I don't own four brothers or Jack, Angel and Bobby. I do own Rose, Dennis, Fiona and Davey.
Jack sat down at one of the tables all alone. Again. Most of the time, Jack was alone. Most of the people ignored him, other called him names, other were afraid of his family and said nothing but a quick 'hello', but nobody really took the time to talk to him.
Of course, Jack could've made the decision to sit next to Rose. Most of the time, Rose was alone too. Sometimes she was writing in a notebook, sometimes she was drawing and sometimes, on rare occasions, someone sat next to her, to whom she talked cheerfully talked. Jack just has never had the courage to sit next to Rose, afraid she would loathe him too. It's been weeks since the last time someone sat next to Rose and today, her table was full, but not because of her. A few people sat at the table, eating their food and probably laughing at Rose, but Rose was never the one to start a fight. Jack opened his lunchbox and was about to take a bite when he heard people talk to him. Or actually: talk about him.
"I've seen his scars: he probably cuts himself." The oh-so familiar voice of Dennis said. "Yeah, and his mommy doesn't even has enough money to let him buy food here." Fiona said. "Yeah well, then I'd skin myself too." Davey laughed cruelly. Jack bit his lip. He hated to her them talk about him like that, but he never stood up against the bullying.
Jack jumped a little when someone took place on his table. He didn't look up. He never looked up. He just let people say their hurtful words to him before they left him alone again. Whenever Bobby or Angel were in Detroit, no one spoke a bad word about him, but as soon as his brother left town again, the nagging and bullying started again. "Hey Jackie." She said. This time, Jack did look up. Rose was the last person he expected to talk to him. "All the other tabled are crowded already, so I hope you don't mind if I sit with you?" She asked. Jack silently shook his head. "Rose Wilson, get off the table!" Mr. Grey called out. Rose sighed, sat down the chair on the opposite of Jack, and started to munch on her food in silence.
"Di you think the same?" Jack asked after a few minutes. Rose looked at him, a confused expression crossing her face. "What they say about me?" Jack asked. Rose rose from her chair and looked at him. "Come with me, Jack." She said.
Jack knew he had school right now, but he didn't want to ignore her. After all, it wasn't a daily occasion that someone voluntary took the effort to talked to him.
The two teens walked down the streets of Detroit and stopped a few houses away from Jack's. Rose opened the door. "Come in." She said and Jack walked in, followed by Rose who closed the door behind them. Rose went upstairs and Jack followed her.
Rose opened the door to what Jack presumed to be her bedroom. There was some furniture in the room, like a bed, a bureau, a nightstand, and a closet. However, the things that caught Jack's attention were the drawings. The walls in Rose's room were full of them, like a big, self-drawn wallpaper.
Horses, cats, people, dogs. All different kinds of drawings. Every person or animal on the papers seemed happy, in contrast to what the figures on the drawings on Rose's desk looked like: the most awful scenes you could imagine were expressed. It were still people and animals, only different: a dog getting his with a whip, a cat hung from her paws, a woman getting burn marks. Each drawing was horrible in its own way. Jack immediately realized the meaning behind the contrary drawings on the desk and on the wall: the ones on the wall expressed her dreams, luck. The ones on her desk expressed her nightmares, maybe reminders of her own past. She expressed her darkest memories by drawing them, just like Jack did by writing songs.
"No Jack." She said eventually while grabbing his arm and unwrapping the bandaids around his wrist. "I don't believe you cut yourself." Jack looked at her as she unwrapped the bandaids until the scars were visible. "The scars aren't straight; it's more as if you're fallen through a window." She said. "Actually, someone broke their bottle on my arm." Jack said.
Rose pulled off her sweater. Her body was covered in scars, just like Jack's body and the bodies of his brothers, for as far as Jack knew they had scars. She pulled on a short-sleeved shirt. "You don't have to hide them." She said as he made a move to wrap up his wrists again. Jack looked up. "Some people claim that we lie, other think we make up our own truth. They don't want us to know or remember. They don't want us to believe our nightmares. But the scars remind us that the past is real."
The words 'The scars remind us that the past is real' are from the song Scars by Papa Roach