a/n: hi guys! here's another multichap for you. this one's a james-centric horror. also, contrary to the description, it has nothing to do with zombies. i can't write about those, sorry, not my thing. anyway if you were expecting zombies turn back now because ew
this is in that weird style that i wrote 'pretty' in, sooo..
review or i'll cry and as always, enjoy the story xD
When Kendall sleeps, his dreams are laced with diamonds and crystals, twinkling things that litter the skies of his mind like a utopia. They're heavy with anamneses, recollections of a time when his card deck was complete- sure, he was the Heart and the Club and the Spade were still here, but what about the Diamond? You couldn't do much with a card deck if you didn't have four suits, and Kendall knows that Big Time Rush is no different. Hell, even before the band started, they were hopeless, absolutely useless as a complete set.
(Kendall misses the times when he had all 52 cards accounted for.)
\
Kendall rolls over in bed, pulling the covers up to his nose and ignoring the burning stuffy feeling that results. He blows out of his nose harshly, appreciating the feeling of his face melting under the heat. He looks up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and he can't help but be saddened by the sight of them. He'd shared many a night with the guys under those pieces of radioactive plastic, and even though it's been a while since their last 'sleepover in the kames bedroom', that doesn't change how vivdly the memories hit him. His ears redden at the tips, recoiling at the revenant sound of adolescent laughter, of spilling popcorn and quiet breathing.
His fingers curl into the sheets.
The breath that's been collecting dust within the grottos of his lungs rushes out in one hasty, loud sigh. He hates this. All he wants is sleep and he can't even get that, not when his thoughts are toxicated, acidic with the past. He wants to just close his eyes, screw them tight and rip his soul from his body- that would be easier than the torture he's going through right now. Kendall shuts his eyes and grimaces as the light of a platinum-coated smile flashes brightly under his eyelids. His eyes unhood almost immediately, green saucers rimmed thick with insanity and he sits up straight.
He can't do this.
He can't just sit here and think about what once was, what could've been, what is now- and how he can't change it. He runs a hand over his face, and all but chokes himself to hold back a scream. He'd been able to keep his emotions at bay for this long, why was he breaking down now? He gulps loudly and suddenly hot tears stream down his face and he's whimpering why, why, why, why, why? He can't stop them, he wants them gone, he doesn't like feeling so weak, so vulnerable but he can't, he can't stop because he just fucking- God, fuck, James- he can't handle it, he can't handle this.
He reaches across the bed, trying his best not to look at the empty bed beside his and grabs his phone off the dresser. Clicking it on, he finds it increasingly harder to stop crying when he sees it's been five months- to the day- since they'd learned that James' private jet crashed somewhere off the coast of Malaysia. He'd been doing a solo tour(his dream, his dream that killed him, Kendall thought bitterly) and apparently the pilots had thought it was okay to fly through a tropical storm at 3 in the morning.
Because of their idiocy, Kendall was down a friend and his friends were down on their sanity. Logan and Carlos weren't taking to the death well. Neither of them spoke much anymore, Logan throwing himself into his talk show and Carlos was almost never home, always at the rock climbing center he'd built. Kendall doesn't understand how they could go on with their solo careers so easily, especially because the only reason they're solo is because James is gone. Sure, the band had broken up, but that didn't mean their friendship had.
Either way, Kendall thinks it's ridiculous, but at the same time, he understands. Hell, he has a job of his own- since he was the unspoken leader of BTR, it was only fitting that Gustavo had him help Kelly with the producer's new guinea pig band, Smokey Tires. But that was only a part-time, and he honestly would rather be unemployed than work at all. However, he knows he owes a lot to Gustavo(like making James' dream come true), so the least he can do is return the favor.
Five months.
Without James. Without the constant bickering. Without the inside jokes and the teasing and the makeovers and the hugs(God, the hugs) and -
Kendall can't take this.
He gets out of bed and pads to the living room, turns the TV on as if the sound of static will block out the thoughts of James from his mind. Apparently the shorter half of the card deck had been having the same problems, because it's only mere seconds before he feels two tired teens dejectedly plop down beside him. He wraps an arm over each of their shoulders, not hurt when they don't lean into the touch. He knows they're probably just as deadbeat as he is, and if it weren't for those two, he'd probably not be doing a lot of moving himself.
The trio sits there, in silence, for what seems like hours. And it is. They sit and stare blankly at the static on the television with their thoughts running amok until the first rays of sunlight begin to filter through the blinds. Kendall finally moves, first time since 3am, and he looks at each of his friends- the only ones left in his group. He observes the bags under their eyes, the way the corners of their mouth droop ever so slightly and how Carlos' eyes were glassy and unfocused. He doesn't look, but he can feel the bumps in Logans spines dig into his arm as his thinner, lither chest rises and falls with each anxiety-riddled breath. It's been five torturous months, but they still feel it like it's the very first day.
"It's five months." Logan croaks out.
"To the day." Carlos adds, but neither of them move when they speak. Kendall doesn't know how to respond, so he just rubs what little of their bodies that stress and fear haven't eaten away.
He wishes James was still here(they all do).
But he isn't.
\
Logan gets up from bed quietly each morning, careful not to awaken Carlos(he never does). He makes his way over to the kitchen and opens the pantry, stares at the toast. He knows he should keep his strength up, he knows he's lost weight, he should eat, he should eat.
He closes the cupboard and walks away.
\
Logan gets tired of listening to white noise(after 5 hours?) and turns off the TV. He looks over at his friends, who are completely unfazed. They don't seem to care about much these days. Would they even care if he left?
He considers it, leaving. Just scraping together whatever money he's got saved up and going. Where? He doesn't know. Anywhere but here, where James' ghost haunts him daily. He never does leave, though. Never would. Because even though each reminder of James drives him a little more over the edge, every time he goes into the Kames bedroom and breathes in the scent of stale Cuda deoderant, he feels more at home than he would anywhere else.
Besides, he doesn't, he can't leave Carlos when he knows that the nightmares that infect his friend's dreams on a daily basis are always lurking in the shadows, can't leave Kendall to the agonizing, guilt-infested thoughts that intoxicate his mind and slurr his conscience every night. He can see his friends deteriorating, but he's going to fix them. He'll be the glue that holds them together, be their crutch until they can stand on their own again.
He has to.
Logan runs a hand through his hair. He sees Carlos flex his jaw, watches as the yawn he was trying to keep in escapes anyway. When was the last time he had the privelage of a good night's sleep? Kendall looks like he can barely focus, let alone take care of himself(or Carlos, or Logan). His tan friend hasn't done a stunt, told a joke- fuck, hasn't even smiled for five months, despite his best efforts to make him do so.
Logan can't help feeling helpless, can he?
\
Carlos locks himself in the bathroom for ten minutes every day. He cries, leaks blood and tears onto porcelain counters and cracking terra cotta skin. They always mix. Salt-clear and red, leaving tracks in their wake. He puts the razor away and continues his day. This is it, he thinks. That's the last time.
(It never is.)
\
Carlos sighs and leans into Kendall, trying to suppress a yawn. He's tired, oh so tired but he can't sleep, how could he? He doesn't want to, even though he knows that sleep could be seven hours without agony, without flashbacks, memories, bitter nostalgia, because it could also be seven hours of obscurity, wandering through a charcoal labyrinth of his greatest fears whilst cinders fall from the sky.
The ashes burn under his feet.
Help. He can hear his voice, and it's so dreaded but so welcome. Help me, please. He always hears it. The same phrase every time, right after he sees the plane, just a second too late as it crashes into the ground and explodes upon impact. Cinders rain from the sky.
You didn't save me. What kind of friend are you?
I don't know, he would say. I tried, really, I did.
Trying isn't enough, Carlos. You failed.
Carlos, you are a failure.
Carlos, you..
Carlos.
"Carlos?" He feels Kendall nudge his side and he looks up. "Are you okay?" Green eyes are dead ivy, crumbling and crackling. Carlos manages a weak smile.
"I'm fine." But all three of them know his words are emotional subterfuge. "Look, I'm going to go to the center, okay?"
"Carlos, it's six in the morning." Logan says, weary.
"I know, Logan." There's a razor-sharp edge to Carlos' voice that makes Logan cringe. Carlos takes a sharp breath and starts again. "I know, but Jenny asked me to come in early- we're running low on good equipment so we were going to go through some catalogues, make some orders."
"I see." Logan responds quietly, staring up at Carlos' 3/4 sleeve argyle shirt. "Have.. fun."
Carlos smiles small.
"I will."
\
Logan gets up moments after Carlos walks to the door.
"I have to go, too. I have to record for the show at ten, and I have a debriefing at eight." He walks off without a backward glance, but inside his mind is reeling. Carlos, Carlos. As the hispanic boy raises his hand to the doorknob, his sleeve rolls up and Logan sees paralell white, red and pink lines making their way up his arm. Tally marks. He's seen them before(hundreds&hundreds of times), but he's never had the courage to talk to him. Carlos pulls it down nonchalantly as he leaves, not realizing the slip-up, and Logan tries to walk off as quickly as possible after him without looking suspicious.
"Carlos! Carlos, wait." Carlos pauses, turning to look at Logan, eyes filled with questioning uncertainty.
"I- look." He reaches forward and grabs Carlos' wrist, watching as the boy visibly cringes. "I.." Carlos looks scared. Terrified. Logan considers not saying anything, just letting him be- any outlet of stress is a good one, after all, and it wouldn't help to bring more drama into their lives.
Logan pushes up Carlos' sleeve and runs a thumb over the cuts before walking ahead of him and calling back, "Be careful."
He hopes Carlos listens.
\
Logan comes home to a room filled with bloodred light, beams of purple and vermillion shining through the windows. He sees the still silhouette of Kendall, watches the rise and fall of his chest. Otherwise, he doesn't move. Sighing, Logan walks over.
"Hi," He says slowly.
"Hi." Kendall says, not moving or turning to look at him. Logan's brows furrow in concern. He'd seen days like this, days where Kendall's depressive, give-up personality took over his mind and body and rendered him nothing but a gargoyle. Logan wasn't sure whether or not Kendall was actually deppressed or if he was just taking longer to mourn than the other two. He worried so much for his friends, wanted to do something, anything to mitigate their afflictions.
(But he's just one, and what can one Logan do?)
"Did you go to work today?" Of course not, he thinks, looking to the iPhone sitting on the table. 14 missed calls. Gustavo, Kelly and his family, no doubt. Logan lets out an exasperated sigh and goes over to the phone, intending to unlock it and reassure his co-workers and female relatives that Kendall was, indeed, okay.
"No."
"Kendall, you can't just sit all day like this-"
"I'll do whatever I want." The words are sharp, and they pierce Logans heart, and Kendall knows it. Still, he doesn't move. Not an inch.
"Kendall, since Katie and your mom went back to Minnesota we need all the money we can get." Logan feels his face heat with anger, and he pinches the bridge of his nose to cool himself down. "Look, we're all sad about-"
"No, you aren't!" Suddenly Kendall's up and Logan's back is against the wall, Kendall in his face. Logan looks up at him and he chokes on air, struggling to speak as Kendall's angry breath coats his face with warmth.
"No one is! All you guys are doing is throwing yourselves into work, you haven't even thought about him lately, have you? All you do is think about money, and go to your job, and console me!" Kendall's voice has a bitter tang to it, sardonic and crazed both at the same time. "Do you ever think about James, Logan?"
The brunette boy can only pant fearfully in response, his pupils blown wide and black. Kendall's inches from his face and his own pupis are pinpricks in the dull sunset. Logan bites his lip and Kendall's long, ragged breaths slowly even out.
"What do you think, Logan?"
\
"I think really want to kiss you." Logan breathes, so quietly Kendall isn't even sure he heard it. He looks down in surprise, into the lust-black eyes peering up at him through thick lashes, and his breath hitches. He sees Logan leaning up and almost reciprocates because maybe this is what he needs, maybe he needs to feel loved to forget about James- oh God, but it's James and how could he ever forget-
The phone rings.
Kendall spins away from Logan, snapped out of his trance, and stalks off to answer it. He's vaguely aware of Logan letting out an exhaggerated, loud sigh and he can't help but shake his head at what could've been. Stupid idea, he thinks. Using Logan to fill the hole that James' death left in his heart was absolutely despicable. He sighed and shook his head to clear it, then answered the phone.
\
Logan inhales deeply. Let's don't let lust overtake us. He exhales and shakes his head to clear it. He knew, he knows he doesn't like Kendall- it was just a heat of the moment thing, thinking with his dick instead of his brain. He's not worried about that, or the possibility that it may not be true. What he is worried about is how Kendall feels about it. Deciding there's no urgency to figure it out, he walks slowly towards the room Kendall had stalked off to with his phone and leaps nearly three feet in the air when he hears the sound of metal on tile.
Carlos walks in just in time to hear Kendall scream.
The pair dash off to where their blond friend is waiting with ragged breaths and pin-thin pupils. He looks like he's just seen a ghost.
"Kendall, what happened?" Carlos asks, staring at the blond in confusion. No response. Logan frowns and steps forward, noticing the crystalline tears forming in the wells of his leafy eyes.
"Kendall?"
"Guys, come on, we have to go to the hospital." He grabs both of them by the elbows(harshly) and drags them towards the door, swiping the car keys on the way and giving absolutely no explanation as to what was going on. Carlos winces as his cuts are completely smothered from the pressure, and Logan flashes him a sympathetic glance. (Their brown gazes don't meet.)
"Wait, Kendall, what's going on?" Kendall's face is one of determination, and just when the pair think their question is going to go without an answer, they get one:
"James showed up."
Logan stops in his tracks, forcing both Kendall and Carlos to nearly fall on their faces.
James was alive?
a/n: aw, poo. it sounded better in my head..
please review or follow or favourite or tell me or mail me a box of carrots if you liked it! i would appreciate the former three, though. ;P not that i don't like carrots, those things are very delicious.
thanks for reading, even if you hated it, i appreciate you getting this far!