Hold On Till May

1. curiosity saved the cat

It was a smoldering hot atmosphere. Music battered and bruised my eardrum with today's biggest hits, and made me cringe all the way to the bathroom. I didn't know why I was there - I knew about three people here, one wasn't even conscious right now. The beats were irritatingly repetitive, the people kept shoving and spilling drinks on my clothing, and frankly, there just wasn't enough air to breathe.

I love parties just as much as the next twenty-year old, obviously, but a party where I was a complete and utter stranger that seemed nothing more than a ghost? It's not as fun. Which is why I was headed for the bathroom, hoping it wasn't occupied, to take in some not-intoxicated oxygen. It wasn't far, but with the big wave of people I had to squeeze through, it took me an eternity to finally get there. And even then, I was tugged on by the arm.

"J-Jack, where're you goin'?" Tay, one of the few people I actually knew at this "get together". By the look, smell, and sound of her - she was most definitely wasted. Her make-up was smeared, just slightly, but very noticeable - and I could only fathom reasons for that happening. Tay was my roommate, just a friend, but just the thought of a guy grappling her made me sick - she was like a little sister.

"Bathroom," I yelled over the ruckus. She swayed from side to side with a crumpled, red cup in her hands. It took her a pregnant pause to finally register my answer, just staring at me blankly. When she finally got the message across she shouted, "Okay!" and skipped off to who-knows-where. I thought about following her, to make sure she stayed trouble-free, but Tay could handle herself and I needed air.

I finally managed to weave my way through the clutter of people and find - what I hoped - was the bathroom door. Knocking was useless - you wouldn't be able to hear a response over this noise. I concluded if it was occupied, the door won't open, and if it's not, then... it'll open.

Bad decision on my part.

I walked in on someone. Instantly, my first reaction was to squeeze my eyes shut, but when silence overthrew the other line, I decided to be bold and speak first.

"So sorry dude, the door was open and uh I'll just-"

"I'm not shitting, you can open your eyes."

He was blunt, dull, and lifeless. I opened my eyes, just as he said, and cautiously observed the man hovering over the sink. His shoulders rose and fell slowly, almost as if he was taking large quarts of air. I was dumbfound, completely unsure of what to do next. I guess the logical thing to do was bolt and avoid the boy the rest of the party - maybe leave all together - but I did neither. In fact, I did the opposite.

I approached him.

In my perspective, I don't think curiosity killed the cat - I feel like it saved it. Because of my strong inquisitive ignition, I wondered what the boy was doing, and as my feet lurched closer to his hunched over, sickly pale figure, I caught sight of something else. His wrist, bleeding, right on the white sink and down the drain. It was a heavy bleeding though, and I automatically wondered if he cut too deep - maybe even hit a vein.

"Are you alright?" I knew it was a stupid question; of course the guy was anything but alright. Still, it was the only verbal thing I could manage to say.

"You're kidding, right?" He gave me a side ways glance of disbelief. A dark, non-humorous chuckle bubbled down his throat as he threw his head back. He was hysterical, I knew that right then and there.

"Don't worry," He sighed once his cackling dimmed down, "I'll say, 'I'm just tired' and you can carry on out the door worried free and without guilt, because hey, I'm just tired."

The boy shook his head and glanced back at the sink, the bloody river still flowing down the drain. I watched as he swayed a little at the sight of the red ink, and wondered if maybe the view made him dizzy. I worried he'd pass out any second - of course I wasn't just going to bail.

"Listen, you don't have to... " My sentence trailed off when I finally caught sight of another material in his hands. It was a bottle, short and orange, full of prescription drugs. Words caught in my throat and all my limbs locked in place - I had absolutely no idea what to do in this position.

"How many do you think it'll take? Four? Five? Should I just swallow the whole bottle?"

His voice was trembling and cracking, with a fake smile plastered on his lips. I stuttered my words - "N-no" - but it never came across as dominant as I hoped. He tried to pop open the bottle but his quivering fingers refused. He struggled, a lot, and the words I had clogged behind my teeth couldn't, for the love of anything, spill out.

"Still here?" He muttered, then grunted as he tried to tug off the cap again, "Wanna be the witness of a suicide? Have the original story? Finally have something to talk about on Monday mornings? Alright, be my guest."

"If I were you, I'd put that away," I finally managed to say. I choked, awfully, and my hands trembled as they outstretched to take away the murder weapon - but the boy stepped back, rejecting my offer.

"If you were me, you'd do the same."

He just stood there, lifeless, as his eyes drowned on the tile floor. The only other way out of this was to wrestle the bottle out of his grasp, and I wasn't able to do that - no matter the fact his life was at stake. But, as his eyes bore on the ground, his arm dropped to his side - still bloody as ever - and the prescription drugs slipped from his fingers. They rolled to another corner in the bathroom, and the boy - who's name I still had yet to learn - staggered up a wall and slid slowly down. I noticed then how red his eyes were and how much alcohol lingered on his aura. He fell to the floor and brought his knees up to his chest, hugging them with his arms and burying his face.

He took a deep breath, very shallow, as I just watched in empathy and confusion. Lifting his head from his knees, he rubbed his face with the palms of his hands and muttered, "God." I was at a loss for words, frankly because I've never been good with advice and certainly never been put in such a situation.

"Why... why didn't you leave?" He whispered as his eyes scanned the ground, refusing to meet mine. I felt this was a safe zone and my limbs finally found movement again. I closed the door, because honestly, it was already bad enough I was here. Approaching him, I settled myself on the floor in front of him, crossed my legs Indian style and looked his way.

"I needed to use the bathroom," I joked, sparking up a light chuckle under his breath. He had mocha hair, lightly colored in the fluorescent lights, with equally hazel eyes to match. It was tossed messily, but in a way that represented a certain look only he managed to pull off. A navy blue shirt that had just the slightest v-neck and black skinny jeans that hung loosely on his hips. His belt was undone, I noticed, and I couldn't decided if it was from using the bathroom or females using him.

"Were you..." I felt uncomfortable asking, but pushed through, "... really going to do it?"

He didn't say anything, not even a nod. His head just stooped even lower, and maybe it was just me, but I could have sworn his bottom lip quivered.

"People say when you back out, get scared, don't have the guts"- he took a shaky breath -"you fail..."

"Bullshit-"

"Maybe not today, someday though..."

He was deep in thought, and I wondered exactly what was going through his mind. Plans for his next attempt? Make sure to lock the door, would be the first I'd guess. He chewed on his bottom lip as his fingers fidgeted with each other, his frame shaking minimally.

"What's your name?"

"Alex."

"Jack, nice to meet you."

"Doubt it."

I chewed on the inside of my cheek at his response and wondered what in the fuck I was actually doing. I saw a person in distress, I tried to help - poorly, I might add - but at least I tried, which was the humane thing to do, right? He's still breathing, at least for now, and that's all I need.

"Alright, c'mon," I said as I stood up on my feet. I ushered him to stand up too, but he just glanced at me with a dumbfound expression. "You're wasted and sad, and those things don't mix. You're coming with me, c'mon."

"I rather not," He muttered, scratching at the freshly grown scar. I noticed how many of them he actually had and that - to a certain point - made my stomach twitch. He was so... miserable. I had no idea a person could be so miserable, yet there he was - Alex.

"You'll be okay."

Alex looked up, still not sure of what he was going to do - his lost eyes said it all. But, in the end, he stood up and cross the room with me. He hugged himself with his arms as soon as he stepped out back to the loud, rambunctious party - trying to cover the scars, I'd guess.

We made it all the way towards my car, silence enveloping us both, and that nagging thought surrounding my head. Alex was unstable, I have to tip-toe around him, and frankly, that's not something I'm good at. I speak my mind, more than I should, and I end up with more foot in my mouth than I do... food.

I wasn't qualified for this, I shouldn't be taking him anywhere. He needs his family, a friend, anybody who knows something more about this guy other than his name. I can't be doing this!

I looked to my side, having this urge to say, "Maybe this is a bad idea," right then and there. But then I noticed how Alex walked - his arms continued to hug him, not because he was cold, but because he was trembling, with his neck pointed down and his eyes glued on the sidewalk. Leaving him here, waiting for someone who can handle this situation, might have been the smart choice.

But I couldn't help it; I was stone-cold stupid. And for that, I stayed quiet and walked.