The Fighters Journal (Chapter Four)
Title: Something More (Chapter Four)
Author: TheAllTimeLow
Rating: PG
Pairing: Alex/Jack
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the creative thought process behind the writing.
Summary: Rose Hill is hope for the hopeless and I was the most hopeful of them all. That was until I met Alex. When I first saw him I couldn't believe someone so broken could still be living.
Author Notes: This story could be potentially triggering, so please don't proceed if you can't handle cutting, or talk of suicidal tendencies and eating disorders. All feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading!
Master Post - Previous Chapter
Day One:
It is my first night in this place, and the walls already seem to be closing in on me. The bandages on my arm from the hospital are a constant reminder of why I'm here and I can't help but wonder how things would be different if Rian hadn't found me on time. Part of me knew he would have been dropping me off at my funeral, not a rehabilitation center. Still, something inside me wishes I had died.
How fucked up is that?
You think I'd be used to being so fucked up.
When was the last time I had considered myself normal? Hell, if I know. I remember being nine years old and my Mum bursting into the kitchen while I tried to position my hand on the heated up oven burner. Or when I was fourteen and I broke my arm jumping off the roof of our two story house. I guess somewhere along the way between losing my brother and my parents decision to move to america, I came to the conclusion that I had done something wrong and it was my responsibility to see that I was punished for it.
It's weird to think about the things I've done to myself... kind of sad even.
I know if I was reading this about someone else, I'd feel pretty shitty. But it's different when you realize that it's yourself, kind of like you forget about your own mortality and you stop caring about yourself. I don't know. All I know is that since I was fourteen I've tried to kill myself three times, had to get twenty-eight stitches from self-harming, and have had my stomach pumped twice from attempting to overdose.
Fuck... that's fucked. Even writing it down.
I guess that's why you have us do this, right?
To try and get us to open up, or whatever.
Day Two:
Dinner last night sucked, and breakfast this morning was just as bad.
I know I'm going to hate The Boss. She's kinda like my old therapist - really pushy and determined to make you "better". I was talking to a few kids at breakfast and they said the faster I get used to eating everything on my plate, the better off I'll be. I'm not sure what they were consider to be 'better' but so far I feel pretty shitty about it all. I hate eating. It's just like... I don't know. It feels wrong. Like there are people out there who deserve this food, but instead it's being wasted on me?
That sounds weird. But I don't know how else to explain it.
Day Four:
Skipped a few days. Didn't feel like writing so I just kinda doodled a bit, but I had to write about Group. Fuck, do I hate it. I just don't get what they're trying to accomplish. I have to admit that I kind of like the chairs they put in there. Because you'd think they would all be those standard plastic chairs like in schools, but they're not. They're like suede, and those uncomfortable chunky wooden ones, and a few that have probably been around since the seventies.
It's cool. Especially because you can kinda tell a bit about a person depending on which chair they choose.
Like The Boss sits in a tall, stiff upright chair, except the pattern is totally bright and wild.
I think it suits her. I bet she's not as much of a hard-ass as she comes off being.
Day Five:
I'm supposed to be taking a shower right now but instead I'm sitting in my bunk thinking about the session I have with Jack in half an hour. He said that I didn't have to let him read these, but I'm thinking I'm going to give it to him. I mean, when he first told me that, I thought, yeah fucking right. That's not going to happen. But after what he said to me -the bullshitting part- I'm starting to trust him. I like that he's real with me.
But that worries me. I'm not used to trusting people, and it kinda freaks me out.
Though he's not like other therapist-type-people I've dealt with before. It's like he understands on some level, not like he's just pretending to understand so he can get some fat paycheck. That kind of surprised me too, actually; the fact that most of the staff at Rose Hill are here as volunteers. Jack helps me because he wants to, not because he's getting paid to. That means a lot to me I guess.
And even though I hate that I'm thinking it... I'm feeling a little hopeful.
I imagine myself walking out of here one day.
You could call it hope, I suppose.
Shit. Hope will be the death of me.
~*~
I don't know how many times I re-read his entries before I finally closed the book and just stared at the wearing cover. One of the things that kept circling around in my head was: "tried to kill myself three times, had to get twenty-eight stitches from self-harming, and have had my stomach pumped twice from attempting to overdose." I tried to imagine what it was like inside his head, but even these few words weren't enough to re-create the chaos that must exist there.
"Well, at least he trusts me somewhat," I sighed.
But what was I going to do now? How was I supposed to turn this kids life around and be able to make that dream of him walking out come true? I thought about giving up Alex to a more experienced staff member, but my mind immediately rebelled against the idea. I couldn't, wouldn't give up on Alex. You didn't have to say the five words to condemn someone to death, and I knew that if I told him I didn't think I could help him, he would never recover from it.
A new sense of determination washed over me.
"I can do this."
I remember wondering earlier about how old he was, and opened my filing cabinet. It wasn't hard to find his file - right at the front. My hands felt a little clammy as I opened the cover and scanned down the details on the page. Male, approximately six feet tall, caucasian, brown hair, brown eyes...
Twenty.
The same age as me.
And actually, on December 14th he would be older.
My mind started whirling around the idea. I knew he had been older than most of the people who came through here, but usually I worked with teenagers - kids with troubled childhoods. Now, not only was I dealing with an adult, but an adult who was my age. Someone who I could have gone to school with. Someone who could have been a brother, a best friend...
I slammed the folder shut and then felt stupid. This wasn't some Scooby Doo episode... there wasn't a ghost or evil spirit or something that was going to suck me into the folder.
"Pull yourself together, Jack." I said to myself, taking a deep breath.
Clearing my face of those emotions, I walked what would soon become a familiar path to Alex's room. He was there, of course; staring at the door as though he had expected me to walk through it. I stared at him for a moment and allowed myself to be caught in the mystery of his eyes. There was something new there, something that hadn't been there nearly a week ago, but I couldn't find the words to describe what exactly it was.
Without saying anything, I set the journal on his desk, shared a look with him one last time, and then left.
In retrospect, that was probably the moment Alex became more than just another patient.