I sat up in a cold sweat. My ears were ringing from the sound of that damnable bullet that ended my only brother's life. The images flashed though my mind. My mother's horrified face. The nurses. My brother's lifeless body. It all happened way too fast. He was 21 at the time while I was only 12. He was gone before anyone could blink.
I could feel the warm tears begin to fall freely.
I needed to talk to Jack. I need Jack. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand next to my bed. The clock read 5 am. His school started early so he would be awake by now and be getting ready for school. I clicked his number and the phone began to ring.
One, two, three, four rings.
"Hey, this is Jack Barakat. I can't get to the phone right-"
I hit the end button before the message was finished.
Voicemail. Dammit.
I opened a message to Jack.
"Tom" was all I wrote before clicking send.
A mere seconds later my phone buzzed with Jack's name lighting up my phone.
"Hey, Alex, you're okay."
He was the only person who knew about Tom's suicide three and a half years ago.
"I-I miss h-him," I sobbed into the phone.
"I know you do. I know. It's gonna be okay. Just take deep breaths."
I did as Jack instructed and did my best to take deep breaths between sobs. He just sat on the line and kept telling me that I was okay until my breathing evened out.
"Lex, you okay now?" he asked breaking the long silence.
"Yeah, thanks, Jack." I said knowing he likely had to go after I had delayed him 20 minutes with my breakdown.
"I have to go to school but if you need me you can always text me," he replied with a caring tone of voice.
"Thank you. Love you, Jack," I said, my voice cracking a bit.
"Love you too." The line went dead.
There was no use in trying to go back to sleep. I had to be awake again in 40 minutes, anyways. I put a Blink-182 CD in the player and let it begin to play Mark and DeLonge's soothing voices.
I couldn't even think DeLonge's first name. He had to have the same name as my brother. Tom. Fuck, I'm pathetic.
"Please come back," I whispered the meaningless plea to myself. He wasn't coming back. He was six feet under for good.
Jack was all I had left. I shut down after Tom died. I stopped talking to my friends. They all tried their best. They really, really did, but if they gave up on life and quit talking I'd have to pick up and move on after a year too. I don't think they were bad friends. They tried and that's all I could ask for.
But Jack. I met him a little over a year ago. We met on Tumblr. He followed my blog and I didn't hesitate to message the skunk haired teen. Our friendship was deep rooted and I don't know what made me open up to him over the past year but I did. Something about him was soothing. He has a certain quality about him that I had never come across before. I just wish I could have him next to me everyday.
He lives in Louisiana in a town called Mandeville. I, on the other hand, live in Baltimore, Maryland. We were both saving every penny we could get our fingers on in the hope to one day meet in person.
