cheeks become extremely warm, and I know they’re colored bright red against my pale features.

I hear the door opening and a chaos of footsteps enter the room.

“Mr. Iero, I need to speak with Ms. Monahan and her fiancé for a moment, if you could excuse us,” the doctor says, his knowledge of his authority completely present in his tone. Michael step from behind the doctor, moving towards the seat the Frank is sitting on.

Frank rolls his eyes, lifting himself from the seat, but instead of moving towards the door, he leans over my form, his hot breath hitting my ear.

“I’ve never seen him more anxious, than when he wasn’t sleeping in the goddamn chair next to you,” and with that he strides quickly out of the room, leaving me speechless and completely oblivious to the first five minutes of my doctor’s oh-so-important speech.

I quickly direct my attention back to the doctor just as Michael is standing up to shake his hand. The doctor nods his head curtly, offering a forced smile before exiting my vision.

"So, baby," Michael coos, intertwining our fingers.

"Michael," I return, half annoyed.

"Sorry I couldn't get here earlier baby," he attempts to sweet talk me, "S'not like you would of known I was there or anything."

"It's alright," I fake understanding, "just sort of thought my fiancé would be the one sleeping in the chair when I woke up, not Ray Toro," and with that I turned my head away from him, forcing my eyes shut and biting my lip from letting any more words leak from my mouth.