Home Again, Soldier

3- Please Stay

3- Please Stay
Title cred: Stay by Mayday Parade

The next day I spend in bed. Hailey
keeps trying to get me out but I just curl into myself tighter.

I'm scared. Really fucking scared. I'm afraid of being kicked out of yet another home. I'm afraid that I'm never going to be happy. I'm afraid of myself. The thoughts that lurk inside my head and make me feel as if I'm a malicious person. The quiet of this room certainly is not serene, it's violent as it lets my thoughts run free.

God, what am I going to do with myself? No one will keep me in two years, when I turn eighteen, no one will even keep me now. I can't even handle myself, how am I supposed to find a house and a job and, oh god, college. I feel myself curl in tighter as the thoughts get louder. I'm fucking worthless. I'm not anything anybody wants. I don't have skills, just anxiety.

I find myself more than nostalgic for the days when I was younger. I'm desperately grasping at the minutes going by to try to slow them down. I want to be a kid forever, being innocent and so unaware of all the anxiety and stress that is now looming over my head.

I hate myself. That's the worst thought, it screams at me over and over again. I hate myself. Until I'm coughing, chocking on my tears. I hate myself. Pulling my hair. I hate myself. I hate myself.

I feel a presence near me and I let my eyes flutter open. Jack's standing in the middle of the room biting his lip and twiddling his thumbs sheepishly. "Hey, uhm, I was wondering if we could talk... I mean if I could talk...  I mean you could too if you wanted. I just, really want to talk things out right now and I don't want to look like a mad person talking to myself and there's some things Hailey can't help but she tries and tries and I feel bad putting more of my burdens on her." It all comes out in one big breath, and the entire time he's looking me in the eye with this pleading little look.

I try to say yes but that fails, so I opt for nodding my head. It really only move a fraction of an inch but Jack gets me, understanding with a sigh of relief and climbing into the bed in the open space on my left. I'm laying on my side facing away from him, feeling like a slab of concrete that won't budge (or roll over for that matter), but I still feel Jack's weight make the bed sink down a little bit as he crawls under the covers.

He starts talking and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in. "My grandparents dropped me off here when I was, like three or four. My parents are bad people and my grandparents couldn't take care of me, being old and wrinkly. It's weird growing up like this. I feel alone all the time." Jack's breathing steady next to me and I listen to his words instead of my thoughts. It works, the negativity slinks back into the edge of my brain, to be rediscovered at a later time. "Sometimes, actually, a lot of the times, I think that since that since my parents didn't love me, then no one can love me."

My body's rolling over to face him without my permission. His eyes are rimmed with tears that threaten to spill, so he keeps them locked on the ceiling. I was graphed onto this tree because of three parts tragedy and one part left alone. My parents didn't opt for a better future, they loved me. Jack's, however...

Once he blinks the tears away, he looks down at me, with eyes so sad I actually get kind of nauseous. I'm lifting a heavy hand and placing it on top of his hand that's resting on his chest. His breathing is more sporadic now than when he first laid down. He looks surprised, hell, I'm surprised, I hadn't willingly touched another human since the accident. Jack's surprise is quickly replaced with gratefulness-- probably knowing that this action took a lot for me. It makes me feel kind of good--comforting Jack--until life catches up with me and I'm yanking my hand away like I touched a hot stove. The last time I touched someone, they ended up dead. Cue the freak out.

I roll away from him with such force that I end up rolling out of the bed, my knees making a dull sound as I land on the wooden floor on all fours. I need to get away. I'm backing up, scooting across the floor until my back hits the wall and I can't go any further. My knees automatically pull up to my chest and I wrap my arms around them. The last time I touched someone they ended up dead. I'm breathing heavier now, eyes open, but I'm not seeing anything, I'm shaking too hard. The last time I touched someone they ended up dead. My lips are leaking out, what I assume to be, the most horrifying noises a human can make, somewhere between a dull whine and a quiet scream.

If I try hard enough, I can hear Jack talking from beside me. His voice is distorted, but soft. He doesn't sound freaked out or like he's trying to calm me down and make me feel better, he's just talking. "I've always wanted to learn to surf, never really got the motivation to go down to the coast though. I mean, I always thought I would when I got my license; like that'd be the first thing I do jump in the car and have a beach day." he chuckles. He keeps talking for a while. I'm in and out of it. There was something about dinosaurs for president (but that could have been two very different times that my brain just decided to smash together) and something about guitars and something about parties with his friends.

He's talking about his favourite bands when I finally come back down. I look up to see a his dark brown eyes sparkling and a lopsided smile that grows bigger when he realises I'm not flipping out anymore. He yawns, I don't know how much time I lost, I don't remember when he came in here I barely remember today, but I assume it's getting pretty late.

"It's getting late" he says whilst still yawning. A panic runs through me, an irrational panic, he can't leave, I touched him, I have to make sure he doesn't die. He notices the change in me, how I try to tell him to stay but the words don't even reach my throat. "Did you want to go upstairs and play guitar for a little bit? We just can't have it plugged in, since it's late." No no no that's not what I want right now. "Want me to leave you alone?" No! No, you can't go your too young to die. "Stay?" yes! Yes! Please just stay. "Alright" he chuckles, reading me like a book, which I'm so thankful for.

"We can have a film night." he smiles and that sounds nice, then I don't have to worry about falling asleep. He stands up and walks over to the side table, grabbing the remote and switching on the TV. I get up slowly, on my shaky legs, and make my way past Jack and fall into the bed,watching the screen move to Jack's will. While Netflix is loading, Jack walks around the bed and lays at the other side, and for the second time today, I'm thankful that this bed is big enough for two to fit comfortably without touching.

He starts scrolling through the thousands of selections and I make grabby hands at the remote, which he passes to me with a small chuckle. I go to the subgenres tab and pick the horror genre. When I pass the remote back to Jack, letting him pick from something out of there, he looks at me oddly. And yeah, okay it's odd that a guy like me, who freaks out a lot to enjoy scary films, but I absolutely love them. I guess I learned that nothing really scares me but myself and my thoughts. Nevertheless, Jack picks out a true classic, 'Nightmare On Elm Street', then settles back letting the movie roll on. Nothing like a good slasher film to help me relax.

A/N

Okay but me. I love horror films. Anywhore. Prom is apparently coming up soon and I'm not dating anyone so this week kinda sucks to listen to. I'm only a junior, I'll go next year. I'll take you, my dear reader. Yes you. Be my prom date next year.

~Danielle

"You're the reason white guys don't play basketball" -some straight dude in my class