"What?!" Sam exclaimed. "Why'd you let her leave?!"
"What are you talking about, Sam, why wouldn't we let her leave?" Steve asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
"She said the words," Elias said quietly, looking down at the ground, tears welling in his eyes.
"The words?" John asked, looking at Steve, who shrugged in response.
"The last words," Sam said. "She said the words on Elias's wrist."
John and Steve looked over at each other, their eyes widening in fear.
"Hook up the T.V.," Elias demanded. "Now."
John and Steve nodded, quickly getting the T.V. set up. Sam grabbed the remote off of the table and turned on the news channel, sitting next to Austen on the couch. Sam pulled the natural blue into his arms, trying to calm him down, as he was having trouble breathing.
The boys stared at the T.V. in suspense, waiting for the commercials to end and for the news to return, hoping that it was all nothing, that Adrianna wasn't going to die and that this wasn't the end.
"Welcome back to ABC13, your daily news for the Southeast Texas area!" the news anchor greeted.
"Fucking get on with it!" Elias shouted at the T.V. angrily, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth. Steve stepped over towards him, placing his hand on Elias's shoulder.
"Calm down, please," Steve said quietly. Elias took a deep breath, nodding.
"In recent news, Hurricane Harvey seems to have changed paths once more! Stay tuned for more information on ABC13 at six. Now, onto the traffic! Billy, take it away!" the news anchor said.
"There is some heavy rush-hour traffic on U.S. Route 59 and a bad accident on U.S. Route 90," Billy said. "There have been no reported fatalities, though there has been a report of potentially fatal injuries to both of the drivers. Traffic should clear up within the next hour. Back to you, Bob!"
"Thanks, Billy-"
Elias took the remove from Sam's hand and turned the T.V. off, dropping the remote onto the ground and staring absentmindedly at nothing in particular. The room was an uncomforting quiet.
"I need to go," Elias said quickly before quickly exiting Austen's apartment.
I WANNA GIVE YOU SPACE BUT THE AMOUNT BETWEEN US IS WRECKING ME
SEPTEMBER 24TH
Elias had seemingly moved out of his dorm room, for he spent a majority of his time in the hospital, staying by Adrianna's side. The doctors had told Elias that she had been injured badly and was currently in comatose and that she was not likely to wake up anytime soon.
Austen had stayed in his apartment, not venturing out his bedroom unless it was to the kitchen. He was shaken, knowing that, yes, the words on one's wrist would be the last they'd hear from their soulmate, and although Adrianna wasn't necessarily one of his friends ever since their messy breakup, it felt too real. He didn't want it to be real, for the words on his wrist to truly be the last words he hears from someone who's supposed to be by his side until he dies. He didn't want to know, even though deep down he felt that he could love no other more than he loved Sam.
Sam was worried to death about the two boys, constantly visiting both, trying to help them cope in a healthier way. He was not very successful. However, he had managed to drag Austen out his apartment to visit Elias and Adrianna.
"How is she doing?" Sam asked Elias. He shrugged solemnly.
"She's stable but... They said she's not going to wake up. Not soon, anyway," Elias answered. "I guess I should've expected that seeing we said the last words we'd hear from each other. And if... If it's true, then, she's gone. She's gone, Sam."
"This is all too real," Austen said quietly, fidgeting. He couldn't stay still, the anxiety trending throughout his body. He began pacing, walking in small circles quickly throughout the room. "This is too real, this isn't real, this can't be real."
"I don't want it to be real, either," Elias mumbled. Sam quickly went to Austen, pulling him into an embrace as he began sobbing into his chest.
"I- I knew t-that the soulmates' thing was t-true and not a m-myth or anything b-but I- I didn't- I, I didn't think it'd happen so s-soon," Austen cried, hiccupping slightly as he spoke.
"I know, I know it's scary," Sam said quietly, rubbing the natural blue's back comfortingly. Elias had sat in the chair, unphased. This happened every time Sam brought Austen to visit Adrianna. He couldn't handle it.
I’M SECONDS FROM BOTTLES WHEN THESE SECONDS FEEL AWFUL
OCTOBER 28TH
Austen had ruined his twenty-four-year streak of not touching alcohol. He was drunk and a mess and crying in his bathtub hugging a bottle of whiskey to his chest. He had drunk dialed Sam ten minutes prior to his bathtub-sob-session but the boy didn't answer, which caused the blueberry to throw his phone across the room in anger.
"Shit," he muttered to himself, realizing what he had done, hearing his ringtone go off once more. He fumbled over the bathtub ledge, swiping the (surprisingly) unbroken phone off of the ground.
The phone was now clutched in his hands, next to the whiskey, buzzing consistently as Sam tried to call him back. The voice message that Austen had left was making Sam worry.
"H-hey, Sammy, I-I-I I'm r-real- hiccup - sorry that I-I'm such a shitty person," Austen said into the phone. "I'm r-real b-baaaaaaaaaad, hiccup, I'm the w-worst, hah, I-I suck and y-ya don't deserve m-m-m-meeeeeeeeeeeeee! I d-d-don't wanna - hiccup - be y-y-your c-cryba- hiccup- baby, b-but that's all I-I-I-I d-do! I-I I'm s-sorry Samyboooyyy! G-Go to C-Chloe, s-s-she'll be real g-good to ya i-if ya can keeeeeeeeeeeeep her, hah, hiccup. I h-hate myself and y-you should t-t-t-t-to!! B-b-byyy - hiccup - yyyeee!"
The phone continually buzzed as Austen continued to ignore it. Five minutes had passed until it had stopped.
Austen please, pick up
you're worrying me
Austen??
i'm not going anywhere, Aus, i'm not leaving you
just breathe
it's okay if you dont wanna talk right now just please let me know youre okay
Austen scrolled further down, his tears blurring his vision.
Austen please
you're scaring me so much
i dont know what i'd do if you killed yourself
please dont do this
Austen hadn't even thought of killing himself, not since… Zack, but the idea continued to linger in his mind. He wasn't sure if he wanted to die but he felt so bad, the heavy weight on his chest, the way his brain mocked his heart and the way his heart was shattering... It all added up to an equation where the only answer that made sense was to kill himself.
"I can't do that to Sam," Austen whispered to himself, his grip tightening on his phone. He threw the bottle of whiskey at the bathroom door and watched as it shattered into pieces. He had calmed himself down from the shudders and complete uncontrollable crying but tears still welled in his eyes the more and more he got lost in his own mind.
"Sam has his own problems," Austen said to himself, rocking back and forth, his grip on his phone so tight the phone could snap in half at any moment. "Sam isn't- he can't- he can't always- he's not Zack. He's not Zack. He has a life he can't he can't he's- he's not Zack, Austen, he's not Zack, he's not- he won't- he can't. He's not Zack. He's not Zack. He has to have space. He's not Zack. I have to give him space. I need i I I, I can't I- Austen, stop, you need to g-give him space he- he can't always be there for you he's- he can't- but he'll leave- he's not Zack, he's not Zack, he's not Zack! He's not Zack, he'snotZack, HE'S NOT ZACK!"
Austen rocked himself back and forth continually, arguing and reasoning with himself, telling himself that Sam is not Zack and Zack is not Sam and Zack is gone. He is gone.
"Fuck," Austen muttered, his hands shaking unsteadily and his breathing unstable. He carefully maneuvered his way out of the bathtub, stumbling to the counter and staring at his sullen face in the mirror. He stared at his eyes, the bags under them and the way they were puffy and red and it was painstakingly obvious that he'd been crying. He'd never been happier to be alone, but at the same time, he
'd never been so scared.
The longer that Austen stared at himself, the more disappointed he grew.
"Failure," Austen spit at himself, scowling in the mirror. "You're a disgrace, you're an obstacle, a mistake, a fucking set-back! You promised yourself you wouldn't do this again, Austen, you told yourself, you told me, you promised and look what you've done now! You're fucked, you're fucked, you're fucked! Are you proud? Are you proud that you fucking did this to yourself, Austen?!"
Austen growled, hitting the palm of his hand in the mirror, causing it to crack. A few glass shards fell out, passing through his skin and clattering to the ground. He paused, looking at his arm, watching as the blood seeped through the gashes and trickle down the side of his wrist.
"Fucking idiot," he scoffed under his breath, shaking his head slowly while his erratic breathing trembled. He laughed dryly as tears pushed their way through the barrier of his blinking eyes, unable to prevent himself from feeling. "Absolute, total fucking idiot."
"You don't even deserve to feel like this," Austen sneered, grabbing one of the fallen shards of glass, staring at his reflection and the way the light refracted his image. "You don't deserve to feel! You don't deserve to be upset, you don't deserve to be mad or angry when it's all your fault and you did this to yourself."
He wrapped his hand around the shard, tightening his fist around it. He gritted his teeth as the sharp corners dug into the palm of his hand, cutting up and tearing through the skin with ease.
"Like taking a knife to butter," he laughed dryly, watching as the blood dripped from his hand. "Fuck, you don't even deserve to feel this pain. You don't deserve to feel happy or sad or mad or fucking anything!"
The faded-blue-haired boy grew angry almost instantly, throwing the shard out of his hand and slamming the bottle of whiskey onto the ground. He opened the door and stormed out of the bathroom, pausing in his tracks once he heard a knock on his front door.
"Austen?" Sam called, knocking on the door once more. He grew worried more and more by the second, fearing that the boy was in danger.
Austen ignored Sam's calls and continued pacing around the empty space in his bedroom. He couldn't face Sam; he didn't want to face Sam. Especially when Sam was going through so many things and all Austen could do was blame everything on him and Chloe. He didn't deserve to feel mad. He didn't deserve to feel sad. He felt he didn't even deserve to live, not what after he had caused Sam to feel. The guilt that resided in his chest was weighing him down and it felt like it was taking everything from his mind but the thought of it.
"Austen, please, I know you're home!" Sam said once more, knocking continuously. Sam was worried about Austen's neighbors calling the police on him for knocking so much and shouting so loudly but he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. He needed to know that Austen was still alive and that he was okay. He hated that he felt so obligated to be by Austen's side at every second in every minute, in every hour, in every day, but he couldn't let that get to him. Not right now, not when Austen's in danger. If he's in danger.
"Go away," Austen croaked out, realizing how broken and vulnerable his voice made him sound. He wasn't either of those things. He didn't deserve to say that was broken and he didn't deserve to say that he was vulnerable. He didn’t want to be broken and vulnerable. He so desperately wanted the strength to remove himself from Sam’s life so he could stop causing him so much pain.
"Austen, please, unlock the door? For me?" Sam asked softly, quieting down his voice. He didn't want to sound angry, even though he was fuming. How dare Austen try to take his own life! Sam didn't understand why Austen couldn't see how much people cared about him and loved him, even if it wasn't the way that Austen wanted it. No matter how much Austen tried to explain it, though, Sam could never grasp the concept and belittled Austen for feeling that way.
It was something that Zack used to do.
"Zack..." Austen mumbled, trailing off as his thought process was thrown off its original tracks. "Sam is not Zack, Zack is not Sam. Zack is gone. He is gone."
"Austen?" Sam said quietly, tapping his knuckles softly against the door, hearing Austen's muffled mantra. He didn't understand why Austen was comparing him to Zack. He wasn't like Zack. He didn’t do anything like Zack did. He wouldn't do anything like Zack did. He couldn't do anything that Zack did. He didn't have the lack of heart to do such a thing, especially since he had been with Austen through thick and thin. After seeing him with Zack… Sam didn't even want to think about the way Austen had been. He’s improved so much and he felt guilty for not being there to stop Austen from driving himself into the corner of self-pity and depression. He wished he’d paid more attention to the signs.
"Zack, Zack.... Zack, no no no," Austen trembled, running his fingers through his hair roughly, grabbing at the ends and tugging on them slightly. "Get out of my head, get out of my head, Zack, get out of my head! Get out of my head, Zack, get out! Get out, get out, get out! Get out! Zack, get out! You're gone, you're gone, you'regone, Zackisgone, Zackisgone. Getout! Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout!!!!"
Sam grew more concerned, hearing Austen's muffled screaming. He shook his head quickly, pushing out the negative thoughts that began to slowly fill his mind. He looked around in search of something he could use to pick the lock before remembering that Austen had kept a spare key inside the potted plant next to his door.
Fishing through the soil, Sam finally found the key and quickly unlocked the door. He walked in swiftly and moved towards Austen's bedroom, the words becoming louder and clearer. Austen hadn't noticed when Sam entered the room.
"Austen?" Sam said quietly, grabbing the blue-haired boy's attention.
"W-What? H-How'd you g-get in here?" Austen stammered out. He had completely forgotten about the spare key.
"That doesn't matter, Aus," Sam said, dismissing the question. Austen furrowed his eyebrows, wiping his eyes to clear the tears that blurred his vision. "I'm so worried about you."
"If you're s-so worried... t-then why don't you s-s-show it?" Austen challenged. His breathing was erratic; his heart was racing. It looked like he’d either had one-too-many coffees or he was on drugs. He felt like it would pop out of his chest at any given moment. It was like a heavy weight was on his chest and he couldn't shake the feeling. His hands were shaking and his lips were trembling, unable to articulate his sentences without a stutter. The world around him was spinning and he couldn't stop it.
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked. "I'm here, aren't I? I'm worried about you, Austen, what do you mean 'why don't you show it?' I'm concerned and all you're doing is just pushing me away and, you know, someday I won't come back. You can't just keep expecting me to come back. You can't expect me to endure what you're putting me through."
"I-I- I- I'm s-sorry," Austen quivered, subconsciously pulling on the hair tie around his wrist, hearing it snap against his skin. "Y-you’re- I can’t- please don’t leave. I- I, I couldn’t- I can’t handle that, I- please, you can’t l-leave me. Please you’re all- a-all that I have, I- I can’t live without you, you’re, y-y-you’re all I have, please, you can’t leave me."
"You think every fucking thing is about being against you, that you're always the target, you're always the victim. You can't believe for one second that maybe, just maybe, someone does actually fucking care about you! You're too stuck in your own head and you won't even take the medication that's supposed to fix that!" Sam yelled, continuing his tangent. He was seeing red and nothing else; he was oblivious to the Austen in front of him who was cowering and shutting down. "You can't just manipulate someone like that!"
Austen's heart dropped, feeling the heat leave his body. He was cold and numb, thoughtless short of manipulation circling through his mind. He tuned out everything else that Sam had to say, though it wasn't purposeful. He couldn't shake the thought.
Manipulate.
Maneuver.
Exploit.
Handle.
Control.
I WANT YOU ALL TO MYSELF THIS
TIME
NOVEMBER 19TH
Sam and Austen hadn't spoken a word since the last time they saw each other. Sam was wrapped up in an angry bubble, speaking to anyone and everyone that wasn't the blue-haired hetero-chromic boy. He wanted to show Austen that he didn't need him, that his sun didn't revolve around him, that he wasn't the world to him. He had the desire to show Austen that he was independent. He wasn’t everything. Sam wouldn’t let himself get so wrapped up in someone else that he’d lose himself; he promised himself that he’d never put another person over himself. Never.
Austen had taken the opposite approach, cowering himself and isolating himself. Bad thoughts floated throughout his mind and he couldn’t keep them under control.
"Kill yourself!"
"Get out of his life, you’re just making everything worse!"
"Remove yourself from the situation."
"Get rid of yourself before you destroy someone else."
"Die."
He couldn’t handle it; he didn’t know how to handle it. Everything was a blur to him and no one was aware of it. Austen contemplated apologizing to Sam but he didn’t know what for.
Sam wanted to feel bad and he wanted to apologize to Austen. He so desperately wanted to make things better between them but he wouldn’t let himself. He continually reminded himself that this is how things would be now and that this is how they were to stay. Austen would come around and apologize eventually. Austen would come and own up what he did. But Austen didn’t.
It was a game of cat and mouse, a game to see who could push the other the most, a game to see who would break first. John and Travis, being their closest mutuals that weren’t Elias, continually told them that they were being childish and needed to get over it. But they didn’t.
Sam told John the details but in complete bias to himself, whereas Austen told Travis the story in the form of a mental breakdown but it was so vague that Travis didn’t understand a thing and couldn’t help Austen cope. Austen wished Elias wasn’t so busy dealing with Adrianna and the hospital. He wanted his friend back. He needed his friend back. He wanted Sam back and he wanted things to go back to the way that they were, before all of the mess that he refuses to believe he didn’t cause. But they didn’t.
BLONDE Page 9
