I'll Be Right Here Forever

3

Jeremy sat on the couch in a drunken state. 

He seems to have finally understood why his dad never wore pants after the divorce. It was really too hard to do anything let alone something so simple. 

Dad. His dad died a year ago, and his mother had cut him off again. Was it a year ago? Two? What day was it? 

Tuesday. It was Tuesday. That's what the envelope said. The envelope with bold red letters stating his house would be repossessed if he didn't pay. 

How could he? It's been 20 years. That he knew. 

The only reason for him knowing was because Michael passed 20 ago, and that was all that mattered. He would've been 38 now, and most definitely making the most of his life. Then there was Jeremy. 

He thought back to what Christine said 15 years ago, about how he was wasting his life away. Was she right? He shook his head, trying to shake the though out of him. He got up groggily, holding onto the chair and walls for support as he stumbled drunkenly to the kitchen for another bottle of God knows what. 

His life had turned into one disaster after the next, and all at once he understood what Michael must've felt all those years ago. 

Its a feeling of desperation. Wanting to find something to hold on to. Wanting the fates to send you a reason to stay. It's calling out to a god you don't believe in and asking him for an answer, and crying when you don't get one. It's trying to stay hopeful, despite feeling helpless. 

He had no reason to stay anymore. What did he have to live for? His entire life was just a pathetic waste. He should've kept the squip. Maybe then Michael would still be alive. He'd hate him, but he'd be alive. 

Maybe she was right, Christine. He wondered how she was doing. He hadn't seen her or Michelle since she left. He was definitely a deadbeat dad now. He wondered what Christine told her about him, or if she ever mentioned him. 

"I'm alone," he said to no one in particular. His voice cracked out. He half expected someone to respond, but he'd driven everyone away. 

Where had they all gone? He'd been so focused on Michael's passing and mourning, he'd forgotten everyone else. 

Did they remember him? What had become of Brooke and Rich? Where have Jenna, Chloe, and Jake ended up? 

A strong headache washed over his thoughts, becoming unbearable. He wouldn't have minded dying now. He was 37. 

Even then he couldn't remember the last time he'd allowed himself to live his life without feeling inmeasurable grief. 

He slammed his head onto the table. Maybe physical pain would rid the internal throbbing in his mind. 

He tried getting up again, his knees giving out from his own weight and came crashing down onto the cold wooden floors. 

He muttered a string of curses to himself, and tried getting up. After seeing that he wouldn't be able to get up, a drunken mess sprawled on the floor, he stayed. 

As the moon left and the sun rose to find him there, he wept. 

He really wasn't worth it. He should have just killed himself the moment he heard Michael had gone. There was no point of living when the only other person that mattered was no longer here. 

Jeremy turned over to lie on his back, sunlight peeked in through dusty window blinds. 

He wondered if Michael could see him now. He wondered if he thought it was better that he left , seeing what a fucking mess Jeremy was now, He scoffed. 

"Do you think I should die, Michael?" He mutters before sitting up with a groan, 

He probably did. 

Jeremy slowly got up, dragging his feet to the locked cupboard. A small handgun laid vacant in it, collecting dust like the rest of the house. He put it up to his forehead, as tears streamed down his face. 

"There's nothing else to live for.."

How could Michael jump so easily?

"I dont deserve to live.." 

Would he be waiting for him on the other side?

His finger trembled at the feel of the trigger right under it. 

"Why can't I die?" He sobbed. 

He tried pulling the trigger, but it was undeniably impossible. Almost like something was stopping him from it. He threw the gun in frustration, and dragged himself outside to the old PT Cruiser. 

Throwing the door open he got inside and slammed his hands onto the steering wheel. He felt pathetic. He turned the key and the car came to life. Almost immediately a soft familiar melody began playing from the small cassette player. 

"Don't worry, about a thing, cause every little thing is gonna be alright.." 

Bob Marley seemed to be mocking him from beyond the grave, and yet the song itself brought him to his breaking point. 

He couldn't do this anymore. 

It was too much to bear. All of it was. 

Only now, did he understand, just slightly, why Michael took that leap of fate. Why Michael decided to go. He knew it was time, and now Jeremy did too.