Status: In Progress
Sweet Home... Minnesota?
Destination: Doctor's Office
“Mikey is really fucking pissed at you,” Frank says to me when I walk down the stairs. He’s still sitting at the table, but I don’t see Mikey.
“Where’d he go?”
“No idea. He just up and left, but you might want to avoid him for the next few days,” Frank says.
“When’s he getting back?” Pete asks. “Gerard how about you go while Mikey’s out.”
“Go where?” Frank asks.
“I’m making him see a doctor.”
“Because he just puked his guts out?” Frank questions.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask feeling stupid.
“A little, but Mikey so angry he probably won’t notice as long as you don’t throw up on him,” Frank reassures.
“Well I’m glad I got through to him,” I say, “I’ll be heading out then.”
“Maybe you should take Frank with you,” Pete options, and then notices my confused expression, “you’re sick. It might be best if he drives with you.”
“I barely know him,” I answer.
“Aw come on. I’m a dickhead, what else do you need to know?”
“’How many people have you murdered’ would be a good question for you to answer. If you have to think about it then I think I’ll be fine on my own, thanks.”
“Oh come on. It’s only like seven people. Maybe eight. Depends on what you mean by murder,” Frank jokes, and I roll my eyes, but smile at him all the same.
“Is that a yes?” Frank asks with a shit-eating grin. He’s adorable, and I don’t want to give in too easily, but it would be like shooting a kitten.
“Fine,” he doesn’t look surprised by my answer, “but I want to get far enough out of town that Mikey won’t hear wind of this.”
“Ooh road trip!” Frank says, and he jumps up out of his seat. I’d almost forgotten how short he is. Almost.
“We’re taking my car,” I say, and I walk over to the front door where I grab my keys and hear Frank following.
“Duh,” Frank says, “I don’t even have a car.”
I guess that makes sense. It’s not too hard to get around town without a car.
“I’ll stay here to console Mikey when he gets back,” Pete calls after me as I open the door and Frank prances out ahead of me. “Gee, do you want to consider maybe staying at your parents’ house tonight, if he’s still angry?”
“I’ll think about it. Text me if you think it’s better I stay away,” I tell him and Pete nods before I close the door behind me, and follow Frank to the curb where he’s now leaning against my car. He’s standing on the driver’s side and I can see the words on his lips before he even voices them.
“I want to drive!” Frank says excitedly.
“Are you sure you’re tall enough to reach the pedals?” I tease.
“I will cut you,” Frank replies, and I know he’s joking, but he looks dead serious. He looks weird trying to be intimidating. He’s not very threatening.
I just groan, and hope I sound annoyed but I’m a little amused. I actually feel a hell of a lot better after that second round of puking.
I throw the keys at him and he looks beyond enthusiastic. I feel giddy at the emotion on his face.
“You hurt my car,” I start with warning in my voice, “and I will probably not be very upset because it’s a piece of shit.”
He laughs and I start to wonder how he’s so carelessly happy. It’s natural, which doesn’t seem possible.
~*~*~*~
“Well Mr. Way I don’t see any cause for alarm. You might want to get something for an upset stomach but over the counter will work just fine,” the doctor says, looking at me. We stopped after about an hour because I didn’t want to go to some 30 minute doctor at CVS. Frank had been a little annoyed but he turned the music up louder and got over it pretty quickly. We’re in a small clinic outside a moderately sized town, with the first doctor who’d see me.
“Okay, great,” I answer. I hadn’t expected him to turn anything up but I’m glad that I checked just in case.
“One more thing though,” he says as I stand up, “I’d recommend you to go see a psychiatrist.”
That doesn’t sound good at all, “why?”
“I don’t think I’m really the best person to diagnose it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you had some sort of anxiety disorder. Actually I think that’s very likely.”
“Anxiety disorder?”
“Depression maybe. It’s possible you also have a mild panic disorder,” the doctor says, “I’m not really a diagnostician so I could be way off.”
“But I’m okay then?” I ask.
“I believe so.”
“Great,” I answer curtly, and grab my jacket. No way am I going to see a psychiatrist. He must be a complete idiot if he thinks there’s a chance in hell of me doing anything like that.
“Do you want me to recommend someone for you?” The doctor asks me. “There’s a clinic down in Minneapolis specifically for mental disorders and-“
“No. I’m fine,” I interrupt and even I’m surprised by the edge to my voice.
“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I think it would be good for you to see someone though.”
“Well I don’t. Thank you for your time,” I say and I grab the door handle and make my dramatic exit. I have a flair for the dramatics sometimes and it looks like I’m a bit of a diva today.
“Whoa what’s up, with you Mr. grumpy face?” Frank says when I walk into the lobby.
“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t want to talk about nothing? Sounds like something,” he says standing up. He follows me as I walk quickly out of the building.
“Not nothing, but I don’t want to talk about.”
“You’re okay though right?”
“I’m fine, he said I’m fine,” I answer. I speed walk toward my car and Frank stumbles along behind me.
“Except for what?”
“Frank,” I turn to him with my hand on the driver’s side handle, “leave it alone.”
“You don’t have to tell me, but you’ll tell Mikey if something is wrong?”
“Mikey doesn’t control me for god’s sake! Why does everyone think I can’t handle myself? I’m an adult. I don’t need my little brother to babysit me.”
Frank nods and gets into the car, not objecting to me driving. I get in after him and sigh.
My phone buzzes as soon as I get into the car and I look down to see a text from Pete.
Pete: Mikey is out 4 ur blood. Do not approach.
I guess this means I have to find somewhere else to stay tonight.
I don’t know why I come clean to him, but it just falls out of my mouth for some reason and I say, “He thinks I’ve got depression.”
“You don’t have to talk about-“
“I’m scared of what that means for me.”
“Was it like speculation or what?” Frank asks.
“He said it was very likely and he wants me to see somebody about it.”
“You don’t have to be, uh, ashamed about it, Gerard. A lot of people have depression, it’s manageable,” Frank tries to comfort me, but I’m not really in the mood to hear it.
“Well he was wrong though,” I answer. It’s not denial, I don’t think. I can’t. I don’t want to be. I’m not depressed. Not clinically anyway.
“Gerard we just met, it’s not my place, but I think you should consider-“
“No. I’m fine. We’re not going to talk about this.”
Frank says nothing for a minute so I start the ignition.
“I’m not going to interfere. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
For a long while we just drive in silence. It’s still mid-afternoon but it feels later, because off how tired I am. Eventually it feels like the air might be a little clearer between us and I clear my throat.
“I, um, I sort of need some place to stay tonight.”
“Where’d he go?”
“No idea. He just up and left, but you might want to avoid him for the next few days,” Frank says.
“When’s he getting back?” Pete asks. “Gerard how about you go while Mikey’s out.”
“Go where?” Frank asks.
“I’m making him see a doctor.”
“Because he just puked his guts out?” Frank questions.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask feeling stupid.
“A little, but Mikey so angry he probably won’t notice as long as you don’t throw up on him,” Frank reassures.
“Well I’m glad I got through to him,” I say, “I’ll be heading out then.”
“Maybe you should take Frank with you,” Pete options, and then notices my confused expression, “you’re sick. It might be best if he drives with you.”
“I barely know him,” I answer.
“Aw come on. I’m a dickhead, what else do you need to know?”
“’How many people have you murdered’ would be a good question for you to answer. If you have to think about it then I think I’ll be fine on my own, thanks.”
“Oh come on. It’s only like seven people. Maybe eight. Depends on what you mean by murder,” Frank jokes, and I roll my eyes, but smile at him all the same.
“Is that a yes?” Frank asks with a shit-eating grin. He’s adorable, and I don’t want to give in too easily, but it would be like shooting a kitten.
“Fine,” he doesn’t look surprised by my answer, “but I want to get far enough out of town that Mikey won’t hear wind of this.”
“Ooh road trip!” Frank says, and he jumps up out of his seat. I’d almost forgotten how short he is. Almost.
“We’re taking my car,” I say, and I walk over to the front door where I grab my keys and hear Frank following.
“Duh,” Frank says, “I don’t even have a car.”
I guess that makes sense. It’s not too hard to get around town without a car.
“I’ll stay here to console Mikey when he gets back,” Pete calls after me as I open the door and Frank prances out ahead of me. “Gee, do you want to consider maybe staying at your parents’ house tonight, if he’s still angry?”
“I’ll think about it. Text me if you think it’s better I stay away,” I tell him and Pete nods before I close the door behind me, and follow Frank to the curb where he’s now leaning against my car. He’s standing on the driver’s side and I can see the words on his lips before he even voices them.
“I want to drive!” Frank says excitedly.
“Are you sure you’re tall enough to reach the pedals?” I tease.
“I will cut you,” Frank replies, and I know he’s joking, but he looks dead serious. He looks weird trying to be intimidating. He’s not very threatening.
I just groan, and hope I sound annoyed but I’m a little amused. I actually feel a hell of a lot better after that second round of puking.
I throw the keys at him and he looks beyond enthusiastic. I feel giddy at the emotion on his face.
“You hurt my car,” I start with warning in my voice, “and I will probably not be very upset because it’s a piece of shit.”
He laughs and I start to wonder how he’s so carelessly happy. It’s natural, which doesn’t seem possible.
~*~*~*~
“Well Mr. Way I don’t see any cause for alarm. You might want to get something for an upset stomach but over the counter will work just fine,” the doctor says, looking at me. We stopped after about an hour because I didn’t want to go to some 30 minute doctor at CVS. Frank had been a little annoyed but he turned the music up louder and got over it pretty quickly. We’re in a small clinic outside a moderately sized town, with the first doctor who’d see me.
“Okay, great,” I answer. I hadn’t expected him to turn anything up but I’m glad that I checked just in case.
“One more thing though,” he says as I stand up, “I’d recommend you to go see a psychiatrist.”
That doesn’t sound good at all, “why?”
“I don’t think I’m really the best person to diagnose it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you had some sort of anxiety disorder. Actually I think that’s very likely.”
“Anxiety disorder?”
“Depression maybe. It’s possible you also have a mild panic disorder,” the doctor says, “I’m not really a diagnostician so I could be way off.”
“But I’m okay then?” I ask.
“I believe so.”
“Great,” I answer curtly, and grab my jacket. No way am I going to see a psychiatrist. He must be a complete idiot if he thinks there’s a chance in hell of me doing anything like that.
“Do you want me to recommend someone for you?” The doctor asks me. “There’s a clinic down in Minneapolis specifically for mental disorders and-“
“No. I’m fine,” I interrupt and even I’m surprised by the edge to my voice.
“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I think it would be good for you to see someone though.”
“Well I don’t. Thank you for your time,” I say and I grab the door handle and make my dramatic exit. I have a flair for the dramatics sometimes and it looks like I’m a bit of a diva today.
“Whoa what’s up, with you Mr. grumpy face?” Frank says when I walk into the lobby.
“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t want to talk about nothing? Sounds like something,” he says standing up. He follows me as I walk quickly out of the building.
“Not nothing, but I don’t want to talk about.”
“You’re okay though right?”
“I’m fine, he said I’m fine,” I answer. I speed walk toward my car and Frank stumbles along behind me.
“Except for what?”
“Frank,” I turn to him with my hand on the driver’s side handle, “leave it alone.”
“You don’t have to tell me, but you’ll tell Mikey if something is wrong?”
“Mikey doesn’t control me for god’s sake! Why does everyone think I can’t handle myself? I’m an adult. I don’t need my little brother to babysit me.”
Frank nods and gets into the car, not objecting to me driving. I get in after him and sigh.
My phone buzzes as soon as I get into the car and I look down to see a text from Pete.
Pete: Mikey is out 4 ur blood. Do not approach.
I guess this means I have to find somewhere else to stay tonight.
I don’t know why I come clean to him, but it just falls out of my mouth for some reason and I say, “He thinks I’ve got depression.”
“You don’t have to talk about-“
“I’m scared of what that means for me.”
“Was it like speculation or what?” Frank asks.
“He said it was very likely and he wants me to see somebody about it.”
“You don’t have to be, uh, ashamed about it, Gerard. A lot of people have depression, it’s manageable,” Frank tries to comfort me, but I’m not really in the mood to hear it.
“Well he was wrong though,” I answer. It’s not denial, I don’t think. I can’t. I don’t want to be. I’m not depressed. Not clinically anyway.
“Gerard we just met, it’s not my place, but I think you should consider-“
“No. I’m fine. We’re not going to talk about this.”
Frank says nothing for a minute so I start the ignition.
“I’m not going to interfere. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
For a long while we just drive in silence. It’s still mid-afternoon but it feels later, because off how tired I am. Eventually it feels like the air might be a little clearer between us and I clear my throat.
“I, um, I sort of need some place to stay tonight.”