Adolescent Suicide

She was reminded of those crap action movies that Sicily loved so much. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. She could see the waves of air that surrounded the bullet as it moved painfully slow through the sky. She watched as Frank’s eyes went wide with panic, but stood frozen. She wanted to scream at him to move, to fall to the ground, but no sound came out. Her hands came up to tear at The Faithless’ arm that was still snug against her neck. Mercy’s eyes drifted over to Bob, who’s mouth hung open. Slowly, he brought his arms up, palms out towards Frank. She began shaking her head. No. This wasn’t happening. No. It couldn’t be. Just no.

And then, just as soon as it began, it ended. Everything sped up in a crash, hitting her hard in the chest. Her scream came full force from her gut as the bullet made contact. Frank was thrown in the air from the impact, his body twisting heavily on the left side. A spray of blood jolted from the wound, glistening in the evening sun as they landed on the dirt and grass covered ground. Bob continued his movement towards Frank, his larger body easily covering the wounded man on the ground. Mercy’s wails were starting to get attention from the few people around them, and they began to peek their heads into the secluded area.

“Frank! Oh God! Frank!” she screamed, her fingernails digging hard into The Faithless’ flesh. Blood dripped down over her fingertips, over the back of her hand, and finally coming to a rest in the hem of her jacket.

It was in that moment, clarity hit her like a ton of bricks. The knife. The guys had hidden the knife in amongst the bills, hoping that she would’ve been the one to open it. It had been something risky, something that would’ve risked them all if it had not gone as it had. The small knife was resting against her wrist, held in place by the cuffs of her black jacket. She could feel the cold metal, could feel the power radiating off of it. This was her chance. She had to get to Frank. She had to get away.

Mercy jerked her hand down to her side, letting loose the blade. It slipped down her hand and she grabbed the hilt. With a mighty growl, she brought her hand up. The Faithless didn’t even have the time to react. In a hairpin moment, the knife had come out and she had stuck it firmly into his neck. His intense grey eyes went wide as he began to choke on his own blood. Little trails of crimson red fell out of the corners of his mouth as he took a few steps back, his hands going slack, letting loose not only her, but the black pistol he had held firmly in his hand. His mouth opened a few times, as if he were trying to say something. Mercy moved away from him, breathing heavily, her hands shaking.

The slow motion was back. She watched as his knees gave out and he fell to the ground, gaping at her. She was horrified at what she had done. As he fell forward on his face, she realized that she had killed him. She had killed a man. It had been in self defense, but she had killed him. How was she ever going to live with herself? How could she find a way to make herself better for taking another person’s life? Around her, people were screaming. They sounded muffled, like they were coming from a far away place. All she could think of was the way that his eyes had glazed over as he stared up at her, almost as shocked as she was by the events.

“Mercy! Get over here! Hurry!”

Bob’s voice broke her out of her thoughts and everything came speeding back to her. She turned and ran over to her brother, who was crouched next to Frank. Blood covered the left side of his chest and the ground around him. He was deathly pale, his eyes dim in the fading sun. As she knelt down next to him opposite her brother, he turned his head to look at her, a small smile on his face. He shakily brought his hand up to cup her cheek, rubbing his calloused thumb over her cheek. She could feel the thick scarlet liquid on his hand, smearing now on her face.

“You did it. I’m so proud of you,” he said quietly.

Tears littered the corners of her eyes and she shook her head, grasping at his hand. The blood made squishing noises between their fingertips. It was still warm on her skin.

“Frank, you’re going to be okay. I promise. Just, stick in there. We’re going to take care of you,” she said, learning down to press her quivering lips to his forehead. It was drenched in sweat and she could taste the salt as she sat back a ways, bringing her other hand up to brush some of his dark strands of hair from his face.

Across from her, Bob was furiously dialing the number to the local hospital. Before he could complete it, the sound of sirens reached her ear. Obviously one of the tourists were a few steps ahead of them. Frank let out a shaky breath, then a cough. Little splatters of blood covered his chin, his hazel eyes squeezed shut against the pain it was causing him. Sobs racked her body as she held Frank’s hand close to her, praying to God that he survived. Damn it, he would. He couldn’t be taken away from her, could he?

“I’m going to call the others so they can meet us at the hospital,” her brother said softly as he stood, walking a few paces away. He looked over his shoulder at her as he spoke into the cell phone and she could see the tears glistening his cheeks.

She brought her blue eyes back to Frank. “I love you Frank. Stay with me, okay? Just stay awake. Everything’s going to be okay. Just…I love you. Please,” she said in between her shuddering gasps.

He gave her another small smile. “I love you too. Whatever happens, know that.”

Mercy furiously shook her head, feeling even more scared than when she had been still in The Faithless’ clutches. Losing him would be devastating. Without him, she didn’t want to continue living. He had to make it through. He had to. For her, for the rest of the guys, for the fans. She loved him, and couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. It was making her not think clearly. All she could think of was keeping him awake, keeping those beautiful hazel eyes on her. She wouldn’t let him go without a fight. If Death came for him, He was going to have to pry Frank from her lifeless hands.

“Don’t say that, Frank. Don’t you dare say that! You’re going to make it. Damn it, you will,” she cried, gathering up his limp body and clutching it to her chest.

Tears mixed in with the blood that now covered them both. His body was colder than ice. Flashing lights began to get closer, hurting her eyes. She closed them tightly and buried her face into the crook of Frank’s neck, rocking them both back and forth as she cried her heart out.

She didn’t even remember being pulled away from him, passed into the arms of her brother. She didn’t remember the ride to the hospital, or the arrival of the guys. Mercy couldn’t seem to recall Gerard’s arm around her shoulders, Mikey thrusting a cup of coffee into her hands, or Sicily wrapping a blanket around her shoulder. Her mind was only on one thing. Frank. He was a mere couple of rooms down, being prepared for surgery. The doctors hadn’t told them the chances of him surviving. If they did, she couldn’t remember it.

Mercy felt numb. Like maybe she was watching a movie, like this wasn’t happening to her. She was dreaming. She watched people’s mouth open and close as they spoke, but heard no words. Their movements seemed to be made by strings, commanded by a puppeteer. She couldn’t taste the coffee, couldn’t feel the warmth of the blanket. All she felt was in intense dread of what was happening with the love of her life.

Three hours later, a man in a blue smock came out of one of the rooms, clipboard in hand. He stopped right inside the waiting room, all eyes on him. He coughed slightly and brought his dark green eyes up from the papers in his hand.

“Mercy Bryar?” he asked softly, his voice heavily accented.

She stood shakily, still in a daze. Slowly, tediously, she made her way over to him. She was flanked by everyone else, offering comfort and condolences for whatever happened.

“That’s me,” she whispered, clutching her hands at her chest as more tears fell down her round cheeks. She stood in front of the elderly man, her eyes taking in his grey-streaked hair, the way he had a two week shadow gracing his prominent bones in his face. She waited for him to say more, waited for him to tell her that Frank was alive, and was going to make it through. Her body was shaking in fear, cold sweats drenching her clothes, mixing in with the tears and blood that still covered her. She wished that he would hurry, wished that he would just tell her already.

He once more brought his eyes to meet hers. She could see tears lining the bottom lid. And that was the last thing she saw. Silently, she collapsed to the ground, hitting her head hard on the linoleum floors.