Almost Lost It All

Jen looks at me. My breath instantly catches in my throat. Any type of thought leaves my head. I feel exposed as her stormy blue eyes pierce right through me, to my soul. In those eyes I can see so much: hurt, fear, sorrow, longing, needing, and complete loneliness. A look has never pained me more than hers at this moment. It only strengthens the urge to hold her. I literally feel my muscles flexing toward her. Impatience is destroying my stomach. But I can't break free of the gaze; she's mesmorizing me. I'd stare for hours if it meant I could feel this connected to her again. Because I know I won't ever be able to hold her like I want to. Heat rushes to incase my body in an invisible furnace.

Suddenly, her eyes narrow and stir with a dark blue colour. The emotion in them increases to such a look of suffering that I almost break the connection to go to her instead. Something keeps me rooted to the spot. I faintly think it might be Michelle's hand on my back. As if her touch is the source, guilt floods throughout my whole body.

Jen sways dangerously. Zack steps desperately to support her with an arm around her waist. Matt, Val, and the rest of our friends rush at her. I can't move. I can't do anything except watch her face. Her eyes travel hurriedly and dizzily to Michelle. A look of realization passes across her features followed by a look of pure pain. Before anyone can get to her, Zack moves only slightly, and she collapses to the ground.

As soon as she's down it's like a release; I spring into action. There's talking around me but I can't hear any of it. Everything besides what I'm doing doesn't seem so important. Everyone around me talks worriedly in dulled voices with semi-slow movement. I don't mean to be rude when I push everyone out of the way, but I don't even care if it seems that way. In one swift motion I bend down and scoop Jen up into my arms bridal-style. It dawns on me now how sick she looks in the sunlight because I can see her up closer. I fiercely push asidethe gratifying feeling I have that I'm holding her.

I head toward the house. The rest of our friends are right at my feet. Val, Leana, and Gena rush all around me, chirping rapidly about how to make Jen wake up. The men travel behind them, lost. Well, most of the men. With growing anger I realize how right I was about Zacky hiding something from me. How could he hide something so important? If I had known, I could have been ready. Now I don't know what to do at all. I've been a wreck for four days because of this girl, only wanting her to come home. If he had told me she was on her way, maybe I'd be able to sleep. I could prepare myself for these insane feelings.

You know nothing could prepare you for this.

Jen stirs and I forget everything. I really don't want to look down, but I do. Timidly, I look at her face. She's out cold, except for the small strength she has left. Her fingers take a fistful of my T-shirt while her brow twitches furiously. It's like she's having a bad dream.

I swallow hard. The slow realization of what I've been feeling is making my nerves spike. It's not right to be feeling like I have over someone who should be gone out of my life. Although she's back, I still shouldn't be feeling like it's my job to take care of her. Not as her lover. I can't hold her forever, I can't keep her to myself. I really shouldn't want to in the first place. I've moved on, damnit. I have a fiance, damnit. Four years. She's been gone for four years yet these emotions are still swarming me! With great effort I shake those scary thoughts from my mind and take in everything about the woman in my arms.

Nothing could ever ruin her perfect figure: drummer's legs with a pianist's arms as well as a gymnast's body. But for her, she's too fragile in my arms. She feels way too light. I could almost hug her to me like an over-grown child. She feels so cold. When I realize I'm touching her bare waist I feel a shock on my fingers. A shudder races through me; I grit my teeth to keep it in. I try to focus on something else, so I study her face instead. Up close she looks much paler, much greener. The bruises look a lot worse. I know they musn't hurt as bad as they look. Still, the overbearing urge to find whoever did that and kill him stabs me in numerous places among my body. It feels like ages until I reach the sliding screen door that leads into Matt's house.

Valary is already there, opening it for me. Somewhere in my troubled mind I know she's being the most responsible here. If anyone knows what to do, it's her. I take a thankful note of that as I pass through the big kitchen and den, only to arrive in the sacred living room. I finally reach my destination: the living room couch. For a long moment I can't let go of her. I'm so selfish that I don't want to put her down. I almost feel like if I put her down she'll disappear so I'll lose her once again. It takes a bit of will-power, but I force the punishing thoughts to enter my mind. My lips reduce to a tight line while I lower her onto the soft white cushions. As soon as she's out of my arms I feel like I'm missing a part of myself. I'm missing a limb or something. Someone took a piece of my being when I put her down. I try so hard to ignore the aching in my arms.

You've moved on! Get a grip, Brian!

I finally take my eyes off of her to look over my shoulder at everyone trailing in. Matt looks frightened, Johnny looks shocked, my father looks relieved, our mothers and most of the girls are in the kitchen rushing around to find things that'll help Jen, Zacky... I don't want to even look at Zacky. The only girl that is in the same room as the guys is Michelle.

If I suddenly didn't want to listen, I wouldn't have heard her say, "Is that Jen?"

I watch as Matt reaches over and puts a hand on her shoulder, "Yeah." he whispers, still looking at the said person.

Michelle looks over at the couch with pity, worry, and a sliver of resentment.

--

"She probably hasn't slept in days. Or if she has, probably not much at all." Val says while pressing a warm wash cloth to Jen's forehead.

They tried cold at first but I made them change it because of how cold I felt her to be. Everyone looked at me with a sorry sort of look when I informed them. I looked back at them scornfully.

Now I stand up from my seat next to the couch. I can feel everyone watching every move I make. To disappoint them, I don't make a show of stepping from the room and going outside. As the California air reaches my nostrils I inhale deeply. Only when Jen was out for longer than five minutes did my initial feelings finally fade so the worry could set in. It's been about a half hour and she still hasn't woken up. We've declared that her unconciousness formed into unconcious sleeping. I'm still a nervous disastor. My hands are still shaking. My knees are still weak. The only time I felt relatively strong since she got here was when I carried her inside of the house. I can't find any senses in my mind or words to place on my tongue. I pull out the pack of cigarettes I keep in my back pocket. I curse my shaky fingers as I tuck a cig between my lips and try to light it. Eventually, after three frustrating tries, I'm able to inhale deeply with the comforting flavour of Marlboro filling my lungs. I let my eyes close as I smoke. It begins to calm me. I feel my hands steadying slightly. After three long drags I hear the front door open and close. Before I even look up I know who it is.

"How angry are you?" Zack asks, attempting to be nonchalant, although I can hear the nervousness in his tone.

My eyes open to slits when I look at him. He looks sincerely sorry, but I can't feel guilty for him. I shake my head a little as I drop my cigarette and step on it. I let all of the smoke pour out of my mouth before I speak.

"Real mad, Zacky V." I answer seriously.

I never usually get angry with anyone, let alone my friends. We're all really easy going guys. Only on extremely rare occasions do we argue. I mentally check this as one of those rare occasions. He steps closer to me, ending up by my side. With his hands in his pockets he bows his head slightly to look at the ground. His lips purse before he talks again.

"She asked me not to tell you she was coming back." He explains simply.

I lick my lips. I turn to face him fully.

"You should have told me anyway. I needed to know. Hell, I don't know what to do now. I'm at my wit's end. If I had known..." I shake my head, "I--"

"If you had known you would have freaked out four days ago instead of right now. You would have told me to tell her not to come back."

"You're wrong. I wouldn't have said that at all. I'm glad she's home." I confess, trying to sound the least bit real.

Zack raises his head and laughs. "You're happy, yeah. But Syn, what else is going on in there?"

His sharp gaze rests on me. He continues in a smart tone.

"You're really fucked up right now, you and I both know that. No matter what I told you, you would feel the same way. Seeing her again would still be a shock. You wouldn't have known what to do if you knew she was coming back. Plus," he shrugs, "I promised her I wouldn't tell anyone. Especially you."

I don't know what to say. Anger swiftly clouds my logic. He's completely right, but I want him so badly to be wrong. I want to stay mad at him even if there's no good reason to. I hate him for knowing me so well. I hate him for being able to say something that can get me so worked up. I should be relieved that he understands. Instead I'm furious that he does. Because I want it to be all untrue. Every word he said, I want it to be fake. Mixed emotions fill my body to the brim. I feel on the edge of break down.

"You're right. I would still be shocked. I would still act the same, probably. But you're wrong about what you're thinking," my eyes narrow as I speak.

I ignore the fact that I'm being too vehenemous for this to sound real and the force I have to use to stay calm.

My lips tremble while I go on, "I have moved on. I don't love her. I may be fucked up, I have missed her, but not because I'm in love with her. I'm worried because I'm her friend. I've moved on."

Zacky's expression is calm and knowing. After a second of just looking at me, he looks away, shaking his head. With a small shrug he sighs a little.

"Okay man, I believe you." His eyes travel back to mine and I can see the sheer disbelief in them. "Can I get a smoke?" He asks easily.

I'm more than surprised even though I should have expected it. I go from hopeless to furious in a split second. I rapidly pull out another cigarette for him. He holds out his hand. As I walk away I toss the cigarette at his feet. He laughs a little. I hear him pick it up and picture how he sticks it between his lips.

Zack turns his head slightly to call over his shoulder, "Light?"

While keeping my back to him I fish my lighter out of my pocket. I fling it to my right, into the grass. I hear him laugh again, but a sigh follows this time. I'm not angry at him because of his sarcasm. I'm angry because we both know that mostly every word I said to him was a terrible lie.