Pretty. (Frerard, Petekey, Ryden, Peterick)

15: He'd Rather Not Consider Incest Today If It Was Possible

And at first, he can't breathe.

It's like swimming, like drowning, but there's never a bottom nor a surface, and his lungs never seem to run out of air, but they never seem to stop filling up with water, because this isn't drowning, this isn't swimming, this is just floating, just treading water, because he isn't living, not really, yet he isn't dying, and he's just existing, just breathing, and sometimes not even that.

And then he can, and it's not him, it's not his lungs, it's a hand and it's life support, but he isn't pulled from the water, or it drained away, it's just an oxygen tank, strapped to his back: temporary, but for breathing, but for now, he can.

Perhaps that's enough if he had a constant supply of oxygen tanks and hands to hold, but he doesn't, right now he has nothing, nothing but the temporary life she's given him, because Lindsey's looking at him all concerned, wide eyes and he can say nothing at all, he can't even look her in the eye, he's just there, but not, but really not; his body's there, but his mind's most certainly not, and really he's not all that sure if his mind even exists anymore.

She speaks but it's all noise and no words: no sense, no meaning and he's struggling as the water creeps back in again and he can smell hospital and his eyes are red and puffy and he needs someone that will let him sink for a while, because perhaps Lindsey does care too much, because she never lets him go, she never lets him sink, she always pulls him back up.

He's not used to that, and perhaps he doesn't even like that, but she's made it clear that his preferences upon the matter are of no importance to her as she finally pulls him up and they lock eyes, and he wants to cry, but he can't cry, because she's there, and he's a nervous fuck, and he needs to cry, and now he isn't breathing for real in order to stop himself crying and his head's going all fuzzy and he's choking on his own existence, because he knows.

He knows what he does, and he knows the mess he's made, and he knows of the hate he'll receive and now he's just sitting here waiting, and he'd rather die, but she doesn't know that, she could never understand that.

And Gee was stupid for wanting Bert, but he knows, he knows, that Bert would care, Bert would offer him pills, and it would be fine, because the pills take away the tide, they push it back and even after they've worn off you've had the time to scramble far enough away from shore. Sure, they're not permanent, and you'll never another fix some day, but their better than Lindsey and that disappointed look in her eyes, and Gee knows that for sure, today, he's choked up on enough salt water for his brain to be wired perfectly into stupid decision mode.

"Gee, I know what you said to him." Those were the first words that made it through to Gee: drowning out alone in a sea on another planet, and suddenly all wide eyes and black hole pupils, looking up at Lindsey, and she offered sympathetic glances that meant nothing, and that was all okay, not quite alright, but okay, and perhaps things would fade away right there if he didn't hate the fact he had to respond as well.

"Oh." It's nothing it's really nothing: just a passing thought, a syllable, a barely acceptance response, and Lindsey shot him skeptic glances, but at least it broke the silence.

"Can I ask why?" She grabbed the twenty five year old's hand like he was just a kid, and suddenly everything exploded in a flash of white light, and Gee struggled to remember where he was, because it was like waking up from a dream- a nightmare, as with the white light, the water and the drowning faded away into nothingness, and then the nothingness became reality in the form of Lindsey Ballato's living room floor, and he let his fingers slip from where they were gripped tight upon the sofa, his limbs going limp and aching immediately, blinking as he surveyed his surroundings and struggled to understand just what state he'd been in and how long for.