Don't Go

It hurt to even look at him. It hurt to even think about him. He wasn’t even gone yet, but I already felt like he’d left and told me he was never coming home.

Which, realistically, was what would happen.

We both just didn’t want to admit it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, wiping away my tears with shaking hands and holding my face in his warm palms.

“Please Gerard,” I whimpered. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Frank, I don’t want to make this any harder,” he whispered, tears streaming down his face. “I don’t have a choice. I don’t want to go, but I… it’s not my decision.”

“I can’t do this without you!” I sobbed angrily. “They can’t just take you away from me, it’s not fair!”

“Frank please,” he begged desperately, catching the irritated looks we were getting.

“You can’t expect me to just let you go that easily,” I cried, clutching him desperately.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I felt like my heart had snapped in two as he pulled away from me, planting a quick but firm kiss to my forehead.

“Look after yourself Frank,” he told me, before turning around and climbing into the train, lugging his heavy bag up with him.

I felt desperation ripping through my body, raw and burning. I felt like I was drowning in hopelessness. I couldn’t let him go.

I wasn’t the only one stood sobbing on the platform as the men boarded the train. A small girl was clinging to her father’s leg, crying desperately. Her mother pried her away from him and stood back with the most distraught expression I’d ever seen and watched as her husband went inside of the train.

I stood there, staring into Gerard’s eyes. He kept his gaze fixed on me, his face looking like he was about to burst into tears.

“Don’t go,” I whispered, knowing that I was the only one to hear my broken whisper, but he saw my mouth form the words and he started crying again as the train started to stiffly crawl forwards, steam billowing up out of it.

I watched his face as long as I could, walking along with the train until I was jogging. I broke into a sprint in desperation to see his face, slowing to a stop as I reached the end of the platform.

He was gone.

*4 Years Later*

I sat there watching the sun rise in silence. I’d watched many sunrises over the years that had passed. I couldn’t sleep anymore, not without Gerard lying next to me.

It still hurt as much as it had when he’d left. It was like a constant fresh wound, and every time it nearly started to heal, it would get ripped right open again.

Gerard hadn’t written to me for nearly six weeks. Last time he’d written he’d said the usual. Seeing all of those dead bodies and injured soldiers made him sick. He’d told me he doubted his ability to carry on. And he told me he loved me, like usual.

It didn’t change anything.

It change how much I missed him, how much it hurt. The only thing that would stop it would be the day he came home.

I cursed myself every day for not being there with him. They wouldn’t accept me because of my non-existent immune system. But Gerard had been swooped up the minute they started recruiting. He was young and healthy and that equated to the perfect soldier to them.

I was interrupted by my thoughts by a soft, almost timid knock at the door. I swallowed and ignored it. I hadn’t spoken to anyone since Gerard left. I hadn’t left the house. I hadn’t done anything but pour my entire being into missing Gerard and waiting for him to come back. I didn’t answer the door in fear of opening it and finding another soldier telling me Gerard was dead.

Another knock. I sighed and got up, heading towards the front door. I unlocked it slowly, keeping my eyes to the ground as I opened it.

“Frank?”

I looked up slowly.

“Frank, baby, I’m home,” he breathed, a huge grin etched across his face whilst tears streamed from his eyes at the same time.

I just simply threw myself at him, crying with happiness and clinging to him like my life depended on it.

I felt that warmth flood through my heart telling me it was OK now.

We were OK again. We’d made it, both of us.