In 102 Languages I Love You

After being diagnosed with ALS at the age of ten I had learned to be some what of a leech by living off of everyone else. I had learned to rely on mom and Dan for almost everything. They were by my side whenever I needed comfort, or any favors whenever I couldn't do something myself. I had kind of always been the baby, and trying to shake off the image of the baby was too hard for mom and Dan combined.

I never thought I'd have the chance to ever be in the position of caring for someone who was sick. It was kind of ironic in a sense. I was always the one everyone expected to be in a hospital bed, while Frank watches over me. Yet here I am at his bedside the next day keeping him company while he lies almost helplessly on the hospital bed beside me.

The small white book in my hand that once smelled fresh and new has now the stench of old ink, and cigarettes. It has been infected by Frankie. He lies on his bed in one of the hospital robes. I can feel his eyes wandering my face as my hands turn the page on the book.

My eyes quickly fly to his face to observe. The white pillow supporting his head looks like a nice comfortable squishy marshmallow, good enough to eat. His bottom eyelids are slightly shaded pink, giving him some type of sickening image to his face, although his eyes have regained their hazel beauty. My eyes try to get used to his naked, pale face that was missing his piercings. He needs to shave again, I say in my head, as my eyes wonder to his purple lips. My eyes wander back to the book and I begin again at the top of the page: forty six, chapter 6.

"Some things are hard to remember. I'm thinking now of when Stradlater got back from his date with Jane. I mean I can't remember exactly what I was doing when I heard his goddamn stupid footsteps coming down the corridor. I probably was still looking out the window, but I swear I can't remember. I was so damn worried, that's why. When I really worry about something, I don't just fool around. I even have to go to the bathroom when I worry about something. Only, I don't go. I'm too worried to go. I don't want to interrupt my worrying to go. If you know Stradlater, you'd have been worried, too. I'd double-dated with that bastard a couple of times, and I know what I'm talking about. He was unscrupulous, he really was." I said reading from the book, finally taking a long deserved breath, before moving my eyes to the next paragraph to continue.

Whenever I read out loud I always got the urge in me to put actual life, and emotion behind the dried ink before my eyes. I always felt myself getting into the role. They were more then just jumbled letters mixed together to make sentences, and connect thoughts to a book. It wasn't just how many pages, how many words, or what everything meant. Getting into the whole character meant something, and I'm sure made me look a bit funny, and sound goofy. Which I'm sure led to Frank's giggle, interrupting me as I began to read the next line.

"What?" I ask embarrassed, closing the book, letting all the pages collide against each other along with my right thumb I was using as a book mark.

"I think..." Frank said in that same, low, hoarse voice, sitting up on his bed. "I think you'd make a great actress." He smiled, giving me a view of his crooked teeth, as the dead skin on his lips spread from corner to corner.

I scoffed at his compliment, and smacked him playfully with the book in my hands. "I'd never have the courage to act in front of an audience. I'd probably get stage fright or something, completely choke, and run off. Just thinking about it makes me all goose bumpy. Oh yeah, I'd make a great actress." I say, sarcasm spilling into the tone of voice.

"Really? I'd love to be performing on stage one day. Not so much acting though." He laughed, aiming to poke me, but missed completely. "But rather playing my guitar in a band, and now I'm depressed 'cause I miss my baybeh." He smiled, emphasizing the wordy baby in his own weird Frankie way.

I mimicked his facial expression, and rolled my eyes. "So all you want to contribute in a band is playing your guitar? That kind of seems boring.." I say truthfully.

His face scrunches up, and he shakes his head in rejection. "I sing . . . kind of?" He chuckled. "I don't like my voice though. It's kind of weird, and pitched in such an awkward key. And I also write. I write song lyrics that are fun and make no sense, or sometimes lyrics that really mean something to me. It's what I want to do with my life, so better learn while I can. I even have a name for the band! And it's all thanks to you!"

My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "Me?"

He nods, laying himself back down, and embracing himself with his covers. "Pencey Prep." He smiles. "It's a cool name, and you gave me the book to read."

I smile softly and put the book on the small table beside his bed. "I think my vocal cords need rest from reading the book. And I have to head home in about an hour. How can we kill time?"

Whenever Frank coughed I could feel my blood cells move through my veins quicker, my palms sweat, and my heart accelerates in an abnormal rate. He'd always look in affliction; turning away from me so whatever bacteria he let out when he coughed didn't necessarily aim at my direction. He was afraid he'd get me sick somehow, although pneumonia wasn't contagious. His body would bend over, as if he was reaching for his knees. He'd cough, and I could hear him slightly gagging on the mucus caught on his throat. Once these long seconds passed I could relax, and breathe once more. My hands would always fly quickly to his, squeezing hard until he'd stop.

Frank tamed his breathing, making a thinking face while wrinkling up his nose. "I don't know. Want to lay down with me?"

I flushed at this suggestion, letting go of his hand quickly. "W-what?" I ask, trying not to look embarrassed or anything of that sort in front of him. He wants me to lie on the bed with him? Be that close to him?

"I can scoot over, and being small you'd fit in well. Come on."

I hesitate for a second. "What if someone walks in or something?"

Frank laughs lightly. "Well jeez it's not like we're having sex or anything. We're just lying here together."

If possible I feel my face get warmer, and brighter making me slightly swelter and tug on the sleeves of my uncomfortable shirt. Sex?

I kick off my shoes, letting them fall over the white floor tiles. "Move your fat ass over." I say, putting a knee on the bed. He scoots to the edge of the other side, before being pressed against the metal bars that stop him from falling over. I glide under the covers, trying not to look as nervous as I really am. Is this even allowed here? Getting into a bed with a patient? Now that just sounded wrong.

My head slowly hits against the same pillow he was on, and I turn my body to face his own face. He's grinning over my way, reaching his hand out to touch my cheeks. He's still freezing. I swallow back a ball of saliva and try to relax myself. This is my boyfriend, and there is no reason to be nervous around him, or feel insecure. If anything, he's supposed to make me feel good. "How much longer do you stay here until you go home?"

"Tomorrow, thank god. The only reason mom kept me here was because she works here. And since she wanted to take care of me, she hospitalized me so she could keep an eye on how I was doing because she couldn't stay home with me all the time. They've got me on medication, but I think I'm going to come back with a good recovery. Maybe in about two weeks or three, or hopefully less, I'll be back to normal."

"Good, i miss your normal voice." I giggle. My eyes wonder to his dreadful looking lips. "And I miss kissing you." I say, sticking out my tongue.

Frank snorts. "Well of course you do. Anyone would miss kissing me. I'm Frank Iero!"

I roll my eyes and make a face at him. "Way to be conceited? I changed my mind, I don't miss kissing you."

He pouts, scooting closer to my body. "You're warm." He mumbles still scooting closer. His eyes were just ahead of mine, only a few inches away. I could feel his body radiating off cold, and mine radiating warmth. Most of the time, I was the one who was cold, and I had always wanted someone who was warm to cover me. I throw my leg over his own legs, and get closer to him.
"Whoa, risky move right there." He smiles. "Watch it, or your toes will end up touching my butt crack or something."

I smile, trying to sustain a laugh. "It's just, whenever my body temperature was freezing, I had always wanted someone elses body temperature to warm me down. So that's what I'm doing to you."

"Well aren't you sweet?" He grinned, pressing his forehead against my bangs. I stare up at his hazel eyes that have magnified now being closer now. I can feel the hairs on his bare legs scratch slightly against my jeans. I stare into his eyes, and I see my reflection.

Six months ago I would have seen a girl letting the world spin by, and forget completely about her. I'd see a girl who was literally nothing, and had been nothing for so long she was sick of it. Six months ago, she had no reason to strive for something, or mean anything to anyone. Six months ago, that girl was a nobody. She had been cloaked, she had been transparent. And now, she was thick solid, she had a million reasons to be someone. And one of the strongest reasons for that, is because she finally had someone she could care about. She could see all of the things she has become in his hazel eyes.

I felt Frank's bumpy lips, and dead skin scratch my nose lightly as he gave me a quick kiss. I could feel his arms move under the covers, and felt his nails and the tip of his fingers press down against the exposed flesh between my shirt and pants. Startled at the temperature of his hands against my skin I shivered. I guess he took that in the way of still being uncomfortable on where he touched me. "Sorry, sorry." He apologized, pulling back quickly, ashamed at himself for touching me.

"How many times am I going to forgive you today?" I ask, not meaning it in a serious way at all.

"I make a million mistakes everyday, so a lot I guess. Do you think you can live with that?"

"I make a million and one mistakes everyday. Do you think you can live with that?"

He rolls his eyes in his socket, thinking. He grins, looking back at me, and wraps his arm around my back, bringing me closer. "I think our mistakes define the people we are in a way. I think to forgive and forget is such a hard thing to do. But, I think I can live with that."

I think about what he just said for a second, before Frank and I both jump in our spots, and look over to the entrance of the door where it had just burst open. At the door eight pears of eyeballs stare back at us. Two being blue, two being brown, and four being hazel. Can you guess who they were?

"What the hell! Frank looks like shit and he's still getting more action then me!" Mikey pouts.

And this very moment, everything is almost perfect as the room breaks out in laughter.