Somewhere in NYC

Alex pushes you through the crowd and in to the bedroom forcefully, shoving you down to sit on the edge of the bed, but you can tell this isn't the good kind of aggression. The joking's over.

"Okay Jack what's going on?" he says in one breath and one tone.

"What?" you inquire quietly, genuinely confused what part of your life he's asking about.

"Why are you being so weird tonight?"

You look down at your feet. You feel like you've told him all you can; all the words your tongue feels like it knows how to fit around.

"Jack," he prompts in a marginally friendlier tone than he'd been using before, "why?"

"I just, er, I don't feel well," you say anxiously, and hell even you wouldn't believe you.

Alex makes an intimidatingly loud noise of annoyance and looks up to the ceiling raking both hands through his hair and pulling out strands when they snag on his fingers.

Alex takes a deep breath.

"Jack," he begins.

The pause after Alex says your name is far too long, the quiet in the room seems to be murderously still like the calm before a storm in this moment, even though you can hear the music blatantly pumping through the walls from the other room.

"If you don't tell me," he continues carefully, like he's picking every word with precision, "I'll just have to make assumptions based on what other people here tonight have told me, but I'd much rather hear it from you."

You remain silent, staring at a patch of denim which has become slightly discoloured on your jeans.

"Really?" he asks quietly. "You're going to make me say it first?"

You don't make a noise or any movement that indicates you might have been thinking of talking.

"Okay," he says so quietly if you weren't waiting to hear it you wouldn't have. "So, Rian, Matt, Zack, Cassadee, Dany and like ten other people out there told me that you were acting weird and that I should talk to you, that they're worried about the way your acting. People we don't even know the name of were asking me if you're okay because they recognize you and wondered why you weren't being the life and soul of the party, why you weren't being obnoxiously ignorant of people's space and making everyone laugh with your dumb face."

You can actually hear the thickness in his throat the way he gets when he's fighting back tears. You try to work out how you got here, how you got to being the reason your best friend, boyfriend, your fucking soulmate had to fight back tears as he talked to you.

"The five that I know by name said that you couldn't even make conversation. And there's no way that's normal for you in any fucking different world. I know you, and I know that the only way you'd not be able to have a conversation is that you were so drunk you're actually incapable of it."

He grabs your jaw and tilts up your head to look at him, but your eyes dart quickly away. He drops his hand to the side.

"But that's not it." He pauses before he says the next thing on his mind.

"So maybe you are ill. Maybe you're right. Maybe you're ill. And maybe I've been a fucking dumb, lame ass boyfriend and not noticed."

You're beginning to sense what he's getting at... and you don't like the way it sounds at all.

"Jack, I need you to tell me if-"

"I'm not ill!" you yell at him getting to your feet.

"Right!" Alex says loudly, "fine! Good! Then what is it?"

"I don't... I don't know!" you almost scream at yourself in frustration. "What the hell is this, Alex?! What the fucking hell is this?! Do you think I know what's going on?! This isn't my world, okay, and I am aware of how crazy that makes me sound, but I swear to you, it's true!"

"You are crazy!" Alex yells at you, no longer thinking about the words he's saying before they leave his lips. "I don't believe what you're saying! Who the hell even are you?! I've been trying to pretend that this is all fine, this is all how it's supposed to be. But why can't you just be fucking normal again?!"

"You know what, Alex?" you say to him, no longer shouting. "I thought that if anyone would try to understand it would be you. If anyone would try to help me, not freaking judge me, it would be you. Seems I was wrong, doesn't it?" you say venomously.

"You're the one that's breaking me, Jack, you're the one that's ruining my life!" he shouts after you as you barge through the door and through the crowd of people who stop to turn and stare at you. They turn in to a blur as you head straight for the door, and straight out of this stupid building.

Ruining his life? He's so freaking dramatic. You can see why he's a lyricist, you can see why he's a lead singer, needing all the light on him. Who gives a shit if Jack needs someone? Obviously not him. But you don't even give him the satisfaction of turning around or glancing over your shoulder although you can hear him shouting apologies after you as you run down the stairs, too angry to wait for the lift.

Eventually you reach the ground floor and are feeling slightly light headed from all the exercise you're not used to, but you can still hear him shouting apologetically after you. All "please, we can talk about this!" but he had his chance to talk about this.

The pavement is busy with people but you can barely see them, and as you run out across the road you hear a screech of breaks, see a blinding light from the headlights, and it seems you didn't see the car speeding down the road either as you feel it make impact with your body.