pretty brown eyes (a 3rd part to 'boyfriends ^^' but it's better grammar!!!)

chapter 4: yelling in my bedroom

  I wake up in an absolute daze. My head is aching, and I feel really lightheaded.
  "Jayden? Jayden!" I hear Jordan call my name, her voice sounding shaky as if she's been crying. I sit up and looks around. I'm in a hospital. My vision is kind of blurred for a moment, like when I was drunk, but I can see Jordan sitting beside me.
  "Oh my god, I-I was so scared," she says, grabbing my hand and squeezing it tightly.
  "What's going on?" I ask with confusion. But, it doesn't take long for me to realize what's going on.
  I failed.
My breathing gets shallower. No way. I couldn't have. How does a guy survive getting shot in the chest? I have to be dead. I can't live. It'll get bad if I live. I can't live. I can't. I can't do it. I can't fucking do it.
  I sigh and stretch. Now is not the time to panic, no matter how fast my heart is beating. I wish it wasn't beating at all. "How.. how long have I been o-out?"
  "..It's eight. Like, in the morning," Jordan mumbles.
  "I stayed the night here?"
  "Yeah. They said your heart rate was fast, too. But you were fine."
  I stay quiet for a moment because I'm dumb and need to process things. "If I'm awake, can we leave?"
  "Not yet. The doctors need to make sure that you're okay. Who knows, they might just keep you here for a while."
  I sigh softly and lean back. Theres bandages wrapped around my chest. And I'm shirtless—only wearing the shorts I had under my jeans. I'm too tired to be annoyed. I don't even like being annoyed.
  "I'm sorry," I whisper.
  Jordan just nods. She fidgets with her purple ring, our mother's ring, specifically, and finally says something, "Why?"
  I hesitate. "I don't know." Deep down, I do know. And I'll always feel more than I'll let on to; telling her everything would only make her worry.
"I just," Jordan interrupted, "I'm so scared. I should've said something when I first saw your wrists.."
I look down at my bandaged wrist. The one I cut badly last night.
  "Why would you even do that to yourself?" Jordan says. Before she can continue, the doctor walks in.
"Oh, thank god you're awake. We were worried."
I nod, and the doctor sits down in her chair, typing.
"How did this happen again?" she asks.
I'm about to speak, but Jordan does instead, like I'm still tired: "I think Jay's still pretty out of it, but he attempted suicide..." The doctor only nods in response.
Out of it? Why would I be out of it? I ask myself. I don't have the balls to even ask that, though. I don't have balls at all.
"Okay." the doctor types in her computer, brushing her dark brown hair out of her face. "Jayden Baker, born April 16th, nineteen years old?" Jordan nods her head, looking impatient herself. I can tell that this is gonna take forever.
  An hour later—which felt more like four hours—after lots of questions and papers, we're in the car, on our way home. Jordan has to get me medicine for stress or something like that.
  "..So," Jordan starts, "I need to get your medication. Can I trust you alone?"
  "Of course," I whisper.
  Jordan nods. "..Please don't do anything stupid."
  "..No," I mutter, "I won't."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"..SO sure?" she asks again.
"Yes! I promise." I sigh in annoyance.
  Jordan stays silent. Eventually, she giggles, "You.. did good hiding."
  I sigh and look down at my scarred wrists, one with bandages covering it. I reply with the most truthful thing in a while.
  "I know."
  "..I can't help but be scared you won't be safe alone."
  "No, I will." I'm annoyed now. Jordan nods, not replying or even showing that she's in thought. After a deafening long silence, a question comes to mind..
  "Do you think I'll ever get that surgery?" I ask. It shouldn't be on my mind now but I honestly don't care.
  "What surgery?"
  "You know, dick donating?" I giggle at my own response. Is that narcissistic to do? God, get it together, Jayden. Your voice is annoying.
  "It's not donating."
  "I'm donating a part of my arm. Or my leg. I'd prefer my arm.."
  Jordan rolls her eyes. "Anyway, yeah, I think someday. Not anytime soon, as I barely have enough money to go to the zoo."
  "..Why does it have to be so expensive?" I ask. "I had top surgery at 14 and it wasn't half that much."
  "It's different," Jordan says, "you're changing something that's more... irreversible. It's got more risks, too."
  "One, I've been a guy, like, for the longest time. I can't argue with your second reason."
  "I know you've been a guy for a long time, you doof. You told me that you wished you were a boy while crying your eyes out at goddamn eleven years old."
  I chuckle, fidgeting with the ring on my finger. I remember, crying my eyes out in my bedroom as I told Jordan how much I wished I was a boy. She's been the best sister to me. I wish I was like her sometimes. "I'm sorry I'm not a good person," I say bluntly.
  Jordan shakes her head, and I can tell the suddenness threw her off. "You are a good person."
  "No. I'm a dickhead." Ironic I use that word after talking about wanting a dick.
  "No, Jayden. You're still Jayden. You You still wouldn't ever have the balls to hurt someone, and if you did, you'd cry. You're also still the same boy who gave away his favorite toy to some kid who broke his own tow."
  "I was six," I say with a snicker.
  "In my opinion, age doesn't change character. You could be 79 and you'd give a guy your favorite newspaper because he ripped his."
  I smile, and it's the first genuine smile in a while. It makes Jordan smile. She finally parks her car at our apartment. And before she gets out, she tells me, with a hint of concern in her voice, "I need to grab some things before I go."
  "Okay," I giggle. Then I remember she's worried on trusting me being alone, and I know she's right to do so. I don't trust myself either, honestly.
  Jordan walks inside. I follow.
  She starts grabbing a few things in the living room as I stand there. In just a few seconds, she's at the dor, about to leave. "I'll be quick, 'kay?" I nod, and she leaves. I look around, unsure what to do, till I deadass hear some yelling in my room.
  Who the hell is that?
I shrug and decide to go check for myself. For some reason, I feel so, so hesitant to open the door, but I open it anyways. I'm not a pussy.
The second I walk in, the fighting stops. And.. what a sight.
"Oh..ummm..heyyy!"
Parker—whom I hate—is on the floor, on top of someone, with a knife. Again, what a sight. What a damn sight.
"..What the hell?" I whisper, more so to myself.
Parker stands up, laughing a bit, "How.. how you doing, my man?"
I stare at him. I'm about to snap. I want to scream. I want to take that knife and cut off this guy's head then stab out those ugly ass eyes—something I know I would feel bad for doing in the end. I'd probably cry for hurting even someone I hate; And I feel bad at the mere want to hurt someone I hate. No one deserved to die, even if I don't want you see them. Man, now I feel like a dick for wanting to cut off his head. That's cruel. Would I scream, though?
Probably not. As I'm in thought, the person he was just on top of suddenly stands, unbalanced, and POUNCES at Parker, tackling him, getting on top of him, and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. That brings me out of thought. I gasp out an audible, "holy shit!" and I back up a few steps. Maybe I am a pussy.
"You fucking ass!" the person yells. I immediately recognize that voice, and my surprise to seeing my enemy get tackled turns into the shock of realizing who it was who tackled him at all. My breathing gets heavy almost instantly.
I must be in a nightmare or some shit.