ELECTRIFIED

CHAPTER 3

[TRIGGER WARNING!  if u havent read chapter 1's trigger warning, please do so before reading this and any other chapter!!!!!!]

[three weeks have passed]

The TV played quietly in the background while Joey made his dinner. A very boring, normal chicken noodle soup. The savoury smell filled the small kitchen, and heat caressed Joey's face as the steam rose from the pot. He took several deep breaths, taking in this moment of peace for just a moment. He didn't really feel calm that often anymore, and this was one of those rare moments.

He'd been hiding out in his apartment ever since "the night". Occasionally, yes, he did leave, but it was often to buy food and go to work. He now avoided the fastest route to downtown, though, as the road passed the club where everything went down. It now took him an extra ten minutes to go where he wanted to go. Oh well, at least he wouldn't have to see that building, knowing what went down...

He poured the soup into a bowl, then sat down on the couch. He placed the bowl on the cheap glass coffee table and let it cool down a bit. Meanwhile, he wrapped himself in a comfortable woven blanket. He ran his fingers through his overgrown hair... He honestly couldn't wait for his hair appointment in about a week's time. He grabbed the bowl of soup and began eating. He didn't eat much anymore, because he'd taken a long break from work to recuperate and didn't have loads of money. When he did, though, it felt like heaven. Especially wrapped in a blanket, watching his favourite show.

He stared out the window. It wasn't fully dark outside, but dark enough for the streetlights to cast their sunset orange glow on his floorboards. Rain hammered on the windows, as per usual, leaving white streaks in those streetlights, as well. It was a pretty peaceful evening, Joey just hoped the rain wouldn't become a thunderstorm, as anything that even slightly resembled what happened...

Joey shook his head and continued watching the show. The voices slowly tuned out, though, and he resumed his obsessive thoughts. By this point, the boy's face was so ingrained into his mind... He wondered if he was still alright out there in the world. Joey hadn't kept up with the news, he'd been refraining from using social media (the desperate need to search the boy up was nearly unbearable), he just couldn't really... Do anything that people his age would normally do. He'd been permanently scarred, and there was no way he could possibly get the image out of his mind.

All that blood.

His stomach clenched, and he pressed his palm against it, feeling a whirlwind happening inside his body. He got up quickly and practically tripped into the bathroom, throwing up. He was having a panic attack. He cried and screamed, clutching his stomach and chest. His fingernails practically dug into his flesh, despite being separated from the fabric of his t-shirt. Clear rivers pouring out of his eyes didn't soothe him, despite what people say about crying their eyes out. No, it didn't soothe him. It just reminded him of the crimson river pouring out of Daniel's body, onto the floor. Everywhere. His clothes, Joey's clothes and hands... The jacket. He had ripped his jacket off to stop the bleeding. He wondered so often what had happened to the jacket. What if they did DNA testing, what if he was wanted...? No, he would have been arrested long ago. He'd passed so many officers and people...

The thoughts kept spinning his brain round and round, like a carousel having a malfunction. Joey sat down on the bathroom floor. He squeezed his legs tight against his chest and rested his forehead on his knees. He was seemingly trying to get as small as he could, to shrink perhaps into nothingness.

Something to end the mental torment.

It was supposed to be a peaceful night, he thought. Not one of these nights. Not one of the nights where his brain just didn't know when to stop screaming at him for all the things he couldn't change.

Then came the thought again - why change anything? What was so wrong about that night? The shooting, yeah, but... The only one injured was healed. The only one who was going to die... Didn't die. The shooter did, but if he didn't, who else would've?

But it was just the image. The image of the life being so violently forced out of the soul of that young man, who just came to dance and be silly with his friends. But he was okay, right? Was he alright? Was the shooter only after him? Why were there so many shots? Why... Why? What if the shooter was a part of a gang of some sort, and they were all after him? What if he did die? What if, after Joey left, the rest came in?

The agony the thought caused was too much. Joey got up, his stomach churning, and ran towards his phone, which was lying on the couch. He nearly tripped over the blanket on the floor by the bathroom door, that had fallen off as he ran. He grabbed the silver iPhone, tapping his password onto the cracked screen. He practically fell onto the floor beside the couch as he kept trying - and failing - to put his password into his phone. Finally, he got in, and he tapped on the Instagram logo. Short, loud breaths escaped his lips as he stared at the search bar. Oh, how easy it would be to look up his name. To find his screen name, to tap on the profile, to look at the last image posted. To see if there were any 'RIP' comments, any 'rest easy's. Oh, how easy it would be, considering he had seen the boy's full name on that card.

But if he was dead... Wouldn't that be too devastating to take right now? Wouldn't it fully ruin Joey's mental state, send him directly into a different, darker mind than the one he had already? And if he was alive, would it be relief? Or would it become an obsession?

Why would it become an obsession? Joey shook his head to himself, and suddenly, the phone disintegrated in his palm. The metal turned to powder, and weird liquid oozed all over his hand. He got up, his eyes wide in panic, and turned the tap on, trying desperately to rinse the stuff off.

He rubbed his hands all over a paper towel and threw it into the trash bin. He stared at his fingertips, seeing blue light pulsing with his heartbeat. Not again, he thought, walking backwards into a counter. With a painful thud, he fell to the floor, and a sudden shock seized his entire body. He trembled like a puppy left out at night alone, in a box. He felt abandoned. He felt alone. And his surroundings... Were dark. So dark. Everything was dark.

author's note:
heyyyy!  i am back.  sort of.  i am really busy with real life things currently and writing is rly rly rly time consuming so i have not had any time to do so.  im aware nobody reads this but...  yea.  idrc.  i love writing so im gonna pretend like ppl do.  but if u are reading this, hi!  im sorry if this is a dark story, itll lighten up maybe at some point. yeah i am gonna goooo