Overwritten

40 : Cold

"Jake?" I asked, switching on the light switch as I took a step forward. The overhead light flickered on, and I was able to see the disaster I was faced with. Chairs littered the floor, cupboards had been opened and plates shattered to pieces. The figure continued sobbing quietly, hunched over.

It was dreadfully cold too. The heating was off, and the window was open. I shivered as I looked around at the devastation that was greeting my return home. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, although as per usual, it didn't seem to do much,

"Jake?" I asked again, unsure whether he had heard me. I took another step closer, being careful as to not step on the broken plates. There was silence, my hand hovering on the doorknob as I wondered if it was too late to turn around. I went to say his name again when his voice caused me to jump.

"I'm so sorry..." Jake's voice was cracked, quiet, and when he looked to me, I saw that his eyes were red. Jake looked beyond exhausted, his head hanging as he said, "I... I don't want to try anything, please.... I'm just one massive fuck up,"

I gently closed the door behind me, my heart racing. As I took another step closer, I remained on guard, clearly seeing he was in an unstable state. I didn't know what had happened, but this didn't seem like the Jake I had expected to see today. As I took another step closer, I was startled once more.

"This is all my fucking fault!" he yelled, standing up and clenching bloody fists. He was shaking, his cheeks plastered with tears. Jake raised his voice again and I jumped back, "I'm a fucking monster!"

"Jake..." I said quietly, trying to remain calm although I was terrified out of my mind. He looked at me frantically with bloodshot eyes. I took a step closer, my arms extended and palms up. I didn't know what he was going to do, but he was definitely on edge, "Just... calm down..."

"Stay away from me!" he cried, stumbling backward. He ran backward, hands running through his hair before his back hit the wall. He crumbled to his knees, sinking against the white plaster. He buried his head in his hands, blood coating them.

I walked over, still slightly panicked, but his reaction wasn't one of hostility. It was of fear. When I kneeled down in front of him, he looked up at me, I met those boring blue eyes swarmed with tears. He was frightened.

"I-..." Jake was struggling through his words, his lip trembling. Gently, I placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, but didn't move away. He stared forward as if everything around him was surreal. Like it wasn't there, just an illusion. And I realized he was scared of himself.

When I was little, Dad had gotten really sick.

I remember wondering if he was going to die. I would wake up every morning to hear him screaming. Mom said that it wasn't a normal sickness, it was a mental sickness. I would come crying into his room as Mom sat there, trying desperately to comfort him between his tears.

Dad would stay up late then. He was scared to go to sleep.

"But it's just a dream," I'd said, as Dad lay on the sofa with a blanket draped over him. Mom had made him warm milk and honey. She had sighed when she looked at me. She was tired. She didn't get any sleep either.

"But it feels real to him," she explained quietly, "Sometimes our minds play weird tricks on us. Make us scared of ourselves. And that's why he needs us, we need to be strong, alright Becca? You're strong, aren't you?"

"The strongest!" I'd said, taking the cup from her hands. It had been warm, smelling comforting. I hoped that this would make Dad feel better. It had made me feel better when I had been sick after all, so why wouldn't it do the same to him?