Get off the Ledge and Drop the Knife

*Frank's POV*
"You what?" I asked, blinking my eyes as if they were the ones decievinh what I heard. I shifted my weight as the pain in my foot grew.
Gerard took another deep breath before replying, "I said I love you."
I had heard right then. He loves me. "You love me?"
Gerard sighed, "Yes, Frank, I love you."
"Oh," I said, a bit taken aback.
"You don't have to say it too. It's okay if you-"
"I love you, too," I quickly cut him off. I swear, his eyes lit up like Times Square at night when I said that. His smile grew as wide as the Chesire cat's and I could see every one of his tiny teeth. His cheeks were bright red as if he had been in the freezing cold for house. It was all beautiful to see, really, and I enjoyed staring at his genuine happiness glyed to his face. All because I love him. My view was quickly gone though when his lips were suddenly attached to mine. This wasn't our usual quick peck, though. He soon bit my tongue ring so I granted him entrance to my mouth. He slipped his tongue inside and explored all the crevices of my mouth. We didn't battle for dominance or moan out of pleasure because our kiss wasn't filled with lust. It was pure love. We were just exploring. And I almost forgot about the pain in my foor until Gerard pushed my weight slightly and I yelped.
Startled, Gerard pulled back, "What happened?"
I bit my lower lip forcefully and looked down at my foot, cringing.
"Your foot?" he asked, pointing at it.
i nodded, too much in pain to talk. He pushed open my door and pull my arm around his shoulder, placing my weight on him. He kicked the door closed with his right foot and guided me to my own couch. It was then that he saw the mess. There was broken glass spread on the floor, mixed in with a pool of my own blood. A puddle of vomit was gathered a few feet away from the blood. The air reeked of booze, vomit, and my own patheticness.
"Oh, Frankie, what happened?" he asked, alarmed at the scene.
"I was mad," I practically whispered.
"Because of me?"
I looked away because it was because of him, but I didn't want to admit it.
"Oh, Frank, I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry, Sweetie," he came over abd sat on my coffee table, remembering my foot. He took my right foot and placed it on his thigh. At the sight of it, he gasped. "What did you do?"
I winced at the memory, "I cut myself."
"Why?"
I shrugged slightly, "I wanted to die." A single tear rolled down Gerard's left cheek.
"This is my fault."
"It's not," I reassured him. "I'm fucked up. Can't fix that."
"I want to."
"I know."
"So, please, let me."
I paused, "Okay."
He wiped his face of the new tears that had fallen. He lifted me off the couch and carried me to the bathroom, where he sat me on the toilet, propping my foot up on the edge of the bathtub. After rummaging through my cabinets, he found a first aid kit and within minuted my foot was cleaned and wrapped up. He lifted me from the toilet, placed my feet on his, and brought us to the mirror. I looked at Gerard under the ugly flourescent lights that shone horribly off the white wallks. Even under the horrid light, his eyes were mesmerizing and his black, sholuder length hair complimented him well. He was breath-taking.
"You're beautiful, Gerard," I spoke suddenly.
"Look at you, Frankie. You are too," he said, looking into my eyes through our reflections in the mirror.
In his arms, I was.