23 10.0: Cracked Ribs (1/2)

`sometimes we don't want to heal because the pain is the last link to what we've lost`

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Sometimes.

Sometimes.

I think we all have a chance against grief. I think we all can conquer it. I think we can all overcome its merciless claws and its deep, deep desire to drag us all the way down with it.

I also think that only ignoring it makes it conquerable as I stare at my room's clock face; as I stare at the minutes and seconds that pass and no longer hold any meaning to me.

And it's suddenly weird for a person who's constantly running out of time, constantly late, constantly turned down, to abruptly have an abundance of it. Just non-ending seconds pouring and flooding into an uncertain abyss of nothingness.

Time to me is no longer measured in seconds but in pulses of infinite, spiralling darkness. And maybe it's because time stops after death. Or maybe because time is no longer the same.

Maybe the seconds to me are days to them.

And maybe I just need to stop looking at the clock and focus on the bowl of shit I'm about to get dunked into.

My joints seem to have been encapsulated by concrete. Or maybe darkness has seeped into them and rotted them inside out. Maybe this means that my body is already getting eaten away by the worms that were once a disgusting nightmare.

Ironically, those worms are the only thing giving me attention right now.

I'm not sure if I want to look around, if I want to remember the pain this room has swallowed in my worst days. I don't want to remember the walls that held my shaking shoulders and heaving back. I don't want to remember that mirror that witnessed the lowest pits of my life.

Yet, yet my eyes don't comply with my wishes and take a complete scan of the room that seems untouched ever since my 'abnormal' death.

It almost touches me that no one has put in the effort to remove my last touches. To peel my fingerprints and last breaths away from every surface. It seems that they're okay with letting only dust move in and hug my last thoughts and words.

The balcony is wide open with the drapes lying dead and undisturbed by its sides. My legs carry me to it and I freeze in my spot when my eyes catch a shadow.

I roll my eyes at my hesitancy to move forward and face my fate. I mean, what's the worst that can possibly happen? I mean, for fuck's sake, my best friend killed me and my only companion can't bear having me around him; so, you tell me, what can be worse than this?

I hold my hands, no longer questioning my absence of feeling, and walk into the balcony with a deep, sad breath, only to find Jacob leaning against the balcony's edge, shirtless, in his school uniform pants, with a lit cigarette between his thumb and index finger of the hand he rests against his hips.

A strong air blast ruffles his golden crown of hair and gives his bare skin goosebumps as he raises his cigarette to his lips. I watch him with a new ache arising from the deepest part of me. I watch him and I miss him. I miss his playful smiles, his over-confidence and his random compliments.

I miss him and it guts me that I do. Because when I took my life away, I never thought I'd actually find myself dwelling on the people I've left behind. I never thought that they'd be anything but good fucking riddance.

I never thought I'd see them again as a bloody ghost.

”Jacobson!” A shrill voice says from behind me, making Jacob and I flinch and turn around as he throws away his cigarette. His arms rest quickly and awkwardly at his sides as he neutralizes his pale face for Mom.

Mom appears at the balcony's threshold, looking displeased, with her hands on her hips and a wet apron on her body. Her eyes run over his unsettled, obviously, sleep-deprived figure and she gulps.

”I've been calling you,” She says uncertainly. ”Where have you been?”

”I don't know-” He tells her. ”Hanging out with my dead sister?” He waves his arm around, meets her eyes and lifts his brows. ”You've got a problem with that?”

Mom pushes back a few hair strands with shaky fingers. ”You've been smoking, haven't you?” She purses her lips and stares at him defeatedly.

Jacob opens his mouth, closes it, changing his mind, then opening it again and speaking without hesitancy. ”Maybe I've been looking for better ways to kill myself too-” He tells her and Mom might as well pass out. I might as well pass out.

”Jacob-” Mom splutters. ”You have any idea regarding the magnitude of what you're saying?”

Jacob rolls his eyes. ”What did you come here for, Mom?”

”I came for you-” She says, not missing a beat. ”I've noticed how you've distanced yourself from the rest of us. I want to make sure you're okay-” She swallows hard. ”I-I just think that we need each other most now-”

Jacob looks like he might laugh himself into two halves. ”I most certainly don't need any of you-”

”Jacob!”

”Just leave me alone, Mom-” He says tiredly, giving her his back.

”You do not turn your back on me!” She suddenly and desperately yells at him and he turns around.

”Oh yeah?” He frowns so deeply it's almost crazy how the creases between his forehead are just temporary. ”You turned your back on her!” He yells out angrily and I try to make sure my knees aren't just floating around.

Mom freezes to speechlessness.

”Does that surprise you?!” He continues. ”You knew that you must've been at least a reason why! You know-” He points at her with his index finger, his arm tensing. ”And you're acting like you don't and it's disgusting!”

Jacob looks so revolted, with his face scrunching up and his ocean-blue eyes bulging.

”You don't understand-” She says faintly and Jacob couldn't look any angrier.

”Well, explain!” He says as he reaches haphazardly and forcefully in his pants' pockets, withdrawing a couple of cigarettes, four, and placing them all in his mouth. And where's my heart. ”Because nothing, nothing is a good enough reason for what you've done-” He pulls out his lighter and lights them all, almost professionally. ”And nothing is a good enough reason to stay-”

”Jacob!” Mom shrieks, reaching out for the cigarettes dangling from his mouth but he jerks away, with an outstretched hand.

”I'll explain!” She then cries out and the crazed look in Jacob's eyes settles a little. ”I-I just- please-” She begs him. ”Throw out this poison!”

Jacob looks at her from his peripheral vision, eyes welling up, and then removes and throws three cigarettes away, leaving one in his mouth.

And I cry for him. I cry and it hurts to wish that I was alive to comfort him.