99 Steps

Step 11: Remember

Jack had gotten better.

Then Jack got worse.

Mark noticed it, Jack was coming out of his room less and less. The few times that he did, Jack would have big, black bags under his eyes, meaning he wasn't sleeping.

Jack had been listening to the same album on repeat for nearly the past week. It reminded him of the nights he would party with Zoey. The nights that they would dance in the face of death, laughing in the reapers face.

It made him want to die. He remembered Zoey, he never forgot about her in the first place. He just remembered how she would always try to cheer him up, because in her twisted mind of logic, drugs would help a depressed person.

A song called Relief started playing, the lyrics telling a story about self forgiveness, and getting through a drug addiction, healing from depression, and how no matter what, everything had a chance of getting better. Jack had forgiven himself, and he was better. Or so he thought.

Your heart beats but you feel like you're dying, you're so numb but you can't stop crying

True. Jack felt like he was slowly dying. Did he try to stop it? No, of course not. Why would he? Because he had Mark? Well, sometimes a friend, or boyfriend, didn't make the wanting-to-die stop. It just made Jack feel bad about thinking of Mark having to find his body.

Jack rolled to his side, his head spinning from moving so quickly after not moving for a while.

By looking out the crack in the curtains, which he hadn't replaced with a darker, thicker set yet, to see it was dark outside. He picked up his phone, seeing it was 1:50 am. Maybe not the best time to go outside, but who was going to stop him?

Jack pushed the blankets off his bare thighs, poking at the fresh red lines and dried blood.

Jack did stupid stuff, like break down and cut, because he was stupid. One thing that he kept reminding himself was 'dead people don't bleed like this.' He read it online somewhere, and for some reason he couldn't get it out of his head.

Jack pulled on a pair of sweat pants, and a baggy sweat shirt, grabbing his hat after seeing how gross his hair looked. He pulled his phone of its charger, tucking it in his pocket.

He crept up the stairs, not wanting Mark to wake up. Mark would just ask where he was going, and why, and if he could come with. Jack didn't want to see Mark right now. Jack didn't want to see anyone right now. Jack just wanted to get in the car and drive.

Maybe it wasn't a smart choice, but Jack did it. Just like with cutting, it wasn't smart, but Jack started doing it again. So he got in the car, which Mark thought it was smart to leave the keys in, and started it. Jack plugged his phone in, leaning back and pulling out of the driveway.

Jack was 18, so it wasn't like he couldn't drive, just a matter of never wanting to. Also like some things in his life.

He drove, pushing the petal closer and closer to the ground. He drove to the nearest gas station, buying cigarettes since he didn't have any back in his room. The lady gave him a weird look; it wasn't everyday you see someone buy cigarettes at 2 in the morning looking like a sleep deprived drunk that got dumped by his girlfriend. Pretty much, it wasn't every day you would see someone looking so terrible, coming in to buy death in the form of sticks.

Jack drove to the park, which was really where the fair was set up. The parking area was just a large feild, so Jack pulled in and sit on the hood of the car. He put a cigarette in between his lips, contemplating lighting it. Of course he was going to, who was going to stop him?

Two and a half sticks later, Jack closed his eyes laying against the windshield. He put his earbuds in, playing music. Gently tapping the beat on his chest, he finally drifted off to sleep.

Mark wasn't so happy the next day. After all, who would be happy to wake up and find their boyfriend and car gone?

"What the fuck?" Jack let a sarcastic smile crack across his face.

"So fucking happy to see you too, Mark." Jack threw the keys up at him, kicking off his shoes and going down the stairs.

"No. Sean, get up here." Mark yelled from the top of the stairs.

"Why? So you can fucking yell at me for leaving my room and doing something I like?" Jack slammed his door, plugging his phone in. He threw himself on the bed, pulling out the cardboard box from his pocket. Mark came down the stairs.

"I'm fucking mad, okay? I've been trying to keep my cool with you, but you just can't up and leave like that! I mean how the hell was I supposed to know where you went or what happened to you?" Mark didn't even knock on the door before barging in. "And you bought more cigarettes?"

Jack pulled one out, lighting it. "Don't act like you don't have my phone number."

"Don't smoke that in here!" Mark ripped it out of his hand, taking the box from next to him.

"Change the fucking subject. Real mature." Jack rolled his eyes, burying his face in his pillow.

"I was fucking scared that if I did get an answer it wouldn't be you. Okay?" Mark let a single tear roll down his cheek.

"What are you going to do when you find my fucking body then? You just gonna ignore the fact that I'm rotting away in here until you can fucking leave?" Jack sat up, shooting daggers at Mark.

"Please don't talk like that." Mark closed his eyes, pulling his glasses off his face. Jack didn't wear his when he left, which was beyond dangerous, but he didn't care.

"Why?"

"Because, I just... I can't imagine loosing you. And you talking about that, and... I just can't deal with it. Loosing you would be like loosing the world." Mark rubbed his eyes, opening them and sitting down my Jack. "Just please don't leave the house without letting me know. Okay?"

Jack rolled his eyes, laying down. Why was he being so cold? Mark was crying because he thought Jack died.

Jack was starting to think his wings were healing, but something went wrong. Now he would always need Mark if he wanted to stay flying, no matter how much he didn't like it.