Voices
5/5
He’s crazy, is what everyone thought. No one could understand his problems, no one but Gerard Way even tried to. It was simple, why help the unhelpable? But Gerard felt he had a dedication to the poor, traumatised boy. And he took it upon himself to help the boy out.
Gerard felt as though he owed it to the boy, in some way or another. Maybe it was the fact that Gerard, himself, had had a slightly troubled childhood that he felt the need to help this horrified boy. The fact that he, himself, had been a self harmer – much like he knew Frank had been – that he felt the need to get to grips with what was bothering Frank, what was causing him to retreat so far from the world; causing him to cross the point of no return. He didn’t want that to happen to Frank, he wanted to bring Frank back, to help Frank.
So he took it upon himself to enter Frank’s hospital room day in and day out, checking everything was physically okay with him before leaving again. Some days he would try and talk to Frank, some days he wouldn’t see fit. Today was a day he was going to try and talk to Frank,
(and a jolly good job that’ll do, ey boy?)
try and get through to him.
Frank stared ahead of him, careful not to blink and just wishing for Gerard to leave the room so that he could finally do so again. But of course, today was ‘the day’, the one day a week that Gerard took it upon himself to try and help Frank. To talk to Frank and try and get through to him, Frank hated him at that moment in time. He couldn’t stand to not blink for another second.
(i’ll make a deal with you, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. i’ll make it easy for you. you can blink all you want, but make one single movement and he’s a gonner, ‘kay?)
Frank mentally sighed in relief, careful not to sink his body as he blinked quickly, so quickly that Gerard didn’t see.
“Frank?” Gerard questioned, “can you hear me?”
(what an idiot, of course you can. he just checked your ears, as well. oh, by the way! you’re vitals are perfect, there’s nothing physically wrong with you.)
Frank continued to stare at the wall directly in front of him, careful not to move any bone in his body for fear of Gerard turning on himself. Frank’s father lay as dead as ever on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as his son stared at the blood covered walls. Hand prints smeared the once white walls, blood from those multiple doctors and nurses who had killed themselves in front of Frank. The blood that the janitor was sure he had cleaned from the room, but had not cleared from Frank’s mind. It still haunted him.
“Was it something to do with your childhood? Perhaps the father incident?” Frank mentally cringed at the memory, not needing to be reminded about his father as he was diagonal to him anyway; laying dead in the blood covered sheets.
“Perhaps it was the self harming? Is there a voice in your head? Someone who’s controlling you?”
(well done, dipshit, you’ve finally got it.)
“Can you stand up for me? Can you move any of your limbs?” Gerard asked and stood up in front of Frank, motioning for Frank to follow.
(you do, he dies.)
“Can I see you, Frank? Move a finger for me,” Frank continued to stare at the wall in front of him, willing Gerard to leave him alone, to just leave the room before he took it one step too far and moved Frank’s finger for him.
“Does it still work? Or has it rusted up?” Gerard joked as he squatted back down in front of Frank, a big grin plastered to his face. “Can I check that?”
Gerard began to reach out to Frank, ready to take hold of Frank’s finger.
(if he does, he’s dead.)
“No!” Frank screamed as he flung himself away from Gerard, standing up in front of someone for the first time in a year, and the last.
(you’ve done it now)
“Wow…” Gerard mumbled in shock before his eyes widening as his hand involuntarily clamped around his throat as Frank screamed bloody Mary.
Gerard’s fingernails began to dig into his own neck, drawing traces of blood and turning Gerard’s face blue from lack of oxygen. Gerard gasped, shocked at his actions and trying his hardest to gain breath.
“Help me, Frank,” he shook as he fell to the floor, his fingers tightening around his jugular. “H-help.”
Frank continued to scream, hating how all of the walls in this hospital were sound proof, tears leaking from his eyes.
(no point in crying, pansy. he’ll be dead and gone within a matter of minutes.)
Gerard continued to gasp, blood curdling up from his throat and being choked out of his mouth, spraying over the walls and adding to the amount of blood that Frank could already see. Frank continued to sob, finally losing the one person that meant the most to him. The one person that was trying to help him.
The person who now lay, dead, in front of him as he sobbed quietly to himself before coming to a stop and staring back at the wall in front of him.
The man who finally made a break through lay dead in Frank’s hospital room.
Time of death: 0700 hours.
There was no helping the boy now.
(well done, you’ve killed him.)
The End.
Gerard felt as though he owed it to the boy, in some way or another. Maybe it was the fact that Gerard, himself, had had a slightly troubled childhood that he felt the need to help this horrified boy. The fact that he, himself, had been a self harmer – much like he knew Frank had been – that he felt the need to get to grips with what was bothering Frank, what was causing him to retreat so far from the world; causing him to cross the point of no return. He didn’t want that to happen to Frank, he wanted to bring Frank back, to help Frank.
So he took it upon himself to enter Frank’s hospital room day in and day out, checking everything was physically okay with him before leaving again. Some days he would try and talk to Frank, some days he wouldn’t see fit. Today was a day he was going to try and talk to Frank,
(and a jolly good job that’ll do, ey boy?)
try and get through to him.
Frank stared ahead of him, careful not to blink and just wishing for Gerard to leave the room so that he could finally do so again. But of course, today was ‘the day’, the one day a week that Gerard took it upon himself to try and help Frank. To talk to Frank and try and get through to him, Frank hated him at that moment in time. He couldn’t stand to not blink for another second.
(i’ll make a deal with you, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal. i’ll make it easy for you. you can blink all you want, but make one single movement and he’s a gonner, ‘kay?)
Frank mentally sighed in relief, careful not to sink his body as he blinked quickly, so quickly that Gerard didn’t see.
“Frank?” Gerard questioned, “can you hear me?”
(what an idiot, of course you can. he just checked your ears, as well. oh, by the way! you’re vitals are perfect, there’s nothing physically wrong with you.)
Frank continued to stare at the wall directly in front of him, careful not to move any bone in his body for fear of Gerard turning on himself. Frank’s father lay as dead as ever on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as his son stared at the blood covered walls. Hand prints smeared the once white walls, blood from those multiple doctors and nurses who had killed themselves in front of Frank. The blood that the janitor was sure he had cleaned from the room, but had not cleared from Frank’s mind. It still haunted him.
“Was it something to do with your childhood? Perhaps the father incident?” Frank mentally cringed at the memory, not needing to be reminded about his father as he was diagonal to him anyway; laying dead in the blood covered sheets.
“Perhaps it was the self harming? Is there a voice in your head? Someone who’s controlling you?”
(well done, dipshit, you’ve finally got it.)
“Can you stand up for me? Can you move any of your limbs?” Gerard asked and stood up in front of Frank, motioning for Frank to follow.
(you do, he dies.)
“Can I see you, Frank? Move a finger for me,” Frank continued to stare at the wall in front of him, willing Gerard to leave him alone, to just leave the room before he took it one step too far and moved Frank’s finger for him.
“Does it still work? Or has it rusted up?” Gerard joked as he squatted back down in front of Frank, a big grin plastered to his face. “Can I check that?”
Gerard began to reach out to Frank, ready to take hold of Frank’s finger.
(if he does, he’s dead.)
“No!” Frank screamed as he flung himself away from Gerard, standing up in front of someone for the first time in a year, and the last.
(you’ve done it now)
“Wow…” Gerard mumbled in shock before his eyes widening as his hand involuntarily clamped around his throat as Frank screamed bloody Mary.
Gerard’s fingernails began to dig into his own neck, drawing traces of blood and turning Gerard’s face blue from lack of oxygen. Gerard gasped, shocked at his actions and trying his hardest to gain breath.
“Help me, Frank,” he shook as he fell to the floor, his fingers tightening around his jugular. “H-help.”
Frank continued to scream, hating how all of the walls in this hospital were sound proof, tears leaking from his eyes.
(no point in crying, pansy. he’ll be dead and gone within a matter of minutes.)
Gerard continued to gasp, blood curdling up from his throat and being choked out of his mouth, spraying over the walls and adding to the amount of blood that Frank could already see. Frank continued to sob, finally losing the one person that meant the most to him. The one person that was trying to help him.
The person who now lay, dead, in front of him as he sobbed quietly to himself before coming to a stop and staring back at the wall in front of him.
The man who finally made a break through lay dead in Frank’s hospital room.
Time of death: 0700 hours.
There was no helping the boy now.
(well done, you’ve killed him.)
The End.