Beautiful Disaster

“Alexander,” was the sound that roused the boy awake on Wednesday morning. His eyes remained closed and the rest of him wrapped safely up in the cocoon of his sheets—Jack had lain there with him so often, it smelled of him, and he could pretend it was the boy he was wrapped up in, not his plain, blue feather down.

“Alexander,” his mother repeated, “please, wake up.”

The urgency in her tone forced his eyes open and propelled him up to a sitting position, “What is it?”

“I just wanted to make sure you got up to go to therapy on time.”

Oh. Sleeping had allowed him to forget the aches and pains of the past week, but as soon as his eyes opened, he was thrust back into it. Images of slowly filtered into his mind: the therapist—he now knew who the man was who’d been interrogating him relentlessly on Monday, though didn’t actually care either way what happened to the boy; the police officers circling and poking and prodding him like he’d committed a—never mind—on Tuesday; and who could forget the horrified shrieks and sobs from his classmates? Alex supposed idly that he’d dreamt of all of those things last night, and was eternally thankful that he couldn’t remember a second of it.

Pushing himself up out of bed, he cast a glance in his mother’s direction—she looked terrified of him, brown eyes wide and doe-like.

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that; I wasn’t the one who—” His tone was biting, though his eyes were stinging with warm tears.

“I’m sure it’s selfish of me to feel this way, I know that it is, but… why did this have to happen to me? Why did this have to be my boyfriend? These things only happen in movies, they don’t happen to real people, I… Maybe if I stood up for him more, maybe if I…” His words became indistinguishable, heart wrenching sobs, soon to be muffled by his mother’s shoulder, as the woman pulled her slightly taller son into her arms. The “mom” the teenager whimpered felt like a knife through her heart, the muscle fundamentally destroyed by the single blow.

“C-can I see Jack?”

“I don’t think so, honey, not yet. I’ll do all I can, though, okay?” Alex went to pull back from his mother but she didn’t release him; she almost felt like if she just hugged him a little bit tighter, and a little bit longer, maybe she could protect him. Maybe the world would just leave him alone for a little bit longer, wound him a little less deeply; maybe he’d shed a few less tears in his sleep. Isobel Gaskarth had known no greater, deeper agony than to have to gaze upon the face of her broken-hearted son and know there was nothing she could do to ease his aches.

It seemed as though the light in his eyes faded more and more by the minute. Sometimes, she couldn’t even bear to look at him—it just hurt too much.

***

The ride to the therapist’s office—apparently the man had called his mother and said it might be easier for him to talk to Alex if they weren’t at the police station, such an intimidating place—was piercingly silent, despite the gentle hum of the engine and the low murmur of music falling from the car’s speakers. So, Alex needed his own background noise, and decided to lose himself within the sometimes safe confines of his own mind.

“Do you like Fall Out Boy?” the raven haired boy he’d been spending the past few months with had asked him.

“Say what now?” he mused in response, glancing up from the stupid math book in his lap—he hated the damn subject but Jack had graciously offered to tutor him.

“Fall Out Boy, do you like them?”

“I’ve never heard of them, honestly.”

“What, how?”

“I, uh…” the slightly older boy stammered.

“It’s okay, I’ll loan you my CD, as long as you promise to give it back?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, that’s what friends are for, right?” the younger boy took a long, thoughtful pause then, “We are friends, right, Alex?” Alex couldn’t help but note the apprehensive tone the younger’s voice had taken on and how wide his eyes had grown. Tentatively, Alex reached out to rest his hand atop Jack’s; it’d curled up in itself, nails digging into the palm, and was trembling slightly—Alex wasn’t sure why this upset him, but it did.

“Of course I’m your friend, Jack.”

Jack smiled, and oh, what a smile it was. In fact, the smile the younger gave Alex in response made his head spin and his heart flutter and his stomach flip.

“Alex, we’re here,” his mother had said, successfully yanking him from his reverie. The family car was parked in front of a gray brick building and Alex was glued to the passenger’s seat. He didn’t want to speak to the therapist again; he knew the man would only poke and prod and prowl around inside his mind until he felt dead and drained away inside.

Alex hadn’t fully tuned into his surroundings until just now, and, god, how he wished he hadn’t. When had his mother switched it to the news channel? Why had she? Because, if she hadn’t, he wouldn’t have had to hear the most recent breaking news bulletin shoot out from the car’s speakers and stake him right in the chest:

“News has just broken that the young man responsible for the shooting at Dulaney High School just days ago committed suicide early this morning.”