how to get away with relationships ; jack falahee

i r l ; 23

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i didn't have time to think. nor cry. nor even process my thoughts. i sent the quick texts to tom and zendaya so they don't think i'm dead and quickly slip on the jacket i had on yesterday night, too preoccupied to get out of jack's clothes/my pyjamas for that night.

all i knew for sure was that i had to get into a damn car and drive myself towards the fucking hospital now. and that.. well.

it was silent the whole drive. jack didn't ask any questions, he didn't even ask if i was okay. but i didn't mind that because i didn't want to do anything else except for wrap my arms around my knees and sob. my tears soaked through the fabric of the sweatpants, my eyes red and puffy with hurt.

i tried so damn hard for this not to happen. i paid for everything i possibly could, i was there whenever i could. talking to them, telling them about everything that happened to me because i so badly wanted them to wake up and not miss another beat. but they never did.

we reach the hospital, some people turning to stare with a recognising look on their faces but i didn't bar an eye. the stench of bleach and white walls were overwhelming, all the people staring made me uncomfortable. i'd been there so many times, when the nurse saw me, her polite smile immediately turned grim as she lead me to the room where it would all happen.

a short ride in the elevator and a walk down two corridors later, her hand pauses on the handle. "i'll be right here. just call out."

i nod as she presses down and the door slowly swings open.

side by side were my parents. both hooked up to identical machines. both as pale as the sheets they laid on, as still as the air that hung around the four of us. i hear the door closing with a soft click, jack's hand comfortingly resting on my shoulder.

"my mom's been battling breast cancer for as long as i can remember." i recount, kneeling on her bedside and rubbing circles into her hands. "she was in remission and healthy for the majority of my teen years but it came back. and this time she couldn't fight it off.

"my dad got into a stupid car accident about 2 months ago, he was crossing the road when a drunk driver didn't stop at a red light. he's looked exactly the same as this for the past two months too." i grimly glance at my father, a telling scar still plastered on his forehead.

"the insurance company didn't cover their medical expenses. i even used my fame as leverage and told them i was the 'world famous star jasmine jones.' if anything that made the insurance prices steeper, because they knew they could leach money out of me.

"i was able to get the charges back to what it would cost a 'normal person' but it wasn't like the insurance company covered much anyways. just a baseline fee and i pay for everything else."

it felt like i was talking to myself but i knew jack was there, silently grasping onto my every word and never tuning out his ears for one second. it was weird me telling this to him, but it wasn't like i had any there option, both my parents were dying, well dead now, in front of us.

"i can't even start to think about how much that's costing you." he finally speaks.

"so far, just under three million dollars." i felt sick as i say it. that much money could bring families out of poverty. i felt selfish for spending it all for my own benefit. i knew they would die, regardless of how grim that may sound but i kept shelling out more and more because i refused to believe that they were gone. the press never knew with my incredible publicist. my friends never know because i'm too good at keeping a secret. the only people that know are jack and g-eazy, but he thinks they're healthy now so i don't want to count him. not even zendaya and tom know, and they're people i tell everything to.

it feels like i break their trust more and more when they spill every last one of their secrets to me. i could tell them anything else but when a question about my parents show up, i can dodge the question as if it were a bullet.

with pure luck.

and, well, i'm still alive.

i could see jack visibly gulp at the sound of the cash. "every last penny i earned whilst on spider-man, i spent on getting them an experimental drug that didn't end up working. most of what i earned from badlands i sent to a foundation that would help find a cure. the rest i used to send them around the world to places they've never seen and will never see again."

"i knew they'd die. everyone would. it's just, for them, it happened far too soon and i wanted their last moments to be their best. so after their trip, they've been in coma for the past week but the call i got yesterday told me they're brain dead now. so far, everything i have from how to get away with murder is to keep them alive just for a week longer but today's the day i'm pulling the plug."

i couldn't cry, i felt too many emotions to cry. i wasn't just sad, i was angry. i wanted to punch someone in the gut, but i also wanted to crawl in a hole and never leave. all these emotions negated each other, but it didn't stop me from keeping a frown on my face.

he knew i wanted someone there, but not their pity.

jack knew i wanted space, but didn't want to be alone.

he knew i'd do something stupid if i was left alone.

he just knew.

i was terrified at how much i trusted him. and yet i do so anyways. i tell him the one thing that nobody else knows, without too much of a struggle. it was in a bit of a tough situation, i was practically forced to tell him the story.

i wrap my arms around his torso and lean his head on his chest. he's as still as a statue, yet as warm as a sauna. his breaths were shallow, as if he was more scared of their death than i would be.

"today's–today's the day you're gonna..." he mumbles, body trembling slightly at the thought.

i already told him. he already knew. he just didn't want to believe me. there wasn't a need to confirm or deny, if anything it was my lack of response that told him everything.

a nurse already knew it would happen and made sure she would be the only person in the room, merely as a witness for the deaths. for the sake of privacy of course but i had a sinking feeling that there were ears everywhere around the room. like all the other nurses and doctors were pressed up against the walls so they could hear our exchange, paparazzi looming outside with some futuristic, telescopic hearing that meant they knew every last word that comes out of our mouths.

she's told me how to quote unquote 'pull the plug' on the machines, which was basically just the switch of a button. the mere switch of a button was able to kill someone. one wrong move and the person you loved could be dead.

first my dad.

my hand hovered over the piece of plastic that was the only thing keeping my parents alive. i wasn't even religious but i prayed to every fucking god i could fucking think of that they would miraculously get up and start being my parents again, instead of these vegetables.

but as my fingers made contact with the cool switch, they didn't move an inch. i feel an arm wrap itself around my waist, his lips pressing a kiss onto my cheek, a wet tear landing onto my shoulder. silently supporting me as i put some pressure onto the button, my eyes welling up with even more tears now.

*click*

"mr. scott jones. time of death, 8:24am."

then my mom.

*click*

"mrs. madeleine harris-jones. time of death, 8:26am."

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