Beautiful Crime

Woke Up A Rebel

1 Woke Up A Rebel (Title by Reuben And The Dark) 

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February 18th 2021

"Please, please, Jay! Jay! Look at me!"

He would have loved nothing more, but he couldn't. His lids were too heavy and swollen, almost as if they were sewn shut and his head felt like twice its usual size. If he'd had to guess, he had at least a concussion, maybe even serious head trauma. The task at hand felt absolutely impossible, although he knew, that if he managed to open them now, he'd look into his favorite, long-lashed and expressive blue orbs. Eyes that were his anchor and focal point, usually full of fire and passion, full of life. Full of promises that everything would be alright. Only, the last thing he'd seen in them had been nerve wrecking fear, shock and panic. He so desperately had wanted to take that away.

But now? He was drifting further and further away, as if only small waves of consciousness washed over him, barely keeping him connected to the outside world. One minute every bone and muscle in his body ached so much that he wanted to scream and there definitely was a warm, sticky liquid running down his temple. The next minute he felt nothing at all, like he was drowning under water, a low buzzing sound in his ears silencing everything else around him. In those minutes he was almost at peace.

He was struggling to take deeper breaths and he knew it probably was because a broken rib was digging into his lungs. Probably one of many broken ribs. Still he wasn't sure, if the wheezing sounds were actually coming out of his mouth, or someone else's. It was difficult to tell, somehow it didn't feel real. The thoughts in his head either didn't add up, or he was too tired to figure them out. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so overall sore.

Again there was this sound ringing through the blanket of nothingness around him:

"Jay! Baby, please don't die! Don't die on me! You can't! We... I need you!"

Someone was shaking him and pulling him up. The small eruptions let the pain in his head flare up again. Someone groaned. Had that been him? He felt like a puppet with absolute no control over anything. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could give in response, although a small part of him knew she desperately needed him to give her something to hold on to. All he had ever wanted to do was be there for her, and now it looked like he was failing her completely. She should have stayed far away from him, right from the start, because apparently he was doomed. He had only wanted to help, to protect her, his family, but he had only made it worse. So much worse...

His only consolation was, that if he indeed was dying, these arms holding him, were the only ones he would ever want to die in. No doubt they belonged to her. He'd know her embrace in any possible and impossible state, semi-conscious or even unconscious.

He wanted to hug her back, wanted to show her that he felt her presence and warmth by his side, that he was trying not to let go and leave her, to feel her one last time, but no chance: He didn't have the strength. To the tiny piece of him that was still very much alive, this weakened and broken body of his, felt like a prison. He would have been immensely frustrated with himself, if he had been able to focus for more than five seconds.

Something dripped onto his face, something lukewarm, like a rain drop. Or was that more blood? Tears?

"I'm here, Jay! You're not alone!"