The Lies and the Lives of the Taken

Frank 30

        The elevator dings and I glance up, stepping on the 6th floor. I walk down the hall, stopping in front of Gerard's door and knocking. I wait a moment but it seems a bit long for not answering the door. I take my phone out, checking our texts. We talked on our lunch break, saying we're still on for tonight. Then he had to go back to work. I knock again. It's quiet. Is he here? I'm on time, he should be home, right? We were meeting at his place. I awkwardly glance around the empty hallway, unsure of what to do. I press his contact to call him. It's ringing. And ringing. Come on, pick up. Suddenly, from inside his apartment, there's a  loud crash and I jump back, staring at the door as if I'll be able to see through. The call dismisses mid-ring. My arm slowly lowers the phone from my hand and I stare at the door. Well, he's home. But I don't know what the crash. I glance at the door. What was that noise? I place my hand on the handle and turn it. It clicks and opens. It's unlocked. 

        I cautiously take a step in, opening the door partially. It's dark, all the lights are off but there is a faint glowing light coming from down the hall. If I had to guess, it seems like it's his bedroom light that's on. But the foyer and kitchen are dark. "Gerard?" I call out. Is this breaking an entering? I don't know what to do or what's going on. 

        I open the door more, taking another step in. My eyes adjust to the dark and the light from the hallway streams in. Behind the island counter, one of the chairs is knocked over. And Gerard's phone is on the floor next to it. I step over, peeking around the counter when I see a body sprawled out. Gerard. Gerard's on the floor. "Gerard?" I gasp, kneeling down next to him. I place a hand on his back and he groans. "Oh, god, are you okay-Gerard?" He whips his head up, scurrying back away from me. His back crashes into a cabinet and groans, sliding lower on the floor. "Hey, stop, stop," I crawl over to him. "Gerard?"

        "What are you..." he slurs, trailing off. He squints at me, his eyes not focusing. "Frankie?"

        "Are you okay? What happened?" I ask, glancing at him. 

        "How'd ya gettin'?" he mutters, looking around. 

        I slide my arm underneath him, trying to get him to his feet. "The door was unlocked. What happened?" He flails his arm back, smacking it into the cabinets and he cries out in pain. "Stop, don't do that," I say, catching his wrist. What's wrong with him? "Get up, come on, up." If his body wasn't limp before, he is now. "Come on, stop being a noodle." He slips out of my grasp and I fall back. "Gerard, come on!" I say, my voice rising in fear. I don't know what to do. 

        "What're ya doin' her?" he blubbers, his face in the floor.

        I stand up, my heart racing and eyes threatening to cry. I don't feel good seeing him like this. I head over to the front, shutting the door closed and locking it. I turn on the kitchen lights and head back over to him. I notice the bottle on the table. A glass bottle of vodka with the wrappings littered over the countertop and not much is left inside. Did he...drink all of this now? I slowly glance back at Gerard, my vision blurring at my eyes water. I don't think I've ever seen him drink. We'd always get coffee together and if we go out to dinner, it's always water. He always gets water. Why is he drinking? Why is he drinking so much? And vodka? That's...

        I kneel down next to him, looking sincerely. His face is red now that I can see him. But now like he's flushed. Like it's dirty and slightly grimy. And his hair looks like it's crusty, sticking to his scalp."Gerard, what happened?" I ask him as softly as I can. He closes his mouth, widening his eyes and looks at me intently. "Did something happen?"

        "Where?" he mutters. 

        I bite my lip. "We were supposed to get dinner together. We had plans tonight, remember?"

        A confused smile fades in. "Nah." 

        He's not well. "Come on, up," I say firmly, gripping his arm and hauling him on his feet. His body swings forward and I nearly topple backward as I catch him. "Easy, easy," I say, straining to hold him up. Dear god, he's so heavy but it's mostly muscle. One would assume he'd be a little more manageable for me since he's still recovering from the car accident. But no, he has to make it difficult for me.

        I start guiding him out of the kitchen when he leans back, reaching for a drinking glass with a clear liquid sloshing inside. "Stop, no!" I say, trying to pull him away. 

        "Leave meh alone," he grumbles, grabbing the edge of the table. 

        "Gerard, please, you've had...a lot." I snake an arm around his waist, trying to pull him back but my feet slide on the floor. He's not even fighting against me, he's just holding himself. He's drunk and can barely stand on his own yet I can't pull him myself? "Gerard, you need to sit down, come on," I beg. 

        "Please, go," he whispers. 

        "Gerard," I grunt, tugging him along. "Come on." He doesn't look at me, his eyes fixated at the glass, gripping the table so tightly his hands violently shake. "You're straining yourself. Come on, Gerard," I whimper. 

        "It just does that," he mutters, not looking at me. He's not even blinking. It's freaking me out. 

        "Please, let's just sit down and talk. Come on." He doesn't move. "Gerard, you're scaring me. Come on. Gee!"

        "NO!" he screams, throwing himself on the floor, taking me down with him. I let go of him to brace myself, tripping over his torso and stumbling into the fridge. "Don't call me that," he hyperventilates. He drags his body over to the table, gripping the leg, clinging to it and he heaves for air. 

        The tears fall and I quickly wipe them away. I don't want to cry. I just want to help him. But I don't know what to do because I don't know what's wrong? "You said you didn't-"

        "Please, leave meh alone-" he coughs deeply, his hand covering his mouth, fingers trembling. 

        "Gerard, I ah-" I stumble forward, stepping on something and nearly rolling my ankle. I glance down, seeing a small, orange cylinder rolling across the floor. I wipe my eyes, noticing it's a bottle. A prescription bottle. I bend down and pick it up. Gerard Arthur Way. 400mg of Gabapentin Neurontin. What the heck is that? I check the date, seeing he got this...days ago. I think back. It's the same day we went out at dinner when I told him I was in Maryland. I don't know what this is for but the black font at the bottom catches my eye. Do not drink alcohol or take other medicines. What is he doing to himself?

        I glance over at Gerard, seeing him panting as he drags his body out of the kitchen. I set the bottle on the counter and go after him. "Gerard," I say gently, going over to him. I hold a hand out to him and he takes it, missing a few times. I don't say anything, just helping him up to his feet. Most of his weight it on me, practically dragging me down again but I grit my teeth and walk forward with him. I turn down the hall, heading to his room where the light is coming from. There's a large bag on the floor perpendicular to the threshold of his room and crumpled against the wall like it was thrown out. As we get closer, I realize it's a white suit. Gerard starts sliding and I reposition himself as I hobble into his bedroom. 

        I quickly place him down on his mattress, sighing deeply. He mumbles incoherently before climbing further on the mattress and collapsing just short of his pillow. I stare at him and I feel nauseous. He's a wreck. And he looks sick. But maybe he is sick. It's not unusual to take prescriptions but it is out of character for him to binge drink. And to do so while he's under medication? 

        I don't know what to do now. I can't leave him because god knows what he'll do to himself. But obviously, this isn't something I know how to handle. I don't know Gerard that well. I thought I did but after right now, I don't know what to do. I may be his boyfriend but I can't help him. His friend could probably help him better. Brendon. But I don't know anything about Brendon or how to contact him. I'm just going to have to stay here and hope he's okay.