Stockholm Syndrome (Jalex)

Day Seventeen

Day Seventeen. Jack - 5:37

I regretted nothing more than setting foot inside that kitchen.

I regretted nothing more than the sight that came to my eyes.

I regretted nothing more than the ignored words of Flyzik.

I regretted nothing more than simply letting this happen.

But I had, and there was very little I could do now, except look; I couldn't peel my eyes away, in fact. I wished I could have put Flyzik's intimidating demeanour past me and simply listened to what he said, but no I had ended up out here, a witness to this and Alex... and what surrounded him... those where the things I didn't want to think about- not that any of the situation was particularly enticing at all.

Alex... Alex was alive.

But barely and I think that was quite possibly worse, not that I was awfully keen upon finding my dead boyfriend's body in my kitchen, yet this was hardly the best of alternatives.

It was only the shaky rise and fall of his chest that reassured me of this fact, the fact that he was still alive; the rest of the scene led to other implications entirely. He looked like a dead man, but he was just a man who'd brushed fingertips with death himself, and now the two of us had been left to deal with the fallout.

Well, our kitchen - his kitchen, the marble kitchen that was quite frankly exquisite in all architectural forms, not that I was at all experienced in that field; our kitchen was ruined. And in fact that marble was stained and more reminiscent of a crime scene than the place we'd stood and talked less than twenty four hours ago.

It hurt to think that there were no clues, no hints, no warning as to the happening of this event; I'd just been left a warning I did nothing but foolishly avoid, and Alex... laying there, barely Alex anymore.

The stains of crimson against once pearly white marble were painfully obvious, like crayons melted against paper, but this hadn't been a packet of crayons... this had been Alex's skull colliding far too fast and far too hard with cold, unforgiving floor.

As I stepped closer, my breathing rate only increased, my eyes lighting up with nothing short of pure horror as my gaze connected with the pills; empty bottles, and pills on the floor, the medicine cabinet open, with little uncertainty as to where the pills could have gone.

He swallowed pills; lots of pills, well by the looks of things, a hell of a lot of pills. I couldn't connect this together, because it just wasn't the Alex I knew, although when I thought about it, when I pushed throw the facade of placid and content, I realised that this was very much Alex: irrational, stupid, destructive, and psychotic.

My heart was nothing short of broken, because Flyzik was somehow right and Alex just wasn't okay in the head, well not really and it fucking hurt like hell. Just to see him like this shook right through every nerve in my body.

I didn't want to believe that Alex, my boyfriend and my kidnapper wasn't any bit not okay in the head, because I’d been stupid and I'd goddamn stupidly attached to the most dangerous and reckless of people, and now I had nothing but to stand and suffer the consequences.

And I felt guilty; in fact I felt more than guilty, because somehow I just felt downright responsible... like all of this was nothing short of my fault. Because I'd been the one to do this, hadn't I? I wasn't sure as to how, but somehow I had caused this, because there could really be no other explanation to the boy lying in a mess of pills and his own blood on our marble kitchen floor.

I wondered as to how long he'd been like this. He'd have to have saved the file on my laptop after I'd fallen asleep, yet still after having planned this- was this a suicide attempt?