A/N: Sorry I've been gone. I was originally going to quit this fic due to Jason being a rapist, but I thought this would be better. That's all I'm going to say.
I've kept my friends so close to me, it's hard to let go. I don't want to let go. I keep clinging on to some hope that one day, out of the blue, he'll text me again and all will be normal. I keep expecting to see him come into the store while I'm working and just hang out, as usual. When I paint, I want to message him a picture to see what he thinks. Sometimes I begin to type the text, then stop as I see his face in his contact picture. Death is so bizarre. Your body stops functioning, but everything in Cyberspace stays there forever.
Jason's Twitter is still up, as well as his blog and Instagram. I've gone through them more times than I can remember, trying to imagine that he's gone. I want to unfollow the accounts, delete the voicemails and text messages, and erase his contact from my phone. I can't bring myself to, though. I don't want to feel like he's gone forever, and it's almost as if his presence exists in Cyberspace. Seeing his contact when I'm messing around on my phone convinces me that he's still here on Earth, that he just moved and hasn't visited. I know that's not the truth but I want it to be.
Jason died of blood loss early in the morning after being taken to the hospital in an ambulance. What a terrible way to die. I'd imagine you'd feel very cold, then numb altogether. Dying cold and numb isn't how it should have played out. Jason should have died an old man, married with kids and grandchildren. He should have slipped into death at an age where it isn't sad, where it isn't untimely or unexpected to die. I wish I did something to stop it. Maybe I didn't hang out with him enough, maybe I wasn't a good enough friend. I've voiced these concerns to my girlfriend, Emma. She said I did all I could, and that sometimes, you can't save everyone. I pray to god or just the sky that Jason is better off there, be it heaven or just buried under the earth, than he was here.
I am not so sure that hes better off.
When I found out he died, it was night time. We all found out pretty late, the day after it happened. It was ten maybe, and dark. I couldn't believe it when Patty told me. I hung up, and sat numb for a while, going though every memory in my head. Then, I got mad. Mad at the doctors who didn't save him. Mad at his parents, for being so clueless. Even mad at Patty, who didn't arrive fast enough. Then I started punching things. The wall, my pillow, anything that my fist got near. I then decided I needed to scream, so I ran and ran until my lungs burned and my legs turned to jello. I ended at Clemente park, knees giving up in the sand in front of the swings, "Fuck!" I cried out. "Fuck!" The desolate area left the word out in the open. I cried, harder than I have listening to any song or watching any movie.
Suicide is not like it is in the movies. The death isn't fast and painless. The house doesn't feel the same, except the room the person died in. The death affects every room, every inch of the house and every space the dead person once walked in. After the funeral, Patty, Damon and I went to Jason's house, as per his parents request. They wanted us to take what we wanted from his room. I don't think they could bring themselves to do it. Damon and Patty got most of his clothes. I felt wrong taking anything, but I noticed a journal, and stuck it into a pile of some comics so it could remain undetected. I also slid his iPod into my pocket.
These items have been sitting in a drawer in my room, untouched by me or anyone else. I stare at the drawer sometimes, debating on if I should indulge in snooping around. A part of me believes it would be justified. Another part of me feels guilt. Overall, the burden of death weighs over my shoulders, threatening to hold me down into the water any second.
The remorse of the living is nothing compared to the secrets of the dead.