This Year I've Had Enough

Say It Ain't So

It had been five days. Five days since i found my best friend bleeding out on his bathroom floor. Slit wrists, done by his own hands. He'd lost a lot of blood. He was so close to fucking dying. The most perfect, beautiful, creative, sweet, caring boy, so close do being dead.

And it was all. My. Fucking. Fault.

To say i felt shitty was an understatment. I was the one who deserved to be in a form of a coma, confined to a hospital bed. Not my Alex.

~~~

"Help him, please." i sounded about as pathetc as i assumed i looked, but i couldn't give a fuck about that, all i cared about was getting the fragile boy in my lap the help he so desperatly deserved. He isn't leaving me now. No fucking way.

The paramedic rushed to me and Alex. I didn't move, i didn't want to leave Alex, i felt as if he'd be safe in my arms, he'd wake up, he would be fine. I felt as if my tears would heal his mind, sooth his thoughts, my fingers would close his cuts, my love would replace the missing red liquid in his veins. He'd be fine if i just held him. I could save him. He had a chance with me by his side. But i was told to back away if i wanted him to be saved, and i couldn't be so selfish and to keep him in my arms and deny him real help.

I scooted back against the wall, my knees pulled up to my chest, and cried. I was amazed i still had enough water in me to produce tears.

"-need to get him to the hospital now."

"-call the parents-"

"-is that boy his sibling-"

Jack was aware of the people around him, physicaly. But mentaly he was the only person in the room. He couldn't process that he was surrounded by people. Without Alex, Jack was empty, deserted.

~

The images of that night replay in Jack's head every day as he sits in a wooden framed chair covered in a weird green fabric, his hands clasped around his best friends, his head laying on Alex's chest, listening to how the older boys heart beat in time with the moniter. This was how the dark haired boy kept track of Alex, by listening, feeling.

That was how he'd been sat for 5 days. Sometimes the nurse would come in to check on Alex, she'd give the younger boy a sympathetic smile, telling him he had to get up so she could check his vitals. Sometimes Jack would crawl into the bed next to Alex and curl up to him, putting in one ear bud and giving the other to Alex, and he'd cry. He would cry because he knew there was such a slim chance his best friend would come out of this, a slim chance that he'd hear Alex's infectious laugh, see the glimer in his eyes when he talked to Jack, be able to cuddle with him. All this terrified Jack.

Alex's parents had been to visit twice. Only twice. For about an hour collectivly. They were afriad that their reputation would be ruined if people found out about how Alex ended up in the hospital. They told people he slipped, that he fell and hurt himself. It made Jack want to vomit. He was disgusted with their lack of compassion for their son. He hoped Alex couldn't see or hear them.

Of course he can't Jack he's in a-fucking-coma.

Oh, right.