A Match Into Water

I was numb. Red and blue lights flashed around me, but they were only blurs on the edges of my vision. It was as if I was in a bubble, present yet nonexistent at the same time. I heard doors being slammed, but even that couldn't soften the noise of the screaming in my head. It wasn't my own voice; no, that would've seemed pleasant compared to this relentless torture. It was his voice, echoing on repeat, over and over. Covering my ears only made it louder. Closing my eyes only made the images skirting across my consciousness even brighter.

I kept seeing his face, over and over and over again. I felt like I would explode, like I would cry if I had any tears left. I replayed what had happened on an endless loop, like I could somehow imagine something different and change the past. Like it could somehow ease the turmoil of emotions inside of me.

I dug my fingers into the grass behind the cold curb I was sitting on, fighting to ground myself. I was slipping. Oh god, was I slipping. I'd lost my grip on reality, everything that I'd known collapsing around me. There was no way to escape the fallout this time.

I struggled to push myself to my feet. I needed to get out of here, needed to get away from that house. I stumbled as I started to walk, and a strong hand caught me on the shoulder.

"Take it easy, Vic," Tony said, his eyes filled with concern.

"I'm fine," I muttered, brushing him off and going across the street to my car.

As I reached to pull open the door, however, the weight of what had just happened came crashing down on me. I couldn't stop the contorted look of pain that spread over my face, couldn't stop myself from falling to the support of leaning against the car. Couldn't stop myself from letting the memories take over.

In the same car, not even an hour earlier, I had driven here in a panic. I had practically fallen out of it in my rush to find Tony. And it had sat there in Tony's driveway, a witness, doing nothing about it, nothing to help, while it happened. Just like I did.

I should've done something. I should've tried. After- after I'd heard it the first time, I should've known. After I'd heard that terrible noise, the most awful sound to ever pass through my ears. A sound of absolute anguish that chilled every single bone in my body. A sound that would haunt my nightmares for so many years to come.

It had been a scream. Not just any scream. I'd known whose it was, and I prayed that my ears were deceiving me, yet I knew that they weren't. I didn't even think, just bolted toward the sound, sprinting across the empty street.

Jaime. Jaime Jaime Jaime. That was the only thought that my mind could form. It physically pained me to hear him like that, like my heart was being ripped to shreds where I stood. Halfway up the driveway, I felt someone grabbing me from behind and pulling me back.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I yelled, flailing against Tony's iron grip.

He had started to answer when we heard it again. Heard those blood-curdling screams, causing us to freeze in our tracks. But that wasn't it. There was another voice, much deeper. Once that both of us recognized, though I don't think either of us had ever met him in person.

"You fuckin' faggot!" he roared. "You fuckin' retard! You fuckin' piece of shit!"

Jaime's dad was cut off by another loud scream.

"Shut your filthy goddamn mouth. This is your own fault."

The yelling intensified, although Jaime's voice was stopped short, almost as if it was being stifled.

"I need to get in there! I need to help him!" I cried, struggling to break away from Tony.

"What you need to do is stay here," he hissed, tightening his grip. "I called the cops, they're on their way."

I knew he was trying to be firm with me, but I could see the pained expression on his face in the rays of moonlight. "What are we supposed to do?" I whimpered.

"I- I don't know," Tony started to shake as the reality of the situation hit him, hastily rubbing away a tear with the back of his hand. "Oh god, I don't know."

I heard Jaime cry out again, which felt like getting stabbed in the gut a thousand times. I didn't care what Tony said- I couldn't just sit here and listen to Jaime being beaten.

I jerked myself forward, wrenching myself away from Tony and running towards the door. I heard Tony calling out my name from behind me, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. I didn't care if I wasn't thinking clearly, if I was being an idiot. I just couldn't bear to hear Jaime in pain.

I pounded on the door, tears streaming down my face. I waited a second, then banged on it again. Three fists against the wood. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he open the door? I threw my weight against it in a mad attempt to force the door open, but it of course had no effect. Practically screaming, I continued to bang on the door until I was absolutely sure that it would make no difference.

I cried out, cursing myself and everything around me. I didn't know what to do, everything was just so hopeless. My poor Jaime was trapped in there...and I was fucking standing out here like an idiot, doing nothing to help him.

It was a few moments later that I heard it: the sirens. I felt a rough hand push me to the side, almost knocking me off of my feet. As I regained my balance, I saw three burly cops knocking roughly on the door. After they shouted some official-sounding crap, they knocked the door clean off its hinges. I watched as they entered the house, murmuring into their walkie-talkies.

I heard a shout coming from inside, and then what sounded like punches being thrown. I bit my lip, tasting blood. Miranda rights were being shouted out, and then a terrible screeching sound, almost as if someone's nails were being dragged across the wall.

An officer emerged, the other two close behind. They towed Mr. Preciado between them, who was not giving up just yet. He was cussing out one of the cops when his eyes landed on me. "You," he snarled, lashing out towards me before he was restrained by the officers. "You're that little fag from the picture, aren't ya? The one who turned Jaime into a fucking pansy!"

I took a step back, startled.

"Well, don't worry," he laughed, so hard that he started to wheeze. "He's learned his lesson."

Mr. Preciado continued to chuckle uncontrollably as he was led out of the house, though I could see that he was still struggling to escape. Even once he was out of my sight, I couldn't stop thinking about his words. That he'd done this because of that goddamn picture. That he'd done this because of me.

I was alone now, the cops occupied trying to force Jaime's dad into the squad car. But...but Jaime was still inside somewhere. Taking a shaky breath, I stepped through the doorway. It was so unlike the last time I'd been here. The house, while still covered in junk, had seemed much more inviting in that happy context. Now, I could pick out every singe and beer stain in the carpet. And what was more, I could see droplets of blood, too.

My fingers starting to twitch, I made my way through the room, not seeing anything other than bottles and cigarette butts. I turned to check down the hallway when I heard it. It was a faint moaning sound, and I froze for a moment to determine whether I'd actually heard it. But then it came again, and I followed it to the corner of the room behind the couch.

When I saw the sight before my eyes, I thought I might pass out. I suddenly couldn't remember how to breathe, and slowly sunk to the floor. A strangled cry escaped my throat, taking the form of a single word. "Jaime."

"V- V- Vic," he stuttered in a voice more vulnerable than I'd ever heard before, his face crumpling.

I couldn't process what I was seeing, almost as if my brain was refusing to accept that it was real. Jaime, perfect, innocent Jaime, lay broken in front of me. His face was covered in scarlet blood, mixing with his tears and running off of his face. His nose looked broken, as did some of his other limbs. One of his eyes, now staring at me in terror, was swelling shut and turning a nasty blackish color.

"It's okay," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if I was reassuring him or myself. "It's going to be okay."

I tried to pull him to a more open space in the middle of the room so that he wouldn't be so tangled on himself, but he cried out in pain when I touched him. He started to pant as he attempted to keep breathing, and I couldn't imagine the unbearable agony he was in.

"He's over here!" I shouted, trying to get the attention of the officers. "Jaime's over here! Call an ambulance, he needs help!"

I wasn't sure if anyone had heard me, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't just leave Jaime here. The panicked look on his bleeding face hadn't disappeared, and I tried to comfort him by gently pulling his head into my lap. He sighed, his breathing ragged. It seemed like he was having trouble getting air in. I hoped that help would get here soon.

"S- sorry," he struggled out, his voice sounding weak.

"No, Jaime," I interrupted, trying to hide the fact that inside I felt like I was dying. "You did nothing wrong. This is on me."

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but no words came out. I noticed that his eyelids were starting to flutter lower.
"Don't you dare," I forced out. "Don't you dare close those eyes on me, Jaime."

I could see him fighting to keep them open, his trembling hand searching for mine. He squeezed it hard, letting a staccato breath escape his bloody lips. He couldn't close his eyes. If he did...if he did, there was a good chance he wouldn't open them again.

The slits of white that I could see were getting narrower, the periods that they were staying closed were becoming longer than when they were open.
"Please, Jaime," I begged, my face wet with tears. "Please don't leave me."

One more squeeze of my hand, although this one had significantly less force. He blinked once again, and I waited to see his beautiful brown eyes reappear. I waited. And I waited. And I waited. And they never came. But I couldn't tear my eyes away, I had to make sure that he wasn't about to wake up when I walked away. I had to make sure that this wasn't the end. That I hadn't just lost the only person I truly loved.

It was only when a hand was placed on my shoulder that I eventually turned away. A middle-aged man with a stretcher, motioning for me to move out of the way. Unsteadily, I pulled myself to my feet, practically dragging myself to the door. I moved so slowly that the two men and Jaime made it outside only shortly after I did. I sat down on the curb as they loaded him into the ambulance, unable to even look back.

And so I ended up back in my car. I knew that I should go to the hospital, but what if they gave me bad news? What if they told me...what if they told me that he didn't make it? My face contorted into a tearless sob at the thought.

I was jerked out of my head by a rapping on the passenger window. I looked over to see Tony pointing at the door, which I unlocked. He slid into the car, looking at me with a grave expression. "Should we go?"

I silently nodded, starting up the car. It probably wasn't safe for me to be driving like this, but I didn't care. I couldn't even focus enough to read the street signs, only arriving at the hospital once Tony had pointed it out after I'd missed the turn the first time.

"You okay?" he asked as I stopped the car in the parking lot.

I shook my head.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Me either. Let's just get this over with."

He was thinking along the same lines as me; we both knew that there was a chance that Jaime had died, and there was nothing that we could do about it.

As we walked through the practically deserted parking lot, I felt a little better knowing that I didn't have to do this alone, that Tony would be there with me. We remained silent as we entered through the automatic sliding doors, blinded by the fluorescent lights. We entered an elevator, Tony pushing the button corresponding to the emergency room after reading through a sign on the door.

Once we had exited into the painfully white hallway, we walked up to a desk in the middle of the floor.

"Is- is there a Jaime Preciado here?" Tony asked, his voice deflated. He didn't think that this would end well, I could tell.

The young caffeine-hyped nurse nodded, giving us some forms to fill out before we could see him. I penned in my answers mindlessly, my senses dulled by the bitter scent of antiseptics stinging my nose.

After turning in the papers, a different nurse in patterned green scrubs led us down another hallway. "In here," she said, motioning to a room to her left.

Approaching the door, I took a quick peek through the small window. I saw Jaime laying in a hospital gown, hooked up to a few machines. It was horrid, seeing him laying there. He looked like a corpse with his eyes closed and exposed scrawny body covered in cuts, bruises, and burns. They'd cleaned the blood off of his face, but his nose still looked awfully crooked.

My view was blocked as an older man stepped in front of the little window, pushing open the door from the inside. He held out a hand which I nervously shook, taking note of his plain blue scrubs. He introduced himself to be the doctor in charge of Jaime's care.

"Now," he said, clasping his hands together and making a regretful expression. "I'm sorry, but there's something important that we need to discuss."