Love Is Where His Life Couldn't Be

Jack gripped the knife firmly in his hand. He felt his heart pumping blood through his body. He felt the rise and fall of his chest. He felt his brain going haywire. He felt his eye twitch as a single tear rolled down his cheek.
He took a big gulp of vodka, and put the knife down to fetch a piece of paper and a pen from his bunk. His hand shook as he inscribed his carefully thought out words onto the sheet.
And then Jack Barakat ran the blade across his tensed neck and felt pain for the last time.

They were all outside. Outside waiting for Alex. But Jack was used to it. Everything was about Alex now. Everyone loved him.
Jack idled by the bus window. He saw sprinkles of rain plummeting down onto the sidewalk. The beams of the streetlights pierced through the rheumy air, shining down on the swarm of fans now surrounding Alex, proclaiming their adoration for him. They ignored Zack and Rian, who were standing a few feet away. That's why Jack didn't even bother anymore.
Alex didn't deserve fans. He put on a "nice guy" mask for them, but Jack knew what a deceiving asshole he could be. He basically threw around lies and people in order to get what he wanted.
Jack kept telling himself that he had a good reason to be mad at Alex, and that he most certainly wasn't bitter about him spending more time on his career as a fake pretty boy instead of his boyfriend, or jealous that Alex practically defined the band now.
Jack deserved fans. He deserved to be noticed. He deserved everything Alex had. He was tired of being told that he would never get this. He was sick of being constantly reminded that Alex was better than him.
"You know what?" Jack jumped up from the couch he had ensconced himself on. "I'm just as good as Alex. I'm going to go out there and meet the fans, whether they ignore me or not."

"Where's Jack?" Alex asked Rian, gulping down a bottle of water.
"He went back to the bus," Rian answered.
"I guess I should go talk to him."
"You sure as hell should."
Alex abandoned Rian and his bottle, and jumped onto the tour bus that was parked not far away. It was pitch-black and seemed completely deserted.
"Jack?" Alex called out. "Listen, I'm sorry." Alex continued his trek through the bus. He located the light switch after patting the walls for a few more seconds. "Jack?" Alex shouted, as he flipped on the light.
Alex choked out a cry. Jack lay still on the ground, his body twisted to the right in a bloody mess. Blood was pouring out of a huge gash on his neck that stretched from one side to the other in one straight, deadly line. The sticky substance surrounded him, staining his clothes a dark red. A smashed bottle of vodka rested in shards next to him, and a knife was clutched in his right hand.
The blood kept spilling and spilling onto the carpet, as slowly as molasses dripping out of an overflowing spoon… but to Alex, it felt as if the blood was pouring out as fast as water cascading down a waterfall. And with every drop that slipped and dissolved into the carpet, the reality that Jack was never coming back soaked in.
And there was nothing Alex could do about it. There was nothing he could do to go back in time. He would never share another laugh with Jack. He would never feel Jack’s fingers caressing him or Jack’s lips dancing across his or Jack’s voice soothing him when the fame got too overwhelming. He would never be able to take everything back and replace it with the words that Jack wanted to hear, needed to hear. Alex’s stomach flopped and twisted in the most painful way imaginable.
He sprinted over to Jack's corpse, and knelt by his side, getting his knees stained red. He cupped Jack’s blank face—the face that had always appeared to be so full of life—in his hands, looking expectantly at Jack’s closed eyes as if they would open again. Alex swiped the trickling blood from Jack’s mouth and nose, before settling his body back down.
Suddenly, Alex noticed that a lone, eerie piece of paper was discarded to the side of Jack. Alex picked up the note, and began to read.
Dear Alex,
You're probably reading this because you've found my body. Well, there you go, you got what you wanted.
Lots of love,
Jack
And for the first time in years, Alex Gaskarth cried.

"If there's anything this has taught me, it’s that you can't take things for granted. But I guess I learned that too late," Alex's voice trembled as he recited his speech. He let his eyes wander to Jack's grave, surrounded with flowers and presents. It was better than looking at the family and friends who glared at him with hateful eyes. “I loved him more than a friend. And I got jealous of his talent and looks more than I should've. I was an asshole. A complete asshole. Fame ruined both of us. I should’ve been there for him. But I'm not going to stand here and say the words I should've said over a week ago. So, rest in peace, Jack."

"Jack, what the fuck are you doing here?" Alex called out as Jack approached him and the fans.
"I'm here to meet the fans," Jack responded simply.
"Ha, no one needs you here. Right, guys?"
The fans giggled in agreement.
"All right. Fine,” Jack’s voice wavered. He fought back the tears that were threatening to start seeping out any moment now.
"Yeah, just go away. You're pathetic. Go kill yourself or something."