That Boy [bxb] - sequel to P.B.

Prologue

"Stop blaming yourself,
all you did was love
and there's nothing so
humble and beautiful
as that." 
- unknown.

⚠️ ‼️ This book can be triggering for different reasons, you may be able to guess from the description why that is. If you would like me to dm you to spoil any parts that you are worried about so you know whether or not you're comfortable with continuing with reading, please let me know <3

Prologue.

I feel like the wind has been knocked out of my chest and it stayed away, as if it ran from me, ran from the body that caused this as if it's ashamed to be a part of it. Escaped as if I don't deserve the right to breathe anymore. 

I am momentarily frozen as I kneel beside the motionless body of the person I love most in this world and I think of all the ways this is to do with me. All these thoughts running through my head and I can't pause it, pause and grab hold and discard, letting them know that it's unfair to be here, but the thing is... I don't think it's unfair. I think they're very fair because all I can do is blame myself.

"It'smyfaultit'smyfaultit'smyfault."

I feel myself mumbling the words over and over, slipping from my mouth repeatedly, and it's like a dam has broken and my words act as the water spilling from it, drowning. Drowning me.

It's my fault.

I did this. I did this to him.

I can't breathe properly. My knees hurt from kneeling on the ground. I can feel the gravel painfully digging into them, but I don't get up. I have to stay down, I can't leave him. I have to stay. I've been kneeling for so long but I have to stay.

Jake. His hands pressing up and down, up and down. "Come on," he mutters through gritted teeth, determined, struggling. "Come on, buddy. Stay with us."

Buddy.

People are talking. I look up, my eyes burning. All around me, us, the scene, they're talking to each other, wide eyed and pale faced. A girl is shielding her face with her hand, her head buried in the crook of another's neck. Crying. Like me, I'm crying, and it's only now that I realise how hard.

People keep talking.

"Holy fuck."

Shut up.

"What happened?"

Shut up.

"Who is he?"

Shut up.

"How hurt is he?"

Shut up.

"Someone needs to tell his mom."

Shut up.

"Is he dead?"

Shut up.

"That boy..."

That boy.

He's more than 'that boy'.

My boy.

Shut up shut up shut up.

People keep talking. They're still here. I want to scream at them to shut up. To go away. Leave. Why are they still here? Watching. Why? Someone has their phone out, recording, as if this is some sort of sick entertainment to watch when bored.

I look down at him again, a loud wailing sound resonating in the background. My eyes are blurry. I feel warm liquid run down my cheeks and land on my lip, so salty, but I don't lick it away.