Drowning in a River of Denial (Jalex)

Made Of Glass And Careless

Alex

Jack shuffled out the room, leaving me to tidy the considerably cleaner mess that was his room. I paused the music when he left, only wanting to enjoy it with him. That didn't stop me from dancing around his room, though, still hearing the music in my head. 

I crouched down next to his bed, reaching to pick up the laptop he'd left on the floor. I totally got why it was there; it was easy to access... And, he didn't exactly have the surface of his desk, I thought, glancing towards the now clear, not cluttered desk.

My fingers brushed lightly against the smooth surface of the laptop before I paused, spotting something under Jack's bed. A small smile rested on my lips, hoping to find some kind of secret diary or an embarrassing CD or something like that. I know it's kind of invading his privacy, but fuck, I think he deserved it after the teasing I endured after a little incident with him making fun of me for having a Britney Spears CD. It was a "funny" gift from my brother, Tom, who moved out two years, I think. Jack called bullshit on that and told all our friends, and even a few random people in the hall who had no idea who "Alex" was.

I snapped out of my breaf daze and pulled the box out from under his bed. It wasn't big at all; smaller than a shoe box, but not tiny, white with writing all over it, saying all different bands, songs, lyrics and small drawings. I hesitated, feeling kind of bad for snooping. But, being nosy, I lifted the lid, placing it next to me softly, with a small, satisfying clunk.

There was a lot of folded paper inside, the box too small for full sized sheets, which intrigued me. I grasped one in my hands, flicking it open. Words were scribbled onto the paper in Jack's handwriting. It looked so much like a poem, or lyrics. The words were so cryptic, yet they made sense. Many metaphores were used to describe the most simple things. It was like my songwriting, but knowing Jack had written this, using that beautiful mind of his, that he felt it, seemed more beautiful than anything I'd written.

I folded the paper back and lowered it to the box, but not before noticing a silver, sharp piece of metal. I stared, eyes fixated on the metal that glinted under the lighting. I frowned, realising that this wasn't just a "sharp piece of metal", it was the inside of a shaving razor. I knew just how sharp these were, and how much damage it could cause if pressed slightly too hard and on the wrong angle. Why would Jack need the inside of a shaving razor? What use was something that could not be used for it's intended purpose?

I must have stared for atleast another minute and a half before it clicked. Everything began to make sense. 

Was this possibly why Jack refused to take off his oh so precious hoodies? He lived in those things. He was always so cautious with what he did with his hands and arms, making sure that if he raised his arm, to grip the ends of his hoodie in his hands, or keep the sleeve resting just on the inside of his palm, so he could grab them if they slipped. 

The way he'd wince when someone grabbed his arm, was not infact because they held too hard, or that he was sore after gym class. I shook my head, suddenly feeling stupid for not have picking up on anything. 

I was devastated, mad, frustrated, annoyed, scared- basically, to put it bluntly, I felt like shit. And out of every emotion I'd listed, the one that showed was only mad. I shouldn't have reacted so terribly.

I swung open the front door of my home, halting for a moment to do my best job of ridding my face of tears. My parents were speaking to eachother in the loungeroom, my Mum scolding Dad for not turning the bathroom light off. Dad answered in his usual dismissive groan, making Mum throw her hands up frustratedly and walk out of the room. Usually, I would have chuckled at this, but nothing could make me feel better right at that moment. Well, maybe something- or someone- could make me feel better, if it wasn't that someone that was the reason for me feeling this way in the first place.