Jacob's pov
The First Day
The first day he was manic, shouting and blabbing any nonsense that came to mind. That resorted to me either holding him down and hushing him so he didn't put himself in harms way or giving him useless things to break. Breaking things helped that day, I gave him his father's old electric bills and plates neither of them liked.
Hell, I even watch him smash a bottle of red wine across his wall of art. The blood like liquid splattered all over his paintings, his light grey carpet, even on himself.
I immediately had to step in and pull him away from the bottle he was thinking of lunging at though. His mind has gotten twisted since Laurelle passed. I just hope this is temporary.
The Second Day
Breaking and shouting didn't help at all that day. He claimed that he needs a break from the anger and frustrated, resulting in him not moving a muscle the whole day. He stayed in bed either staring at his cluttered room, up at the ceiling, my worried yet observant eyes, or he slept.
I know for a fact that the boy is trying to hide away like he usually does. But this time, he has more than a reason to, so I must let him.
I sit back and watch the boy hurt himself.
The Third Day
The quiet, they call these days. I looked it up. After suffering from loss, keeping quiet is how some grieve. He didn't peep a word. Not when he finally ate something for the first time in thirty-six hours, not when he drew in his room at seven pm with the lights off. Not when I played his favourite songs, not even when he stepped outside and caught me smoking. He just frowned and snatched the pack of fags from my fingertips, returning back inside. He didn't say a word when I told him I was going to stop by Angelina's flat and pick up some clothes. Neither did he say a thing when I came back with a new shiner covering up my fading ones.
He just kept quiet.
The Fourth Day
When he lost his mother it triggered him two years back to when he lost Dylan. When he lost the first love of his life and pushed his best friends away because of it.
I figured all of this out when I woke up at five am to see Troye leant up against his wall, cradling his painting of Dylan while sobbing into it. "I miss you, Dyl, I miss you a lot." He had whispered. "I know I shouldn't and I'm selfish for it, but I miss you. God, I miss you so much."
I couldn't let him keep quiet with me anymore, I spoke up.
"Tro?" I whisper, my voice scratchy from just waking up.
He snaps his head up to look at me, "Sorry, did I wake you?"
"Yes, I don't mind. Are you alright?" I ask, slipping his blanket off of my chest and sitting up.
I let my legs dangle off of his bed while staring at him.
"Go back to sleep, Jakey, you shouldn't be up just because I am." He sighs, waving me to get back under the covers.
I scoff and shake my head no, "It's fine. I'd rather talk to you when I should be asleep than you not talk to me at all."
"I'm sorry," He frowns.
"Don't be, I understand." I assure him, sliding down the bed and onto the carpet until I'm nearly a meter away from him.
He nods and looks away for a moment, returning his eyes to my face to gaze at my bugger of a bruise forming on my cheek.
"What did you do to piss off Jody now?" Troye questions, flicking his eyes to the side to meet mine. I freeze and clench my jaw.
"Wasn't Jody," I lie right through my teeth.
He raised his eyebrows and narrows his eyes at me, obviously buying it.
"It wasn't?" He challenges.
