The Devil On Your Shoulder

You can tell a lot about someone from the car they drive. Jack, for example, drove one of those crappy Nissan cars with no back doors and couldn't hold more than 3 people maximum, and just by looking at him in it you already knew he was a teenage kid who didn't care about anything, and didn't come from the wealthiest of families. The best thing about Jack was he was happy with his life. He was happy being middle class, he was happy having to take up a job to help his mom instead of using the money for clothes or a football. He never asked for anything more than what his mom gave him, and although he was far from the perfect child, he was easy to deal with.

For most of his childhood, he was the one keeping his parents together. If Jack hadn't been so sweet and reliable as a kid, his parents would have split up before he could say his first word. His mom and dad enjoyed looking after him, they didn't want to have to share him. They needed to see him every second of the day, and that's why they had stayed together all those years. They were happy, settling for middle class marriage.

As Jack got older he needed less attention and this of course meant that his mom and dad grew apart. They decided that when he was 8 he couldn't cope with the idea of them getting divorced so they hid it, pretended they were happy. They thought that at 12 years old learning how to skateboard and being the best on the soccer team was more important than dealing with the fact his parents weren't speaking, or even sleeping in the same bed. At 14 years old Jack got his first girlfriend and, once again, his parents seized this event as an opportunity to weave themselves out of the hole that was their failed marriage.

And here they were, 4 years later, still hiding away from the truth, although this time, it wasn't about his parents divorce.

"Hey Jack." His mother grinned at him. Jack went to sit up, but before he could a pain shot through him like he'd just been electrified. "Try and not move, it'll be a while until you can fully function again." Joyce spoke again, grinning down on her only child.

Jack nodded lightly at her, burying himself deeper into his thick blankets. "What happened to me?" He asked, his voice huskier than usual.

"You just had a little fall, nothing serious. You'll be out in a few days." She said, her plastered on smile coming off as beautifully as usual.

Joyce was a great liar. She'd had many years of practice. She'd told 5 year old Jack that babies were delivered from God, and that only expecting mother's could see him when he knocked on their front door. When Jack was 10 she'd fallen and was in need of a hip transplant, which of course Jack knew nothing about until 5 years later when she needed another one. Santa, the tooth fairy and even the Easter bunny were all very real until the age of 12 when a kid in the year below Jack punched him in the face and set him straight. In the world Joyce and Bassam had created for Jack, there was no such thing as love, heartbreak, pain or sadness. Jack was completely protected, he was one of the few 14 year olds who worried about nothing. Jack's thoughts consumed of food and TV shows, nothing like divorce or unhappiness which were massive, but well hidden parts in his life.

"Oh okay. Can we get cheerios on the way home?" Jack grinned up, so painfully innocently, at his mother who was lying through her teeth. "And can dad take me to that soccer game on Tuesday?"

Yes, Joyce had built the perfect life for her son, a life she'd wished she'd had when she was his age. She couldn't let her beautiful boy's life crash around him. She was his mother. No matter how old he was, she had to protect him. Right?

"Of course, you know how much I love cheerios. And your dad was planning to take you there anyway." She grinned, stroking her son's black hair that sat on his head perfectly. "Of course."

"Where's Alex?" Jack's voice spoke again.

Alex. Alex Gaskarth. That's me.

Unlike Joyce, I wasn't one for keeping secrets. My family had had their fair share of problems. My grandad died when he was only 50, 2 years after I was born. My grandad was my dad's best friend, he would have spent his whole life with him if he could. My dad was broken for years, years that I remember him crying on my lap, crying on my mom's lap, crying before he went to sleep, crying when he woke up. He still took me to soccer games, helped me learn how to swim and taught me to play the guitar, but with open arms. Something Jack's family had ever even thought about doing. I knew everything that was wrong in my parents lives. When my dad lost his job, he spoke to me about it. When my mom had an asthma attack, she talked me through how it worked. No secrets. Not even when someone who meant more to my dad than my grandfather died.

"I'm here, Jack." I told him, scuttling closer to him and cupping my hand around his.

I fucking hated hospitals. The last time I was here my inspiration died. How anyone could like coming to hospitals baffled me. Why would you like coming to a place people go to die? That's what hospitals are right? A place where people die? How many times has something good happened in a hospital? To other people, sure, miracles were performed here. Lives were saved, illnesses were cured. But not to me. Miracles didn't happen in my life.

One thing hospitals had taught me, was there was no point lying to yourself. When my brother lay, motionless on the hospital bed I didn't tell myself he was still here. I didn't think about what could have been, the what if's. What good is that? No good at all. False hope was the worst thing anyone could possibly go through, but to sit back and let someone give it out to someone else was way too far.

"Jack, there's something I need to tell you." I said softly. Being the bad guy sucked, having to tell the person you love their inspiration died, well, it sucks. Having to watch the pain fill the person's eyes like water to a bathtub hurt more than a blade to the heart. I probably would have preferred the blade to the heart.

"Yeah?" He replied, his eyes fluttering as he was still too weak to keep them fully open.

I cleared my throat. Was I really going to do this? While Joyce was still in the room? Surely that blade to the heart idea would come true if I even uttered the words "dad". Fear shook through me like never before. I'd been the bad guy plenty times in my life. I was always the bad guy. The bad cop. It was easy for me. I was Alex Gaskarth, I didn't get attached and even when I did it wasn't hard for me to cover it up. I took a deep breath, swallowed my fear and opened my mouth. "It's, it'-"

"Hey Barakat!" A strong English accent sounded and I spun around to see Oliver Sykes standing at the end of Jack's bed.

I watched as Jack's expression changed to confusion. "Why are you here?" He asked once before turning his head to look at me. "Am I really high on medication right now or is that Oliver Sykes in my bedroom?" He thought about it for a minute and before anyone could answer he spoke again. "Well there's a sentence I never thought I'd say." I grinned down at Jack as he giggled to himself.

"Dude, I saved your life." Oliver joined in with all the grinning.

"You did?" Jack said, his eyes moving from Oliver to me.

"He did." I joined in and Oliver caught my eye. He grinned at me softly and his eyes which were normally cold and closed turned to warmth and love.

Weird.

"Awesome. Guess I owe you one. Even though you're a di-" His eyes shot to his mother who was still in the room. "Delightful person."

I laughed and hit Jack's leg lightly while Joyce just looked happy Jack was looking happy.

"I'm going to let you two talk," His mother began. "Alex, I'd like to see you in the hall please." I nodded and watched as Joyce left the room. I turned on my heels to join her before Jack spoke.

"I know you joke about it all the time, but please tell me you're not fucking my mom?" And although I couldn't see his face I could tell he was grinning.

I left the room and found Joyce pacing up and down the seating area outside Jack's room.

"You alright?" I asked, touching her arm lightly. She shrugged me away, continuing walking up and down.

"No, I'm not alright! Do I look alright to you?! How am I supposed to tell Jack? What am I supposed to do? I'm his mother! I can't break his heart! That's one thing parents aren't supposed to do!" She said and I watched as her face slowly began to be covered in tears. She stopped pacing and took a seat on the edge of one of the seats where she lay her head in her hands and cried silently.

I took my place beside her, wrapping my arm around her shoulder. "I'm his best friend. I'm supposed to break his heart every now and then as long as I'm around the pick up the pieces again. He expects that from me, I can be the bad cop as long as I stick around and help him heal. It's allowed. Allow me." I felt my words drilling into my own body, was I trying to convince Joyce or myself?

"I can't lay this all on you, it's not fair. You're 17 for crying out loud! How can I sit back and make you tear his world to pieces? It's not fair on you. I can't." She said through her tears.

"I'm 18 next month actually," I joked, attempting to lighten the mood. Way to go, Alex. Make jokes in a hospital while your boyfriend's mum's crying. A small, fake laugh escaped her lips and I hugged her tighter. "It's gonna be okay. We'll tell him together."

"Thanks but no. Not yet. We can't."

"What do you mean we can't? Joyce, we have to! How are we supposed to keep this from him? You're insane!" I jumped to my feet, a mixture of emotions flying through my blood.

"I'm his mother, I'm allowed to be insane."

"Yeah well I'm his boyfriend, I'm allowed to be honest with him." I snapped. I felt her eyes on my back as I matched her movements from before, pacing up and down the corridor.

"That's the first time you've called him that, isn't it?" She asked me, her voice lower and quieter than usual.

"I really don't think that's the main issue right now." Annoyance sprang in my voice. What was she playing at?

"Do you love him?"

"What?"

"Do you love my son?" She asked again.

"Of course I love your son! I love your stupid perfect son more than I love my own parents." Refusing to look at her I continued up and down the hallway, do I love Jack? Of course I love Jack! She knows it. She's fucking insane.

"Then you won't tell him. You'll spare him the pain. Just for a while."

"No! That's not what you do when you love someone. The longer you wait, the harder it becomes. You out of all people should know that." I snapped for the last time, pushing myself into the doors that lead to Jack and dragging Oliver out. I hopped to Jack's bedside where he was lying happily, looking up at me.

I inserted my hand into his own and squeezed it tightly. "Jack. You know I love you right?"

"Are you stupid? Of course I know you love me." He grinned. "Why? I'm not dying am I?"

Jack had been through so much in the past year. His parents divorce, his distance from his father, our break up, getting expelled, getting expelled from the school for expelled kids. His life was more than complicated, and he deserved to be happy. As much as I wanted to spare him the pain, as much as I wanted him to be happy, as much as I needed him to be happy, he deserved the truth. He didn't deserve to be lied to. He needed me as I was clearly the only honest guy here.

"Jack, it's your dad." I told him, my voice shaking.

"Oh? What about my dad? Is he okay? Is that why I haven't seen him?" Worry spread his voice and I could already see his world being torn down. I imagined it, I imagined what he'd be like when I told him. I imagined the look in his eyes, the fear, the disappointment, the pain. What would he do? Would he cry? Would he be angry? Would he take it out on me? His mother? The doctors?

I clenched my teeth. I was finally seeing life from Joyce's perspective. I looked down on Jack, his face, so innocent, so clueless, so perfect. I couldn't break him, I couldn't tear him into pieces, I couldn't make him go back to the dark place I'd been many times. I wouldn't. I knew in my heart telling him the truth was the right thing, I knew it. I should. I should tell him the truth.

"No, no, no. Your dad, he's fine. He's great actually. The only thing is," My voice wavered again. The lies were like vomit, they kept coming. I couldn't hold it back, as much as I wanted too, I couldn't. I couldn't do it. "He just can't make that game on Tuesday. It's a big day at work for him."

I drive an Aston Martin. The most expensive Aston Martin in the shop. If there's one thing you should know about people who drive Aston Martin's, well, they're cowards.