99 Steps

Step 5: Let it Go

Jack tapped his drum sticks on the side of the table to the beat of the song, singing the words softly.

Mark knocked in the door, pushing it open. He wasn't ever going to wait for a reply, instead he was just telling Jack that he was coming in.

"Jack, it's 2 am, just go to sleep." Mark rubbed his eyes, Jack's music started playing again, waking him up.

Jack ignored him, grabbing a near by note book and flipping to the next open page, scribbling something down before slamming it shut and tapping again.

"Jack." Mark placed a hand on Jack's shoulder, who snapped his head around. His breath was drenched with alcohol and his eyes were bloodshot, hopefully just from lack of sleep.

"The fuck do you want?" Jack stood up, placing the wooden sticks on the table and pushing Mark's hand away.

"First of all, I want you to lay down." Jack just rolled his eyes, and moved over to his bed, laying down on top of the blankets.

"Why the fuck did you go through my bags?" Jack mumbled drunkenly into the pillows, closing his eyes. Mark looked away from the drumsticks to the man.

"I didn't?"

"You fucking did. You went through my shit and you took me out to try and make me forget." Jack sat up, glaring at Mark, making gestures with his hands.

Mark shook his head. "Please just.. I said I was sorry, right? I know it was a bad choice but at the time it seemed like the only way I could learn anything about you."

Jack dropped back down, looking up at the ceiling. "Why am I here? What is my purpose?"

"You're here to try and get better," Mark started, sitting in the edge of the bed to watch Jack.

"Better from what? Why is anyone trying to save me. I'm fucked up, I'm too far gone." Jack looked back to the bottle of alcohol sitting near his notebook, pointing at it. He looked at Mark as if to ask him to grab it.

"No, Jack, I don't want you to hurt yourself more than you already have."

"You have no idea." Jack looked away from Mark, a feeling of betrayal building up in his stomach. He's never felt that way when talking about the times he cut to anyone else, so why now?

"Jack I care about you." Mark shifted, trying to have an actual conversation with Jack, who was just spitting out his thoughts. "It may not seem like it, but I do. I know I can't stop you from doing this but," Mark paused, seeing tears welling up in Jack's eyes.

"Jack? Are you okay?" Mark reached out a hand. Jack grabbed it, pulling himself up, and wrapping his arms around Mark.

"You fucking care. That's why. That's why I feel bad. I'm fucking making this difficult, and you shouldn't really care about me. I'm just so messed up, I feel like there is no hope for me, anywhere." Mark wrapped his arms around Jack, rubbing his back as the smaller man cried into his shoulder.

After awhile, Jack fell asleep, still resting on Mark. He picked him up, almost dropping him, simply because he was expecting there to be more weight. He laid him down in bed, tucking him in.

"I don't even know if you'll remember any of this." Mark whispered as he walked over to put some of Jack's stuff away.

"Go ahead, read the fucking notebook. Please." Mark looked back to Jack, alarmed for a second, but realizing quickly that he was awake.

"I don't need to, I'm just putting your stuff away."

"I want you to." Jack sat up, closing his eyes and patting the spot next to him on the bed. "I just want to show you how much I appreciate this. You taking care of me when my own mother doesn't even want me. My dad tore my family apart, and it ruined me. Then instead of helping me, she sent me away. And I can only imagine how I made you feel."

Mark grabbed the notebook, sitting by Jack. "You're drunk, are you sure you're okay with me reading this?" He asked as Jack pulled the covers back, pulling them up over Mark.

"A drunk man is an honest man." Jack quickly laid his head on Mark's chest, wrapping his arms around his waist.

"Um, Jack, this isn't. You," Mark was bisexual, so it wasn't like he was against what was happening. He was more worried about what sober Jack would think about this, how would he act?

"It's fine. I'm a fucking Gaylord. Another reason why my mother wants me 'fixed'." Jack snuggled closer, closing his eyes and going back to sleep. Mark decided to set the notebook aside, and go to sleep too. Maybe staying in bed with Jack wasn't the best idea, but it wasn't like they did anything. Besides, friends cuddle. Right?

---

Mark opened his eyes, Jack still wrapped around his torso.

"You're really warm." Jack looked up at Mark from where his head was on his chest. Mark smiled, closing his eyes still beyond tired.

"Did you read the notebook?"

"No, I thought it would be smart to wait and ask the sober you. Ya'know, just to be sure you're fine with it."

"You said yourself, we have to work together to fix me-" Jack opened his eyes, looking at Mark with a different kind of intensity that he had never seen before.

"You're not broken." Mark reached for the notebook that now sat on the floor, and set it on top of the blankets to read it. "What should I expect to see?"

"What ever goes on in my head, on drugs or not. I just write it down."

I'm feeling rotten today,
I guess
I forgot
I'm not okay
So long to pain
So long to games
So long say goodbye
Somebody tell me why,
I'm feeling cold inside?
Do I wanna, do I wanna die?
Someone tell me why,
It's building up inside
~
Do I wanna die,
and kiss it all goodbye?
~
I'm a sinking ship,
On a sea of bliss, I'm not okay

"Why does that part," Mark looked down at Jack, seeing he was asleep, and looked back to the next page, which was a sketch of a skull with a knife in it, those same words worked into it: Do I wanna die, and kiss it all goodbye?

Turning to the next page, he kept reading silently.

All these years, an angry child
Broken, shattered, torn inside
I feel old, I feel dead
Barley hanging by a threat
Father, where were you?
To my father, how could you run?
You walked away, abandoned your son
Broke my heart, left me dying
So fucked up, where I came from
~
What's a father without a son?
It's like a bullet without a gun.
~

Again on the next page was a sketch of a smoking gun, with a few bullet shells around it. In nice, fancy lettering was the words again: What's s father without a son? It's like a bullet without a gun.

Mark closed the book, not wanting to read anymore without Jack. He laid on his side, pulling Jack into his chest and falling back asleep, thinking about how difficult it must be for Jack to live in the constant whirl of emotion that seemed to be his head.