Grieving

Again.

Again, I cringed at the sound of my bedside lamp crashing to the the floor and shattering. I lost control of myself, yet I desperately wanted to stop. I could not stop myself from hitting things and breaking things as I attempted to shout profanities with what little of a voice I had left from the prior screaming I had done. As if any of this would do me any good.

I heard this was a kind of way to find closure. I felt a new sting. Where is this closure and why haven't I found it yet?

At this point- after these past few days of horror- I didn't dare to flinch at the pain of my bruising and bleeding knuckles, or avoid the shards of glass astray from the wreckage of my tantrum. It would honestly be a waste now. I should be thankful that at least I can hurt at all. This means I can positively assure that I am, in fact, alive, awake, and functioning. I am lucky. It's not hard to confuse nightmare and night anymore, pain clarifies its real.

I assure you, that I did try to stop myself from being so destructive, however I have a problem. Pain correlates with anger. Being sad makes me angry. The repetitive effect makes me get progressively more angry, and the cycle repeats itself.

Cry. Scream. Break. Pain. Scream. Repeat.

As my destructive behavior continued, and I was smashing picture frames, I froze as one of the photographs made my heart stop and my blood run cold. I was almost positive they would have taken this from me. I wouldn't blame them if they did.

In my hands, in this cheap plastic frame, held one of my most prized possessions and greatest memories. My mother took this picture. The image was from my old band Pinkly Smooth's first show. Overdone makeup and masks, hair, clothes, everything. We loved every second of it. He had one arm over my shoulder while the other wielded his microphone. He has such a beautiful voice.

Had.

He had a beautiful voice. Had. This was a moment like the many I would have soon. Moments of world-crushing realization. I'll have to adjust at some point.

I felt my knees buckle and hit the floor, my shaking hands dropping the picture. I let my elbows rest on my thighs and my head fall into my hands, smearing blood onto my face. The contrast of the crimson color on my skin if I could see probably wouldn't even bother me anymore.

Why did this have to happen this way? How could he leave me like this? I saw him three days before it happened, and it happened three days ago. It hasn't even been a week yet. He kissed my forehead and promised to call to make sure he got home okay. I did receive the call, but that was the last thing I heard from him.

I remember his words by themselves were sweet and bubbly, which was typical for him. His voice didn't match his words, cracking in between syllables and sounding thick and hoarse. I wish I had noticed sooner. Thinking about it now breaks my heart, but at the time I just thought he was sick. That's what he told me anyways. Of course he lied, but I like to think otherwise for my own peace of mind. Selfish at the least, but I don't get much of that anymore.

I can't even say his name... As I cried into my palms, my throat started to feel tighter and tighter, causing gasps and sputters to erupt from my throat. Was it guilt? I have to say his name, I have to.

My feeble attempts to push the sound out of my mouth failed. All I could hear was the sound of my breath catching in my throat. I tried again and stopped myself. It wasn't working. It has to work.

I just barely made the sound of the J.

"Ji-" I was interrupted.

There was a faint knock on the door, but I didn't bother to answer it. This, to me, was more important than anything else that could need to be brought to my attention at this very moment.

I don't know why, but I couldn't stop shaking, despite my efforts to calm down just enough to speak. I cleared my throat and sniffed as more tears fell, and the person outside the door decided to let themself in.

"Brian, what the hell happened in here?! You're bleeding!"

I ignored him, already aware of what he was saying. My bloody hands clutched fists of my hair as I shakily let out a sob and closed my eyes.

"J...Ji..." Zacky walked closer to me hesitantly. I don't know if he was afraid more of me or the situation, but I could feel the concern of his stare burning into my temple.

Just say it. It's just a name. Just a word. It's not just a word.

Say it.

"J...Jim." I stopped at the pain in my chest. Hearing how close I got hurt. I pulled my hair so tight I could rip it out with the slightest movement.

I was making myself angry. I couldn't even say my best friend's name, and I couldn't even imagine how that would make him feel, which made me both angrier and sadder. It was a whirl of emotion that was so consuming that I almost forgot about the pain in my hands and feet, and that I wasn't alone in the room..

I watched familiar inked arms wrap around my torso, pulling me into him gently so my back pressed against his chest.

"Hey, it's alright Brian...It's okay." Zack whispered quietly, rubbing my arms comfortingly.

"J...J-" I practically whimpered as I tried again to pathetically say his name, but he cut me off.

"Brian, it's alright. You don't have to say it yet. You aren't even ready to hear his name. It's okay." He was right, I knew he was, but would I ever be?

He just held me there against his chest. I was slowly calming down as the steady rise and fall of his chest lulled me. I needed that. It felt nice to be held.

Zacky reached up towards my wrists and gently removed my hands from my hair. He held them in his own hands, observing my bruises and cuts in my knuckles. I took the opportunity to turn and look up at his tired eyes and see his own sadness and fear. This looked unnatural for the laurel green eyes. They were usually so soft and kind and welcoming. Now the constant tired and drained look I collected from them made them foreign to me.

"We have to clean this up, B." Zack informed. I just nodded slowly in response. I wouldn't even bother to try and muster up some words, nor did I want to. I didn't really see a point, considering all I wanted to talk about was him, and I couldn't even say his name.

The younger man attempted to help me up, but due to the glass that was most likely still in my feet I hissed in pain and slumped back onto the floor. He looked down at me and sighed sympathetically, and I really wish he wouldn't.

"Come on. I'll clean you up." He offered. I simply shook my head.

There was no way I would walk to wherever he wanted to with fucking glass in my feet. That was just stupid. The simplest solution I could come up with at the time was to just pull the pieces out right there. Zack cringed at the sight but I knew he wouldn't, despite knowing that blood makes him uncomfortable.

After a second of thought, and a very small amount of glass left, I wiped my hands on my jeans, then grabbed Zack's shirt and pulling him down to my level so he could kneel by my side. I angled myself so I was sitting in front of him and covered his eyes with my hand. Now he wouldn't have to watch as I finished quickly.

---------------

"Do you want to talk about it? It might help/" Zack offered as he wrapped bandages around my knuckles. I just shook my head in a polite decline, not really seeing how it would do any good.

Zack had me sit on my bathroom counter like a child. The way I practically towered him from the higher elevation amused me. He looked up at me with exhausted eyes and smiled slightly in amusement as well. I could tell we thought the same thing. However, the exhaustion worried me, and I felt a knot in my stomach.

Has he been sleeping? Was he taking care of himself? Why take care of me if he needs it more than I do? He can't put me before himself.

I pushed away his hands and he raised his eyebrows. I grabbed the bandages and finished wrapping myself. It was a bit difficult to wrap my unwrapped hand with a wrapped hand, but I managed. Zack sighed. I could hear his phone vibrating from his pocket and raised my eyebrows, giving him a facial Aren't you going to answer that? He rolled his eyes and pulled his phone out, pressing it to his ear after checking the contact.

"Yeah?" He answered, turning his back to me as he spoke.

I wasn't one to eavesdrop on private conversations, you could say my father raised me better than that, but I did hear "How close are you?" and "See ya in a few," leave the younger man's lips. Once he turned back to face me, I awaited an explanation.

"That was just Matt. He is apparently on his way to talk about, ya know...tomorrow and stuff. Do you think you're gonna be able to hold up okay tomorrow?"

No. Oh god no. Of course not. Tomorrow is the reason all of this happened. I didn't want to go. That would officialize everything I didn't want to be officialized. I knew I would go though. I reached up to the piece of metal attached to the chain I wore and thought about how I owe it to his parents to show up. They have to deal with a greater loss than I do. My best friend, no, my soul mate is one thing. Losing a child, a whole other story.

After realizing I never responded and Zack clearly waited an answer, I nodded.

Matt arrived shortly after. He asked a few expected questions about why my room's contents were broken and why my hands were broken. Thankfully, Zack answered those quickly with a simple "Rough day."

"Well," Matt started, ready to pitch whatever thought it was he came here for. "I think we should all get ready for tomorrow together. If there is anyone who can help us through this, it's us. Why don't you two get what you need and we can all go to my house? Johnny is already there. We can just try to keep everything calm tonight, get tomorrow over with, and I'm going to a bar afterwards because I know I'll need it. You in?"

I didn't really want to, but at the same time I did. That was a lot of people to be around at once, but I liked the plan. We could manage tomorrow together, and I liked the bar part. I really liked the bar part.

I looked at Zack, who agreed to go, and nodded.

"Well, since we're here, Bri and I will get his stuff and go and we'll meet you at my house." Zack nodded at Matt's instructions. He sent me one last worried glance, before turning and heading out the door. Once he left, Matt looked me up and down, took in the damage, and refocused.

"Well Haner, I suggest a shower." I rolled my eyes and he chuckled, placing his hand on his shoulder as he led me into my room where we parted ways. Matt to my closet, looking for my suit, and I went into the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror and sighed.

Here goes nothing.