OnlyUs

Jack

*Jack*

It's the way that he's been home for two weeks, and he might as well be a ghost.
It's the way that he says my name, and then hesitates to ask for anything, even help getting up to go to the bathroom. It's how he's afraid to ask for a shower, or ask for seconds with his meals.
What the hell did this guy do to him?
Alex, my Alex, my confident, sometimes a bit too full of himself, always late to everything, sassy Alex just isn't there anymore. 
Whatever happened to him ruined him in a way that I don't think will ever change, and if it does, it won't be any time soon. 
He doesn't speak much at all. He does to me, but never about what happened, and he hasn't known much of anything that's gone on in the past three months, so he never has much to say.
I try to talk to him, I tell him about photoshoots I've done. Some of them are lies. I hadn't worked much at all since he went missing, and quite frankly, it's a miracle that I didn't get fired from the JCP studio because that's where all of my money is coming from at the moment. I take shifts with Jenna. When she's at work at the retail shop she manages, I stay home. When I'm at work, she comes to stay with Alex.
When neither of us can stay home, Alex's mom comes.
Alex hates when his mom comes. He tells me that much.

I think back on the conversation and it makes me sad.
"Why do you not want her to come?" I asked him, because he was crying. Not just tears running down his cheeks, but full blown sobbing.
He went into this whole tangent about how he let her down, how this was his fault, how if he had listened to me in the first place and toned it down at the very least, or stopped completely this would've never happened to him.
I had no idea what to say to that at all, so I held him and I let him cry. I let him get it all out because that's all that I could do.
Thinking on it now, I could've told him that it wasn't his fault, but would he have believed me or would that have made him feel worse? I could've told him that if he had toned it down like I wished he would, he truly might not have been in the situation that he was in, and even if that's true, I couldn't say that to him. I could never. That's unfair and it's wrong. It's sick. 
To put any form of blame on him now, for essentially just pictures and videos on the internet, would make me the scummiest person alive. 
He is not at fault.

Still, he settled down and let his mom come. She brings over meals each time, as if he's actually going to eat them. When she's around, he hides in the bedroom and tries to do it all himself. He fell a couple of days ago trying to get to the bathroom on his own, so I had to tell him that he's got to at least let her help with that.
He listened, at least. Lucky for him, she's only had to come twice. 
I think she's a little mad at me for the fact that I'm really the only person he'll speak to. He talks to Jenna of course, but she makes it light and fun for him, they play games and watch his favorite movies.
With me, he likes to lay in silence most of the time, his head on my chest, counting my heart beats. He does that every single night, and each and every time we cuddle together.
We do play games and watch movies, though. Nothing scary, nothing with pain or death or injury. It's mostly been the family type movies that he wants to watch, like the Disney originals.
I don't mind, because personally, I don't need the painful reminders either.

"Jack?" Alex asks quietly, sitting on the couch next to me with his leg propped up on the coffee table, peeking up at me from where his head is resting against my shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"Are you mad at me?" His tone is careful, and it makes me sad.
I shake my head, "No, why would I be mad at you?" It's a genuine question, I mean truly. What has he done to make me mad? If I'm speaking the truth here, he's been the easiest he's ever been in our relationship. No petty arguments, no sass, no telling me what to do and when to do it and how to do it, no begging me with puppy eyes until he gets his way. 
It makes me miss the things that used to frustrate me sometimes.
Alex is silent for a few moments, "Because...I'm not the same anymore...Because I don't want to do anything, or see anything, or be around anyone, or go anywhere...Because I'm not the same person you fell in love with. If I were you, I'd be pretty mad at me." He sounds so afraid to be so vulnerable, and all I want to do is turn back time and make up an excuse for him to not go to school, for him to report this guy and get him banned from the account, to get a restraining order on him. Anything to take this pain away from him. 
I focus on my thoughts, trying to piece together my words so that I don't say anything that might upset him, set him off, or make him blame himself for anything else.

"Alex, you went through something that I'll never be able to understand, having not gone through it myself. I don't expect you to be the same, and I don't expect you to magically be healed, and happy, and who you were before. You're still my Alex. You didn't go away. You're dealing with things the way you need to deal with them, and you're doing a damn good job at it. I am in love with you, and the fact that you need time, and space, and help isn't going to change that. I can't be mad at you for healing, and I'm going to love and cherish you however you heal." Knowing that I'm allowed to now, I kiss his forehead. 
He's crying again, except it's quiet. Little sniffles and shaky breaths.
He doesn't say anything else, but he scoots himself closer to me, nuzzling his face against the crook of my neck. His tears that I can feel on my skin make my heart hurt. 
This isn't fair.

I wouldn't wish this on anybody ever, but Alex? He deserves this least of all.

Maybe what I said helped him though, even just a little bit because tonight at dinner, he didn't really hesitate to ask me for more rice to go with his chicken. After dinner, he doesn't hesitate to ask me for a shower and he doesn't flinch away from me when I help him get undressed or help him onto the shower chair. He still closes his eyes and takes slow, deep breaths when I help him wash the areas he can't quite get but I understand that. I wouldn't want to be touched so personally when I'm naked either after all of that trauma.
It just makes me happy that maybe what I said helped him just a little bit. 
Getting him dried off and dressed is easy though, I think maybe that's because he knows he won't be naked and exposed anymore, and it's just me there. He trusts me, and I don't have any plans on breaking that trust ever. 

I have him in bed now, and he's watching my every move as I change my clothes into pajamas. I'm not looking at him, but I can feel his eyes burning a hole right through me. He watches every move any person makes now. Jenna, me, his mom. His dad came to visit and he sat in silence, just staring at him. He looked like one of those wax models at that Madame Tussauds museum. That visit didn't last long.
He stares at me while I get his medication for him, so I smile at him.
He doesn't return it, but that's okay.
One day I'll get a big smile out of him, even if it's years from now, and all of this will be worth it the second I get to see that big grin of his again.
He calms down once I'm actually in bed with him, both of us under the covers, his head on my chest.
"I'm scared." He says quietly.
"Why are you scared?" I twirl the ends of his hair around my finger. I have a feeling but I want him to tell me.
Alex sighs, "The psychiatrist is coming tomorrow. I don't know if I want to talk about it more...I talked to them in the hospital...They know what happened, so why do I need to talk more?" He knows the answer and I know he does.
I'll entertain the conversation anyway and help him say the words that he clearly doesn't want to.
"You need to talk more because it's not just about what happened. It's about how you learn to cope with it and learn to heal. It's about giving you a safe place to be open about it. You know, you don't have to sit there and spill your guts tomorrow. You can take it slow. It might be really hard for you, but you know what?" 
"What?" His tone is so hesitant. Maybe he doesn't want to know what. I'll tell him anyway.
"You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. You can take it minute by minute if you need to, and you can sit there and be silent if you need to. You can say or don't say whatever you want to. This is about you, Alex. All of this is on your time, and what you feel okay with doing." 
Alex nods, not saying anything for a good five minutes. For a minute I thought he may have fallen asleep.
"What if they don't care? It's their job. They get paid to sit there and listen to me, tell me I'm insane or not insane, give me drugs or not give me drugs, and then move on with their day as if they never met me at all." See, that I understand. I've often wondered what psychiatrists actually think about and if it really is like that.
"It's not like that Lex. Yeah, it's their job. Yeah, they get paid to talk to you and help you heal, but that word right there is what lets me trust that they do care. Heal. Just like doctors who take care of people physically. If they didn't have a drive to help people, and a care for people's health, physical and mental, they wouldn't be in that profession."
"I guess you're right."

The rest of our night is spent in essential silence, sometimes he'll ask me to turn the volume up on the movie we're watching, or he'll need help getting to the bathroom, or ask me for more water, but the conversation hit a dead spot after our talk about his therapy session. That's okay. The fact that he opened up to me about it at all gives me some hope.
He's not broken. He's not damaged. He's coping. He's still Alex.

Morning comes and he doesn't want to eat. I don't blame him, but I try anyway.
"You sure you don't want any of this?" I ask, plating myself some scrambled eggs, toast with jam and some bacon.
Alex shakes his head at me, "No thank you. I'm too nervous to eat." 
"Okay, let me know if you change your mind." And I leave him alone. Pressuring him will just make him feel like he's being forced to do something and I'm trying to avoid that. I refuse to be the person that reminds him of that place, with that creature and what he went through. I will not be the one that breaks him like that. 
I go into our bedroom when the psychiatrist comes two hours later. I'm nervous for him, but I honor what I promised him by putting on my headphones and watching TV so I don't hear any of what he says. I think maybe one day he might open up to me about it, but I'm not the one who can heal him. I'm the one who supports him, so even if he never talks to me about it, but accepts help from a psychiatrist, then I accept that.
I just want someone to help him in any way that they can.
I just hope it goes well.