A/N. So iTunes has a free download of Big Time Rush live at NYC Times Square. There. That should keep you from murdering me after you read this chapter. I don't own anything.
"Wake me up (Bid my blood to run). I can't wake up (before I come undone). Save me, save me from the nothing I've become." - 'Bring Me To Life' by Evanescence.
As soon as he woke up, Kendall wanted to go back to sleep until the day was over. The pain was unavoidable and incredibly intense. He curled into himself and squeezed his eyes shut, begging for sleep to return to him. There was no way he could make it through the entire day. But the pain was too much for him to even drift off.
Resigning himself to the day ahead, Kendall got out of his bed, the covers seeming to weigh him down. He didn't bother to pick them up from the floor when they fell. Instead he stepped over them and crossed the cold wooden floor to his dresser. He didn't even take notice of the clothes he pulled out but quickly changed to keep the Minnesota fall weather from making him even colder.
When he was done, Kendall dropped to his bed and sat in silence. He didn't want to go downstairs. He was terrified of what he might find there. His arms were clenched around his middle and he struggled to take a deep breath. Tears burned his eyes and his head ached from the effort of holding everything inside. He couldn't break down. Logan wouldn't want him to do that. Especially today.
It was Kendall's birthday. He was twenty years old but he felt about ninety. Every part of him ached and he felt tired. So tired. So old.
It was impossible to avoid thinking of his two previous birthdays. When he was eighteen Logan had set up a date for him and Jo and the couple had gone to a hockey game. It had been a complete disaster. Kendall had been so worried about Logan that he hadn't paid any attention to his girlfriend or the game. Fortunately, Jo had always been understanding and that night was no exception. Halfway through the game she knew that Kendall's misery wasn't going to lift and they had gone home. Once back at Palm Woods, Kendall had relaxed because he could see for himself that Logan was still very much in one piece. They had a lot of fun together, Kendall and Jo with all of their best friends. But it didn't compare to the following year.
Everything had been so perfect back then. Logan was healthy, Big Time Rush was becoming a household name, they had entered their senior year, it was all just so. . . good. Kendall's friends had thrown him a huge surprise party and it had been a true celebration. Everyone had been happy.
Today was by far the worst birthday ever. Kendall felt like ripping his calendar off the wall and shredding it into tiny pieces to rid himself of at least one reminder of the horrible date. A sob caught in his throat and he slid off his bed onto the floor. His entire body shook and he cried until he felt sick to his stomach.
The door opened and Kendall heard footsteps before someone dropped down beside him. A ridiculous hope that it was one of his friends surged through him and then he remembered that he didn't have any friends left. He had pushed everyone he hadn't lost, far away.
"Kendall."
It was his father. Part of him was surprised that his father was even there in the first place while another part was slightly disappointed that it wasn't James or Carlos or. . . But most of Kendall didn't care who it was. He turned and clung to his father's shirt, sobbing hard into his chest. His sobs were barely muffled even though his face was pressed so hard into his father that he felt slightly stifled by the cloth. He could not stop shaking even when his father' arms held him so tightly that his breath had all but left him.
Jefferey Knight held his son while he cried. He didn't say anything. He couldn't speak around the lump that had lodged itself deep in his throat. Besides, there was nothing he could say that would bring Kendall an ounce of comfort. He tightened his grip, afraid that Kendall was slipping away from him. Tears flowed freely down his own face as he rocked gently back and forth, holding onto Kendall.
"I. . . can't." Kendall gasped out in between sobs. "I can't do this. It. . . hurts too. . . much. Make it stop, dad. Make. . . it stop. . . hurting."
One of the worst things in the world as a parent is seeing your child in pain and being utterly helpless to take any of that pain away. Jeffery shut his eyes and listened to Kendall's sobs, longing to have words to say to him. Anything. But he was robbed of speech by the grief that was tearing him apart like it was doing to his son. "I'm so sorry, Kendall." He finally said. "If there was any way I could make it hurt less then I would. You know that right?"
Kendall's sobs had slowed enough so that he could breath properly. But he didn't pull away from his father and merely nodded his head, his nose rubbing painfully against the rough material of his father's shirt.
Both father and son were quiet for a long while, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Kendall looked up at his father and Jeffery's heart broke all over again at the pain in his green eyes. "I don't think I can go to work today." He said in a soft whisper.
"Your mom already called Mr. Garrison." Mr. Knight said quietly. He stroked Kendall's hair out of his eyes. "You don't have to do anything today, Kendall. But-" He stopped when Kendall flinched and pulled away slightly as if he knew what was coming. He sighed and continued. "Kendall, your mother and I were talking and. . . we were thinking that maybe you should call Carlos and James today."
Kendall started shaking his head before his father was done speaking. "I can't." He said in a broken voice. "It doesn't make it easier. It makes it harder. When we're together we miss him more."
"But Kendall, it takes time." Jeffery said desperately. "You boys have been best friends for the longest time. They're hurting too. You need to heal together. You can't do it on your own. You need help."
"Help?" Kendall snapped. "Like a shrink, Dad? I don't need help. I'm doing fine on my own. I'm allowed to cry on my birthday. I don't want to see them and they don't want to see me. We're not friends anymore. It hurts too much. I'm moving on. I have a job and I'll go to college next year and. . ." He trailed off, his rant already making no sense even to him. "Please." He whispered to his father who had reached out to him again. "Just. . . don't."
"Kendall-" His father started but Kendall cut him off again.
"No. I need to be alone, please. It can be my birthday present." With that, Kendall turned and rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping in his haste. He was blinded by his tears but e somehow managed the front door and evade his mother. The cold air hit him like a kick in the gut but Kendall kept running. He didn't know where he was headed and he didn't care. He just had to get away from his house.
He had told his dad that he was moving on but even Kendall himself knew that it wasn't true. It was like he was running in place, getting nowhere fast.
It was the worst birthday ever.
"I'm falling apart. I'm barely breathing. With a broken heart that's still beating." - 'Broken' by Lifehouse.
It was Kendall's birthday.
That was the first thing Carlos had thought of when he woke up that morning. He wanted to pick up the phone and call Kendall. But what could he say? Telling him to have a happy birthday would be cruel. Carlos wanted to call both of his friends and apologize for letting them slip away from him. But he couldn't. There was nothing to say. He was positive that James and Kendall hated him. He was positive that they all hated each other. Because as much as his heart ached to see them again, he didn't see how they could ever be together again. Too much time had passed.
It was amazing that he was still alive. The pain he suffered on a daily basis, the craving he felt all day every day to climb into bed and sleep for hours at a time. . . His depression had such a strong grip on him that Carlos had simply stopped trying to keep from sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness. He didn't even feel guilty anymore. He didn't feel anymore.
But the thought of one of his former friends having to deal with a day that was supposed to be happy when it most certainly wasn't. . . Carlos didn't even want to think about his birthday coming up later. Before his birthday came James' and then. . . then Logan's.
Carlos flinched at the thought. What was he supposed to do when that day came? And what about Christmas? Could it possibly be any harder? He couldn't imagine.
His gaze swung over to the alarm clock on his desk. 2:17 in the afternoon. Eight more hours before he could go to bed without worrying his family any more. Well, seven hours and forty-three minutes to be exact. That sounded better. Not as long.
Carlos sighed and stood up, the book he had been staring at for an hour straight, falling to the floor with a dull thud. He stood in the middle of the room, uncertain of what he had even got up for in the first place. The house was quiet. Everyone had finally left him alone. He craved time alone and at the same time he would get so unbearably lonely. He didn't know what to do with himself anymore.
Unable to think of anything else, Carlos headed down the stairs, plopped down on the couch and turned the TV on. He flicked through the channels until he came to one of those mundane celebrity gossip shows. He set the remote down and let himself zone out. The host, babbling something about Jenifer Lopez and American Idol made it easy to stop thinking entirely.
He had no idea how long he sat there but suddenly a lone word caught his attention and sucked the breath from him.
"Cancer."
If he had been smarter he would have changed the channel or turned the TV off all together. But he was frozen to the screen. The pretty blonde wasn't the stupid host from the show he had started "watching". It was someone else. It was a different show. Despite himself, Carlos leaned forward and watched and listened intently, showing more life than he had in months.
"Cancer affect many, both young and old. The most recent star struck down by the deadly disease was nineteen year old Logan Mitchell, formally of the boy band Big Time Rush."
There was a ringing in his ears but Carlos could still hear every single word that suddenly seemed to be yelling at him. But perhaps what captured his attention even more was the familiar face on the TV screen, frozen in a still shot. Logan and the rest of Big Time Rush were standing soaking wet on a stage in New York City. Carlos hardly noticed the three of them though. Logan had a huge grin on his face and he surveyed the crowd, his eyes alive with excitement. Logan.
"Mitchell was diagnosed with acute myelogenous leukemia when he was just seventeen years old. Shortly after leaning the news, Big Time Rush put their record deal on hold in hopes that their band member would recover. And he did. A little over a year later, the band learned that Logan had indeed beaten his disease. After that Big Time Rush became famous and toured the country, released a CD and for the moment, lived their lives like normal teenage boys. But then Mitchell suffered a relapse and lost his battle shortly after. Big Time Rush has since split up and-"
Carlos' shaking hand finally found the power button on the remote. The horrific dialog was replaced by a blessed silence and he let out a shaky sigh. How in the world could they reduce Logan's life to those few lines? It was as if he had been nothing but a mere statistic to them.
A sudden rage that had been buried deep under his grief came rising to the surface and Carlos suddenly flung the remote against the TV. A spider web crack shivered across the screen and the back of the remote snapped off, the batteries flying across the room.
Without even thinking Carlos pounded up the stairs to his room. He slammed his closet door open and dragged a cardboard box out from under a pile of clothes and ran back downstairs with it. He was shaking with anger and wild sobs as he tipped the box upside down, paper cranes of all sizes and colors spilling onto the floor.
He had been stupid. So stupid to think that folding a bunch of paper birds would save his friend. It was just a stupid legend and had done absolutely nothing. They were pointless and all they did now was remind him of his loss. So Carlos hardly thought at all as he scooped up armfuls of paper cranes and flung them into the fireplace.
He was glad they lived in Minnesota where fireplaces were often in working order from September to March. His father had set the fire before his parents and sisters had left and the flames had started to die. But the paper ignited on the hot coals and soon the fire was back, flames leaping and dancing in red and orange and yellow. Carlos watched as the paper cranes melted in the intense heat and stared at the blackened remains. Then he collapsed to the floor and cried.
"There's really no way to reach me 'cause I'm already gone." - 'Vienna' by The Fray.
James sat on the bed, his entire body twitching nervously. His parents were up later than usual that night and it felt like he had been waiting for hours for them to finally go to bed. He sighed and brushed a shaking hand through his short hair. As he did, his long sleeve slipped up his arm and he caught a glimpse of a scar there. He quickly shoved the sleeve back down, grateful for once in his life that he lived in the cold state of Minnesota.
He had to get his new habit under control. The drugs were relatively easy to hide. All he had to do was keep them in the back of his closet and no one would ever know. But eventually, the weather outside would be too warm to go around wearing long sleeves. He was just grateful that it was still September. He had plenty of time.
James' breath caught in his throat as a sudden thought hit him. Kendall had turned twenty that day. His best friend. . . no, his old best friend was twenty years old. Kendall probably hated him from avoiding both him and Carlos. Carlos probably hated him too. James couldn't blame them because he hated himself too. He was a shell of his former self, if that. He took drugs on a daily basis to get through that days and nights, he cut himself, and James felt that it was only a matter of time before he took up another foolish habit.
A knock at the door almost made James fall off his bed. The door opened and his parents walked in. "James?" His father stood uncertainly in the doorway.
"Hi, Dad." James heard his voice crack slightly and he cleared his throat before he spoke again. "What's up? Are you guys headed to bed pretty soon? I think I'm going to turn in soon. I'm pretty tired. It was a long day." Shut up! He told himself. He sounded like an idiot rambling nervously like that. His parents were sure to become suspicious is he kept it up.
"Are you okay, James?" His mother sank down on the bed next to him and placed a hand on his knee. "I imagine today was hard." Tears filled her eyes and James had to look away.
"Yeah but. . . what day isn't, you know?" James studied his feet for a while before lifting his head and faking an enormous yawn. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, okay?"
His father took a few steps closer, looking at him in concern. "James, is everything okay? I mean, I know that you miss. . . Logan." He paused, taking note of the flash of pain in James' eyes at the name. "But your mother and I have been worried about you. We don't think that you're. . . coping well. You haven't seen Kendall and Carlos in months and-"
"You know what?" James interrupted. "I'm not okay. That's obvious. Do you really expect me to? My best friend is dead and. . . and I don't know who my other best friends are anymore." He took a deep breath and went on. "But I think we just need some space, you know? Time to deal with this on our own."
"It was Kendall's birthday today." His mother said softly.
James drew away from her touch. "I know. Believe me, I know. I wanted to call him but. . . I don't know. It's so hard. Honestly? It hurts worse when I'm with them because every time I am, I'm reminded of what's missing. But maybe it'll get easier soon. I don't know. The only thing I do know is that I can't deal with it right now. I just want to be alone. . . to think."
Neither of his parents looked convinced but his mother nodded and stood up, letting her husband drape an arm over her shoulders. They stood looking down at their son before she spoke up again. "James, you do know that if you ever need to talk about anything, we're here for you, right?"
If only they knew. James thought bitterly. But he was glad they didn't because it would only hurt them worse. So he managed to paste a fake smile on his face and nod. "I know. Thanks."
"We love you." His mother bent and kissed him on the cheek and then they both hugged him. James braced himself against the tears that were poised to fall and hugged them back lightly, muttering something that even he couldn't decipher. Then at last, they left and he was alone.
He waited another hour after their bedroom light went of and then jumped up. He crept across the floor and pulled open his dresser drawer and took out his wallet. Then he froze, his mouth drying in fear. The wallet was empty. He had no money left. No, no, no. He chanted to himself as he frantically turned the other pockets inside out and then rummaged through the drawer. Nothing. He had nothing.
This can't be happening. He thought, tears coming to his eyes. He needed that money. How would he make it through the next day? His hand shook as he shut the drawer and stumbled back over to his bed. His mind raced for an idea. One hit him and he was so panicked that he didn't think twice.
It was much riskier than his old plan but desperate times called for desperate measures. James was desperate. As silently as he could, he headed downstairs into the dinning room and over to the locked chest. His fingers trembled as he picked the lock with a paper clip and slid the drawer open. He lifted out a stack of green bills and slid his prize into his pocket before heading back up to his room. He still needed to use his bedroom window if he wanted to leave quietly.
The night air was chilly and James walked fast down the familiar path. Soon he had reached the street corner where he found Mark already waiting for him in the shadows.
"Thought you chickened out tonight." Mark commented dryly when he saw James approach. "What slowed you down?"
"My parents." James muttered, avoiding Mark's curious stare. When the older boy was silent, he jerked his chin up. "So, did you bring anything for me?" He sounded like such a drug addict that it made him feel slightly sick.
"Chill, man." Mark held up his hands. "Here." He brought two bags from out of his coat pocket and held them in the air. "Money first." He said when James tried to take the bags.
James sighed and yanked the bills from his pocket and shoved them into Mark's free hand and took the bags in exchange. "Thanks." He mumbled as he turned to go.
"Wait." Mark suddenly grabbed James' arm and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out in pain. The tight grip wrapped around his arm where he had cut himself that morning and made the small injury sting. "So, James." Mark caught the wince and raised his eyebrow but didn't question James. "I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me and some of my buddies sometime in the near future. You still look like you need a distraction."
James shook his head. "No, I-" But he stopped in mid-sentence as a painful thought occurred to him. It was his birthday in three weeks. He would be twenty soon. He didn't know how he would make it through the day, no matter how many pills he could safely take. He needed a distraction at least on that day. He pushed back the thought of another, more painful day and looked up at Mark. "My birthday is in three weeks." His voice was tiny and Mark grinned.
"Aw, man." He said, shaking his head. "First days like that are always the worst. Just wait until-" He saw James' face and stopped, shrugging his shoulders. "Well then, meet me here in two weeks, same place, same time and I'll have a fake ID for you if you bring me an extra one-fifty. Deal?"
James nodded before he could even consider Mark's offer. "Deal." He replied, relief flooding his voice. Then he watched Mark give his customary farewell bow and disappear into the darkness.
He had no memory of walking back home, climbing into his bedroom window, popping another pill, and falling into bed. Because all he could think of was how much he hated himself and how utterly worthless his life had become.
A/N. Be honest. How many of you hate me right now? Because I have exceeded awfulness and it's just awful right now. This chapter took me two days to write because I was sad and I was brainstorming for future chapters and oh my goodness. But please, if you liked this at all, review. Reviews keep me writing!
