Getting Late for Days

You Bleed Just to Know You're Alive

Love is kind, or so the saying goes, and it never seemed more true to Jack. That is, until it didn’t. He didn’t know what was going on, but Alex never wanted to be around him anymore. It had been four months since he had proposed, and for the past three weeks Alex had been getting out of bed at odd hours, going to concerts without Jack, and performing various other suspicious activities.

Was he cheating on Jack with some other guy? They were engaged; that was supposed to be a commitment, one to last a long time, not a few months. What was going on?

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Alex shuddered as he downed another beer. Getting drunk made things worse, but Alex didn’t know what else to do. It shielded him from the pain for a while, even though it got worse in the morning.

Alex’s anxiety had gotten worse in the past few months, something he had not anticipated. It led him to believe that Jack no longer loved him, so Alex isolated himself. He went out drinking every other night, started cutting, and never slept through the night. He had lots of marks on his hips now, left there by the cruelty of a razor blade. He never knew why he did it, but then a voice in his head whispered, Jack doesn’t love you anymore, and then he just did.

It was, to say the least, crazy. There was no reason, absolutely none, for Alex to believe that Jack didn’t love him, but mental disorders can do some pretty weird stuff.

Worse yet, Alex had started dreaming about his brother Tom again. In his dreams, Tom always said, “Come find me. Come be with me here.” Alex would say, “But I have Jack now. I have to stay,” to which Tom would reply, “He doesn’t care about you. I’m your brother.”

Suicidal thoughts were a bitch. They were supposed to go on tour soon, but Alex said he wasn’t ready, that he wanted to take a few more months off. The other guys were a little antsy about this, but he just told them they could take some time to work on new songs. God knows Alex had plenty to write about.

Time to come back to the here and now. Alex’s stomach was bubbling with nausea. He’d drank a lot since he got to the shabby little bar he was in. Since he got here, three women and a man had come up, bought him drinks, and tried to flirt. He turned them down—he wasn’t about to cheat, even if Jack didn’t care anymore—but the drinks still got drank. He ordered three shots of whiskey and a couple beers on top of it. That makes six beers and some hard liquor, an awful lot of alcohol, even for someone with a high tolerance.  

He stumbled out of the bar and sat outside, calling a taxi from his place on a bench. His words slurred, but what could he do about it? At this point, it was too late for regrets.

When he got home, he crumbled into bed with Jack, trying not to wake him; he was unsuccessful.

“Hey, babe,” said a sleepy Jack. “Where you been?”

“Out,” replied Alex. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” said Jack, too tired to question.

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Jack woke up and Alex was still in bed. Jack got up, careful not to wake his fiancée. He went to the closet, grabbing a shirt and a pair of sweats that was folded on the top shelf. Something shiny fell down as he unfolded the pants. He crouched down to see what it was; it was a razor blade.

Jack gasped upon his discovery. He knew Alex had trouble with self-harm in the past, but surely he’d tell Jack if he had the urge again? Jack pushed it aside, but knew he’d have to come up with a plan if he wanted to make sure.

He got dressed and went downstairs to start some eggs for himself and his love. As he cooked, he thought about the razor and tried to rationalize it, but he couldn’t. Wait a minute, he thought, I haven’t seen him shirtless in weeks. He knew the two things put together were no coincidence, and as he loved Alex, he’d have to confront him about it.

He finished and plated the eggs—over easy, Alex’s favorite—and carried them upstairs. He set the plates down on the dresser and came over to Alex, who was sleeping on his back, snoring slightly. Jack straddled his sleeping body and leaned in to kiss his cheek, then his forehead, then his lips.

“HnnnnrrrrrrmmJJJJJJJJJJaaaaaaccccccckkkkk,” Alex groaned sleepily into his lover’s lips.

“Morning, beautiful,” Jack said, a mere inch from the other boy’s face.

“I smell food,” Alex said.

“Fatty,” teased Jack, getting up to retrieve the plates of eggs. He handed one to Alex and kept one for himself, then produced two forks from his pants pocket.

“Delicious,” Alex said.

“Anything for you, lovely.”

“Jack?”

“’Yeah?”

“Do you still…?”

“What, Lex?”

“Never mind, it’s ridiculous,” Alex blurted.

“No, tell me. What’s wrong?”

“Do you still love me?”

“Of course!” Jack exclaimed. “Where’d you get the idea that I didn’t?”

“I—I don’t know,” said Alex, somewhat ashamed.

“Alex, I will love you until California sinks into the ocean, until the Sun eats the Earth alive, until you and I are long gone from this place. You hear me? I love you, now and forever, so please answer honestly: Does this have anything to do with the razor I found this morning?”

“I—I don’t—yes. I guess I thought—I thought you didn’t care about me anymore.”

“Well I do, so you can stop.”

“You know it’s not that easy,” Alex sighed.

“Then how can I help you?” Jack asked.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing. Tell me—show me—you love me.”

“I do love you, and we’ll get through this together.”