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Why did you save me? It’s scrawled out in small lettering that is identifiable as Alex’s handwriting as it’d always been. The pen clicks as he settles the question itself conveying what he simply could no longer do.
Some part of him thinks it’s a miracle he can no longer fuck things up by speaking on what came to mind with no filter, no idea of why he shouldn’t put a voice to such things.
He is his mother’s son.
Even then, he must bring shame to his family. His father had always run under the assumption something was wrong with Alex, it always had been.
And he supposes he is correct, look at him.
Tim’s eyes stare back at him, contemplating his answer. “Was I supposed to just leave you?” The question hangs thick in the air.
Was it supposed to be a trick question?
Yes. Tim observes as the pen moves and he swallows thickly as Alex’s answer stares right back at him.
“I wasn’t doing that, Alex,” Tim’s words slip out of his mouth as he watches Alex ponder his answer. “I wasn’t gonna let you die.”
“I’m sorry,” Tim manages to squeeze out, throat tight.
Why are you sorry? I forced your hand.
“No one deserves that,” answers Tim.
I did. It was a long time coming. What else do you do when someone shoots at you?
Tim’s eyes lingered on Alex’s neck, the raised skin that was still pink and unbelievably visible. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”
I did, don’t lie to yourself.
Why does someone like him deserve so many second chances when those he loved didn’t when he didn’t get the second chance to yank his finger away from the trigger, drop the knife, and remove his hands from Amy’s neck?
He can still practically feel the stinging sensation of the indents of Amy’s nails into his hands, as she tries to pry his hands off her neck.
He loved her with all his heart and he’d done that.
Let him choke, all alone.
Was that how Sarah felt? Alone? Cold? Scared? She’d screamed at him, he could’ve sworn she’d shredded her vocal cords like the inside of his throat was now likely to look.
It was a miracle, a miracle his ass.
A miracle would be the mercy of death, and not waking up in another cold sweat, hands warm and slick with what his mind convinces him is blood even when they’re clear and he’s scrubbed them raw until the blood he’d felt appeared.
He feels his skull is going to explode, it’s broken, isn’t it? Any sense of cohesion is slipping through the cracks.
Pressing his glasses to the bridge of his nose, Alex inspects Tim’s expression as he scribbles something else down. You wasted your time, I was better off dead.
Sometimes I feel I’m still dead and there’s nothing that’s gonna change it.
There’s blood coursing through his veins, his brain is active, and he can’t form any sentences or words—outside of sounds that the voice box wasn’t responsible for.
“I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.” It comes out in a quiet hiss, his lips twitching. “How do you live with what you did?” He questions, reaching out for Alex’s hands.
“How does someone who didn’t wanna do that, aware to an extent what they were doing live with that?” He continues. “I couldn’t.”
I don’t.
“You’re lucky to be alive, they said, I’m so glad you’re alive.”
Alex stares at Tim incredulously as he speaks.
I’m breathing, you call it living.
He’d finish the job if it wasn’t for the energy it took to commit to finding some way he could harm himself irreversibly. Alex knows no one would find him to stop him—at least he thinks no one would. Maybe his mother would find him and it’d break her heart and he couldn’t continue to cut into the hearts of people he loved.
Maybe Alex would feel bad for discarding all the kindness Tim and the doctors had given him. His mother had visited the hospital, concerned filling her eyes as she squeezed him in a tight hug.
Alex sobbed like a baby, he hadn’t sobbed that hard in a while. No sounds escaped his lips but the tears poured down his cheeks like a downpour.
She invited him back home alongside promises his father was gone, they genuinely had split. Telling him how he should come home so she knows he’s okay.
He’d declined the offer.
He settles into some stale apartment, he doesn’t do much apart from the occasional shower, and eating when his stomach has decided not eating is now his problem.
He thinks he’d drink bleach, and swallow a handful of pills, he can’t bring himself to muster a knife, maybe his gun.
But that was an easy out, he didn’t deserve easy.
Was that why was still breathing?
Was this punishment? He deserves it.
Alex is weak though, of course, he seeks to escape it even if he deserves it.
He’d never been so alone in his life, he’d had his friends his whole life, not worrying about that. Alex supposes he knew he’d be all alone by the end, by the end he would’ve succeeded and would be seeing Amy again.
He’d of completed his job and been able to rest his head. Alex couldn’t rest his head since his hands had been slicked with Sarah’s blood.
He was doing the right thing, he didn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand why it hurt so much and then he’s back at the beginning—he didn’t want them to be hurt—he loved them and if they were hurt, it hurt him.
Alex couldn’t allow that.
Yet he still did what he did.
“Did you go back home? I heard your mom visited.” Tim attempts to change the subject to something lighter, his tone hopeful.
No, I don’t wanna drag anything to her doorstep.
“So, you’re alone,” Tim states as if it’s the most obvious thing, it is. “You should’ve gone with her, Alex.”
Why do you care? You should hate me.
“I don’t,” Tim breathes out, placing one of his hands over Alex’s. “That’s what it would want and I’m above giving it what it wants.”
“And I care about you.”
Isn’t that what got me into this mess in the first place?
“You can’t do anything when you love, it just happens,” Tim says, squeezing one of Alex’s trembling hands.
It’s so lonely, he doesn’t wanna be lonely.
Desperately Alex’s hand grasps at Tim’s, his eyes brimming with tears.
I don’t wanna be alone, he mouths, nails digging into Tim’s hand but he doesn’t mind.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Alex scribbles on the paper,
“Don’t be,” Tim whispers, he pushes the notebook and pen onto the table, pulling Alex closer. He buries his face into Tim’s shoulder, his hands resting on Alex’s back tracing circles into his back.
Alex’s fingers dig into Tim’s flannel.
“How are you faring on your own?” Tim questions, his fingers pressing into the dips of his back.
Alex pulls away momentarily, grabbing the notebook and the pen. Okay. He writes it’s a blatant lie and he knows Tim can see right through it.
“I can stay with you if you’d like?” Tim offers, he sees something flicker in Alex’s eyes and hesitation takes hold.
Please.
Tim is taken aback by the acceptance of the offer but he agrees nonetheless. It hadn’t taken long for Alex’s resolve to crumble underneath and it led Tim to imagine it’d been cracking for a while now.
They scrounge up enough money between both of their savings for a cheap apartment.
Jessica visits, he doesn’t understand what compelled her to visit. Maybe she wants to see Tim, but she sits with Alex.
She tries to talk, with the same curiosity.
All he sees is Jay, he can’t look her in the eyes. At least he’s not as alone as he was in the hospital. Receiving kindness he didn’t deserve and couldn’t repay. He doesn’t recall much—The knife that Tim held puncturing soft skin—the knife that belonged to Jay, cruel irony.
Jay wouldn’t have wanted that, he knows that. Even if he deserved it and earned it, Jay wouldn’t have wanted it. Jay grasped it but he’d never used it, Tim held it slick with Alex’s blood.
“It’s good to see you up,” Jessica smiles, her lips curling upwards revealing her white teeth. “How are you doing?”
He Hadn’t gotten up willingly, Tim had made him get up. Saying something about how he couldn’t lay in bed all day—most of the time Alex would protest but Tim allows him to stay lying most times unless he’s trying to get him to eat or shower and wash his hair.
I don’t know, Alex writes, he looks up as Jessica’s brows furrow in response to it. He looks away, he can’t look at her. The questions, all the questions.
Just like Jay. Just like Jay. Like Jay. Jay. Jay. Jay.
Alex doesn’t recall much by the time he regains consciousness, eyes fluttering open, bleary as the light pooling in hits him, causing his eyes to blink shut in retaliation to the intrusion that is light.
Beeping is what catches Alex’s attention, he hazily breathes and his chest contracts and releases with the effort and cold air slipping down his throat through something cold.
Cold and hollow.
Alex’s eyes shut again.
Family, it’s one of the first things one of the gentle-voiced Nurses told him when he’d been able to hold being awake for long enough when he was able to breathe on his own without something down his throat that he was aching to pull out—because why wouldn’t they just pull the plug? Let his lungs or whatever collapse and call it a day.
Alex shakes his head as if in an attempt to dismiss the idea but they don’t take into account what he says, or the therefore lack of his speaking.
He’d come to get used to that silence.
The door shuts.
They’d called his mother, he could practically feel the hot prick of heat in the corners of his eyes when it was mentioned, Alex swallows, an ache settling deep within his throat.
There’s some indistinct chatter outside of the door and a knock, one of the Nurses enters. “We called your mother,” he says, an easy smile on his face. “Would you like me to let her in?”
Alex returns to the notepad that he’d been given, sinking back against the pillows. Yes.
More indistinct chatter and the door opens, revealing his mother’s face, worn-out frames of her glasses upon her face, creasing with worry.
God, he can’t see.
He squints and before he knows it, she’s beside him.
“Alex,” her smile is wobbly, tears peaking from the corners of her eyes and normally Alex would tell her to not cry because he was fine.
If not, he would be fine. He was not fine.
She pulls him in, tight. Alex's hands Fumble on her back as she strokes his. He swallows, thickly, tears threatening to spill over.
They always did.
Alex buries his face into her shoulder, he sobs, chest constricting and his shoulders heave in the same motion you expect to come along the gut-wrenching sounds, except nothing comes. The tears pour down his cheeks, eyes raw and puffy.
She pulls away, her lips twitching as she debates what to ask.
Alex’s eyes dart around, hands in his lap trembling.
“What happened?” She asks, clearing her throat.
He’d been preparing himself for that question, he licks his chapped lips.
“Look at you,” she says, concern sharpening her features. “How did this happen?”
I don’t know, Alex writes. It’s a blur.
He turns the notepad over, brown eyes scanning over what was written, rereading it and she sees unconvinced.
“Sweetheart, you can’t tell me… you don’t know?” She presses on, expecting Alex to crack.
I don’t remember.
I’m sorry.
She frowns, taking Alex’s hand. “Don’t,” she whispers, she offers a weak smile, a lump in her throat forming at the lack of an explanation.
Air bubbles in his throat, heart thumping against his ribcage as something throttles up his throat, and the burning sensation returns to his eyes.