Broken Crayons Still Color [Rated SPG]

Chapter 10

Diary entry 10: Jackson

I finally snapped...

- Jackson

He lay, pale and lifeless on his bunk. Nobody else was in there, they were in the shower or living room. He was alone again, asleep, dying.

The door creaked open, and a short, fragile figure stood in the doorway, blond hair messy.

"Mark hyung, can I sleep with you? Hyungs are being mean.."

When no response sounded, Bambam stepped closer. He tried again.

"Hyung?"

Nothing.

He started to panic, blood running from his face. "M-Mark..."

He placed himself on top of the older boy, shaking him, efforts going to waste.

Thoughts sped through his mind. Is he dead?! What happened?! He tried his hardest to ignore them, but it was a difficult task. He tried to force open Mark's eyes, only to see them white and rolled backwards, lifelessly. The boy got off the latter, trying one last time to wake him, resulting in nothing but silence yet again. Before he could exit the room to fetch Jackson, the door opened again and Jackson stepped inside.

His face was of confusion at Bambam's look of terror and panic.

"B-Bam?"

"Jackson h-hyung... he's..." Unable to finish, tears spilled from his eyes. Jackson looked away from the boy, and saw Mark lying asleep.

"Asleep?"

"I... I t-tried to wake him... but... h-he wouldn't w-wake up..." His sobs echoed through the silence, Jackson's eyes widening in panic.

The realisation dawned on him horridly.

He did it.

"Fuck- fuck... Sorry Bambam... please don't tell the rest yet, I'll... I'll try to..." He shoved the younger apologetically out the door before he finished.

"Mark... no, no, no, no, no! ... why... Markie... no... " He sobbed into the sheets, clutching them hopelessly. "P-please..."

His arms were draped over the older, and his body shook with every sob. He retracted his arms slightly, about to leave and tell the members regretfully, before he felt five cold fingers latch themselves around his tiny wrist.

He jumped back in shock, and looked at the body in front of him.

Mark's eyes had opened slowly, as he focused his sight on what he held onto. Tracing his eyes up the arm, he realised it was Jackson's. He does care, after all.

"M-Mark!" Jackson leapt forward joyously, clutching onto strands of the older's hair. "Hyung..."

"Jackson?" Groggily, he sat himself up, slightly pushing the boy off. "I- am I alive?"

Jackson looked at him for a moment.

"O-of course."

"Then... then why do you care about me?"

Jackson's eyes thinned as he sobbed harder, feeling guilty about everything he said to Mark.

"Because you're ... w-worth caring ... a-about," He cried and sniffed, looking at the elder.

"But you said you didn't care."

"I-I did... and I regret... it... I do care... I care a lot... hyung... "

Mark's eyes glistened with tears that threatened to fall as he embraced Jackson in a hug, taking the latter by surprise.

"Hyu-" the elder silenced the boy and hugged him tightly, as if he wouldn't let go.

"Hyung.. I'll... I'll never leave you alone again..."

With that, Mark's teardrops finally left the comfort of his eyes and slid down his cheeks as he clutched Jackson's hair, sobbing.

One's bathroom withholds many things, such as your ordinary toothbrushes and face creams and soap.

One's bathroom may also withhold things, like perfume and hairspray.

But one's bathroom may also withhold silver and red secrets, that call your name and leave you in satisfying pain.

Mark's bathroom was the latter. His bag in the bathroom cupboard held razors and medicine.

Razors, usually used for sharpening pencils, no? Medicine, usually used to treat sickness?

Mark's razors were his paintbrush, that only painted crimson. His medicine only made him lifeless.

His bathroom wasn't a regular bathroom at all.

So, when Jackson went into his bathroom and saw that Mark had endless silver paintbrushes and bottles of white pills, he dropped them and sobbed that his best friend was doing that to himself.

He picked up the lime green bag with "Mark" written in small letters below the warning "do not touch" and unzipped it hesitantly, chewing his lip.

Inside were his regular bottles of face cream and deodorant.

He dug through, pulling out the regular items, stopping when his eyes relaxed on a plastic bag that shone silver in the light.

He paused, shaking, before he tugged the bag out.

He placed it on the sink, realising what the blades were.

One of them had dried blood on it, as though freshly used. Jackson cringed sickly, feeling ill. His eyes were still dripping with tears, sighing. Hyung...

His eyes moved to the blue bottle in the bag, fingers grasping it.

Sleeping Tablets, Strong. Do not take more than two in one hour.

Salty tears drained from his eyes, staining his white skin as he took the bottle and the plastic back to the toilet, emptying them and flushing them away.

The words rang in his head.

Sleeping Tablets, Strong. Do not take more than two in one hour.

He thought of them every time he saw Mark. They haunted him, made him struggle to fall asleep. The two boys had made up after Mark's attempt, and Jackson felt relieved to have him back by his side. He felt more relaxed knowing that he had rid the elder of his blades and pills. He felt proud for doing something that didn't require the whole world to know about Mark's condition.

He didn't know that Mark felt unsafe, unsatisfied that he didn't have his razors anymore. He didn't have his pills anymore. He couldn't relieve himself of his emotional pain anymore.

Mark was scared, he knew that he was going insane. He knew that if he continued on, he would likely wind up dead. However, Mark wasn't scared of the prospect of death. He quite liked the idea of not burdening others. He was scared that he would hurt others. But he knew that nobody would care, so why bother worrying about the rest?

He sighed.

Diary entry: Mark

I fucking woke up.

I'm alive. I'm sad again.

Someone (Jackson, likely) threw out all my pills and razors... I feel unsafe and I feel alone, like I have nobody. I'm kind of sick of living this life, if you haven't worked out.

- Mark