Scars

'This isn't the real Jack. What happened to him? Where did he go? Is he even alive anymore?' the voices in Jack’s head whispered as he watched deep red blood, thick as velvet, trickle down his thighs, clumping up in the hair there.

He was living proof that sometimes the happiest of people have the deepest, darkest secrets. To the fans, he had a reputation of being facetious ninety-nine percent of the time. In their eyes, he was this silly, childish boy that never stopped smiling and laughing. And that really was Jack’s genuine personality; when he was on stage or around the fans, he felt at ease and free to just be himself.

But when he was alone, that was a whole new story.

When he was alone, the demons in his head were let loose, crawling around in his skull and causing him to completely shut down mentally, emotionally, even physically sometimes. It was the fact that he messed up on stage tonight, or the feeling of guilt that came with hooking up for the umpteenth time, or even the fact that his body was becoming thicker in certain areas. All of the things that wouldn’t affect him before suddenly had him a sobbing wreck at night.

Eventually he snapped. He pulled apart an old razor and went to town mutilating his leg.

What he thought would give him relief only caused him to crumple to the bathroom floor in tears. How could he sink this low? ‘You’re a fuck up, Barakat. Just look at you! You spend all your time convincing your fans to avoid this, that things get better, now look at you!’

For the next few weeks, Jack would have to be very, very careful on the tour bus. He could no longer prance around in his underwear like there was no tomorrow, and he would be very cautious whenever he changed. There was no way in hell he was letting Alex find out about this.

Oh, Alex… he’d be heartbroken if he knew that Jack had done this to himself. He sometimes found his best friend crying simply because he’d seen scars on a fan’s wrist. A fan, a total stranger he didn’t know. Just imagine what would happen if he found out that /Jack/ had gotten into it.

- - - - - - - - -

Presently, Jack found himself standing in the dimly lit dressing room, staring at his pale reflection in the body mirror. He looked very sad and sleep deprived. He’d noticed these changes in himself ever since he first started hurting himself. Maybe he really looked this way, or it was just his mind becoming over-dramatic.

As he slid out of his skinny jeans, the boy stared into his reflection, more so the red lines all over his thighs. His callused fingers traced over the raised marks, observing them closely. They were healing well, that was good.

There was a light click as the door came open, and he raced to grab something to cover himself. It would be suspicious, yes, since Jack was never ashamed of his body, but he’d rather that than someone see his secret. But, just as he grabbed his shorts and managed to cover himself, they slipped, leaving his damaged leg in plain sight of Alex who now stood in the doorway. He could tell by the look on his face, awestruck, that he’d seen them.

"J-Jack, what’s wrong with your leg?" Alex choked. Jack’s heart immediately snapped in two. He could /feel/ the heartbreak in Alex’s voice, the way it cracked slightly and had little to no emotion.

"I dunno," Jack mumbled sheepishly, trying to cover himself with his pants, as if that’d make the situation alleviate. He had yet to think up an alibi beforehand, leaving ‘I dunno’ as his only defense. He was ashamed, and very afraid that Alex would no longer think of him the same way.

"Y-yes you do, Jack. Tell me what happened!"

Jack flinched when he heard Alex’s voice break, indicating he would be crying soon. Alex never cried.

"Nothing!"

Jack was getting defensive now, hoping that he would just let it go. But they both knew that this was a matter that they couldn’t just ‘let go.’ Not with Alex being involved. He could see right through the guitarist, no matter how well he thought his walls were built up.

"Jack, why did you do this? Why?"

As Alex grew closer to him slowly, Jack could see the wetness in his eyes. He gave up trying to defend himself, instead standing there with his head hung like a child who’d been caught digging in a drawer they weren’t supposed to be in.

‘Why did you do this, Jack?’ That was a very good question that even he didn’t have the answer to.

“I… I don’t know. It’s like lately every little th-thing has been getting to me and… I’m sorry, Alex. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, choking on his own words. He felt weak and vulnerable and in desperate need of affection. Without a word, he shuffled forward, afraid that he’d be rejected in anger, but only found himself wrapped up tighter than ever in the strong arms of his best friend, the Brit’s chin on his shoulder.

“I’d have never expected this from you, Jack-o,” Alex whispered into his shoulder, “you’re totally the opposite of this. I… I don’t know what to say. Except that you need to stop. I-I tell that to all the kids whose scars I see but… dammit, Jack, you’re my best friend. Do you get that? My /best/ friend. You’re my brother, my… my everything. I’ve already lost one special person in my life. Please, /please/, don’t make me have to lose you, too. You’re all I have at this point. You’re my brother now. Don’t let me lose another brother.”

Jack was crying now, and from the dampness he felt on his shoulder, so was Alex. Maybe this was what he needed all along, an Alex hug. An Alex cry. Alex in general. If there was anyone in this cold world that could make Jack himself once again, it was his best friend.

He’d been a victim of this way too long, and now he swore he was going to make a change. For him.

“I-I promise, Alex, I’ll be okay… I love you,” Jack whispered, planting a kiss to the other’s forehead.

“I love you too, Jacky. I always will.”