A Splitting Of The Mind

Title: A Splitting Of The Mind
Author: shoved2agree
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: R/NC-17
POV: First Person - Gerard
Summary: Gerard Way sees the world differently. Alone and institutionalised, Gerard claims that he is being hunted, and that his mind holds the key to existence. Does Gerard really hold such a powerful secret? Or is he just insane like everyone else in the institution?
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Notes: Institution!Fic
Warnings: Rape themes, schizophrenia, adult themes, sex, mental illness, death

Take a look around and what do I see
It's looking like the whole world's goin just a little crazy
And I know it can't be all of them and just not me
So I guess I'm going just a little crazy

-'Crazy', The John Butler Trio

From the first moment I laid eyes upon him, I decided I liked him. That was saying something, because I don’t much like anyone. I can’t afford to like or trust anyone. Not anymore.

He slunk in one morning, head down, eyes x-raying the floor, shoulders tense and overall trying to look like he didn’t exist. I saw him appear in the doorway and quickly slip into the armchair Magda pointed out to him. He didn’t look around or make a noise or speak. He just sat there, as straight as he could in the sagging cushions of the blue and white striped armchair. He clasped his hands together tightly and placed them carefully on his lap, the thumbs facing the ceiling. A moment later his hands unclasped and one hand flew to his mouth where he began gnawing on a fingernail. Then, as though realising the full extent of his habit, he removed his fingers from his mouth and reclasped his hands back in his lap. Then he began to twiddle his thumbs instead. My eyes drifted away from the distracting hands and to his face. God, he was young. Too young to be in a place like this. He must be pretty fucked up. His face was pale, like it had been cast in moonlight. I twisted my head to check his eyes. His face may have looked like moonlight, but there were definitely no stars in his eyes. They were hazel, I could tell. I couldn’t see. But I didn’t need to see. I just knew. He had the whole ‘poor baby’ thing going too, but, to his credit, he wasn’t exploiting it. On my first days I would’ve killed to have the “poor little victim baby” thing going.

A shout of laughter rippled through the room and he jumped. Scared, he cautiously looked up only to find everyone fixated on the stupid television. He took a quick glance around the room, assuming everyone was watching the television. I wasn’t. I was still watching him. I focused on his lips now. Straightaway I could tell that those lips had touched another person and was disappointed. But there was no love on his face. There were no remnants of who had kissed him in his eyes or mouth or soul. He had hidden the memory of them inside of him and that distinctly annoyed me. If people hide things, then they have to actually look to find them. It’s okay if you lose them, or misplace them, or put them somewhere else, you can still stumble across them.

Just like your first kiss. If it was a good memory, don’t try and hide it somewhere – just put it somewhere. If you hide it, you’ll never just stumble across it. But, if you forget it or misplace it, you never know when it might come back. You never know when it’ll pop up in your subconscious and give you a nice surprise. But if it’s a bad kiss, you try to forget and lose the memory so you’ll never stumble across it again. It’s quite sad actually when people forget to lose a memory and are haunted by it for the rest of their lives. But the brain is not just like a filing system, or a big tunnel with two exits saying ‘keep’ or ‘chuck’. You can’t physically file your memories; you don’t actually get to decide which ones you lose for good or which ones you simply misplace. I’m the only one who knows this, so, naturally, I know how to do it. If I’m really bored and Jasper is not here I sort through the week’s memories and file them, but a lot of the time I just let them go, it’s no big deal once you’ve cracked the secret. Though I bet if anyone else did it would be groundbreaking. Imagine being able to lose memories of a tragic childhood incidence or forget all the deaths you’ve witnessed. Think of how much a doctor or an ambulance officer would give to be able to forget things like that.

So, that’s how all memories work. Don’t ask me how I know – I just know. And now you know, so if I hear of a groundbreaking new study about memories I’ll know. I’ll even understand if you don’t credit me. After all, I’m just a teenage kid and that doesn’t give me much credibility, does it?

Back to the new kid. He’s taken up staring at the TV now, instead of his lap. I hated that TV! Doesn’t anyone realise how easily that box kills your brain cells? Annoyed, I ground my teeth together so hard Ben turned around.

“That’s not a good idea now, is it?” he said in his annoyingly calm, orderly way.

I purposely rolled my eyes and ceased the grinding. I didn’t want to be here. I hated TV time. They think that we’re all so interested in who gets voted off American Idol. Who cares? Half of them can’t sing anyway. My money’s on the chick, and I don’t even watch the show. She’s gonna win though, I know it. I shuffled in my armchair so my back is resting against one padded arm and my legs are propped over the other. Another ripple of laughter coursed through the room and I glanced at the television, wondering what was so funny about American Idol. Only, it’s not Idol that on but some crap TV sitcom. Holy shit! Quick! I need something to gouge my eyes out with and deafen myself with before too much of this stupidity seeps into my brain. Somebody must’ve changed the channel because now that I think about it, I don’t recall the sounds of American Idol at all this session. I must be slipping. How could I let such a little observation slip past me? Oh yeah, it was the arrival of that new kid. The one with messy, once-styled black hair. I could still smell the gel he used to use in it. Yeah, of course he’s washed it since he came here, but, like I said, I know stuff. And I know he used to gel his hair.

There is a quiet click but to my ears it is so loud because I have been awaiting it all day. The TV is off! Hallelujah!

“Lunchtime!” said Magda in an overly cheery voice, beaming at us all.

I moaned and purposely take my time unhooking my legs from the arms of the chair. I desperately hoped Ben hadn't decided to wait for me. However, he’s not waiting for me but instead for the new, little, black haired kid who was sitting trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in his armchair. He offered a hand to the kid to pull him out of the chair. The black-haired kid learnt the hard way how difficult it is to extract yourself from the cushions of that particular chair. It swallows you in; sucks your arse in the base of the chair. I chuckled as he gripped the arm and tried to haul himself out.

“Here, let me help. Can I touch your arm?” Ben asked carefully, his hand still extended and quite close to the boys.

The little victim shook his head violently and retracted his hands, terrified, clutching them close into his body, staring up at Ben like he was threatening him. Ben held up his hands hastily, indicating no contest.

I raised an eyebrow to myself and passed Ben on my way to the door. I paused, my back facing the two and shook my head slowly. I turned back around to face them both, smirking.

“What are you smirking at, Gerard?” Ben snapped, watching the kid and looking defeated.

I raised a finger to indicate patience then began to slowly undo the tie around my neck. Slowly, systematically, and carefully I undid it, preferring to reverse every step rather than loosen it. I took it off my neck and dangled it in front of the kid’s chair. He’s watching me with such intense scrutiny I’m quite affronted. If I was mocking him, he would know, and would not have to resort to attempting to read me. He finally decided my intentions were pure, or whatever; he just finally took the loop of the tie I held out to him. In one swift motion I hauled him out onto his feet. He staggered for a bit but I didn’t move to steady him. He didn’t want anyone to touch him. I had to respect that. If he fell and cracked his head, I wouldn’t touch him. If it was against his wishes to be touched, then I wouldn’t do it. It wasn’t that hard to comprehend.

Once out of the chair he was steadily going bright red. I let go of the tie and it fell, slack, in his hands. He bundled it up and held it out to me. I shook my head and made my way to lunch; I was hungry, after all.

Chapter 2: Look straight at me and you see yourself.

“Well, good morning, Gerard!” Inside I cringed, but outside I sent the lunch lady one of my most dashing smiles as I picked up my tray. I ignored her persistent attempts for me to converse with her and made my way to my table. Yes it was my table. Nobody sits at my table without my permission. No one.

I glanced down at my chicken noodle soup. Lucky this time it’s not alphabet soup. Otherwise I can guarantee Ray will announce he can see a message in it. Maybe that’s why they stopped serving any dish with letters. I had a customary moment of silence for the loss of alphabet soup off the menu before carefully unwrapping my plastic spoon. I held it firmly because I definitely didn’t want to drop it. Then I would have to get another spoon. And I didn’t particularly want to do that.

“Hey! Ben, Madga, Suzie! Quick, come look at this!” Ray’s voice rang through the cafeteria. I snorted as Ray backed away from his noodles carefully. “Look, it’s a message!”

I knew I could count of Ray to find messages in anything. I just hope they didn’t take noodles off the menu altogether now as well. I quite liked the noodles. Once I had finished I stared at the bowl, at the last dregs of little white worms, wondering where they would go and which ocean they would end up in. I pulled my sketch book out of the inside pocket of my jacket and opened it on the table. I took out my pencil and touched the end to my tongue before pressing it to the page. There wasn’t exactly any artistic reasoning behind that. Just a habit really. I started to sketch the new black haired kid. He was very drawable. He had the perfectly chiselled features and uncaptured beauty of a model, of my next model. I didn’t draw his body. I wanted to get the contours exactly right. They had to be just right. Getting them wrong would be disastrous. But he was rugged up, as we all were, in jackets, scarves and long track pants. I wasn’t cold; I only wore the jacket because they made me. I preferred my black button up formal shirt with a tie. But that was only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You see, only on days starting with a T could I wear a Tie. On the other days I stuck to hoodies. They’re pretty good with clothes in this place. You get to wear whatever you want, within reason. I mean, they’re not gonna let a manic depressive wear a tie and leave him alone in the bathroom are they? But they trust me. They know I’m not going to kill myself anytime soon. I still haven’t cracked the meaning of life, and they know that.

“Uh, hi.”

My head seems to move very mechanically. It’s quite amusing actually. I glanced straight up at the new black haired kid. The one with the sad eyes and tragically kissed lips. I grunted and looked back down. I stopped scratching with my pencil for a second and heard the heavy, terrified breathing of the kid and felt a pang of sympathy. I wondered which orderly had suggested he talk to me. Probably Ben. I glanced over at Ben. He was watching me. Yep, Ben put him up to it. The only problem was: Why? Sure, I mean, if a kid wants to talk to me, fine. I’m not gonna talk back, but I’m not gonna kick him in the crotch and laugh when he rolls on the floor in pain.

“Can I sit? Please?”

I nodded and he perched himself on the end of the seat opposite me. He just stared at the ground. Then he leapt back up and scurried away. Bemused, I went back to my drawing. A few moments later he comes back and sits back down. He stayed this time and watched me draw until an orderly approached and spoke to him. She left and he followed her. I wondered where he was going. The next thing on the stupid schedule was showers, and that wasn’t for an hour at least. I saw Ben approaching me and as he passed me I hear him murmur, “Thank you, Gerard, for not being an ass.”

I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the session. Why was Ben thankful I wasn’t an ass to the new kid? Why was it so imperative that I was anything but an ass to that kid? Was I gonna get extra pudding after dinner?

At the showers I waited until last, as always. Of course, in here, the showers can’t be enclosed, there are too many kids on suicide watch, so it’s just semi enclosed. I didn’t care what they called it. I shower alone and they let me mostly. I crossed my legs as I sat on the benches waiting for the last person to finish and file out.

“In you go, Gerard,” Ben called.

I looked at him with a face of confusion. He knew I went last. I always went last. Last meant that twerp of a new kid had to go before me, otherwise I wouldn’t be last. I shrugged, remaining defiant.

“Everyone’s gone,” he said. “You’re last.”

I frowned and glanced in the showers myself. Sure enough. It was empty. Where did that new kid get to then? I certainly hadn’t seen him in there. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a reason why the new kid had to shower separately. I was washing myself, only really putting in a half hearted effort when Ben interrupted me. I went bright red but he ignored my apparent lack of clothing and leant on one of the walls separating the showers.

“I need to ask a favour,” Ben said, in a very serious tone. You see that’s not normal. He’s usually very easy going and light hearted but now he wasn’t.

I switched off the shower, giving him my full attention. Anything to get myself a leg up in this place. He held out a towel and I wrapped it around my waist and stood watching him, waiting.

“You know the new boy? Frank?”

Ahhh, his name was Frank. Interesting. I nodded affirmatively.

“We all thought he would be petrified of you when he saw you.” Ben chuckled at my offended face. “But he’s not that scared, something we’re all very surprised about, considering the reason he’s in here. No, I can’t tell you. That’s personal. But we’d rather he’d hang around with you, rather than Ray or any of the other guys, okay? He’s still scared of you, but at least he’s attempting to make friends.” At that I took a step forward and shook my head violently in protest. I didn’t want friends. I didn’t need friends. I would not make a friend out of this kid. Ben looked saddened. “You don’t have to be his friend, Gerard,” he said angrily. “As much as it would help him, if you simply can’t do a simple thing like that, don’t bother.” Ashamed, I downcast my eyes. “You’re really are as cold as they say, aren’t you?” Without waiting for an answer he squared his jaw and marched out.

Yes, I am that cold. People like me can’t have friends. People like me can’t let people get in close. People like me don’t need friends. Just think of what would happen if I had friends. Doesn’t he realise how fatal that would be to me? I watched him leave, feeling as guilty as shit. As I left the shower I made it my personal mission to find out what it was that landed Frank in here with me.

Chapter 3: And I Don’t Know What To Do; You’re Beautiful

I was expecting a whole number of things other than what I found when I broke into the records room. I found his file easily and skimmed over it. All the medical stuff wasn’t really of any interest to me because it didn’t really tell me why he was in here. It told me what was wrong with him. He had some form of trauma induced social phobia and mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder, to put it simply. I dug deeper into his file determined to find out what that trauma was. I read a police report, a therapists report and a psychological evaluation from his psychiatrist. From just the words of a few cold hearted professionals I managed to piece together (whilst also assuming a lot of things) the last tragic six months of his life.

Turns out he had been befriended by two boys, or men, both in their early twenties, the eldest being 23, nine years older than Frank was at the time. The two boys gave him a sense of reprieve from his normal social outcast life. They took him under their wing and introduced him to a whirlwind world of drugs and violence. The sex, however, came later when they both raped him in the eldest boy’s car. Then, as though nothing had happened they sent him home, promising to see him the next day. The next morning when they saw him again, they did it again. Then they both took off; they had gotten what they wanted. Frank was too scared and ashamed to tell anyone because he believed it was his fault, as most rape victims do. He thought he couldn’t tell anyone because they wouldn’t believe him because he thought boys can’t be raped. He kept it inside for months where it festered. He became fanatical with the fact that he was ‘dirty’ and developed the need to wash all the time. It got worse and worse, until his parents began to notice. I felt a surge of hatred toward Frank’s parents. They must have been completely ignorant to not notice their son having multiple showers and that he was afraid to interact with other human beings. They confronted him and he had a complete breakdown. They, unintentionally, made him realise the full extent of what had happened.

He thought it was ridiculously ironic that the one thing his parents were completely against had occurred and he began laughing. His laughter soon morphed into an insane, hysterical laughter that creeped everyone out. He retreated from society, afraid that everyone was out to hurt him. Once in the hospital the laughter dissolved into an uncontrollable rage, and then into hysterical weeping. Everyone was afraid he had lost his mind and he was forced into therapy where they discovered he had been sexually assaulted. When the therapy proved pointless, considering his mental state, he was admitted into a minimum security mental institution. It was in here that they hoped he could begin to actually get better. All that and they weren’t actually sure of how suicidal he currently was and they didn’t want to risk anything. With parents so rich I thought they had taken the easy, coward’s way out by committing their son to a mental institution. But they were the kind of people that considered because they lived in such high society, it would be socially unacceptable to have a son who’d been raped and who’d had a mental breakdown. Hell, they even had to come to grips with the fact that their son had had sex (as unwilling as it was) with a man!

As I stacked his folder away I felt a real sick feeling develop in my stomach. The kid had a point – no one really thinks boys or men could be raped. I just couldn’t understand why he would want to talk to me. I understood why Ben thought Frank would be scared of me – I was close to the age of the two rapists. But I couldn’t push the feeling that there was something more too why he spoke to me this morning. I left the office and shut the door, unable to push the nauseous feeling from my stomach. Poor kid, now I knew why he had such sad eyes and why there was no love on his face. I was right too (actually, when am I not?) – his lips did tell of a tragedy.

I felt consumingly guilty when I saw Frank the next morning. I had slept badly; my thoughts were plagued with what had happened to Frank. I thought about it so much I almost forgot about the people who were after me. It seemed for once I had something else to stress over, instead of my usual problems.

During breakfast I sat, playing mindlessly with my food. I had cornflakes and spent the entire session prodding them with my spoon trying to make them stay under the surface. After the pitiful serving of milk had reduced my cornflakes to a mere yellow soggy mess I pulled my sketch pad back out. I was now more determined than ever to finish my picture of Frank. I had just started when Ben called my name and I reluctantly packed my book away and followed him to the weekly group therapy session they forced us all to attend. We pulled our uncomfortable plastic chairs into a circle and sat, watching each other carefully. Ben, I noticed, sat right next to Frank. I scored a seat directly opposite Frank. Our therapy leader was a shrink called Dr. Markman. She was nice but she never let up on asking us ‘how do you feel about that’?

“Welcome,” Markman said pleasantly, “to our newest group member, Frank.” There was a murmur of hellos that strongly reminded me of an alcoholic’s anonymous meeting. Markman decided to leave Frank alone for a while and began on Ray, asking him how he thought he had been over the last week.

I tuned out of Ray’s rant. I’d heard his last message already. Ray was convinced some higher being was sending him messages. He also took the liberty of repeating every message to me. But with Ray, you hear one message and you’ve heard them all. They were all the same really, just different wordings. I sat silently, staring unobviously at Frank who was in turn staring at Ray a look of mild distaste and incredulity on his face. He glanced at me but I flicked my gaze away before he could confirm that I really was staring at him.

We went around the circle and as it came to my turn I shook my head and pretended to become intensely interested in my fingernails. So, as usual, I was skipped and we were forced to endure Lisa’s emotional recount of the week. After she finished Markman jumped to Frank. He glanced up and shot her an imploring look.

“How was your first week, Frank?” she asked, looking too attentive for my liking. Frank shrugged non-committedly. “Come on,” she prompted.

“It was shit!” he snarled, shocking me. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Markman was surprised but also slightly pleased. Obviously, she was glad to be getting some emotional response from Frank. “Now, Frank.”

“Everyone is so weird. They actually have things wrong with them! I’m not sick. I’m fine. I want to get out of here. You need to tell my parents I’m fine!”

“Hey!” Ray cried. “You are too weird! You take, like, three showers a day, for hours at a time. You won’t touch anyone and no one’s allowed to touch you. And you wear makeup. That’s weird in itself!”

“I can’t help needing to shower!” Frank exploded, standing up. “You don’t know what it’s like. You can’t even begin to understand!” Frank sat back down heavily and hid his face in his hands.

I felt the nauseous feeling in my stomach increase tenfold and felt my heart begin to beat very wildly. As I stared at Frank I felt an overwhelming sensation flood my body. It seemed to run through my veins and caused tingling in my digits. The excess of blood made me feel slightly light-headed. But inside I felt this strange thing. The only way I could describe it was that it was like a strange wave of something cascading through my body. It was a feeling, an emotion, but I didn’t think I had ever felt it before. It was unusual, and I hated it when I didn’t know what was going on. The fact that it was occurring in my own body made me considerably more anxious.

“It’s okay, Frank, we can talk about it later, privately,” Markman said.

Frank surprised us all even more by starting to laugh. “You think we can just talk about it?” he said incredulously. “I can’t just talk about it and expect it to get better.” He turned to Ray. “You wanna know why I shower for hours all the time? Because I feel dirty. I am dirty!”

I didn’t like Frank speaking about himself like that. I wanted to slap him and tell him to stop speaking like that but I couldn’t. It was too much of a risk. I just couldn’t. The great wave inside of me was brewing to a dangerous level and was threatening to break.

“No matter how much I shower I still feel dirty! I can scrub my body until its red raw and let the water run over me for hours but nothing works. I’m so dirty. Inside and out. I can’t get clean!” Frank was becoming very hysterical now.

Markman was pondering. I, however, was stressing and felt close to a heart attack. This strange feeling engulfing my body was so foreign and it was sending unfamiliar thoughts into my head which were going straight to my tongue. I had to cover my mouth. Not because I was shocked but because I was scared of what I was going to blurt out.

“Shhh, Frank, its okay. We don’t have to talk about it here. Calm down, its okay.” Markman was trying to regain control of the situation.

“So dirty! And so ugly! I am ugly. What was I thinking? Who would ever want to hang out with a loser like me?”

Markman sat forward, intensely interested. “You’re feeling betrayed, Frank?”

Everyone else in the group was bewildered. They didn’t know why Frank felt dirty. But I did, and for once, I wished I was as ignorant as them. I wished I didn’t know. I so desperately wished I was as unaware as them.

“Yes, I feel fucking betrayed!” Frank screamed. “I was so fucking ugly in the first place and now I’m worse! No one will ever be able to love me. Don’t you see? I just want to get clean!”

My breathing was becoming impaired now. Frank was crouched on the floor, sobbing quietly. Ben was at a loss and for once, so was Markman. The great wave inside of me had swelled to a size of dangerous proportions. I uncrossed my legs and sat forward in my seat, sweat running down my back. I knew I shouldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it, but my heart was screaming at me, screaming louder than the protests in my head. The room was silent, bar Frank’s quiet sobbing. My palms were sweating and the room was becoming unbearably hot. My throat was constricting. I felt like I was trapped in a tiny room with a thousand bouncy balls that were making the room a source of frenzied activity. Except the tiny room was my head and the balls were words and thoughts and warnings. Half of the balls were telling – no, screaming at – me to shut the hell up and relax. They were telling me it wasn’t worth it. Discovery was a much worse fate than the negative thoughts of a kid I barely knew. But then again, the other half was begging me to open my mouth and say it. I leant forward realising that what I was about to do could potentially be my downfall. And that was scaring me shitless.

“I don’t think you’re ugly. I think you’re beautiful.”

Inside, the wave crashed. The words sounded better in my head than they did when I spoke them. And I seriously was regretting them. Not what I said. I believed completely what I said. I was just realising maybe it was a mistake to speak at all. There was a bang and a collective gasp echoed through the circle. Then the silence deepened to an eerie level. I glanced at Ben. He was on the ground. He had fallen off his chair in shock. That’s what the bang was. And, yes, I mean literally. Ben, literally, fell off his chair and was currently sitting on the floor staring at me with a look of complete and utter shock etched across his face. Markman was a little more dignified but I could tell she too was close to falling off her chair.

“Gerard?” she said in a hushed tone.

I was only vaguely aware of all this going on around me. My eyes and ears were on Frank. He was staring up at me too, but not in shock and he wasn’t staring at me as though I had sprouted a dinosaur head on my shoulder. He was staring up at me with sad eyes that, I noticed, sparkled a tiny little bit.

I suddenly didn’t regret the words anymore.

“Gerard?” The shock in her voice was undisguised.

I turned to face Markman. She probably had so many questions she was dying to ask. Those words, the ones I had spoken to Frank, were, after all, the first words I had ever spoken in therapy. That was the first time I had spoken over two years. I had broken my silence for Frank. Just because I already knew Frank was beautiful. And I knew that it was my responsibility, even under threat of discovery, to ensure that of all people, Frank had to be the main person who knew and understood that.

Chapter 4: He Poured His Heart Right Out Through His Eyes

Have you ever crouched down in front of a fish tank and gotten eye to eye with a goldfish? It just stares back at you and opens and closes its mouth, making a ‘gloop’ like noise. Well, obviously you can’t hear the ‘gloop’ noise but I know that’s the kind of noise it’s trying to make. If you could hear underwater, that is the sound you will hear. But, to the point, that’s the only way to describe how everyone was looking at me, Markman especially. She was the one opening and closing her mouth in shock. I was almost expecting to hear the ‘gloop’ noise and was slightly disappointed when I didn’t.

I turned away to read the clock and was pleased to note it was precisely four minutes until three o’clock. At three o’clock this stupid group therapy session ended and it was free time. I settled back in my chair and folded my arms, avidly watching the clock. Because I could, I began to count the seconds. It irritated me that the clock was faulty. For every minute, the clock only counted 59 seconds. It was one whole second out. Jeez, that means every hour, the clock misses a cumulative of sixty seconds. This clock has been there for years. Christ, I can’t imagine how much time it had been losing all these months.

If every minute lost one second, it therefore meant every hour was sixty seconds out, or one minute. Every day lost a total of twenty-four minutes, and every week it lost 168 minutes. Shit, that meant that in one year (I quickly calculated in my head) it was a total of 8736 minutes out. That means for the two years, six months, twelve days, eleven hours and thirty-four minutes I have been forced to dwell in this fucking place I have lost over –

“Gerard!” I jumped violently, my train of thought rudely interrupted.

Scowling, I rotated my neck and looked at Markman, exasperated. Thankfully she had composed herself and was no longer staring at me like a stupefied goldfish. Good thing too; she had looked rather foolish. I raised an eyebrow in question. She considered me for a moment then looked to Frank. I rolled my eyes and sighed, annoyed. I slumped down in my seat, folding my arms tightly across my chest, waiting for her to return her attention to me.

I glanced at the clock again. It was exactly three o’clock. Excellent. Time to make an exit. I leapt up and stalked from the room. I was so glad to get out of there. I now knew what an animal in a zoo or aquarium felt like. The staring, unblinking eyes were quite unnerving after a while.

I had walked less than ten metres from the doorway when:

CRASH!!

I jumped in fright and spun to face the direction the noise had come from. It took a second for me to register that I was facing the west wing. The west wing of this place was the oldest and weakest, compared to the rest of the facility. It was the perfect place for them to break in. I had been discovered. I knew I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. They tracked my voice and now they had come to collect. And they would not fail. I took a fearful, half-step backwards. I felt the fear well up in my throat. I gasped for air, my airway closing in terror. I had to force myself to keep walking backwards. I tried to turn and run but my body had seized up painfully.

Everyone ran out from different rooms and stood around me, staring in the direction of the west wing. However, they didn’t know what they were watching for, like I did.

Ben frowned, unable to work out what had made the noise. He began to walk toward the corridor that would eventually lead to the west wing. Zach joined him and they strode down the corridor and then disappeared as they rounded the corner. I tried to warn them but it went unnoticed.

I started thinking about the needles. Hundreds of them. I began to imagine their metal tips being pressed into my skin and depositing all manner of drugs into my bloodstream and muscles. Then I thought about the countless blood tests, experiments and assessments. I will suffer greatly as they struggle to keep me alive with ever watchful machines and pumps. The metal clamps and chains will keep me in place as they inflict unimaginable pain on my already bruised and broken body. They will try to make me tell them. They will try so hard. They will try to force me to tell them all my secrets. But I will never let them know. So they will force their way in with saws and knives. The terrifyingly razor-sharp scalpels will slice open my head and they will take the secrets from my brain. Then, the world will end.

Ben and Zach returned. They both trudged back to the group, strangely wet. I looked them up and down, alarmed.

“Damn roof collapsed,” Zach muttered shaking out his sopping wet boots. “Bloody rain caused the supports to fall in.”

Rain? Rain? RAIN! Not them! Just rain! Wait! I didn’t notice it was raining. I hoped to God Zach was right. Wait, no, he must be because I would’ve known if they were here by now. I probably wouldn’t be standing here gawking at Ben and Zach if they were somewhere in the facility. I heaved a huge sigh of relief. I had never actually thought about what I would do if they did ever come for me. But now that it had been a very real possibility I had gone blank. I don’t think my mind had ever gone blank before in my entire life. But that’s what fear does to you. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t think. I would’ve been a sitting duck if it had been them. I am never not in control. I never not notice if it’s raining. See what this damn kid is doing to me?

Once the news of the collapsed roof had spread throughout the group everyone wandered off. It wasn’t that interesting anymore. I didn’t leave. I stayed where I was, staring at nothing in particular. I ran my hands over my head, double checking that my brain was still there. Several security guards joined the small gathering. I hadn’t seen them inside the building in months. They usually just patrolled the outside making sure no one escaped or ran away. Ben, Zach, the guards and some other people I hadn’t seen before huddled into a group. I frowned, obviously excluded from their little meeting. I took a half-step backward and turned around to face Frank.

At first I thought he was staring at me, but that was just my vanity talking. He was actually staring helplessly down the corridor. It took a second for me to realise that of course Frank’s room was located in the west wing. His room was literally three steps from the showers. I know because I saw his room number on his file and I knew this place inside out. He looked down the corridor for another long minute before he walked away, looking oddly morbid. That kid really confused me.

I walked to my table and sat down, thinking hard about everything that had happened in the last ten minutes.

“Gerard, Gerard! Hey!” I had barely been alone a minute when Ray came up to me and plonked himself down at my table. I cringed. He can be really, really infuriating. I kept my head down, pointedly ignoring him. “I didn’t know you could speak,” he said amazed.

I think that even a day-old foetus with no brain or mental capacity would be able to tell that I was pissed off and wanted to be left alone. This brain-dead foetus would even catch onto the fact that I was purposely ignoring them. But then again, sometimes, Ray’s mental capacity is less than that of a brain-dead, day-old foetus.

“I so wasn’t expecting you to speak, you know? I got a right shock. I heard this voice that I’d never heard before and it took me ages to realise that it was you. Why, Gerard? Why did you say that to Frank? Did you mean it? Do you like him? Do you like like him? More than a friend?”

I felt the fury building up inside of me. I ripped my sketch book out and flipped it savagely to a blank page. I pressed my pencil to the page so hard the sharp point snapped. I wrote in angry block letters: GET LOST! I even underlined it twice to get the point across.

I think it was the double underline that made Ray realise. Good thing I decided to put them in or else Ray could’ve thought we were playing hide and seek, the idiot. I didn’t look up at him once. I am good at ignoring people. I’m very good at ignoring people. I would so win the national award for superior ignoring, if such a thing existed.

“Gerard? Might we have a private word, please?” Ignoring Markman was a lot harder than ignoring Ray. I tried. I tried so hard. But she was a lot more persistent than Ray. I nudged the note I had shown Ray forward slightly, indicating what I wanted. Now I wished I hadn’t underlined it twice. Now two underlines made me look like a rude, arrogant ass.

Wait! I was a rude, arrogant ass, wasn’t I?

Markman leant in closer so no one except I could hear what she was saying. “Go to my office now.” Her tone meant she was dead serious. I glanced up and stared straight into her eyes, daring her to ask me again. I wouldn’t go. I would not go.

“Go, or you know what. Don’t think I won’t do it,” she threatened and I believed her.

I know I said I wouldn’t go. But she was blackmailing me. Fucking blackmail. The corrupt bitch. I slammed my fists on the table, defeated. I gave her a look of the utmost loathing and stalked away from the table toward her office.

I wasn’t really angry at her. And she wasn’t really angry at me. We have a sort of love-hate relationship. I know she loves me. Not that kind of love though. More so, I ‘intrigue’ her, as she once said. I don’t mind her. But of course she doesn’t believe me. She thinks that they are a figment of my imagination. But she’s wrong. They’re real, whether she’s going to admit it or not.

I banged the door open, hoping to annoy Markman but instead scaring the shit out of Frank. He leapt to his feet when he saw me and took a hesitant step backwards. I frowned and turned to Markman who had caught up to me. I raised an eyebrow, questioning Frank’s presence. She gave me an exasperated look and quickly moved into the room. I swear she keeps that look especially for me. If looks had a name that look will most certainly be dubbed the ‘Gerard’ look considering she seems to only use it on me. Yes, in fact I will name it myself. It shall be called the ‘Gerard glare’.

“Don’t go, Frank. I wanted you both here,” Markman said coaxing Frank to sit back down. She managed to get him re-seated and then directed her attention back to me.

Ooh, that’s another ‘Gerard glare’. I will count them. One.

“Come sit,” she said.

Two.

I wondered what would happen if I decided to run away. It would be hell funny if she decided to run after me. In those shoes, I would be halfway to Timbuktu before she could walk two steps. Oh, that’s the Australian Timbuktu, by the way. Just in case you were wondering.

Oh, another look. Three.

I sauntered over to the plush leather chair and ungracefully sat down. These expensive chairs were the only reason I liked coming to this office. Compared to the hard, plastic, moulded, uncomfortable, bolted down furniture of the rest of this place, it was heaven. I made myself comfortable, tucking my legs up under my bottom. Markman made a disapproving noise that reverberated from her throat, but made no actual comment about my feet on her furniture.

Four.

She cleared her throat.

Five.

“I gathered you both here because of what occurred during the group therapy. Do you both remember?” Markman asked.

I hastily fumbled in my inner jacket pocket for my sketch pad and a pencil. I flipped to a blank page. Man, I was going through these blank pages lately. I think I’m gonna need a new book soon.

‘No.’ I wrote quickly. ‘In the half an hour since the group therapy my memory has strangely gone blank. I think I should leave. I am obviously of no use in this conversation.’ I slid it across the desk. I could see Frank reading it also. Markman read it and pursed her lips.

Six.

Two things happened straight after and both I was not expecting. I had expected Markman to go off. She goes off at me a lot. I have received more lectures and preachings than all of her others patients combined. But she didn’t. She just gave me a look and then looked away. She had this weird look on her face. It was almost like disappointment. The other thing I wasn’t expecting was Frank’s laugh. It wasn’t a full-blown laugh or even a chuckle. It was more like a ‘humph’. You know, the kind of noise you make when something is amusing but isn’t worth a giggle? I glanced sideways at him, mystified. He had this slight smile on his face. Did he just laugh at something I said? Is he actually capable of smiling? I think he may be.

And I must say. He does look very good when he smiles. Even if it was just a tiny little curl of the lip. His face seems to light up. You know, come to life. I don’t really know, but when he smiles my heart suddenly begins to beat a little faster and that strange wave begins to form again inside of me.

I made to get up; to follow through on my statement of my unnecessary presence in this room.

Seven.

I sat back down. This time the look was pretty severe. I think she was getting pretty angry now.

Her attention was diverted from me as her blackberry went off. She looked embarrassed and apologised but still proceeded to look at the message anyway.

She groaned and tapped out a reply.

“Half the rooms in the west wing are completely water damaged,” she told us both. “Including yours, Frank.”

Frank didn’t really react. In fact, he looked slightly nauseated.

“It’s okay,” he breathed.

“We don’t have any rooms free,” she continued regretfully. “We may have to transfer you.”

Frank sat forward, alarmed. I leant forward too. I didn’t want Frank to leave. I don’t know why. I just wanted him around. If he transferred I would probably never see him again. That made me quite distressed.

Although it killed me to admit it and it was extraordinarily hard to put on paper I wrote in small, precise letters:

‘He can’t leave. He can stay in my room’.

I slid it across the table to Markman, careful this time to not let Frank see it. At first I think she was disappointed that I didn’t speak.

The look on her face was priceless. I watched her as she read what I had written. She looked absolutely floored. She even started to do the goldfish thing again.

“Gerard. Y-y-you don’t have to. You know that? No one’s asking you.”

I nodded. Yeah, I knew. She slid the paper back and I wrote: ‘I want to.’

Markman considered me for a very long time. I think Frank caught on to what was going on because he was looking back and forth between us, seeking further enlightenment.

She turned to him. “Gerard has offered to share his room until we can fix your old room, Frank.”

He bit his lip and gazed at me through those beautiful hazel orbs.

“Really?” he whispered.

I nodded. “Yes,” I mouthed.

“Okay.” I had to strain to hear the soft reply.

Markman’s blackberry was out again and she quickly typed or wrote – whatever – a message to an unknown recipient. Well known to her, unknown to me. She stood back up and gestured for Frank to do the same. When I moved to copy them she shook her head.

Eight.

“Wait.” That was all she said before her and Frank left the room.

I poked my tongue at her back and earnt a stifled snicker from Frank. Again, that was twice in ten minutes that I’d managed to pry a flicker of happiness from Frank and his broken heart, body and mind.

I started snooping around Markman’s desk, looking for something, anything, interesting but there was nothing. On her desk were a lot of papers but none that had any relevance to me. There was also a photo of a young girl, but I didn’t know who she was. I wondered if she was Markman’s daughter. I knew they weren’t biologically related – they looked nothing alike.

“Do you not have any ounce of self-control or common sense, Gerard?” Markman snapped, busting me searching through her things.

Nine.

I pointed to the picture of the young girl.

“None of your business,” she replied, brushing the matter aside. “Take a seat.”

I sat back down and titled my head, watching her expectantly.

“Are you doing this to be spiteful or do you have a heart?” she said, coming straight out with the burning question.

I feigned hurt and pretended to act offended. I sniffed haughtily and folded my arms.

“Is there something going on between you and Frank?” she asked carefully.

I shook my head. I pulled the paper closer to the edge of the desk and picked up the pencil. As I was writing Markman asked, “Why did you speak to Frank?”

I wrote: ‘Nothing is going on. Don’t stress your weak little heart. I had to speak. He was tearing himself apart.’

She read it and nodded. “You know what happened to him?” she asked.

I nodded.

In big, glaring block letters I wrote one word: ‘RAPE’.

Ten.

She made a ‘tsk’ noise. “You sneak, Gerard. That was private and confidential. Do you want Frank to read your file?”

Ha! Even if Frank wanted to read my file, he couldn’t. It wasn’t in with all the others. I checked. In fact, I turned that whole room upside down just looking for it. I know the files in that room were just copies of the originals. The originals were in Markman’s office. The originals I couldn’t get to. That exceedingly annoyed me. What was so shocking that they couldn’t make a copy of my file?

I wrote: ‘My file isn’t in there. I checked. Where is it?’

“I don’t think you want to read your file,” Markman said softly.

I rolled my eyes and placed the graphite back to the paper. I put in writing my strong desire: ‘I think I do!’

“Are you concerned about Frank because he reminds you of someone?” Markman asked suddenly. She had been brooding for a while. “Another boy, around the same age?”

I shook my head. I didn’t know another boy around the same age. I had been stuck here for the past two and a half years. I only knew the people who come and go.

Markman took a deep, unsteady breath. She rubbed her eyes, smudging her mascara. “Has this got anything to do with them?”

I pretended to think for a while. I tapped my chin as though I was deep in thought. I leant forward and wrote: ‘Everything is to do with them.’

I think after I wrote that we sat in silence for a very long time. Not just the usual few seconds, I’m talking minutes. Markman looked like she was at her wits end. I didn’t make any sounds anyway so basically it was silence on her part. I was silent all the time.

“Gerard, you’ve been here a long time.”

No shit, Sherlock! You think I don’t fucking know I’ve been here a long time? I didn’t just sleep through the whole 30 months, you know!

“A lot of the staff trust you. They trust you more than any of the other patients.”

I know! I am like, the king of this place. No, not really.

“I think you’re starting to abuse that trust.”

Ahhhhh, what? What gives you that idea?

“I do think you’re trustworthy. But I think in some aspects you aren’t.”

Like what?

“Especially when it comes to medication.”

I seriously think Markman can read my mind. She says something and I answer in my head and she seems to know what I’m thinking. Freaky.

“I want to try something new.”

I rolled my eyes. Here we go.

“I’d like to change your medication. You understand you’re on a drug called Navane?”

I concurred by nodding my head.

“I want to try a different medication. It’s called Clozapine. I think you will respond well to it. However, it does have a few side effects. I want to make you aware that Clozapine has led to the development of agranulocytosis in some patients.”

A-gran – u – what? She wasn’t really making much sense.

“Agranulocytosis is a significant suppression of the white blood cell count in your body. It can be life-threatening. Because of the lowered white blood cells it means your body is compromised in its ability to fight infections. So once you go on this drug you must tell us if you start to notice the early signs of infection, okay?”

No, it wasn’t okay. I didn’t want to die because of some stupid drug. I’m not sick. I don’t care what you say. No drugs can fix me. Nothing else worked, why would this? Maybe it’s time you accepted that I can’t be fixed, simply because I’m not broken.

I folded my arms, knowing there was more. There was always more.

“Because of the risk of agranulocytosis, you will have to undergo weekly blood tests to monitor your white blood cell count,” Markman said very, very quickly.

Awww, hell no! I hate needles. There ain’t no fucking way you’re gonna stick me with a needle very week. No, no, no!

I wrote a very large ‘NO!’ on the paper and ripped it off. I threw it at Markman and tucked my sketch book back into my pocket. Then I walked out. For once, she didn’t try to stop me.

***

“Lights out!” The shrill, institution-worthy voice echoed down the halls and managed to seep in under the crack at the bottom of my room’s door.

I swear they treat us like two year olds in this place. Man, what I would give to be able to control that damn light switch myself.

The lights flicked off, sending the room into an eerie darkness, illuminated only by a few rays of moonlight that flittered in through the reinforced glass windows high above our heads.

I heard Frank shuffle into a comfortable position but otherwise heard nothing from him before I fell asleep. I always fall asleep straightaway. I never had anyone to talk to. Not that I talk anyway.

Something woke me up that night. I thought it was exceedingly strange that I woke up at my own accord in the middle of the night. I never wake up. I always, always sleep through the night. I was like a mother’s dream true. I never need to pee or anything like that. Which was why when I woke up, I thought it was morning. But I quickly realised it was still night when there wasn’t the ripples on the wall. You see, the early morning sun comes in through the window, and the reinforced glass has a strange glaze to it which makes a ripple pattern on the wall across from me. Some months the light coming in is absolutely brilliant and can be blinding. But at other times of the year, it’s dull and gloomy. That’s because of the seasons, you see.

I lay in the darkness for a while, annoyed and sleepy. Then I heard a noise. My ears pricked up. I couldn’t tell what the noise was but I sure as hell wanted to know. I heard it again. I slowly rolled over, away from the wall so I was looking over in Frank’s direction. He was awake. I couldn’t see his face, he was facing the wall. But I knew he was awake. I wondered for a moment if he had heard the noise as well.

I heard it again. This time I was able to identify it. As the realisation swept over me like a wave I felt sick again.

Frank was crying.

Not just crying though. Weeping. He was trying his hardest to cry silently and was per se except for a few deep shuddery breaths and chokes. Now I knew what I was listening for I heard everything.

I heard the uneven and erratic gasps for air and the painful choking noises as he struggled to keep it all inside. He was trying to hide it from me. He was ashamed to cry in front of me but by the looks of it, couldn’t hold it in much longer.

A sob escaped next, hurriedly silenced. I continued to watch him quietly, waiting to see what he would do. He struggled to keep any noises from escaping for a good five minutes before finally turning his head into his pillow and letting go. Even though the pillow muffled the sounds, they were still identifiable.

As I lay listening to him I felt like I was intruding. But I didn’t know what to do. He was trying to hide his crying from me, so it would humiliate him if I acknowledged it. But every one of Frank’s sobs stabbed me right in the heart.

Frank’s sob were flowing freely now. It was real pain. It was the sound of real, heartbreaking emotional pain leaving his body.

I couldn’t stand it any longer. I couldn’t stand Frank doing this to us both any longer. I silently slipped out of my bed and made my way to his bed. I crouched down and whispered his name. His sobs ceased immediately. He went as rigid as a board and then slowly turned to look at me.

I was right; the humiliation was evident on his face.

“Go away,” he said, struggling to keep it inside again.

Although he had stopped making noises, the tears were still flowing freely. The small drops of salty water ran in rivers down his cheeks and sparkled in the moonlight. His eyes were hidden in darkness but I knew they would be red and puffy.

I had never seen anyone like this before. So raw. So in pain.

Maybe he wanted to talk? I mimed talking. I couldn’t think of any words that would be worthy of being spoken in such an awkward situation.

“Why do you want to talk? You never talk anyway!” he choked out in such a harsh voice I was shocked.

But I wasn’t about to give in. I sat down on the ground, making myself comfortable. “It’s not that I don’t talk,” I whispered. “It’s just that I always listen.”

The sobs simply erupted after that. The soul-wrenching, heart-binding sobs that stabbed me like a knife. I reached out and touched his arm gently through the sheets. I was touching him, but in another sense I wasn’t. His hand shot out and he gripped mine tightly. We were holding hands, but the sheet separated us and prevented our hands from properly touching. I had found a way around his fear of touching others and letting others touch him. He pulled his and my hand up to his face, trying to hide. He clenched his eyes shut and wept so hard it actually hurt me. But now I realised, I wasn’t trying to make him better or prevent him from crying. I was simply here to help him cry.

I held his hand through the sheets for so long. The minutes seemed to slip away into nothing. What surprised me the most was the amount of tears he shed. I could see them sliding down his cheeks and over his jaw. Some ran down the side of his nose and others into his mouth. I have never seen anyone cry so many tears. It was almost like he was pouring his heart and his soul right out through his eyes.

Thankfully though I was here to catch them and maybe, one day, I would be the one to help put them back in.