Warnings: This chapter will contain violence, suicide, and some language.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
Alex Karev remembered that day. He would remember that day as long as he lived on this earth. It didn't matter how bad, how fucking bad he wanted to forget it, it would be ingrained into the back of his skull, ready for him to rewatch like a movie, a movie reminding him of his crappy existence.
He remembered how he woke up, curled on the dingy carpet next to the bed Aaron and Amber shared. They were 10 and 4, respectively.
He remembered feeling pain as he sat up. Scolding himself for relishing, even clinging onto, the stinging sensation as his clothes rubbed against his thighs and his abdomen.
He remembered considering not getting up. Maybe he could just lay there forever and ever until he disintegrated into the floor. But then he heard the screaming, and the shouting, and something that sounded suspiciously like a plate shattering.
He remembered knowing that this was going to be a bad day. And he needed to get up, because if he didn't, no one would be there to clean up his mom or feed Aaron and Amber or fix the wreck his dad would leave behind.
He remembered hauling himself onto his feet with a deep sigh, and rubbing at a crick in his neck, glancing at his sleeping siblings as he did every morning. They looked peaceful. They truly only looked that way when they were sleeping. Alex briefly wondered if he looked like that at night.
He remembered changing into a dingy t-shirt and some sweats, not looking down at himself as he did so. And throwing on a random sweatshirt because damn it was cold, and nobody paid the heating bill for the fourth winter in a row.
He remembered waiting for the screaming and shouting to stop, and the slamming of the front door marking his dad's exit. He woke Aaron and Amber, watching as the peaceful expressions slid off their faces, like masks. He wished he could catch those masks and fasten them back on. But they'd still only be masks, like the happy one he wore every day when he was trying to convince his siblings that life was good. And masks could only do so much.
He remembered helping both Aaron and Amber into their clothes, because no one had taught them to dress themselves and it was easier just to do it for them. Amber told him for the hundredth time that she wanted pink clothes like other girls. But Alex just slid one of Aaron's old grey t-shirts over her head like always, because he knew that he could barely steal enough food and there was no way in hell he could succeed in stealing clothes.
He remembered picking up his sister and holding his brother's hand, leading them cautiously down the stairs. Peeking around the corner to see if his mom was fine or if she was crumpled in a heap of blood of tears and other substances Alex couldn't name, like she sometimes was.
He remembered his breath catching in his throat as he realized it was the latter.
He remembered quelling Aaron and Amber's curiosity and concern, telling them everything was okay and that he was just going to help her for a second. He sat the pair down on one of the steps and told them to stay. They both listened because they knew that listening to Alex usually meant not getting hurt.
He remembered the way that it felt like he was floating, gliding over to the form that was his mother. Sitting her up against the fridge. Raising her again as she slumped to one side, limp as a rag doll. He grabbed a cloth from the countertop and wet it, bringing it over to her and trailing her mouth, then her forehead, then her cheeks. The same way he always did.
He remembered knowing that this definitely was going to be a bad day, as his mom made no sign that she was even aware of his presence, aware that he was cleaning up her blood and her sweat and her tears.
He remembered his brain resorting to autopilot like it sometimes did in these situations. He was grateful for this. It was almost like his mind knew that even though this sucked, sucked so bad, that it was his job and as soon as he was finished it would be over. Over until tomorrow, at least.
He remembered gently lifting his mom and carrying her over to the couch. He hadn't been able to do that until this year, and whether it was a combination of him getting stronger from his wrestling practices four days a week or his mom getting weaker he didn't know. And maybe he didn't want to know.
He remembered laying a thin blanket on her. Smelling the alcohol that basically seeped from the material. Trying not to gag but having to turn for a moment to regain his composure.
He remembered retrieving his siblings, hearing the complaints about how long it took him, feeling a headache coming on as they asked if they were going to have breakfast, if dad was coming back, if mom was alright. He almost snapped when Amber asked about getting a pink shirt another fucking time, but he just breathed in and shut his eyes. The way the school counselor had told him to do when his teacher forced him to go to her office that one time.
He remembered finding a stale box of graham crackers. Seeing there were only two left. He gave one to Aaron and one to Amber. Both were oblivious to the fact that Alex hadn't eaten in over three days, save a couple of Ritz crackers a girl at school offered to him when she saw he "forgot" his lunch yet again.
He remembered doing Amber's hair in the kind of pigtail, double-French-braid things she seemed to like. Trying to get Aaron to at least comb his unruly blond locks.
He remembered walking Aaron to the bus stop, where he waved goodbye as his brother was whisked away to elementary school in a bus. Some of the tension in his shoulders released when he knew that he would be safe for at least the next six hours.
He remembered bringing Amber to the nice lady who lived three houses down and told him that he and his siblings were always welcome if it was a bad day. Thinking that yes, this was a bad day, and yes, today Amber needed to be somewhere else.
He remembered rolling his eyes at the home phone when he got back, knowing that it would never ring with the message that Alex wasn't at school for the millionth time, because no one paid the phone bill either. And today Alex wasn't going to school.
He remembered wondering who cared about goddamn fractions or essays or natural selection when his mom was hurt, and possibly dying, because she still hadn't moved and it had been over an hour.
He remembered wondering vaguely if he should call 911, but that meant police officers and paramedics and countless other people. People who would see their house and his mom. People who would take him away. Away from his brother and his sister and his mom, who all needed him. Everyone needed him.
He remembered his chest constricting as he realized that everyone needed him, and they were going to need him for years and years and years, and he was never going to get the chance to need someone himself.
He remembered this thought circling his brain as he cared for his mom all day, giving her some food and water when she finally woke up, brushing her hair, helping her change into clean clothes. Almost like she was Aaron or Amber. Except she wasn't Aaron or Amber, because Aaron or Amber weren't constantly beaten up to the point where it wasn't clear if they were going to live or die, and neither of them had to take crazy schizo meds every day.
He remembered trying to leave to get Aaron from the bus stop, but having to return to his mom when she cried out. He cradled her head and promised he would only be a couple of minutes, and the next person to walk through to front door would be him, not her husband.
He remembered running to the bus stop, where Aaron was waiting, clutching his backpack as though it would keep him safe from all the bad things in the world. Alex wished that could be true.
He remembered dropping Aaron off with his mom and getting Amber. Seeing the sympathetic look on his neighbor's face as he grabbed his baby sister. Leaving hastily so the lady wouldn't ask about his "home life" as she did sometimes.
He remembered helping Aaron start his homework, despite the onslaught of complaints and whining that ensued. Feeling like he might rip his own head off because his little brother could not focus on one thing if the goddamn world was ending.
He remembered guiding his siblings to the couch thirty minutes later, where they sat next to their mom, who was dozing slightly. Alex discretely checked her pulse on her right wrist to make sure she was still alive. He had learned to do this from some stupid medical drama on TV.
He remembered turning on said TV. The TV was the only reason his father even bothered to pay the cable bill. Normally it was playing some crappy show where all the characters shouted words that made Alex cover Aaron and Amber's ears and bring them upstairs.
He remembered taking one last glance at the three, finding something resembling solace in the fact that he would have at least a couple hours of alone time while they watched Good Luck Charlie. He wondered if they wished their life was like that; with the picturesque family where absolutely everything was perfect and the dad never hit the mom and the mom never went crazy and the dad never drank until he passed out.
He remembered going into the bedroom that he shared with Aaron and Amber, retrieving the makeshift weights that were stored in the bare corner of the room. He picked them up easily, and lowered them back down. He lifted them again, and lowered them, too. Up, down. Up, down. He didn't know how long he did this.
He remembered wondering why it was so easy for him to lift weights for hours on end without getting bored at all. Maybe it was from all the practice he got hiding in cupboards when he was little. Or maybe he just liked the repetitive motion, only having one job, a simple job: to keep the weights going up and down.
He remembered at some point he stopped working out, realized that he had other things to do. He took off his sweat-drenched t-shirt and tossed it in the hamper, searching around for a clean one. He realized with a sigh that he needed to do laundry. There was only one clean top left, his sweatshirt from earlier, and that would have to be saved for tomorrow.
He remembered just thinking fuck it, and abandoning his search for a shirt altogether. He tugged upwards at the waistband of his pants so that they would cover anything suspicious, anything that would earn him some crazy pills just like his mom.
He remembered helping Aaron and Amber shower. Helping them change into pajamas. Helping them brush their teeth. Helping them into bed.
He remembered them complaining that they were hungry. He promised he would steal them some cereal or something tomorrow, that he was sorry, that he would do better.
He remembered watching as Amber began crying softly. Climbing into bed and rocking her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, like he did whenever she was sad. She fell asleep in his arms eventually, and he gently laid her next to a sleeping Aaron.
But he knew that all of these things were everyday occurrences, and the real reasons he remembered this day were completely different. Completely awful. Completely unforgivable.
He remembered easing himself off the bed, prepared to go check on their mom, when he heard the distant noise of a door slamming and a frightened cry. His blood froze in his veins.
He remembered glancing at his siblings, who stayed fast asleep. It was funny how deep sleeping could be an acquired skill. Nobody thought it was, but how could they know anything until night after night, the noises of their dad beating their mom echoed around a house that was too small for three people to live in, let alone five?
He remembered thinking that there was no way, no way in hell, his mom could survive another beating, not today. And suddenly his brain wasn't controlling his arms, that pushed him into a standing position, or his feet, that stood on the ground, or his legs, that carried him out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
He remembered turning the corner and getting a full view of his dad, towering over his mom, who looked as though she wished the coach would swallow her whole.
He remembered at that moment, realizing his brain didn't control his hands or arms anymore.
He remembered knowing this because of his right arm lifting itself and thrusting his fist forward to come into direct contact with his dad's face. Once, twice, three times.
He remembered that at some point, after all the yelling and shouting and screaming and just a shit ton of noise, his dad was on the floor, curled in on himself. Pathetic.
He remembered telling his dad over the sound of his mom whimpering that he was never to come back. Being able to see the fear and submission even through the blood that ran down his face.
He remembered his dad fleeing, and keeping to his word. He never came back.
He remembered locking eyes with his mom, and then lowering his gaze to his already-bruised hand. His brain was slow, sluggish, as though he were the one who had just gotten beaten to a pulp.
He remembered that despite this, he knew…he knew that he had become his dad. He had become the one thing he never wanted to be. It had been like Jimmy, towering over Helen, except now he was Jimmy and Jimmy was Helen.
He remembered knowing that his mom was staring at him. Whether she was frightened, or grateful, or a bit of both, he didn't know. And maybe that was yet another thing he didn't want the answer to.
He remembered his brain resorting to autopilot once again, checking his mom to see if she was okay, helping her get ready for bed. Doing so as the thoughts of who he'd become raced around his head.
He remembered going back upstairs at one point, but his brain must have still not been in control because he never recalled doing so and suddenly, with a final glance at his siblings, he turned toward the bathroom instead of the bedroom and was turning the lock and sitting on the floor. Tugging off his sweats. Leaving himself in only boxers. Exposing the scars and cuts that littered his thighs and abdomen. Exposing his secrets. Exposing his weaknesses. Exposing his mistakes.
He remembered thinking that maybe he should regain control of his brain, because suddenly and without his knowledge he had picked up the razor blade he kept hidden underneath the trash can, and his thoughts weren't doing anything to take over his hands or arms. Nothing stopped them as they lifted the blade and lowered it in a quick, sweeping motion, splitting open the skin on his right thigh.
He remembered watching as the blood seeped out of his leg. Watching with content, and pleasure, even though he knew that these weren't feelings he was supposed to be feeling, but who cared, it didn't even matter anymore, because now he was Jimmy and he was definitely a fuck up, and there was no denying it anymore.
He remembered thinking how it was kind of funny that all of these years, Aaron and Amber and Helen had seen him as their savior, when really, he was the one who destroyed everything. He was Jimmy. A mistake to the world. Their world.
He remembered knowing suddenly that he had to fix this mistake, gaining clarity for the first time in years.
He remembered raising the blade, not to his thigh or abdomen this time, but to his left wrist. And before he could have second thoughts, he had pressed down and dragged the razor blade along the surface of his forearm. Blood was gushing out, like a waterfall but also not because waterfalls weren't red and waterfalls weren't blood and waterfalls weren't going to be the last thing he saw as he slipped away. He felt pain, but it was dulled by the knowledge that it would all be gone soon.
He remembered making more and more gashes on his arms until there was too much blood and he couldn't even see his limbs anymore.
He remembered thinking blissfully that it was finally going to be over, that he wouldn't be Jimmy anymore and both Jimmy's would be gone and his mom and his brother and his sister would finally be safe.
He remembered sitting back against the side of the bathtub and allowing himself to let go to the vast oblivion that was destined to be his home. Blackness crept along the edges of his vision and it was like he could feel no pain anymore and it kind of felt like he was invincible. He laughed at this because no, he wasn't invincible. In fact, he was dying.
He remembered snickering again because he thought dying was funny, and wow how fucked up he was, because who the hell thought dying was funny? And he wasn't sure if it was because of the blood loss, or because his mom and dad and brother would be safe now, or because he was going to be where he belonged, but he felt a happiness, a sense of contentedness, wash over him that he hadn't felt in forever. Longer than forever.
He remembered smiling, smiling that goofy kind of smile that he'd seen but never had the chance to experience.
He remembered that he was still wearing that stupid smile when the door handle was jiggled, once, twice, three times. Neither of his siblings had any sense of boundaries because when you grow up with your brother having to help you shower and change you and potty train you there are no boundaries.
He remembered that even through the dizziness and the darkness threatening to overcome him, he could still feel his whole being freeze as the handle was tested once more, and the lock let out with a small pop. Thinking that of course, of fucking course, this was the moment the lock decided to fail because he was Alex, or Jimmy, or some other fuck up, and his whole life was fucked up and he wasn't even going to succeed in ending his fucked up life.
He remembered catching a glimpse of Aaron's face as his normal expression was wiped away to reveal one of horror. Before, Alex had wished his face would stay peaceful, but now he didn't care what it looked like as long as it didn't look like how it did now. Because this was horribly fucked up.
He remembered hearing his brother's blood-curdling scream, even though it kind of sounded like he was underwater. Like he was drowning. He was drowning in his own blood and it seemed like that's what Aaron thought too because he came over and pressed his tiny palms against the gashes on Alex's arms, like he could stem the waterfalls gushing from them. He was crying but this time Alex couldn't rock him because his arms were waterfalls and he was drowning in their current.
He remembered hearing footsteps running up the stairs. Running in the way that only a mother would run when she heard her child screaming. Seeing his mom poke her head into the doorway, watching the horrified expression overcome her, too.
He remembered her suddenly sprinting back downstairs, and he knew what was coming next before it happened. She slammed the phone down with a loud stream of curses. He didn't even hear Aaron sobbing or feel his little hands anymore as his mom ran out of the house and slammed the door and presumably went to the kind neighbor who Alex had talked to only hours before.
He remembered hours or minutes or maybe only moments later, two sets of footsteps going as fast as they could. Wondering how Amber was still asleep but then remembering it was from a lifetime of training. Squinting groggily to make out the figures of his mom and the friendly neighbor.
He remembered being told that help was coming, he needed to stay awake, it was going to be okay. And he was reminded of all the times he told his mom it was going to be okay after Jimmy was gone. Or how he told Aaron it was going to be okay when there was no food and he was starving. Or how he told Amber it was going to be okay she woke up shivering from sheer cold at three am.
He remembered how suddenly, with a jolt, he was Alex again. And for the first time since he slit his wrists, he realized this wasn't the Alex he was supposed to be. Alex wasn't supposed to be lying on the floor in his boxers with waterfalls for arms and fog clouding his head and blackness creeping in on his vision. He wasn't supposed to die, not yet.
He remembered how this didn't matter a few seconds later because despite his mom's pleas he had slipped into unconsciousness, his head falling into her lap the way hers fell in his when he combed his fingers through her hair as she fell asleep on bad days.
He remembered waking up to loud sounds of people shouting and flashing lights and crying and he had no idea what was going on because all he could feel was the searing pain emanating from both of his arms. He arched his back in agony and was firmly pressed back down by a set of hands, hands that weren't Aaron's or Amber's or his mom's or the kind neighbor's.
He remembered being lifted onto something and suddenly he felt like he was moving, like he was in a car, but he couldn't tell because everything was a blur of sounds and sights he tried to identify but couldn't.
He remembered deciding to just resort on focusing his breathing like the counselor had told him, and soon he was in his own world, underwater but not drowning this time because the hands pressing on the waterfalls on his arms had been replaced with something that could stem the current.
He remembered a mask being shoved over his nose and mouth, and now he could watch his breathing as a cloud formed and disappeared. And someone was stroking his hair, but he didn't know who and it was kind of confusing because no one had ever stroked his hair; it had always been the opposite. He tried to push their hand away because he shouldn't be the one getting comforted but his arms wouldn't raise off of whatever he was lying on so he just went back to watching his breathing, two breaths for every time the person's hand ran through his hair.
He remembered that at some point, all of the movement around him had stopped, just for a brief second, and the only things in the world were his breath and the hand. But that all stopped in a moment as people everywhere crowded him, lifted him, were rolling him somewhere with bright lights and the smell of antiseptic and beeping machines.
He didn't remember much after that because he must've passed out again and for that he was grateful because he didn't want to know what happened when he got to the hospital.
He remembered waking up much later, being greeted by the sight of a woman checking tubes and machines surrounding him, surrounding a tiny bed he was splayed out on, and there was a beeping sound that he wanted to go away because it was really damn annoying. But his head wouldn't really turn and he had no idea where he was. Then it all hit him full force. He had tried to kill himself and failed.
He remembered the incessant beeping quickening slightly in pace, as his whole chest constricted and he couldn't breathe, and it was kind of like the feeling he always had when he was hiding in a cupboard or a closet or under the bed.
He remembered the woman turning to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, telling him to be quiet, telling him he was okay now, and thinking to himself, how the hell could she say it was okay?
He remembered that despite all of the thoughts chasing each other around his head, he fell back asleep at some point, and awoke to a throbbing that ran from both of his wrists all the way to his head.
He remembered the nurse seeing that his eyes were open again and going over to him, asking him if he wanted to see his mom. He almost said no for a second but then realized his mom had already seen him when he was practically bleeding out in the bathroom, and this was nothing compared to that. So he nodded his head apprehensively, and the nurse helped him sit up. He flashed her what he hoped was a thankful smile but was probably a grimace.
He remembered her leaving, and returning with his mother, who looked even smaller than usual if that was possible, her hand clasped over her mouth and translucent tears lining her cheeks. And he felt guilty beyond words, because it seemed like his mom thought she needed him, or something, and he probably just fucked up really bad.
He remembered his mom stroking his hair like the hand did before and it kind of felt nice but it also felt wrong because it wasn't supposed to be like this, he was supposed to be stroking her hair, or maybe no one should be stroking anyone's hair because that meant something was wrong.
He remembered wanting to say he was sorry, because he was, so, so sorry, but when he opened his mouth and tried to speak his voice came out quiet, just like his mom's, and it cracked halfway through his sentence. The tracks on her cheeks deepened and he didn't know what to say or do because this time he didn't think he could make it stop.
He remembered deciding not to say anything, because it seemed that that only made the situation worse, and even if he could say something he didn't think any words would come to him.
He remembered lying like that, his mom by his side, for awhile until she was pulled aside by the woman from before and they both talked about something Alex couldn't hear with serious looks on their faces before turning back to him.
He remembered that after their conversation, the next few months were void of any decisions he made for himself. They were spent being force-fed loony pills probably like his mom's, going to stupid meetings where he was supposed to talk about his feelings but said nothing of value, and just overall hell.
He remembered that even though he hated it so damn much, he followed the rules, because following the rules meant he could get back to his mom and Aaron and Amber, who he could then take care of, like he was supposed to.
He remembered person after person telling him that he was doing great, making great progress, showing great potential, and he smiled and thanked them when he really just wanted to yell and hit something.
He remembered that eventually, they decided that he was free to go home after a mandatory conversation with Child Protective Services, but he had been through dozens of those, and he knew what he was supposed to say to make them happy.
He remembered finally being free, and now that day, the day his family had never talked about ever again, was just a movie etched into the back of his head, and he would never hurt himself again because he had to be the one to rescue others, not to be rescued.
He remembered vaguely wondering if he was still Jimmy, but he decided denial was best and all of those thoughts were added to the movie in his brain, too.
He remembered that it would be okay now, all he had to do was only help and never need help and it would be okay, just like everyone said.
He didn't know he was wrong until years later.