Hi, my name's Jake Watson. I'm 28 years old, male. Dirty blonde hair, hazel-green eyes, six foot four tall, 180 pounds more or less.
I'm an overly privileged white spoiled rich American boy according to some. A deranged and dangerous threat to soc...
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Okay, I felt guilty for leaving you with such a heavy cliffhanger, so...here's the new chapter. But to be honest, this has taken a way darker shade I ever considered.
BOOK 3 or maybe 4, I'm not quite sure. I'm not going to make a different book, just know that the story is split into different books anyways.
CHAPTER 61 - THE OTHER SIDE OF GRIEF
COLIN'S POV
I didn't know what to do, where to look, what to say. I just ... I felt awful. Because, in the end, I was relieved.
It's horrible to say, but I was relieved. Because my best friend was still alive. He looked terrible, it was a miracle he was still breathing, but he was still alive. Physically, at the very least. Because psychologically, emotionally, Jake was a wreck. And no wonder.
To calm him down and convince him to let paramedics take care of his wounds, we had to tie him to the bed, no kidding, and even that barely sufficed. The ambulance's driver and I had to keep him still while he kept shouting. He refused every cure, every attempt the paramedics made at trying to patch him up. He only kept shouting her name, trying to go to her. It was a miserable sight.
I've never seen Jake like this. I've seen my best friend through the worst, but this ... this surpasses everything, even that awful night when he had that accident. He was out of himself, and believe me, that's an understatement. Because for the first time in our 29 years of friendship, I saw Jake cry.
Jake cried not simply his heart out, he cried his whole soul out, his whole being. Having gotten rid of the paramedics, he dropped against the wall, bleeding and wounded, and cried, cried, cried. I didn't have the slightest idea what to do. What do you say to someone that's just lost the love of his life?
It was somewhat easier the other times. I suppose because we were little, so we didn't really think too much. But now ... after all he's been through, after all that's happened. I'm scared, you know. This time I'm truly scared. Because he may have resisted throughout these years, but this ... this is what'll kill him for good.
I kneeled before him, shaking my head to the paramedic that wanted to try and stitch him up. "Jake, you need to go to the hospital." I said calmly.
He shook his head, his hands dug in his hair, tears flooding. He couldn't even speak, as shattered as he was. My own heart clenched for him. He didn't even acknowledge the whole crowd of cops and paramedics around us, he simply didn't care. And how could he? Silvia was his world, his universe. Upon losing her, Jake lost not just himself, but every chance of recovery.
"Jake ..." I called, daring to reach out for him, but he slapped my hand away. "Jake, please, let them cure you." Nothing. "Jake ..." He might have opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't. Hell, he could barely even breathe. His sobs were suffocating him, his sorrow was devouring him whole, and I had no idea how to help him. "Jake, please ..."
