Jeffmads: A Story

One

Madison, you mad as a hatter son, take your medicine. Damn, you in worse shape than the national debt is in! Sittin' there, useless as two shits. Turn around, bend over. I'll show you where my shoe fits.

The moment Hamilton uttered any words against James Madison, he fucked up.

Of course, he didn't know that, and he wasn't the only person who didn't know.

Three people knew, one of them being James himself.

Washington - another person who knew - reacted immediately, his eyes widening. "That's enough!" He yelled. "Meeting adjourned. Everyone go home." Washington waited until the majority of students had left. "Hamilton."

"Sir."

"A word?"

°•°•°•°

James Madison was the first person to leave the meeting.

The second Washington began to say adjourned, James was slinging his bookbag over his shoulder, standing up.

He practically sprinted out the door, not bothering to glance behind him. His breathing started to pick up, anxiety flaring.

How did he know? He couldn't know. Who told him? How did he find out?

Suddenly glad for the short distance between his house and the school, Madison burst through his front door.

He had hardly made it up the stairs faster, panting as he threw his bookbag off in his bedroom.

James stumbled into his bathroom, slamming the door shut before locking it behind him.

"James?" The voice was hesitant, sounding far away.

James wanted to respond. Wanted to so bad, but he had slid down to the floor, compressing himself into a ball.

"James?" The voice sounded more urgent now, losing some of its cautious edge.

Madison ignored the voice, trying to get his bearings. A clearer thought came into view, and he grasped onto it, acting upon it without a second thought.

James stood up, lurching towards the cabinet hanging by the sink. He rifled through it until he found the box of razor blades, extracting one from its package.

James never stopped to think he would have been three months clean tomorrow. He seemed to have forgotten he was trying to break his addiction, why he was trying to stop.

For once, James didn't think before he acted.

He didn't think as he pulled his sleeve up to reveal his wrists.

He had never cut there before.

Things were starting to blur together.

The blade was cold, his wrist was stinging, his arm was turning red, his head was spinning.

"James?" The voice was back, heading up the stairs.

It was then James realized what he had done. It was then he put the pieces together as to who was in his house.

His best friend, the third person, the reason why he was trying so hard.

Thomas Jefferson.

James tried to stand, hoping that, somehow, he could play it off that he was fine.

If he were to be positive (which never happened) he could say he got the door unlocked, at least.

James got the lock turned before he fell, knocking into the sink cabinets.