7 Minutes ✧ Syndisparklez

Brick

I softly knocked on Jordan's bedroom door, little to no noise reverberated off the wood. Despite the lack of response, I entered anyway.

It's been about a week and a half since I came back. Everything seemed to be moving at twice the average speed. Almost three weeks now, James and Oliver have been out. Still no leads.

Meanwhile, Tom, Alice, and I, have gotten to be really close. We had dinner together almost every night, shared stories, and watched movies. That was great and all, but Jordan has been pretty distant. Tom has been the only person that talks to him, and the other day Tom was ranting to me about him.

~~The Rant~~
Tears filled his eyes, angry words bubbled out like magma.
"It's like talking to a brick wall, for fucks sake! He only replies with one word, and he never gets his lazy ass off the bed. I have to bring him his food half the time, and if we didn't have our own bathroom, I'm pretty sure he'd rather piss himself than walk twenty feet down the hall!"
It was an uncomfortable thirty minutes; listening to their relationship problems.
I had always had it in my head that they never fought; and maybe they hadn't. Maybe that's why Tom was so upset, because that was their first fight. But I was never sure.

"Jordan?" I asked quietly, entering the room. Tom was out getting groceries, and Alice said she needed to be somewhere. "You in here?"

No response.

I guess Tom wasn't over exaggerating.

Tiptoeing into the room, I found Jordan on his side of the bed. His hands folded neatly over his chest, the covers crumpled around him, his gaze fixated on the ceiling fan.

His chest peacefully lifted up, then down, his eyelids obviously struggling to stay open.

He started acting like this about a day after I told them. It was after we left the ER for Tom's knuckles. Jordan just quietly looked out the car window, not saying a single word. He went upstairs, climbed into bed, and as far as I know, he hasn't gotten up since.

"Have you eaten today?" I whispered. It was so silent in this room, I felt as if I was being too loud. A foreigner in a mute land.

He made no attempt to acknowledge my presence. I carefully sat on the bed beside him.

"How are you doing?"

He exhaled out of his nose slightly harder than usual, letting his eyes shut tight.

"Are you okay?"

His eyebrows furrowed together, thinking for a bit, before finally croaking out.

"My head hurts."

"Oh, well-" I mumbled, propping myself up again the headboard, gently placing my hands against the sides of his temples. "Here," my fingertips rubbed against his sweaty skin.

His shoulders relaxed, as he adjusted his position to rest his head in my lap.

My fingers caught in his terribly matted and greasy hair. The coarse, black strands resembled that of a bird's nest.

"Jordan, when's the last time you showered?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"When's the last time you brushed your teeth?"

He didn't respond this time.

"When's the last time you've gotten up?"

~~A Definition~~
Depression
A common and serious medical illness that negatively affects how you feel, the way you think and how you act.

I was afraid to run my fingers through his hair, because it looked like it hurt. I didn't want to pull on it anymore than it had already been pulled.

"Jordan, seriously, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Something's wrong. I'm not going to judge you."

"Why does it matter?"

"Because I care about you... And Tom cares about you, and we don't like seeing you like this."

Jordan lifted his head away from my lap, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I feel like this is all my fault. If I had fought against James, I wouldn't have been kidnapped, he wouldn't have been put in jail, he wouldn't have met Olvier, gotten out, and Oliver wouldn't have raped you. Sorry to inconvenience you and Tom."

"Jordan, this isn't your-"

"I'm done talking about it."