Don't Try To Fight The Storm *Part Three Of Kidnapped By Bring Me The Horizon* [✔]

Chapter Eleven: Suicide Season

3rd Person POV

Screams, shouts, guitar licks, but nothing interested him. How could this be happening? Jordan's eyes flashed with slight concern as Tobias raced around the halls, holding his little race car as if it were an airplane. 

"Don't fall." he whispered, letting the words leave his lips; the first words he had spoken in a month. Tobias was now five and a half and he didn't fully understand what was happening. Jordan wasn't sure that he did either. He was filled with so many questions. So many things were left unsaid. 

She didn't answer him, of course. She wouldn't know the answer anyway. That's what she always said: 'I don't know' or 'I have no idea'.

Jordan's stomach twisted as he stared at the photograph, stained and dirty. He wished he could just ask all of his questions and get a fucking answer for once. It was hard for him to actually come to terms with her absence. Everywhere he turned, she was there, smiling, her arms open to him. Everywhere he looked, every time he blinked, when he closed his eyes, she wouldn't leave him alone. 

It should sicken him. It should drive him to insanity, bit oddly enough, when her face flashed in his mind, he felt content and happy. She was still lingering in his mind. 

He wished that he could have seen her for the last time when she was wrinkly and old, her smile still on her lips, her bright eyes shining and her thin fingers clutching his as he closed his eyes for the last time, knowing that she would live her life out the way she was meant to, but of course, God fucking hated him and instead of him saying goodbye to his wife, his wife said goodbye to him. Without him present. 

He remembered it like it was a few hours ago; although it was years ago. 

"Babe?" he called, walking into his house, shedding his coat and kicking his boots slightly to rid the mud that clung to the sides. "I dropped Toby off at Cameron's and grabbed some groceries. Are you almost ready to head out?" 

When there came no response, Jordan frowned and kicked off his boots, knowing that his wife sometimes took a long time to get ready for their date nights due to her slight mental disorder; thinking she was ugly and disgusting when she was the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on. He would remind her every day. When she went to go to work, he'd slip a note in her bag that told her how beautiful she was and how much she meant to him. He had gotten rid of most of the mirrors in the house, aside from the small mirror in the bathroom that they used to make sure that they were 'out of the house' presentable. 

"Darling?" he called, climbing the stairs. "Are you okay?" Instead of hearing her reply, he heard a slightly creaking sound of wood shifting. Normally, Jordan would brush it off, his 'manly-ness' (as she liked to call it) telling him that it was just nature playing tricks on him. But this was different. Already filled with the anxiety, he hurried to open their bedroom door. It was, surprisingly, unlocked which made him feel slightly better, until his eyes landed on his wife. 

Her neck was bent to an awkward angle, her swollen tongue pressing against her firm teeth, her eyes bugged out slightly. The rope shifted as he opened the door, causing her to swing gently making him quickly lose his lunch, letting his sick fall from his lips from the stench and the thought of her suicide. 

Her face was a light blueish color, purple around the lips and throat. Jordan roared in fury and set the fallen chair up, climbing it shakily. 

His hands grasped at the rope trying desperately to yank it loose as if it would save her, but what he didn't know was that she had been dead for the entire time that he was gone, which was about an hour and a half.