Jaxon = Underlined
Jaxon wasn't entirely sure what had drawn him to Shane's hotel room. The door had never been properly closed, almost as if he had left in a hurry. It hadn't been until Shane was gone that Jaxon realized how much he needed the guy. Whether it be fake or true, Shane always had a smile. Of course, it wasn't displaying the truth but, nevertheless, it always gave him hope that if a suicidal boy could smile then so could he.
Jaxon just hoped that he wasn't gone for good. It was hard to run away when he had the whole world chasing him. He had to come back. He was going to. Jaxon wouldn't let him refuse.
Walking into the room he had imagined an unmade bed with a few scribbled song lyrics littered on the desk and maybe his guitar leaning against the window. What he could not have possibly predicted was a Queen, on her knees, with her crown of dignity rolling on the ground beside her. There was something about royalty shaking in a submissive stance that shook Jaxon to the core. If the people born to rule crumbled then what chance did the rest of them have?
Jaxon's eyes darted from the gun against her head to the abandoned letter tossed onto the floor directly in front of her.
It appeared that the broken boy had no idea that his disintegrating soul formed a powder that was toxic to others.
Jaxon held up a shaking hand, heart accelerating to a dangerous pace as he saw Kiara's finger move to the trigger. So this is what it means to stare death in the eye, he thought to himself with a sense of irony, suddenly realising that the entire room had a sort of chill to it. It was almost as if the world had sensed the upcoming event, holding its breath as death readied himself to collect another victim.
The sense of a life being cut short consumed him. He barely knew Kiara. She was just another face amongst a handful of others. He had heard the rumours, of course, of what she had done to Shane and the pain she had caused him without truly understanding the reason why. From his point of view, Kiara had always been one for material things, never truly seeing the emotions that can lie beneath a surface. Yet here she was, crying for a boy who was not yet dead. No. She wasn't crying for his death or even the death that he intended to impose upon himself. It was for his sorrow. The sorrow that she had failed to notice. It seemed that she was beginning to grasp that things aren't always as they seem. The gun against her head told him that she blamed herself for her ignorance.
It seemed that even gold could be reduced to ashes.
"Don't," he spoke with a claustrophobic sense of death and a shaky voice. He couldn't remember the last time that his voice had shaken. Reading suicide notes and keeping his composure was something he could handle. This...this was different. Jaxon had found himself at a potential death scene and he wasn't entirely sure how to play his part.
One thing was different though. A gear had clicked in his head. How could he sit back and let life lash out its painful blows? What a coward. Here he was in a situation in which he could actually change something. Screw life and its messed up course, this girl wasn't going to die if he could help it. And he could help it. For once he believed that he could.
He took a step forward.