Manage Me, I'm a Mess (jalex)

One Shot

Jack was such a great friend to me. He had brown hair with blonde streaks on the side. We were 13 years old when we met, and it has been 8 years since we've been best friends. Jack, well, he was the loud and perverted one. He would always come home with a beer in his hand even though he was underaged. Apparently, he looked old enough to buy a beer. That fucking lucky bastard.

My name is Alexander William Gaskarth, and I will be telling you about my memories with my one and only best friend, Jack Bassam Barakat.

Jack, Jack, Jack. Jack Barakat, whose last name means "blessing". Heh, whenever he came to my house, it would turn into a mess. We would blast rock music together and jammed to it, and he would open his bag to reveal stacks of beers, and we would drink it together. Sometimes, he would bring his guitar and we would cover some of Blink-182's songs. He would play the guitar, and I would sing, because I was kind of crappy on playing guitar, but now I'm kind of good at it now, thanks to Jack. Cheers, man.

Now, where was I? Oh right, guitar. Jack's guitar was beautiful, it was purple with some sprinkles of glitter, and the voice was smooth. It was fucking smooth. I mean, not smooth as a surface, but like, you know, that feeling when you heard a really good voice or song? That's it. I fell in love with it when I first saw it. Yeah, it's weird, I know, but such thing exists. Anyways, when Jack was drunk, he would talk nonsense and act weird. He climbed my refrigerator once, and it broke, so I couldn't have ice cream for two weeks, and that sucks. When he knew he broke it, he only laughed at me and vomitted at the floor. Good old memories.

Whenever there was a party at our school, we would just dance together weirdly and people would stare at us like we are some sort of weirdass kids trying to kick each other in the shin. Some people danced elegantly, but we? We tried to kick each other in the shin, and the one who got kicked lose, and must treat the winner. That's why I was always broke, I couldn't beat him. That fucking fucker, he must be cheating.

He was missing when he was nineteen. The entire town searched for him all day long. His parents, and my parents as well, were so worried they couldn't sleep for three days straight. I, well, I was worried too. I cried for hours when I knew he was missing. I drank more and more. I cried myself to sleep. I screamed into the pillow everytime I woke up. I imagined the worst possible thing. I thought he was dead. I was such a mess. I didn't go to work for weeks. I couldn't eat. Everytime I ate, I would only get reminded by our times eating together, and I would vomit afterwards. I only drank beer, and I would get mad at every single thing. I was a mess, a useless piece of trash who couldn't do anything but drank my pain away.

Eight weeks later, somebody found him at the forest. He was a mess, and broken. His clothes were torn, his eyes wandered off, and he wouldn't stop shaking. When we approached him, he looked at us like we were strangers. I called his name, but he didn't answer. He looked at me, but he also didn't look at me. He looked past me, at the universe. I touched his arm, but he flinched away and shook uncontrollably. His eyes were filled with fear. I tried to tell him that everything was okay, but I knew, he wasn't listening. I also noticed bruises on his arms, even though he was wrapped in blanket, i could still see it. I also noticed that his face was swollen. I knew someone beat him, tortured him, but i don't know who. I tried asking him, but he wouldn't answer. He was broken, inside out.

It took him several weeks to recover, but he was not fully recovered. He would suddenly cry or drop things, and sometimes, he became too violent. He hit me once, on the back. And when he realized what he had done, he broke down and cried, and I had to use every ounce of my strength to not cry, because i couldn't see my bestfriend like that, broken.

Few weeks later, he nearly fully recovered. He had stopped suddenly crying, although he still did that sometimes. He had started talking, didn't zone out, and also started playing guitar again. But, he still flinched a bit whenever i touched him. He still didn't want to talk about what happened on those weeks. Sometimes, i heard him cry and punched his pillow at night. He screamed, yelled, and threw things. And those moments were also the moments when i would cry myself to sleep. I just wanted everything to go back normal, that's all. I only wanted to cover some Blink-182's songs with him. I only wanted us to tease each other again. I only wanted him to look at me with that smug face and then laugh at himself, and I would finally laugh too. We laughed until there were tears forming in our eyes, until our stomach hurts, until we felt like we couldn't breathe again.

I..i just -- sorry, i cried a bit, pardon me -- i just wanted things to go back normal, to the good old days.

But then, he changed again. Just a few weeks ago, he became more violent. He zoned out too much, he cried almost everytime. The worst? He was hallucinating. At some random times, he would scream a bit, he would shiver, he shook so hard as if i was trying to hurt him. At those times, i would hug him, and he would hit me, struggled to get free. He would hit my back a bunch of times i thought i would cough blood. I cried. Whenever i hugged him, i could feel the bruises on his back. It also physically and mentally hurt me. Even though I've tried to calm him down, he would scream and yell bad things at me, and eventually hit me again, hard.

I...well, i couldn't say if i'm sad or...grateful that death finally released him from his pain. Just a few days ago...he was hit by a truck, right in front of me. That guy. That stupid guy. I've told him to not drink too much. He was so dumb. If he's here right now, i would hit his head and gave him a speech. But, life speaks different. He was wearing all black, as if he had known he would die that day. I still remember how he walked; wobbly. He was clutching a beer at a hand, and wiped his tears with the other hand. He was muttering things, he was zoned out. His eyes looked at different directions at the same time, but he was also not looking at anything at all. He was drinking his beer while he was crossing the road. That was when the truck hit him. That was when he was flung sideways. That was when the bottle dropped and shattered. That was also when i frantically screamed his name. That was when i got beside him, and clutched his bloody face with my hands. That was when his sight came to focus. That was when he stopped shaking. That was when he was fixed.

I just..i'm sorry. I can't hold it in again. I'm sorry if i look gross because of the tears, but i won't hide it anymore.

I still...i still remember his last words.

"Alex," he had said, as he stared into my eyes. "I'm sorry."