Therapy (Jalex)

Alternate Ending

Patient: Alexander William Gaskarth

Notes: past denial, attempting to cope

-Dr. Bassam Barakat

-

"Alex, did you take your medicine?" My mother asked, calling from downstairs. I peeled myself from my bed, groggy and unable to remember, and checked my pill box. The box for Saturday was empty.

"Yes," I called back, flopping back onto my bed. I winced as I hit the bed, since my broken ribs hadn't fully healed yet. I heard my mom trek up the stairs and my room door opened.

"Alright, your father and I are going couples' therapy now," she said, sticking her head through the door. "Be good."

I nodded. "Have fun."

She closed the door and walked downstairs. I heard her and Dad talk, and then the garage door opened and closed.

I sighed and looked at the ceiling. Is this what my life had been reduced to? Taking my medicine, being submissive, and staring at the ceiling? There was no crying over Tom, there was no telling Jack I loved him. I was emotionally dead. The only people I talked to were Rian and Zack, and that was only to find any traces of them knowing Jack. I hadn't talked to them in a while, though. I had finally accepted that Jack never existed.

Ding.

The doorbell rung.

I groaned and pushed myself off the bed. I hopped downstairs slowly on one foot, and once I got downstairs, I sat myself in my wheelchair. The doorbell rung again, and I yelled, "Just a moment!"

I rolled myself to the door and opened it. Standing in front of me was the mailman dressed in blue, holding a package. He didn't hide his surprise that I was in a wheelchair very well, but I got that look a lot now. Thankfully, I would be getting out of the chair this afternoon at my doctor's appointment. The mailman had to lower his gaze to meet me.

"Alex Gaskarth?" he inquired, reading off his clipboard. I nodded and signed. He donned me the package and walked away. I moved back and closed the door before inspecting the box. Why would anyone send me a package? I didn't have that many friends.

I took the brown cardboard box in my hands and screamed. My heart pounded in my ribcage, and I stopped breathing.

"Holy shit," I murmured, staring at the package. The print was clear, but yet I couldn't process it. It was in the messy handwriting I knew so well.

From: Jack Barakat
To: Alex Gaskarth

Tears welled up in my eyes, a yelp escaping my mouth. I couldn't stop staring.

He was real.