Beautiful Disaster

Alex couldn’t propel himself out of the car fast enough before he was retching, everywhere. He was on his hands and knees, coloring the pavement and drawing in ragged breaths whenever he could because it felt like the entire world had just been dragged out from underneath his feet and what was left of his heart had been shattered and he just couldn’t fucking deal. His senses, his mind, his heart, his lungs—overwhelmed, overloaded. He needed help, he needed so much help. But not someone to listen and force their half hearted sympathies on him, no, he needed help to peel away his skin, fat, and muscle, then grind up his bones to become dust because, by now, he was fairly certain that was his only way out.

Because, what? Just, what? It was like life had bent him and just fucked him, over and over and over and over again—and every time he thought he would gain some relief, things got bad all over again.

He’d fallen over onto his side, he realized, because his mother had moved to him and was helping him up, trying to get him back into the car. But he couldn’t move. So, she settled with allowing him to lean up against the side of the car until he regained his wits. So, she was prepared to sit there for the rest of both of their days, Alex concluded. He knew the results would be mediocre, at best, but he tried to stand anyway.

That’s when everything went black, literally and metaphorically speaking.

***

It was two thirty-nine am, the day of Jack’s funeral when Alex woke up; it was raining. He’d left his curtains open when he fell asleep over twelve hours earlier, so, he could see. The shadows of rain droplets projected onto his walls and it looked like his entire room was crying with him—he took some measure of fascinated comfort from that.

A little less four hours from now, Alex knew he’d have to get up to get ready, but he couldn’t bring himself to fall back asleep. His schedule was rather full today, which could work to his advantage. He had to go to therapy in the morning, Jack’s funeral immediately after, then the criminal psychologist who’d be working with his therapist to gather information about Jack. The thought infuriated him. The boy—his boy—was dead, why couldn’t they just leave him be? A rational portion of him told him that it was most likely to gather some closure for the victims’ families.

It then dawned on Alex that this situation was so much bigger than himself and Jack and this isolated incident at Dulaney High School. This was about parents raising shitty kids, and those kids raising even shittier kids of their own under the overused cliché that ‘kids will be kids.’ But, no, fuck that, Alex concluded. Jack was a victim of bullying and his reaction was not the right one, that much Alex could not deny, but everybody has their breaking point. The slightly younger boy had just decided he’d had enough. It wasn’t his fault that his everyday was made a living hell by classmates and extenuating circumstances and things beyond his control; it wasn’t his fault that every time he tried to do the “right” thing—talking to therapists, school officials, his parents—no one ever fucking listened.

Except Alex, Alex knew.

And, suddenly, he felt burdened with the heavy, heavy weight of responsibility. He knew all along how badly his boyfriend was hurting and did he ever do anything besides hug the boy? No. He never did anything more than the basics, to demonstrate that he cared for Jack. If the lanky, younger boy was here, he would deny that; he always stated that he felt so undeserving of Alex but now Alex knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was the one who was so very undeserving of Jack.

“He needed me,” he sobbed aloud to no one in particular, “He fucking needed me and I was right there, I just didn’t do a single fucking thing.”

The thought was enough to make his stomach churn uneasily but when he finally vocalized the words, he barely had enough time to reach for his bedside trashcan to get sick. It was only one time—he hadn’t eaten enough for more than that. Pushing himself up out of his bed, he padded into his bathroom, deciding brushing his teeth might be good. He stood in front of the mirror, reaching for his toothbrush, when he caught sight of his reflection.

His forehead was clammy, palms were sweating, chest was heaving, body trembling.

The familiar feeling of dread and regret filled his stomach, and his heart ached more and more with every beat. His body was racked with sobs when he finally just gave in, allowing himself to succumb to the familiarity of an anxiety attack. Oh, hello, old friend, a cynical side of him said. He was surprised one hadn’t happened beforehand but then again, when your life ends within the course of a week, all you can feel at first is numbness, not panic. But now, he was making up for lost time, he supposed, and, now, now Alexander was certainly panicking.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

How was he supposed to go on, to breathe, to exist without Jack, his Jack? How was he supposed to face the world? They’re so mean, oh so very mean. He put on a brave front at school, because, well, that’s what you’re supposed to do. He had just the right combination of friends, relatively good looks, smarts, and wits to keep him out of the way of the nitpickers and priers and scowlers and name-callers, but Jack had never been so lucky. Jack also always had and always would see through his façade. Without Jack to see the real him, who was going to? Who was going to care enough to? He always felt invincible, like he could take on the world with one hand tied behind his back, as long as the other was holding Jack’s—but now he had no hand to hold and that was very, very scary.

Nearly crawling in the direction of the shower, he turned its knob and waited until its stream was painfully hot before slinking underneath it and allowing himself to be scorched. It was painful, but it was bearable, much unlike a vast majority of Alex’s life, however. At least this pain, the pain from the shower water was one he had control over. He could stop it whenever he wanted to; the feeling of having control put his anxiety at bay, somewhat. It was a strange phenomenon that would rattle around in his brain, even after he turned off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his hips.

He gazed at his reflection and absentmindedly recalled the first moment he’d seen just how deeply Jack had been wounded by the rest of the world.

“I want you to take my scary movie virginity,” the younger boy announced, quite plainly. The day before they’d discussed, dissected, rather, why Jack had never seen a scary movie. His mother hadn’t permitted them until he was 13, then he was always too afraid to watch them alone, and he hadn’t really made any friends until Alex and, well, here they are.

“What?” Alex questioned, his wording was a bit strange, and Alex had originally thought he meant something very, very different.

“Yes.”

“Will you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Be my boyfriend.”

“So you can feel less bad about taking my scary movie virginity?”

“No, because I like you,” Alex beamed, a proud smile gracing his lips. The words had settled in his mind about two months ago, a month after meeting Jack, but he hadn’t had the courage to verbalize them until now. Something about this moment right here, right now, in the library, in their spot felt good and right and pure.

“No, you don’t,” the other boy responded flatly.

“What do you mean I don’t? Yes I do.”

Jack laughed humorlessly, then, his lips drawn together in a thin line, “You don’t like the fact that I’m me, you like the fact that I’m different. And different is good and new, and, well different. You like the fact that I’m not like all those other girls who shove their tits in your face and give you mediocre hand jobs underneath the bleachers at the homecoming game, or the closeted guys on the baseball team who hit on you every day and then call you a fag in front of their friends to hide how much they just fucking… like dick!” he exclaimed then, his hands were curled tightly up in themselves, “You like the fact that when I smile at you, it’s because you’ve genuinely made my whole day, you like the attention. You like the fact that the highest points of my day and frankly my entire high school career have been the ones spent in the library with you. You like how infatuated I am with you, this new person, this new kind of person you’ve never met before. You like what you think I am, not me, Jack.”

At first, Alex could do nothing but blink.

He’d never actually brushed his teeth before his shower, so, he set out to do that, blinking forcefully to keep tears at bay and desperately trying to forget about the memory that was just at the forefront of his mind. He would never hear any of Jack’s sassy remarks or watch the gentle curve of his lips when they parted to utter said remarks. His chest ached.