Hit the Road, Jack (Jelix)

Letter

Felixs POV
Its been 4 days since Mark said he would tell Jack's fans, and I still have not spotted a single tweet, instagram, or even YouTube video made about the situation. I know that it is tough for him, but it is tough for everyone, especially me. I know that I could not make a video, because I would break down in tears, or even type it out, because I already know my fingers would be trembling too violently to properly use my keyboard. Just thinking about it sends a fresh wave of grief washing over me, threatening to capsize.
I call Mark, and after a heated discussion, he tells me that I shouldn't be placing the blame on him. Not that I've ever done anything of the sort. He seems to have gotten the impression that I was blaming him for what happened, which, is entirely untrue. But I mean, if you think about it, he was the one who knew him best, and I knew only he could have stopped Jack from doing this. I think this with more than a tinge of jealousy and bitterness, and then I realise that my brain has been twisted. The more I think about it, the angrier I get at Mark, blaming me for being the one who was closest at the time, but how was I to know that this was going to happen?
I feel a spark of rage burn inside me like a lit fire. I manage to extinguish it though, by thinking of Jack. He must not have known that his suicide attempt, however successful, would effect the people he loves this much, or else I know that he would not have done it. This thought makes me sad, depressed even, and soon enough I find myself reaching inside my medicine cupboard. I take out two pills, enough to forget. At least for the time being. I fill a glass with water, and, with steady hands, lift the pills to my mouth and quickly wash them down with a swig of water.
Recoiling from the chalky taste if the pills, I lie down on my bed, waiting for them to kick in. Soon enough, I begin to see spots. A particularly large one drifts right in between my eyes, making them cross. Its the last sight I see before I find myself drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I wake up almost 16 hours later. I glance at the pill bottle, never having stopped to check their strength. I make a mental note to never take more than two of them, unless the circumstance so requires. Just as I think this, a post van drives into my yard, and a man strides up to my door, pushing a large envelope in his hand through the doorway with force. I don't hesitate to pick it up and tear opem the envelope with my teeth. I pull out a letter, which I know contains important information, because it is printed on waxy paper that feels expensive to the touch.

I pull it out, and read what it says.

Dear Mr. Kjellburg,
                     
 Having considered the options available, the McLoughlin family has unfortunately been unavailable for comment on this matter. We have reviewed the situation, and, have decided it best for you, and one Mr. Fischbach, to decide on the arrangements of Seán McLoughlin, currently and until further notice, a resident of the Nuffield Health Brighton Hospital. Although there are sufficient funds, and currently no other patients waiting for the equipment used to keep Mr. McLoughlin alive, we have thought it best to leave it to his most trusted allies to decide the outcome of this situation. We at Nuffield Health Brighton Hospital have checked his current situation, and tracking his progress, have established that Mr. McLoughlin has not yet benefited physically or mentally from his time in hospital. We are writing this letter to see if you would consider taking him off the life support, which we at Nuffield Health Brighton Hospital see to be the most ethical option. Please respond soon via Royal Post, Email, or Fax.
                   Yours faithfully,
                             Dr. Anthony Padilla of Oxford University.

My hands reached for the pill bottle once more.