My sleep cycle doesn't let me sleep in like a real teenager. 8:30 am will have to do. Laying in bed any longer is just a waste of time. I take a shower then get ready for the day. My parents are away for the weekend again for work. Yesterday, I had the house to myself and it was kind of nice. It's been a while and I enjoyed it. I got to watch TV in the living room and there weren't any sort of interruptions. I've been watching FRIENDS a lot lately. The others had gotten me hooked and spring break is the perfect time to binge-watch a show. Besides, it makes me laugh and it's been a long time since I could laugh.

Gerard texts me a little after 10 and I head over. I'm not sure what today is going to be like. It's been getting better in school between us but I'm not sure if that's because we're in school or because he actually is getting better. The other day, he said he didn't have the heart to fuck around anymore. I don't know if he means he's going to stop being an ass or something else beyond my comprehension. Either way, I go to his house.

Both of his parent's cars are missing from his driveway. It takes a while for him to answer the door. He's only using one crutch. "Hey," he says.

I step inside and kick off my shoes. "Hi, how's everything?" I ask.

There's a moment of silence. Off to a great start. Eventually, he answers. "Not good but I'm used to it," he says. He starts walking to the living room. The metal pap of the crutch is louder when the room is quiet. By the looks of it, the first floor has been restored to an orderly fashion. The cushions are fluffed and upright. The tables and counters and cleared off and cleaned.

"Parents out with Mikey?" I ask.

He nods and his bangs swivel in his face. "About that," he says. He lowers himself down to the couch and has room for his leg. He rests his crutch over with the other one. "There's something... Something's happened and I want to tell you."

I sit down next to him. "Everything okay?" I ask. Gerard hunches forward and rests his head in his hands. I can't see his face and I think that's intentional. I don't say anything else. Just waiting for him to continue.

There's a moment of him breathing and getting his thoughts together before he finally talks. "I remember the reason I kept a lot of my life private was that I felt if I shared these bad things, then it would take away the good I have between others. That's why I liked keeping secrets. It makes it easier to pretend things are fine." I reach my hand over toward him, giving him a moment to move away if he wants. But he doesn't and I place my hand on his shoulder. "But I can't keep it inside anymore. It's beyond my control now."

"You can talk to me," I say. I look at him and try giving a smile. I pause thinking for the correct terminology of what we are but I settle for the easy answer. "You're my best friend. And maybe keeping things to yourself is doing more damage than good."

He nods. "I'm so lost," he whispers. "Do you ever just look at what your life has become and try wondering when it all went bad? How did it get like this? Can I even get out?" I think to myself, the skiing accident is the obvious answer but I don't say that. He needs to vent and interrupting will defeat that purpose. He hasn't had this much emotion since the accident and I'm not going to let that stop. "Things just get so bad that a part of you wonders if this is rock bottom. Until the next wave comes."

He leans back against the couch but winces at his leg. I help him adjust and he lays back again. "What sort of waves are coming?" I ask.

He stares up at the ceiling. "First there was Mikey's diagnosis," he says. "That was years ago. Then my mother resents me for it. Anorexia came and that's still lingering. Then Elena." I look down. I forgot about Elena. Things have been hard on him for a while. "And it was steadying out for a long time. Until last month. Amelia's gone and the last sight of her still haunts me. I can't feel anything besides uncontrollable anger. Then I can't walk. I can't draw to even clear my mind." He closes his eyes and covers his face with his hands. "Mikey's in hospice."

I draw my hand back. That doesn't mean what I think it means. "What?" That's all I can manage out.

Gerard doesn't lower his hands. He's frozen and eyes transfixed to the ceiling. "He's at the point of no return. All the doctors can do is make him comfortable."

I shrink down and stare at the carpet. This isn't happening. He was supposed to get better. He was getting treatment. He was doing okay. "Oh my god," I whisper. "When did..." My words are lost.

Gerard sniffles and he takes a breath. A heat boils in my chest and simmers to my face. My eyes water seeing him. "They found out the day before I went back to school." He blinks and the tears fall. He quickly wipes them. "My dad offered me to stay home longer but I couldn't see a point." I sniffle and try drying my eyes but more tears come. "He's got summer. Nothing past July."

"I'm so sorry," I say. Gerard starts crying more and I wince. "I'm so sorry, Gerard."

"You know what my mother said to me the night we found out?" He tilts his head in my direction but he doesn't look directly at me. But I can still see his eyes. There is so much pain in his eyes. He is suffering. "Why couldn't I have been the one to get sick." My stomach drops and I reflexively shake my head but Gerard nods. "Yeah, she did." He grabs a tissue and starts scrubbing his face. "I found out she was trying to pull the plug on me. I would have died. Maybe it would have been for the best but still, what the fuck. I'm her kid."

"Gerard," my voice breaks. I scoot closer to him. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," he scoffs. He slouches back and his head thunks against the couch back. "I know Mikey is her favorite. It was always obvious. But I swear to god, she hates me for being the one that lives instead of her baby. I love my brother so much and it's killing me. But god, why can't my mother love me too?" He shifts and winces out pressing down on his hip.

"What's wrong?" I ask. He shakes his head. "Gerard?"

He takes two sharp breaths and stretches out. "I just get shooting spasms now and then. It's passed now."

I stare at his leg. "You'd think the doctor would have given you some sort of pain prescription." He nods. "If it's hurting you so badly maybe if you ask your... dad. He can get you something. Or maybe just over the counter stuff?"

"It's fine," he grumbles.

"I don't think it is," I say. "Gerard, you have a lot going on. That last thing you need is to be hurting like this."

"I need it though."

"Painkillers?" I ask. He doesn't move. His jaw shifts side to side. "Gerard?"

"You really like saying my name, huh," he says.

I stare at him off-put. There was an edge to his voice but not as bitter. "It's a nice name," I say. He exhales what I assume to be a laugh. "Don't change the subject though."

"I have painkillers," he mutters.

"Do you need them? Where are they? I can get-"

"No," he winces. He brushes his hair back and he sighs. "Look, I have painkillers and they've been giving it to me. But I don't take them." I open my mouth to say something but he cuts me off. "You don't know what it's like!"

"I imagine it doesn't feel good but that's why you have them."

He shakes his head and stares at me. "No." The whites of his eyes are bloodshot. "I can't feel anything. I am so numb. Anytime I might get close to some sort of closure, something else comes up and I shut down again. If I take those pills, I don't feel anything at all. And it freaks me out."

A silence falls between us. I don't know where to start or what to ask first. But this is wrong. My heart patters against my chest and I feel the beat in my ears. "When did you stop?" I whisper.

He scratches his head. "When I got out of the hospital, they took me off morphine and I stopped taking my painkillers. Everything hurt but at least I could feel something finally. I felt human again."

I lay back against the armrest. All this time, he is enduring tremendous amounts of pain. "What was it like when you first woke up?"

He thinks for a moment and his face gets dark. "I remember myself in the third person," he begins. I give him a look but he continues with his hand gesturing. "When I think back, I see a top view of the room. I'm in bed. My parents and brother are around me. I am looking down over us. No matter how hard I try, I can't recall looking through my own self. I'm just watching above and it's freaking me out."

"You're dissociating?"

He shrugs. "I don't know what the fuck's wrong with me. Too much to keep track." He wipes his eyes again even though there are no new tears. His cheeks are red, partially from crying but also irritated from him rubbing them so much. "When you and Jenna visited, I remember everything from the side of the room. I see myself in the bed talking to you and Jenna. I don't know why my memories are like this but it is. Everything from the hospital, it's like that. I'm watching myself."

There's a silence that grows between us again like a scab that doesn't get to heal. He has run out of things to say and I have no idea how to respond. He looks at me, the beautiful green of his irises have so much misery. The green contrasts with the red stained in the whites of his eyes. I can't open my mouth. I have no words for him anymore. Eventually, he fizzles and stops looking at me. The silence becomes painful.

Moments pass. Minutes pass. I don't take out my phone to check the time but I know it's a long time of us sitting here not speaking. Is this what it's like between us now? I don't want it to be. My voice is frail when I finally do speak again. "Is there anything you want to do or try that I could help you with?"

"Everything I want is impossible or futile."

I have no idea what he could be going through but it's killing me seeing him like this. "Is there anything I can do right to make right now easier?"

He contemplates for a moment, chewing on the insides of his cheek. "Tomorrow, they're gone again. Would you want to come over? I am not emotionally able to tell you what we'd do tomorrow but you still want to come by?" I give him a smile and a nod. "Okay."

"Then right now, what would you want to do?" I ask. "A movie?"

"Maybe not," he says. I stiffen at his response. He glances at me for a second then back down. "I miss you. A lot."

I take a soft breath. "I miss you too."

"You want to just talk? It's been a long time and that's my fault. I just want to try remembering who I was. And I've been an asshole to you and I know that's not right. I just don't know what to do anymore and I'm so angry."

"I can't say that it's okay because it wasn't. But I'd like to talk. And maybe we can agree I should forgive you by the end of it."

Like seeing the spring sun for the first time again after a bitter and dreary winter, Gerard smiles and me.