Chapter Sixty-Nine
Claire knocked on John's bedroom door, holding a bowl of soup in her hand that she hoped to get him to eat. "John?" She called, slowly pushing his door open to show her boyfriend with his notebook and his pen in the darkly lit room. "I brought you some food."
John looked up at her for a moment, before going back to his book without saying a word.
She sighed setting it on his bedside table, as she sat on the edge of his bed. "What're you writing?" She asked, reaching toward him.
He turned away from her, the guilt of what Jessica had done to him still fresh in his mind.
She looked at the broken boy before her, wishing that she could take his shame and pain away. "John, please talk to me." She caught a glimpse of the writing in his book as he refused to look at her, reading the clean lines of cursive that he'd written with his good hand.
Chaos
I've been working towards
a goal, a clean slate.
This incident wipes my
efforts and renews my guilt.
My hopes and dreams are
now on hold. When will all
this mistrust, fear and anger end?
My life is chaos, again.
One person's actions began
This attempt to ruin and reshape
my life. Now two more people
conspire to pull at the threads of my life.
I ask is why. I just want to live in peace,
free from pain, fear and to live with those
I love. Instead, my heart is heavy and I
weep with frustration and shame.
The tapestry of my life is being shredded
and my family and friends are my only shield
from the black thoughts that plague my
waking hours. I'm lost on road without signs
She looked up at him, taking in the tight wrappings on his chest and the dark circles under his eyes. "It wasn't your fault." She stated, watching as his breaths became shorter and more agitated. "It's like the meth, you didn't-"
"Get out." He growled, turning his dark eyes on her.
"John-"
"Out." He pointed at the door, his hand shaking from the withdrawals.
She reached toward him, jumping back when he pushed her from his bed. "John-"
"GET OUT!" He shouted, his voice cracking from the rawness left from his stomach being pumped.
She stood, walking from the room with tears running down her cheeks. "Dominic?" She called, knowing that if anyone could get John to eat it would be his cousin.
Dominic poked his head out of Andy's room, Andy's wrestling helmet on his head. "Is he being as ass?" He asked, unbuckling the helmet and walking towards John's room. "Don't worry, I'll take care of him." He pushed the door open, jumping toward his cousin as he convulsed in the grips of a seizure. "John!" He lifted him off of the bed, being careful to not hurt his cousin and make sure the sheets weren't a threat to his safety. "Hey, Johnny, look at me." He held John's head, the action becoming all too familiar over the months. "Shh…" He soothed, trying to comfort his cousin as best he could. "It'll be okay." He brushed a tear from John's eye, his heart aching with every painfilled cry and grunt from the younger Bender. "It'll be okay."
John's body gave a violent twitch, letting him relax after it had passed, allowing him to cry freely into his cousin's strong embrace. "I wanna die." He sobbed into Dominic's shoulder as the older boy pulled him to his body. "I don't wanna do this anymore."
Dominic rubbed his back, knowing that John was in constant pain and that his body always seemed to be betraying him. "You're not gonna die." He stated, feeling John's fingers dig into his back. "You've gotta stick around for Claire and Amelia." He caught John's hand as he started moving toward the knife Dominic kept on his hip in a small sheath. "Oh no, you're not doing that." He stated, taking the knife and throwing it so that it stuck in the door frame. "You're not offing yourself."
"Dominic, I don't want to do this anymore." He sobbed, trying to get his point across to his cousin. "It hurts too bad."
Dominic rubbed his hand through John's hair, combing the tangles out with his fingers. "Well, that sucks for you. Because I'm not letting my baby cousin die."
"It hurts!" John cried, desperate to make Dominic understand. "It hurts!"
Dominic nodded, lifting his cousin up as he sat on his bed, letting the thinner boy curl up on his lap. "I know Chiquito, I know." He rubbed John's back as he cried, remembering when they were both small and had to lean on each other for support when they were hurt. "It'll get better."
John shook his head, desperate for anything to stop the pain. "No, it won't!"
Dominic looked down at him, knowing that John wasn't hearing what either of them were saying through the pain clouding his mind. "I promise, it will."
Clarissa opened the door, looking in at her boys on John's bed. "How is he?" She asked, noticing the knife in the doorframe.
Dominic shook his head, holding John's wrists as he started to try and cut the skin with his nails. "Not good." He hated to tell her that, but he wasn't about to lie to someone. "He's talking suicide."
John tried to twist out of Dominic's hold on his hands, his sobs becoming louder as his grip tightened. "I don't wanna do this!"
Clarissa sat on the bed with them, trying to comfort John in anyway she could. "Give him to me." She ordered, taking John's long body from Dominic as he handed him to her. "Go get some mittens, we'll see if that'll keep him from scratching at himself." She kissed John's head, slowly rocking him from side to side as Dominic rushed to get the mittens. "Pumpkin, it's going to get better." She whispered, letting him cry into her chest.
"No, it's not!" He insisted, fighting to use the last of his spent energy to convince them that he needed to die. "It's not going to get better!"
Clarissa took the mittens from Dominic as he returned, sliding them over John's hands to make sure he couldn't harm himself. "It will. I promise."
John shook his head, his body too tired to let him form words.
Dominic watched as she tried to get his cousin to relax, feeling useless the entire time. "It'll get better." He stated, rubbing his hand over John's shoulders as his sobs faded, the sign that he was falling asleep. "It will."
Clarissa kissed John's head, remembering when her own children would get sick and she would hold them like this. "I love you, Baby." She whispered, noticing that even in sleep John's face showed that he was in pain. "More than you know."
Thank you HMG2000 for writing these poems! I love getting to brainstorm and work with you on this!