My brain felt as if it would just fall out, my heart just shriveling up into nothing. Jack lay there unconcience, blood pouring all over his arm. So many cuts. So much blood. All the colour was gone from his face. I was frozen in the door frame, just muttering his name as if that would make the blood be back in his veins, make him alright. Tears spilt as I saw the knife just laying there on his lap, the pills scattered around the table as the vodka running out of the tipped over bottle.
What had he done?
I knew what he had done, knew what he had became once more, but still, I questioned so much, just frozen and numb.
"911," I muttered, holding my cell phone in my hands carefully, trying to get my shakey fingers to tap the three digits.
"911," I whispered as I heard myself being picked up.
"Please hold," I heard the computer like voice say. Screaming in anger, I threw the phone across the room, smashing it against the wall.
"Jack," I sobbed, my knees giving way, me falling down at his side.
"Wake up, Jack. Please don't leave me."
It didn't matter how many words I said, he stayed limp, his chest not even rising and falling that much. How long had he just been laying here? Was it lucky that I finally couldn't take the space, deciding to come back? A sick kind of luck. But I couldn't do anything to help him. He was practically lifeless. I could only watch him slowly die, the thought of that rotting my brain. Jack, what had happened? Had I drove you to this? It was getting too much for me, so I was sure to be a million worse for him, him being so emotionally unstable. Him being so dependent on me being there for him, me just going when he said go. It fucking tore out my heart out just to think of reasons why he was bleeding so quickly, red stains on his arm.
But I was standing there staring at him, mentally asking questions instend of doing anything for Jack's sake. It clicked, and then I found myself grabbing his surprising light body, running out the front door and up the road. People were mortified just staring at the sight, the nearly dead man just throw into the arms of the crying one. It would of scared me if I saw it. People grabbed out their phones, ringing people frantically, hysterically.
Soon, my breaths getting choked on, I noticed the blaring noise of the sirens, the blur of flashing lights. Jack got taken from me and put in the back of the ambulance, me being given dirty looks, the paramedics and police talking in low whispers. Rough hands grabbed at my wrists and suddenly I was cuffed and being thrown into a police cruiser. Ashamed at myself. I had no reason for to be in the back of that car, my eyes catching sight of friends and family among onlookers. Rian was sulking, Zack was close to tears as he hugged his arms around himself, my father with his paper in hand, the thinnest line you could ever see draw on a living face. I felt ashamed about me thinking of myself being suddenly accused of crime, of attempted murder or pure murder. I didn't know yet. Jack's blood was unknowingly spilt all over my hands, the stains on my shirt and blood on my cheeks making this even more of a convincing idea. Tears just suddenly blocked all sence of vision, feeling as if my eyes were just burning up into black shards of glass. I felt ashamed. The feeling of possibly murdering Jack, my one and only.
It wasn't right. But I just wanted him safe, him to be alive. I didn't care for myself in this moment. I just wanted Jack here, so I could tell him it was all alright. So I could just comfort him from the death and suicide that was always edging it's way back into his life. The sick times. The hopeless times. I just needed Jacky in my arms. I needed his perfectly orthadox skin. No cuts nor no bruises. No more blemishes to be forced onto his skin, him just getting given the pain to numb the other feelings.
"We are going to bring you in for questioning," the officer said with the open door, taking me a bit rougher than needed by the arm, guiding me through a blank hall way and to an interview room. Just a desk and a plastic fold out chair on either side. The CCTV camera was noticable in a corner, but I just sat down, chewing on my lip as I guessed they were going to just eye me for a while as they made up questions. Pointing out every bit of evidence.
Finally, after a few minutes, an officer walked in followed by a man in a grey suit.
"Hello, I am Detective Phelps. I will be questioning you in behalf of the near death of Jack Bassam Barakat," the man said, me feeling my eyes light up as soon as he finished his introduction. Jack wasn't dead. He wasn't dead!
"Near death? How is he?" the words rushed out of my mouth.
"I'd prefer to ask the questions, but he's in a stable condition in the state hospital. So what is your relation to Mr. Barakat?"
"He is my b-boyfriend," I said, feeling my blushes come so naturally.
"Before that?" It seemed as if he really didn't give a shit. He probably just wanted to get paid.
"He was my best friend. We've known each other since middle school."
"Who found him?"
"I found him. He was there just practically lifeless with a knife in his limp hand. Gashes everywhere on his forearm," I rushed, just trying not to cry.
"Anything else in the room?" he asked with the same dull voice as he asked all his questions. No empathy at all.
"There was pills scattered across the table and a bottle of vodka knocked over on it too."
"Has Mr. Barakat ever been tied to illegal drugs?"
Hmmph. Was he assuming Jack was some junkie? I had never seen him with drugs. Heck, he didn't even touch cigerettes. He was just clean. But what about the pills on the table? They could of been anything.
"No.. Why?" I just had to ask. He gave me a slightly pissed off face, just shrugging.
"We are working on a drug dealer case. Some teenage boy selling and buying. He actually has some criminal record. Drug smuggling and rape."
He wouldn't tell me who it was, keeping it that slight bit confidental. But it wasn't shocking to hear about it, until I remembered the image of the pills. Jack had bought illegal drugs. It was probably part thrill, part stupidity. It was probably suicidal attempts aswell. Knowing him, knowing his teenage self, he slipped into this sort of way, thinking of ways to kill himself before actually doing so. Maybe this was just that. Him having a plan B if he chickened out on plan A.
"Is he suicidal?" the detective asked, seeming as if it were perfectly normal to ask a question like that. It wasn't a crime so why would he bring it up? It was just Jack's way of saying 'I'm doing something stupid just so you'll notice. Just help me.'
"I think it's a bit too personal of a question," I murmured.
"I take that as a yes," he said with a sickly smile, him not having a care. "Do you have any other information that might help us?"
"My boyfriend nearly died. Do you think I want to be here while he probably wants or wanted to be there as he woke up again? He means the world to me. And it looks as if I was accused of murder for the commotion that was made. You don't get how bad the last few days have been for me, this stint just tipping it over the edge. I have to go, if you'd let me," I said in a kind of arrogant tone, but I didn't actually give a shit. I hadn't seen Jack for a collection of days, hours and minutes, the first time in a while of seeing him being covered in blood from his wrist to his elbow, his whole body pale. It was sickly, and I just needed to go.
"You can leave, Mr. Gaskarth," the detective said, standing up from the chair and walking out. The officer uncuffed me, escorting me back out to the police cruiser. It didn't make me feel much better having no cuffs. I still got dirty looks, people murmuring and laughing. But they were mostly ignorant teenagers. I let the police officer drop me out at the front of the hospital.
Damn, how I hated that place.
