The Bends - JJ x Kiara

Prologue

(Kiara Carrera)

Kiara's face was soaked with tears. It was almost like she couldn't breathe at that moment; nothing felt like reality. The slight notion that her best friend could still be alive dawned on her, but all her mind was clogged with was the horrible thoughts of what might have become of John Booker Routledge. She quickly wiped at her wet face; using the sleeves of her mom's woolen sweater. It felt uncomfortable. A few thick curls of her hair stuck to her tear-stricken face. For a split second, she lifted her gaze. And the first thing she laid eyes on, was the now-aggressive blonde being held back by two FBI guards.

-

(JJ Maybank)

JJ was only able to see red as he was forcefully pushed back from attempting to take a hit at Deputy Shoupe. His best friend was gone. Dead. He would never see him again. And it was that old bastard's fault.

"LET ME AT THE GUY!! LET GO, YOU FUCKHEADS!!"

His voice felt strained and raspy from screaming. But something quickly snapped in JJ. But it wasn't anger, not this time. It was sadness. Depression. Defeat.
His eyes started to prick with warm tears as his voice began cracking.

"Let go of me... it's...y-your fault he's..." He began to sink to the cold, concrete ground beneath him. He held his head in his hands, his body shaking from his uncontrollable sobs. But for a split second, he felt a light touch on his shoulder, as if an angel had greeted him from up above. He roughly wiped the tears off of his now-red face, and looked up.

Kiara Carrera.

-

(Kiara's POV)

As I looked deep into JJ's eyes, I could see the abundance of pain he'd been holding inside. His eyes told a story, somehow- they looked into mine, stone cold, holding my gaze. Neither of us looked away. Why were we staring at each other for so long? Maybe because our best friend had just died in the storm. There couldn't be any other reason. Right? He's JJ. He has the survival instincts of a fucking cockroach. And he's totally addicted to devil's lettuce.
His expression softened with every second he examined my features- before I could start to speak, he began to sob again. And on instinct, I sat down with him. I took him in my embrace and held him tightly. He shook like a leaf, and it made me feel for him. John B was his best friend since the 3rd grade. And JJ had lost his rock.
"JJ..."
Before I could say anything else, I felt strong arms wrap weakly around my waist, holding me gently. So gently. I could never figure out why JJ was so careful with me.

-

(JJ's POV)

I hate crying. I hate feeling bad. I hate showing my emotions.
But the way Kie held me, it made me feel like it was okay.
I swear I'm not a pervert, but I loved hugging Kie. Not just because of her boobs. Or how nice her body felt against mine. There's a lot more to her that people don't know.
She's like, really complex. And really passionate about a lot of things. Like Bob Marley. She would talk about him until John B and Pope were groaning and covering their ears.
I knew they hated it. But I never did.
God, I'd listen to her talk all fucking day. I just don't know why. I don't know why I feel so many things when i'm around her.
And I'm not sure if I hate it, or love every second of it.
She was shaking too; sobbing against my body. We both felt broken. Hurt.
I needed to form a plan; maybe smoke some weed after this? Drink my worries away? I don't fucking know. God, she smells so good.
If John B was here, he'd be telling me to stop crying and go get the HMS ready. We'd be out on the boat for hours, staring blankly at the sun, watching it set.
Sometimes Pope and Kie tagged along.
I remember one specific day, we took the HMS out. The water was calm. The sky was clear.
We were all dancing clumsily to the song playing on the boat's radio station;
High School Lover; by Cayucas.
I had heard that song before. John B and Pope were kicking each other, and Kie and me...
We were dancing together.
It was those little moments, man. Those little moments that made her look so beautiful to me. I attempted motor boating her, which she totally rejected. Pushed my cheek lightly away from her chest.
I remember not caring.
She constantly turned me down; but I didn't give a shit.
If I could be her best friend instead, I'd take that.
Our group was solid. We were hard to break apart.
My throat felt sore. Fucking grainy and dry. I hate crying.
My stomach hurts. John B is probably rotting in a ditch somewhere.
He's probably dead.
Fucking dead.
Fuck. This. Shit.
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