If Words Are But Words
A canvas of puke and blood
FRANK’S POV
“Ian?” I called into the seemingly empty bus. I guess he’s not here, probably with Davey. I subconsciously made a face that reminded me of the time Gee ate a slice of lemon coated in bicarbonate soda just because Bob told him to.
“Ian?” I called again, I stood completely still waiting for any response. I heard a faint, distant moan (a pain moan, not a sexual moan, pervs =P)
“IAN?!”” I shouted running down to the end of the bus, where the bathroom was. I pushed open the door with my shoulder and gasped as I saw Ian lying, sprawled on the ground, his body surround by splashes of blood and vomit.
I rushed over and kneeled beside him. I pulled his head onto my lap and tapped his cheek softly.
“Ian” I whispered, there was silence. I started freaking out.
“Ian!” I said a little louder, pushing his sweaty fringe off his forehead. He groaned and shuffled.
“What happened?” I asked, watching him closely. He slowly opened his eyes and faced me.
“Ian, Ian oh god baby why is there blood and vomit everywhere?” oh god I just called him baby, I doubt he noticed. He looked kinda out of it all. I leaned down closer to him waiting for a reply of some sort.
He stared back, his eyes watering but empty looking.
“I’m so sorry” he sobbed, scuffling closer to me, gripping my shirt tightly. He began crying, not normal crying though, like real crying. I’d never seen Ian cry before let alone completely breakdown, he always seemed so happy. I heard him cough but it was muffled by the fabric of my faded grey shirt. I couldn’t see his face anymore as he’d managed to completely bury it in my crumbled, now tear-soaked, shirt.
“Sorry?” I questioned, confused, “Sorry for what?” but I was only answered with more sobs.
“Ian” I pulled back from him so I could see his features. It was now red and blotchy, no longer clammy and sickly looking. His brown eyes glazed over with tears and the unmistakable stench of vomit on his short, sharp breaths.
He looked distant and fell back into my lap. I didn’t know what to do so I left him to lye in my lap, stroking his hair.
“Ian?” I called into the seemingly empty bus. I guess he’s not here, probably with Davey. I subconsciously made a face that reminded me of the time Gee ate a slice of lemon coated in bicarbonate soda just because Bob told him to.
“Ian?” I called again, I stood completely still waiting for any response. I heard a faint, distant moan (a pain moan, not a sexual moan, pervs =P)
“IAN?!”” I shouted running down to the end of the bus, where the bathroom was. I pushed open the door with my shoulder and gasped as I saw Ian lying, sprawled on the ground, his body surround by splashes of blood and vomit.
I rushed over and kneeled beside him. I pulled his head onto my lap and tapped his cheek softly.
“Ian” I whispered, there was silence. I started freaking out.
“Ian!” I said a little louder, pushing his sweaty fringe off his forehead. He groaned and shuffled.
“What happened?” I asked, watching him closely. He slowly opened his eyes and faced me.
“Ian, Ian oh god baby why is there blood and vomit everywhere?” oh god I just called him baby, I doubt he noticed. He looked kinda out of it all. I leaned down closer to him waiting for a reply of some sort.
He stared back, his eyes watering but empty looking.
“I’m so sorry” he sobbed, scuffling closer to me, gripping my shirt tightly. He began crying, not normal crying though, like real crying. I’d never seen Ian cry before let alone completely breakdown, he always seemed so happy. I heard him cough but it was muffled by the fabric of my faded grey shirt. I couldn’t see his face anymore as he’d managed to completely bury it in my crumbled, now tear-soaked, shirt.
“Sorry?” I questioned, confused, “Sorry for what?” but I was only answered with more sobs.
“Ian” I pulled back from him so I could see his features. It was now red and blotchy, no longer clammy and sickly looking. His brown eyes glazed over with tears and the unmistakable stench of vomit on his short, sharp breaths.
He looked distant and fell back into my lap. I didn’t know what to do so I left him to lye in my lap, stroking his hair.