I Painted A Picture (Jalex)

Get A Grip And Get Out, You're Safe

"Hey, Vic?"

"I'm at rehearsal, what do you need?"

"What's Jack's address?"

"6547 High Creek Drive."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

I hung up and shoved my phone in my pocket, and waited for the right bus to come. High Creek Drive wasn't that far away, but I figured a bus would be faster than walking.

It came a few moments later, and I got on it. Fast forward fifteen minutes of bus and I was walking down High Creek, looking for the house.

Soon enough, I spotted it. It was a nice-looking house, with two stories and yellow paint, and I could vaguely hear blink-182 coming from the second floor. Upon closer inspection, the sound was coming from a slightly open window with a poster taped to the inside of it. The front yard had a few really old trees growing in it; their branches practically wrapped around the house. I smiled. This was obviously the right house.

Quickly, I assessed the situation. High Creek Drive was in a quiet neighborhood. It was highly unlikely that anyone would see me if I climbed one of those trees, so long as I didn't make too much noise or disturb Jack's parents. Oh god, what if they saw?

Before I could change my mind, I ran up to one of the trees and started making my way up. Maybe this was a bad idea, but Jack spent an entire Saturday with me at the hospital. I figure I can climb a tree for him.

Ignoring the protests from my sprained wrist, I slowly pulled myself up the tree until I reached the window. I positioned myself on the branch so I could see inside the room, which was definitely Jack's. For one, the walls were covered in band posters, most of them blink-182 and Green Day.

For another, he was in there.

More specifically, he was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. As far as I could tell, he hadn't noticed me yet. Carefully, I shifted closer to the window and knocked on the glass.

The sound got Jack's attention, and he turned his head toward the window. When he saw me, his eyes widened and I swear he nearly fell off his bed. "Can I come in?" I whispered.

He nodded and got up from his bed to open the window further so I could get in. As the light from outside hit him, I realized how bad he actually looked. He had somehow sustained a black eye and was limping badly. I instantly felt like a shitty person for making him get up.

Wincing, he opened the window, and I climbed into his bedroom and slid my arm around his shoulders so he could lean on me. He winced again as I touched him, but accepted the support as I helped him get back to his bed.

All of a sudden, his knees buckled, and I just barely caught him before he hit the ground. I basically had to carry him back to his bed, but I'm not complaining. He's not that heavy, and he feels nice in my arms.

I laid him back down on his bed and sat on the edge so I could talk to him. He looked up at me with those amazing brown eyes, and murmured, "Why are you here?"

"I got worried about you," I said. "I mean, you didn't show up at school, Vic said you weren't at rehearsal, and the last thing I heard from you was a bunch of yelling over the phone."

"I don't want to talk about it," he said. "I don't even want to think about it. I just want it all to go away."

I just want it all to go away.

"Would you like to hear a story?" I blurted.

"What?"

"It's kind of a sad story. But I want you to hear it." I slid off his bed and knelt on the floor beside him, so he could see my face.

"Tell away, then," he murmured.

"When I was twelve, my brother died. He had an alcohol problem. I was very close to him, and for a long time afterward I blamed myself. Still do, in fact. It's one of the reasons I have anxiety. At any rate, a few days after it happened, I got into an argument with my parents. They tried to make me talk about it. Do you want to know what I said to them?"

"Yes, what did you say?" Jack asked.

"'I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it. I just want it all to go away.'"

Jack didn't say anything for a few moments, just stared up at the ceiling. I wondered what he was thinking, but decided I wouldn't press. I didn't want him to hate me forever. Maybe he already did. Oh god. I kept my eyes on him and prayed to all the holy spirits out there.

The room was dead silent, and I realized the blink-182 CD Jack had been playing earlier had ended. "Hey, do you want me to put in another CD?" I asked.

"Sure, okay. Put in the new blink-182 one."

I got up and found the shelf where he kept his collection and retrieved the CD. I was just about to put it in his CD player when I heard him say, "Wait."

Setting the CD down on the table next to the player, I turned to face him. "What?"

"I have something to tell you. Please don't hate me."

I walked back to his bed and sat down where I'd been before, on the edge. Jack swung his legs over the side and sat up with me.

"Do you remember that first day I went to your house?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. We did homework with Rian, I kicked your ass at video games, and you showed me-"

"Right," he interrupted. "About that. I...kind of...broke my promise."

"What do you mean?"

He took a deep, shuddering breath, like he was about to cry. "I'm so, so sorry, Alex..."

"What is it?"

His voice was little more than a whisper, and I could see tears start to form in his eyes. "I...I relapsed."