The Mind of a Hero

Intermission I

Jack launched the doors open, facing with the parking lot, stomping out anxiously. He reached for his pocket, pulling out a pack of Camels and pushing the box open in a fell swoop, ignoring the shouts of his name. "Jack!"

"Fuck off", he huffed, reaching for a lighter, hands searching frantically in all six of his pockets—pants and jacket—for his familiar blue light, like an addict—of course.

"You know, most people vape now", Davey tried to joke, but it fell instead of landing. He watched as Jack groaned in relief at just the mere feeling of us lighter, and the point from pocket to cigarette was immediate. "It's more efficient."

"I ain't tryin' to kill myself, Dave", Jack mumbled around the cigarette, lighting it smoothly. He breathed it in, feeling it fill his lungs, and breathed out, warmth sliding through him like water. "Vapes are shit."

"So, cigarettes are healthier."

Jack glared at his best friend, pulling them cigarette out of his mouth after and inhaled puff. "I'm tryin' to quit."

The taller hummed. "Shitty job you're doing", Davey mumbled, tapping his notebook against his leg. Jack rolled his eyes.

"Gee will, mister, thanks."

They stood in silence in the parking lot, the soft wind biting at their exposed skin. Davey looked around the building, glancing at the smoke emitting from Jack's mouth. He figured—math, really—that once Jack finished his cigarette, they could have a conversation.

But when he saw the older reach for a second, he realized now was as good a time as any. "He's a character, huh?"

Jack didn't respond, tapping his leg even as he inhaled his second cigarette. Davey looked at the sky, allowing their silence to become unbearable before he spoke again. "I don't like him either, man."

"He's fucking insane", Jack shouted, arms crossed as he blew smoke across the parking lot. "I can't believe he walked among us civilians."

"Civil is hardly a word if use to describe us, Jack. Look what our job is."

"Yeah. Right."

Jack felt the paper grace his lips again—he was getting sick of the feeling, honestly—and the taste of nicotine burnt his tongue. He breathed in heavily, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth and tossing it down, crushing it with his foot. Davey watched as the butt disintegrated, and Jack began to seem cooler. "It's like he could smell it on me. Damn dog."

Davey furrowed his brows. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Smell what?"

Jack shrugged, coughing softly. "Murder, dear. I am a killer."

The taller rolled his eyes, shaking his head disappointedly. Jack had a tendency to dwell on his past the same way a middle aged man talked about his adventures in his twenties. As intriguing as his stories are, it was exhausting to feel pity. Davey knew the story, there was no need in retelling it, but he also knew that Jack was dramatic, much like Elmer. "He's not dead, Jack."

"But he could've been", Jack pointed out, and he was right, but Davey knew better. Once Jack began to feel sorry for himself, it was hard to push away the cloud he placed over his head and held in place with his hands—a poster of pity. He was asking to feel better, and he didn't want to make himself feel better. "I almost killed the guy."

Jack was a partner, a friend, a pal—Davey loved him as much as he loved his own brother. He ate dinner with his family, celebrated holidays with him, cried and shouted at each other, but there were moments when Davey hated Jack. He hated the dance around his feelings, the sad violin beginning a symphony to Davey's ballet, and how his performance was rated on how well he managed to lag behind Jack, but dance to the same music. He hated him.

"You gotta grow up, Jack."

He turned to Davey with furrowed brows, confusion settling in. "What the hell?"

"Look, it's best you hear this from me", Davey assured, turning toward Jack as he turned to him, hostility facing rationality. "You're my best friend, and I love you, but your pity parties are pathetic."

Harsh, but Davey didn't give him a chance to speak. "It's so hard to speak to a person who's feelings dictate their entire life! I constantly have to make sure I don't say something that reminds you of a mistake you made five years ago—he's alive, Jack! He has a family! He's fine!"

Jack looked away from Davey, knowing he was right—he usually was—but he was entitled to feel. He spent so much time relearning to engage with his feelings, pushing them away didn't seem like a viable option anymore, and that was good. "I'm allowed to feel a certain way about things, Dave. I nearly killed a guy."

Jack stared at him, sighing deeply. If he made the wrong move, he'd end up punching Davey out. "What are you even-"

"What I'm saying is I love you, and I care about you, but you're holding yourself back", Davey stated honestly, never looking away from Jack's eyes. "When are you going to realize that you're the only one making you feel like shit everyday?"

Jack had nothing to say. He watched as Davey pulled his phone out of his pocket, sighing as he read the text on the screen. He looked away and pushed his phone back into his pocket, sniffling. "Look, my ride's here. Be here tomorrow at the same time, okay? I'll talk to you later tonight, I guess."

He stalked away awkwardly, a trait that came with longer than average limbs, and he turned around the corner, leaving Jack alone with himself and the various other parked cars of the parking lot. He knew Davey didn't have a ride—they rode together. He did feel like shit now.

Perhaps there were truth to his words, but that's all he ever was—a rational little angel Jack wanted to flick off of his shoulder. He never failed to bring up the other side, the glass-half-full bullshit the naive tend to fall for. He never thought of Davey as one, but he did suspect it. It was a disease.

Sometimes, Jack hated Davey, too.