Frank Iero: P.A.

My heart is torn as I stand here in the hospital corridor; do I comfort Alicia, or Gerard? Everyone around me is crying and sobbing, clutching each other for strength and support. I stand back, though, crying, just like them, watching a moment that I don’t deserve to be part of.
I feel guilty.

The last person Mikey saw was me. The last person he spoke to was me. The last person to hold his hand was me. That’s not how it should have been. I stole those moments the people who deserved to have them – from the people who needed them. For the rest of my life, I’ll never forgive myself for not calling out for Alicia and Gerard.

My eyes scan the faces of my crying friends. Ellie is being held by her children while she cries and murmurs in French. Her husband is on the floor with his arms draped around Alicia’s shoulders, but every now and again he’ll look across at his wife, checking on her. It’s been ten minutes and Alicia still hasn’t made any attempt to get up from the floor. She’s shattered. The nurses have tried to convince to at least sit in a chair, for the baby’s sake, but nothing will budge her.

The male nurses that dragged Gerard away from Mikey reappear in the corridor. Noticing me standing on my own, one walks toward me.

“We took him to a family room by the nurses’ station,” he says to me, referring to Gerard. “He’s a wreck and won’t talk to anyone, but I think he could use a friend.”

Would Gerard even want to see me after I prevented him from being with his brother when he died? Maybe he wants to be alone right now. I don’t know, but I guess I should go to him and at least try to comfort him. The worst he could do is push me away, right?

“Okay,” I tell the nurse.

I walk down the corridor and take a left. Passing the nurses’ station, I see a door labelled ‘Quiet Room’. This must be it. I place my hand on the handle and look through the glass panel; Gerard’s sitting in the corner of the room with his head in his hands, his hunched shoulders shaking uncontrollably. I open the door slowly and take a couple of tentative steps inside. Gerard doesn’t show any sign of noticing my presence. I stand by the door awkwardly, looking about the room. The walls are painted blue, above Gerard’s head is a large window, and on the adjacent wall are holders full of pamphlets about cancer, pregnancy, and grief. Personally, I don’t think there’s anything in those grief pamphlets that could help Gerard right now.

I take in a breath and walk quietly to the velvet blue couch Gerard’s seated on. He continues to cry, not lifting his head, not even pausing when my weight made the couch shift. His loud sobs fill the room, causing more tears to leak from my eyes. I cautiously place my right hand on his shoulder, just to let him know I’m here, that he’s not alone. He lifts his head, turning toward me; his eyes are bloodshot, glazed over with tears, his cheeks wet and red, and his lips quiver. Suddenly, he flings his arms around me and clenches my shirt between his fingers. I’m crushed to him, and he cries into the crook of my neck, making it damp. I wrap my arms around his back and rub it comfortingly.

“Mikey! I want Mikey!” he wails loudly, bawling my shirt in his fists.

“I know... I know,” I say soothingly.

He holds me tighter, and it begins to hurt my ribs, but I let him do it anyway. I was sure when I came in here that he’d push me away, but he’s not; he’s acting like he... needs me.

We sit like that for a long time. My tears eventually dry up, but Gerard doesn’t stop crying. A nurse comes in every now and then to check on us, but Gerard never seems to notice. I always give them a look that says we’re fine, and they nod once before leaving quietly. No words come to my mind that will comfort him, so I stay silent. I wish I could tell him that things will be okay, but I know it’s a lie, because for a long time it will feel to him like they’ll never be okay again.



“How is he?” I ask Ellie as she emerges from Gerard’s bedroom.

She shakes her head as she walks toward me. Her cool, thin fingers touch my cheek lightly, and she looks at me with those sad, blue eyes that are now rimmed red from her tears. She doesn’t say anything and heads for the staircase.

Today has been difficult. Everyone has been walking around numb since it happened this morning. I sat with Gerard in the Quiet Room for three hours, and not once did he stop crying. Bernard drove Alicia and Ellie back to the mansion while I drove Gerard and myself after everything had been sorted out at the hospital. Juliet and Phillip, Bernard and Ellie’s children, stayed with us all at the hospital, but didn’t come back to the mansion; they needed to be with their own families. It was around six o’clock by time we made it back. Ellie took Alicia upstairs to the guest bedroom immediately and stayed with her. Gerard, however, wanted to be alone; the second we were through the door he took himself up to his bedroom. While he didn’t say anything, I knew he didn’t want to be followed, so I didn’t.

Up until now, I’ve been in the living room talking with Bernard. We discussed how everyone was coping with what happened, but avoided using Mikey’s name. Out of everyone, we’re easily holding up the best; I haven’t seen Bernard cry yet, but I sense he will once he and Ellie are home alone. The only thing that kept me from crying more was knowing that I needed to be strong for everyone else. But at eleven o’clock I realised I couldn't hold it in any longer and ventured upstairs under the guise of checking on Ellie and Alicia when really I intended on taking salvation in my bedroom. It was pure luck that I reached my door just as Ellie happened to step into the hallway.

Now that I’m up here I’m torn over whether to be selfish and go to bed, or to be a good friend by checking on Gerard myself.

A loud crash sounds from inside Gerard’s room.

Good friend it is.

I open his bedroom door and step inside the small alcove. Warily, I take a couple of steps forward until I can see Gerard’s bed. He’s sitting upright, his legs under the covers, with photographs strewn over the bed. My eyes travel to the floor near his desk and I spot a broken lamp. He must have thrown it. I sigh inwardly and walk to the broken porcelain, bending down to pick up the jagged shards. I place them in the mesh bin by his desk as I get to my feet. Standing now, I risk a glance at Gerard’s face. He’s already looking at me.

“Thank you,” his says, dropping his eyes back to the photo in his hands.

They’re the first words I’ve heard him speak in hours; it’s good to see that complete mutism won’t be a factor of his grieving process.

His words encourage me to move closer to the bed. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, so I sit at the bottom of the bed, a good two feet away from where his legs lay. Now that I’m on the bed I can see the photos all contain Mikey. There are some of him and Gerard as children, several of them and Alicia as teenagers, new copies of the ones I defamed when I still thought Gerard had a pregnant girlfriend, the one he told me about at the cottage of him and Mikey in matching vests and ties, and all the ones from the wedding that he got printed last week. There must be at least fifty photos scattered across the bed.

I take in Gerard’s face while he’s focussed on the photograph in his hands. There are a few tears streaking his cheeks, but his sobs have subsided. His pale skin is blotchy and his hair is still greasy looking. He smells of sweat and hospital-grade cleaner.

“This is a great photo of you two,” I say, taking the one of them in matching outfits off the bed.

He holds out his right hand to me and I pass him the photo. Somehow, he manages a small laugh. I think I’ve imagined the sound, but when I look to his mouth there’s an essence of smile there.

“That was such a fun Christmas,” he says softly.

“The Santa hats really do make the photo,” I remark.

He remains silent, looking reflective, for a moment before saying, “He was diagnosed a week before Christmas. He told us that if we weren’t all laughing Christmas morning that he’d never forgive us, so Ellie came up with this great idea to give each other gag gifts.” He pauses, looking reflective one more. “He gave me a beard groomer because I can’t grow one.” I try to stifle a giggle at this, but it escapes my lips – come on, it’s hilarious. “And I drew him in a caricature as Luke Skywalker and had it framed with the caption ‘Mikey Skywalker’. Everyone was in hysterics.”

“It was good of you all to honour his wishes like that so soon after finding out,” I tell him once I get over the hilarity of their Christmas presents for each other.

He sighs heavily and rubs harshly at his eyes. “It’s not fair.”

He starts to cry again.

Tears prick at my eyes as I watch him push his head into his palms. There’s nothing I can say that will make him feel better. I can get rid of that putrid smell, though.

“Come on,” I say, getting to my feet and rounding the side of the bed.

Gerard lifts his head to look at me in confusion. I ignore it and pull the covers from him. Taking his left hand, I tug him until he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up. I lead him to his ensuite, then lean into the corner shower and turn the water on. When I turn back to him I see he’s moved to sit on the side of the spa bath.

“Gerard?” I try.

I’m met with silence, so I sigh and step toward him, kneeling on the floor in front of him. I move his arms out of the way and begin unbuttoning his black shirt. Our eyes collide and those hazel eyes make it impossible for me to look away. I undo the last button and push his shirt from his shoulders and down his arms, then drop it to the floor; our eyes are still connected. His pale skin is smooth despite not being bathed for days. My trembling fingers fumble with his belt buckle and then the button on his jeans. I manage to get them undone and tug his zipper down, the sound echoing loudly in the tiled room. Gerard gets to his feet but makes no effort to help me further. I pull on the legs of his jeans and ease them down his thighs and calves until they touch the floor and he steps out of them. I consider leaving his underwear on and pushing him in the shower as is, but clean-freak Frank couldn’t handle that, so I slip my fingers, still trembling, into the waistband of his faded black underwear and slide them down his legs.

I take in a sharp breath as I come face to, well, head, with Gerard’s manhood. Damn... I jump to my feet and lead Gerard to the shower. The water is hot already and steam begins to cloud the room.

“You’ll feel more human after you have a hot shower,” I say, being sure to keep my eyes focussed firmly on his face and nothing else.

He steps into the shower and lets the hot water cascade down his body. I search the bathroom for a towel and put it on the side of the vanity before going off in search of his pyjamas.

Twenty minutes later Gerard emerges from the bathroom dressed in his batman pyjamas and smelling of soap and not sweat. I let out a sigh of relief. His eyes are still red, but thankfully he’s not crying.

“Feel any better?” I ask sensitively.

“Emotionally, no. Physically, a little,” he replies. His eyes travel to the bed and then back to me. “Thanks for clearing the bed off for me.”

“You’re welcome,” I say. I point to his nightstand. “They’re just there if you want them again, but I think you should try to get some sleep.”

He nods and heads over to his bed, getting in immediately.

“I’ll turn off the light for you on my way out.”

“Frank, wait.” I stop and turn to face him again. “Will you stay with me tonight? Please... I just – please?”

“Sure,” I reply easily. “I’ll just go get into my pyjamas.”

It doesn’t take me long to change into my Kermit the Frog sleep pants and a plain white T-shirt, then I’m back in Gerard’s room and climbing into bed beside him. I search for his hand in the dark and take hold when I find it. He grips it tightly. Despite all that’s happened today, he needs me, and I’m more than happy to oblige.