Fighting Thrasher Jones

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Benji's smile caused his eyes to crinkle as he folded his arms around my shoulders and brought me to his chest. "That made me really happy," he murmured against my hair.

"Benji?"

"Hm?"

"You're the only person," I swallowed, "that I have left." I desperately clutched the fabric of his shirt, fearing he'd disappear before my very eyes just like every other person I'd loved had done.

"That's not true," he said, pulling back to intently gaze into my eyes, "You have Sabrina and Carlos."

"I overreacted earlier. I felt that since you hadn't come in the hospital, that you didn't care. I thought..." that I was losing the one person who I loved far more than I wanted to admit, I finished in my head.

Benji's eyes softened and he sighed raggedly. "I've made wrong decisions all my life. I end up regretting each and every one of them, yet I can't seem to make a single right choice," he confessed.

"What do you-"

Benji interrupted me, saying, "But, the one thing that I don't regret, is you."

His words warmed my chest, involuntarily bringing back memories of when Jackson had been just as sweet and loving. The thought sent a pang through my chest and I fell to my knees in the middle of the apartment.

Benji dropped to my side, worriedly asking, "Drew, what's wrong?"

Burying my face in my hands, I allowed myself to cry. It was one of those ugly cries; the kind when you wail loudly long enough to lose your breath. Then you gasp as the tears flood your mouth, attempting to drown you if the lack of air doesn't kill you first. Your body shakes in uncontrollable sobs and you can't seem to find the strength to continue living.

I'd contemplated committing suicide numerous times in my life. It would put an end to all my problems; to all the suffering and pain. I'd see my parents again. I'd see Leo again.

Prior to meeting Benji, the only reason I'd never gone through with killing myself was because I'd always been too scared. Long sleeved shirts hid the scars I'd induced, as well as the bruises left behind by Jackson's fists.

I'd sliced my wrists, but not deep enough. I'd tied the rope, but not tight enough. I'd swallowed pills, but never enough.

Not one person had cared about me. I'd latched onto Jackson, telling myself to take his abuse because he'd been drunk and hadn't known what he was doing. He loved me, and I yearned for that love.

The loss of my family had deprived me of the love that I desired. I transferred all of the love that I'd had for the three of them to Jackson, and now he was dead, taking my love with him.

Benji's arms circled around me as he effortlessly lifted me from the ground and sat down on the couch, holding me on his lap. I soaked the front of his shirt with my tears as he hushed, "Shh. I've got you." I curled up, heaving giant sobs as my emotions poured out.

"They're all...dead," I said, finding comfort in the way Benji idly rubbed my back while protectively keeping me against his chest.

Jackson's torment and abuse was not justifiable by death. He'd saved my life just over two years ago, but I hadn't been able to do the same for him. He didn't live an easy life with a single mother who'd rather stay at random men's homes than at her own home with her son.