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Jack stood at the grave of his once loved Fabian, the rain hitting his face just enough to hide the ugly and pathetic tears he had smudged across his face. Jack felt weak as he let himself feel an emotion other than anger for the first time in who knows how long. That doesn’t go to say he wasn’t angry, he was, angry at himself for feeling unable to help Fabian when he could barely help himself. He kicked the muddy ground, the feeling of soft mud clashed with the rock hard feeling that he had in his stomach, but what good would that do? You can’t bring him back.
Jack threw the flowers he brought on the ground and stomped on them, the lavender mixing with the brown and ugly mud. Lavender was his favorite color, it felt bittersweet looking at them now. Jack wanted to scream in anguish, anger? He honestly didn’t know what to feel anymore. Everything, nothing, anything at all? Everything felt blurry.
Maybe if the rain wasn’t so warm his heart wouldn’t be as cold. He kept walking. He couldn’t bear to even be near Fabian’s grave anymore.
1923, April 15, it was a Monday, 3:34 am, the day after Jack’s birthday. Jack couldn’t sleep, he felt too much guilt in his stomach like a pile of burning coals in a fireplace. Jack sat up and went to the bathroom to go wash his face, like it’d do anything anyway. The warm water splashed on his face like waves crashing on the beach on a warm summers day, he didn’t feel warm, it was all cold. Everything, was cold. Jacks dry skin was now wet with water and tears. He felt something behind him, wrapping around his entire body, it was cold, but familiar to him. It whispered bittersweet nothings in his ear about every horrible thing Jack had ever been through. “Fabian” the thing whispered in his ear.
SHATTER
Blood trickled down Jacks cold, dry, and cracked skin. He didn’t feel any pain, in fact, he barely even noticed anything had happened.
Mirror pieces were covered throughout the entire bathroom. Blood and water stuck to his tired body, glass reflecting the weak and pathetic man who claimed to once be so strong. The man who claimed he didn’t need anyone.
Jack picked up a broken piece of mirror glass from the floor, for a second, it felt like he could almost see Fabian’s reflection. It seemed to say “I love you” or “It wasn’t your fault” and even “Please don’t hurt yourself”. Jack threw the piece of glass across the room, shattering into even tinier pieces.
Jack stood up, he didn’t even notice he had been stepping on hundreds of tiny glass pieces. What did it matter to him? He’d barely noticed the several wounds left by the glass when he broke it.
It had been four days, five? Jack didn’t know; he lost track of time.
The wounds on Jacks body had grown infected and disgusting, he hadn’t left bed or moved in several days.
The hunger, sickness, and sweat didn’t bother him much at all. He felt almost comfortable with the feeling of rot.
Someone knocked on the front door, but obviously Jack wouldn’t be opening it any time soon. More knocks at the door and ringing on the doorbell followed.
Silence.
Suddenly whoever was at the door no longer had patience for the other and came in anyway.
The intruder walked around, presumably looking for someone. Jacks bedroom door opened. Callum: Fabian’s best friend, basically his brother. Callum took one look at Jack and jerked back, the smell of the home was almost toxic, like someone had died. Well maybe someone had died.
“Christ! Jack! What the hell happened!? You’re bloody rotten!” Callum might as well shrieked.
No response.
Callum rushed over to Jack, noticing all his wounds and cuts covering his body. Callum panicked. “Don’t move, I’ll get help, okay?” Like Jack would’ve moved anyway.
Callum picked up Jacks emancipated and sore body. His consciousness going in and out. A flu, a sickness, a plague even, infected the poor man’s body.
He looked up at Callum, never had the man seemed so worried about him. But in his defense, he had never seen him basically rotting either.
Jack weighed almost nothing at this point, his body like a light feather in the teeth of a cat. Jack remembered the last time he had been held like this, of course it had been with Fabian. A dry cry escaped Jacks mouth as he thought of the bitterness of the memory. But he was so dehydrated no real tears came out.
The last thing Jack remembered before passing out in Callum’s arms was him yelling at someone, though he couldn’t make out what. Maybe it wasn’t even Callum yelling, maybe it was him. Maybe Jack was yelling for Fabian, or yelling because he didn’t want Callum to save him, or maybe he was just yelling from pain. None of it matters anyway.