Ms Foster's scream rang high and pierced the air, almost tangible in your very soul. It had a physical effect on me, on all of us, and we simultaneously leapt out of our seats with no purpose in mind. Where could we go? What could we do? The air caught in my chest as I drowned in my helplessness, the weight of something I didn't want to realise pulling me down with every jagged breath...
Jake began to rapidly pace back and forth, the ecstatic energy that always consumed him having been replaced with pure anxiety. He tried to ignore the copious tears rolling down his cheeks as much as we did- but it didn't take long for him to throw himself into my mother's arms and weep.
I longed to have the same reaction. I ached to throw my head back and howl in a fit of pure sorrow- but I couldn't. All I felt was numb.
I knew he was gone.
But I didn't know how to feel.
The large white double doors ahead of us burst open and revealed George. He didn't look up at us. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Never before had I ever seen such a broken expression on someone's face, observed so many tears to escape from someone's eyes, felt so much heartache to radiate from someone's core being.
Without looking up he walked straight towards me, rested his forehead on my right collarbone- and just broke down.
It took a few moments for me to react. Then I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held onto him tightly. After a minute or two he snaked his arms around my waist and clutched at me so strongly that in another situation I might have thought he was trying to kill me. His sobbing shook my entire body, and before long I couldn't support the both of us anymore so we collapsed to the ground. The other guys rushed forward and soon we were just a distressed mass of limbs; everyone crying, everyone dying.
I didn't know how to get away from the moment. Crushed under the weight of my brothers and our emotions, I momentarily stopped breathing.
Was it even possible to be so riddled with feelings that you come void of everything? A shell of a person who had once cared too much: now I felt nothing. Maybe some shame and self-hatred, but otherwise... Nothing.
So I brushed my brothers off. And I stood up. And I walked away.
And it was heartless, gross, evil. It was me.
My mother called after me, a mourning desperation to her voice because she had loved Matty too. Then again, everyone had- how could you not adore someone so quiet yet so captivating? His twisted, bitter humour had kept me going through so many days, almost forcing me to cry just as hard as the other guys were crying right now. I didn't stop or turn back towards my family. I just continued to walk.
George told the others to leave me alone, but then his footsteps quickened in my direction and soon his hand slipped into mine. Our fingers entwined and we walked together without a destination in mind.
Once or twice I heard him take a sharp breath and glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, but George didn't say anything. His mouth would always slowly shut once again, his teeth biting gently down on his bottom lip. He wanted to be with me, I wanted him to stay back. Ms Foster would truly hate me for taking her another of her sons away but I couldn't be in that hospital any longer, not right now.
It's strange to think of how people react to different things in different ways. Looking around as we walked along, I could see signs of happiness everywhere. Children laughing, people smiling... Little things could make people so happy and it always got me wondering: was it sad that they could be so easily thrilled? Or was I the sad one because I couldn't feel like that?
"James?"
"Yes, George?"
"Take me home."
Whether he meant to his mother's house or to Jake's house was unclear to me, but when I opted to steer us towards the Foster house he didn't try to stop us. I decided that perhaps he wanted to be away from the hospital but near his brother's things- clutching onto memories like some people cling to sanity.
We reached the house and it was strangely peaceful. Sorrow wasn't audible here, death wasn't palpable. It was just a house, just a building that people grew attached to.
George started to go upstairs so I followed him. He led us into Matt's room, and there he sat on his brother's bed and inhaled deeply. Looking around, I felt a primary pang of pain. This was the room where it all ended. Not too long ago someone had died in that room. Not too long ago someone I loved and someone who I hoped loved me too had let go of everything. The comic book collection caught my eye and I felt a second twinge of heartache.
Before I knew what I was doing, I kicked over the stacks of carefully collected stories, because Matt's story was over. Yes, he had cared for the comic books deeply... but he couldn't care for them anymore. They hadn't brought him enough happiness. Then again, nothing had. I hadn't. George hadn't. Our brothers hadn't. Art hadn't. Music hadn't. One thing I did not believe, though, was that it all hadn't been enough for Matt. All the money in the goddamn, hopeless world couldn't make me believe that. What I did believe was that Matt hadn't thought himself to be enough for anything.
That was the first factor in his fall.