I planned on sleeping in obscenely late through the day and hope to just have the weekend go by so I wasn't alone and wallowing in my thoughts for too long. But my phone was ringing and that screw up my perfectly good plans.

The first three rings, I ignore it, hoping for it to just stop. But then I give in and grab my phone, yanking it off the charger to see who it is. Gerard's calling me. Okay-Oh god. He's calling me? I spring up and stare at my phone, staring at it. I should answer it. The obvious answer is to answer it. I want to answer it. I really do want to hear from him. But instead, I sit on my bed and watch it ring and hold it while it vibrates in my hands, eventually, it ends and goes to voicemail.

I clutch my phone in my hand staring at the new notification pop up. One missed call from Gerard Way. I hate myself. I hate everything that's happened. I wish I could go back but nothing's the same anymore. All of last week, I've just been ignoring my friends. I haven't gone to art since Tuesday, I just stay in study hall. Hayley and Brendon have tried talking to me about it but I don't really want them to hate me too. No, that's extreme. Jenna doesn't hate me, she just doesn't understand why I'm so angry at Gerard. She went to go see him again on Thursday with Cody. She told me Gerard wanted to see me again too. Of course, I didn't go. And she got mad at me, thinking I've given up on him completely. I don't know how to explain it to her that it's killing me inside. I don't know how to explain it for her to understand why I can't be there for him. Because I need him here for me and that's not how things are anymore. Lynn feels bad, which I don't want her to. I just want her to move on, forget about whatever feelings she knows that existed between Gerard and me once upon a time. It's been two weeks since all was right in the world. It's felt like an eternity. That was a different lifetime ago.

My phone rings again and I answer it, immediately regretting it. I see it's Gerard and the call time starts counting. My phone's in my hands and I stare at it. I answered it, too late. Well, I could just hang up. But I really don't want to. Reluctantly, I put the phone to my ear. "Hello?" I whisper.

"Hi." I assume is Gerard on the other end. It doesn't sound like him, it's a little deeper and monotone.

My face starts heating up and I quickly hang up, tossing it on my bed. I can't do this. I can't talk to him. I don't want to hear his voice. I don't want this to resurface. I just want to forget about everything. Forget Gerard and those stupid feelings I have for him. I want to just disappear.

My phone starts ringing again. I swear to god, I'm going to throw this through the window. I snatch it off my mattress but I see Mikey's contact. My anger cools down and I answer it. "Hello?"

"Hey," he says. "Is it okay if I talk to you?"

"Yeah?"

"Just making sure. You hung up on Gerard so..." I don't say anything. "He's back home actually."

"He is?"

"Yeah, I mean, he got home last night. Right now, he's just on the couch just moping around but at least he's home."

"Well, that's a sign he's getting better," I say.

"Yeah," Mikey sighs. "Physically at least. Emotionally, it's been stagnant." That's not what I wanted to hear. My hands are shaking while I hold the phone. "I told him to call you."

"Wasn't his idea then."

"No, but he was willing. You, I take it, aren't." Again, I don't say anything and Mikey sighs deeply into the phone. "Frank, I'm upstairs right now so it's just you and me. But I think you should see Gerard."

"Mikey, I really don't-"

"Please," he whispers. "Look, I don't know what happened exactly but I know it's hard and he's not the same and it's not easy. I mean, to like our mom, he's a jerk now but-"

I tense up a bit. "Because of the whole-"

"Oh, no, he doesn't know about that I don't think. It's just easy to push her buttons and they've always bumped heads. But he goes out of his way to be an asshole."

"Well, Mikey, let me tell you. When I went to see him, he treated me that way." Mikey pauses on the phone, probably surprised to hear it. "I do want to see Gerard, I really do. Just not the one he's become. And it's really hard to do this so it's best I stay out of it."

"You're his best friend though," he says.

"No, I'm really not," I say. "Cody is."

"Well, that's different. Like Gerard's known Cody forever. But with you, you guys have this bond that...Frank, you bring out this happiness in him that I don't see anymore. And I know he's just numb now but you can help him, right?"

"I don't know," I sigh. "Have the doctors said anything about his condition?"

"Uh, yeah, it's...they're not sure what it is like they can't confirm anything. But they're suggesting put him in a familiar environment to try and get things to resurface. My dad wants him to sleep in his own bed and be in his room to get back in his comfort zone but the second floor is not wheelchair accessible."

Wheelchair. Gerard can't walk. I mean, I know that but I didn't think of him having to be in a wheelchair. "Do you think being home now will help him?"

He sighs deeply. "I think, I mean, he's in the living room and he has his phone now. But it's too soon to expect anything. But...if you come over-"

"Mikey, I can't. Not now, at least. Maybe later tonight but now-"

"Er-you can't later," he says. "My mom's been called into work right now and that's kind of why I've been trying to get you over now, while she's gone."

"Does she not want me over?" I ask. I can't believe she's actually going to hold a grudge against me telling Mikey. Gerard's alive because they waited. She was going to let him die. How could she hold a grudge about this? I'm not saying I'm a savior or should be praised. But she should not in the slightest be upset.

"Not particularly," he says. "I don't want to think about it, it'll just get me mad again. But please, just a few hours before she gets back for dinner."

I don't want to get hurt again. I don't want him to yell at me and mock me. But that twisted part of me that is still a child that believes in miracles that can't grow up for some reason believes it'll be different this time. "Fine," I give in. He's about to go off but I stop him. "But if Gerard starts...if he does-um, says anything or, you know, I'm leaving. I'm not going to fight him and I'm not going to let him just shit on me again. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he says. I can hear him smiling. I want to smile too but I really don't want to do this. "When you think you'll be over?"

"Phh, I'll just change and come by," I tell him.

"Okay, cool." I hang up the phone and sigh, falling back on my bed groaning. Why did I agree? This is going to be painful and I know I'm going to cry at some point.

Reluctantly, I put on my shoes and step out, taking as long as I can to walk there. But eventually, I make it to his driveway, noticing his mom's car is gone. I step up on his porch and rest my finger against the doorbell, slowly pushing it. I want to go home. I shouldn't have come. I still have time to run. This was a mistake.

The door opens and I see Gerard's dad. "Hey, Frank," he says with a half smile. I stand awkwardly on the step outside as he holds the door open for me. "Were you going to come in?" he jokes.

"Yeah," I say, putting on a smile to be polite. His dad's a good man. I force myself to go into his house and I step in. Through the foyer, I see Mikey pop his head over the couch and he gets up. "How's...everything?"

"We're managing where we can," he says, shutting the door and locking it.

Mikey comes running over, sliding over the ties in his socks. "You came."

"Said I would," I tell him, slipping off my shoes.

"Mikes, I'm downstairs working if you need anything," his dad says, heading down the hall toward the basement.

"M'kay!" Mikey calls out. He looks back and me with a smile. I don't know what to say but I can't smile back. He starts moonwalking back toward the living room. I just go with it and follow him. Gerard's laying on the couch with his legs elevated and buried in pillows. His left leg has a brace around his knee but his right leg is in a full brace, the metal frame strapped in at his ankle all the way up to his upper thigh and around his hip. The coffee table has been moved closer to Gerard with a bowl of soup and a water bottle next to him. Makes sense, it is lunchtime. There's a wheelchair next to where he's lying and it dawns on me how hurt he is. Seeing the black and silver wheelchair, it hits me. "Gee, Frank's here."

"Duly noted," he replies, glancing in our direction. "How are you doing?" It doesn't sound rather sincere.

"I'm fine," I tell him, standing stiffly.

"Are you really?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say again dismissively.

"If you say so, Frank...ie."

"Stop it," I snap. He cocks his head to the side amused.

"Gerard, please be nice, you're nice to me. Be nice to Frank," Mikey says.

"What? I just greeted him and asked how he is," he says. His eyes are empty, his cheeks hollow.

"You know what you're doing, don't," I say. He strains himself as he sits up against his pillows a bit, his neck tensing up. His collarbone is a lot more noticeable...he's skinnier. "You're thin," I mutter.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Yeah, I recently joined the gym," he replies. I scrunch my face at him and he smirks. It's not like his usual kitty cat smirk where he's cheeky and sly. He's being cocky and obnoxious right now. Of all the emotions he could have had...

"So I'm going to go upstairs," Mikey says. "You guys just talk? Be nice to each other. Please, Gerard." Mikey holds out two thumbs up and Gerard raises his eyebrows at him. Mikey stalks up to his room and I'm left alone, standing in the middle of his living room.

Gerard rolls his head in my directions and looks at me. He still looks empty and vacant, like you see him and you see Gerard. But you look in his eyes and nobody's there. "Do you want anything?" I ask.

"Being able to walk would be nice," he replies. He raises his right hand and examines the metal frame keeping his hand flat and his fingers extended out, locked in place. "Having my hand back too. You know, so I can draw and ease my mind."

"You can't draw?" I whisper.

He rolls his eyes at me but it's rather robotic and staccato. "I'm right-handed, genius," he mutters. I clench my jaw, shifting my stance. "I wish I could draw. Or at least be able to eat my soap without spilling it all over me. When I fell, I had to brace myself with my right hand and now I can't do anything." He lowers his hand back down on his stomach and stares up at the ceiling. His voice his still monotone. "I should have just fallen on my face and died right there."

"Do you really mean that?" I ask, stepping closer to him.

"I don't know. I'm not exactly living right now. I can't walk or draw or anything. I just watch TV until my brain turns to mush. I can't even go to the bathroom without assistance and believe me, that makes me really wish I was dead. I'm so useless and pathetic." There isn't any bitterness in his voice but there isn't any emotion either, making it sound like he's given up already. And as much as I'm angry, I'm really scared for him right now seeing him like this. As much as I hate this, I still love him.

His dad walks in, coming over toward us. I stand up straighter when he comes in the room for some reason. Gerard just stares at him, waiting for him to talk. His dad doesn't look happy. He steps over to the table next to Gerard and his wheelchair. "You didn't drink anything," he says, glaring at the opened but untouched water bottle.

"Not thirsty," Gerard replies. "Or hungry."

"Fine, but you need to stay hydrated. You didn't eat breakfast but you got to drink water." His dad picks the bottle up and places it in his left hand. Gerard glances between his dad and the bottle. "You barely ate half your dinner last night."

"I was wearing the other half," he states. "Hard to eat soup with one hand, not even the hand that knows how to hold a spoon."

"Drink it," he says. Gerard puts the bottle to his lips and he walks away. But as soon as his dad's gone, Gerard sets it down on the coffee table. The water line hasn't moved. He didn't drink anything.

"Gee," I whisper.

"I told him, I'm not thirsty," he says. He's losing weight. He's not eating. Loss of appetite was one of the symptoms I read. Maybe he did hit his head. But I also read it could link with depression.

I kneel down next to him on the floor and pick the water bottle up. "Drink."

"Frank, don't," he says, starting to pout. I hold it up to him. "Frank-" I place it against his lips. He stares at me as I slowly tilt it up. He parts his lips and starts drinking, glaring at me annoyed. He sputters up a bit and I hold the back of his head, helping him sit up. His body is shaking as he strains himself to move up. He's so weak right now, it's scaring me. His breathing hitches as he tries moving his right leg; he winces for half a moment but the pain fades away from his face. As he adjusts himself, I start tipping the bottle back and he starts drinking it. After a few gulps, he closes his mouth and I pull it back. He drank a quarter of it, which is more than I anticipated getting from him. "Now I'm going to have to pee later, thanks," he groans.

"Have you eaten much?" I ask.

"Why do-"

"At the hospital, did you eat?"

"The food there sucks and I wasn't hungry so not motivated," he mutters.

I bite my lip, glancing at him. "Can you slide over a bit?"

"Why?" he breathes, staring at me unamused. "Frank, what are you doing here?" he asks.

"I'm...what?"

"It's Saturday," he says. "Why are you wasting it away here, Frank...ie?"

I glare at him bitterly and hurt. He doesn't want me here, he doesn't care about me. Why did I think this was a good idea? I stare back at him, maintaining our eye contact. "I usually spend my Saturdays with you," I whisper. "And they've never been wasted." Gerard must have been tense before because suddenly, his head falls back and his neck stops straining and his shoulders ease up and he takes a breath. I glance down at the edge of the couch and get off the floor to sit next to him. He looks at me confused, scooting over slightly to make room for me to sit. I pick up the bowl of soup on the coffee table and stir it up again. "Sit up," I say, firmly but not rude." Gerard complies without saying anything. It's easier for him this time, he looks less in pain. I turn and look at him.

"I'm not hungry," he whispers.

"You're going eat," I tell him. "And if you can't, then I'll help you." I pick the spoon up and place it to his lips. "Open." He slowly parts his lips and I slide the spoon with soup in his mouth. He closes it and starts swallowing it, wincing slightly. "Good," I say gently. I get another spoonful and put it back to his lips. He glances down and the flicks his eyes back at me annoyed. "Open." He shakes his head and I give him a stern look. "Gee, open." He listens to me and I put the spoon in his mouth. "Good."

The process is slow and repetitive but I manage to make him finish everything. Halfway through, he started gagging and choking but I got him to keep it down. He probably hasn't eaten substantially since he had a feeding tube. But he listened to me, glaring evil eyes but complying.

"I'm burning up now," he groans. I look at him. His skin has a slight gloss to it. I gently touch his cheek but he turns his head away. For the moment I do touch him, I notice he's slightly sweating and clammy. "Soup's warm and now cooking me."

"You needed to eat," I say. I grab the water bottle and unscrew the lid. "Drink."

"Don't make me," he says.

"Gerard, drink," I say, putting it against his lips. He turns his head away wincing. "Come on, that was probably salty broth. You need water."

"What I need is to get out of this," he grumbles, tossing the blanket off him and tugging on the front of his shirt. I freeze up for a moment. "I'm burning up." He sighs out frustrated, dropping his arms to his sides and falling limp.

"You're fine," I tell him. "This will help." He shakes his head frantically and I catch him with my free hand, holding the side of his face. "Gerard, come on, listen to me." I run my thumb against my cheek but he doesn't react, staring unmoved. "Open." He stares at me. "Open," I say again, tapping his cheek gently with my finger. He reluctantly listens to me. I start tilting the bottle back and water trickles into his mouth. "Good," I whisper, stopping for a moment. He closes his mouth and holds the water in his cheeks, sitting there like a chipmunk. "Swallow," I say. He swishes it side to side. "Swallow it."

He does, glaring up at me as he finishes. "I'm not your bitch," he growls.

"What?" I whisper, crunching the water bottle on accident.

"Open...Good...Swallow. Who do you think I am?" he spits at me.

I grit my teeth, my face getting hot. I want to punch him but with his condition, I really don't think that would be good. But I really want to punch his stupid, pretty face and beat the smugness out of his voice. "Drink the fucking water," I mutter, shoving the bottle in his chest. It crunches up again and he winces out, a small wheeze escaping his lips when I hit him. It looks like the force actually hurt him a bit. I don't feel bad though. Still, I get off the couch and take a step back so I don't hurt him more. Gerard stares at the remaining water left, about three gulps left. He stares at it for a moment then tosses it over the couch. "What the hell?" I cry out. The bottle thumps in the kitchen and splatters on the floor. "What's wrong with you?"

"Clearly, a lot," he mutters, waving his hand around his head and gesturing to himself. I scoff at him, turning around and running my fingers through my hair. "You seem frustrated," he points out in a chirpy voice that's really fake.