I Don't Want to Be a Murder--Chapter 6
Title: I Don't Want To Be A Murderer
Author: factualrealityy
Chapter: Chapter 6
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jalex, non-consensual Jack/William Beckett
POV: Third
Summary: A violent Jack serves time in prison, constantly haunted by the memory of what he did.
Warnings: Talked about rape, bloodd..
Disclaimer: We would have heard if this had happened, and I'm kind of glad it didn't. I don't own these characters. I just like to use them as puppets.
Author Notes: Sorry this took so long! Life got in the way, but I'm actually really liking how this chapter turned out.
master list ,
The last thing Alex Gaskarth had seen before he had died had been the blood splattered face of the boy who had kissed him, ran his fingers through his hair, told him he was the most beautiful guy in the room. The last thing he had felt was Jack’s foot obliterating his skull.
He had had no idea what happened next. It felt like he had instantly gone from sucking laboured breaths into a punctured lung, spitting blood-to standing at the back of a funeral hall, where everyone in the room seemed to have an abnormal glow to them. The entire world had looked off to Alex, as if somebody had fucked with the color controls on a TV that was already past its prime. Sometimes the image was distorted, the glow making it difficult to see what was actually going on. It was this distortion that he blamed Jack’s absence at the funeral on (there were enough pictures up for Alex to realize that yes, he was the person in the closed casket).
It didn’t take Alex very long to figure out exactly how this…metaphysical being world worked. He had no control over it. One minute, he would be lying next to Jack’s sleeping form on his prison cot, lightly running his fingers along his arms. Then, with no clue to a transition, Alex would be witnessing a long distant memory crisp and clear as the day it happened. He could always distinguish between the Past and the Present. It was the difference between the Present and the Future that had become a problem.
The first time Alex had dipped into the Future, he had seen Jack. The younger boy had been being escorted back to his cell as part of the group, and he had been grabbed and drug into William Beckett’s cell. Beckett had wrapped his hand tightly around Jack’s neck, his pretty features contorting into a grotesque glower as he pushed Jack against the wall.
“You little fuck humiliated me and avoided me twice. I don’t how you fucking got away with this, but not again.” Alex watched, staring and letting out a whimper as William pulled a sharpened hunk of metal from under his shirt and pressed it against Jack’s chest. “N-now, you’re going to turn around like a good boy, and you’re not going to scream, or e-else this is going in your ass.”
“Leave him alone!” Alex had cried, and as he had attempted to grab at William his hands had slipped through as if nothing was there. William had grabbed Jack’s arm and twisted it around his back, turning him around and forcing his face against the wall. His hands had ripped Jack’s pants down, but as he had gone to enter him, he had instead pushed the tip of the sharp metal inside him, causing a gurgle as it had punctured his lung. As William withdrew the blade and the blood started to pour from the wound, Alex had screamed Jack’s name, letting out cries of anguish each time he had to hear the disgusting sound of the knife thwacking into his love’s chest, his cries turning into muffled sobs as William had stepped away to wipe the bloody makeshift knife on his pants. Jack’s body slumped onto the cold floor of the cell-the bright glow that had surrounded him before completely gone--and William had calmly lain down on his cot.
Even though he knew he wasn’t going to be able to touch him, Alex had reached for Jack constantly, sobbing weakly as he stared at the cell door to wait for somebody to come help his man.
It was the next time he was conscious of the scenery changing that he was able to figure out what he had seen hadn’t happened yet. He was seeing Jack, his Jack, getting pushed against the wall by that fucking William Beckett again, this time in front of a crowd. The main difference between then and now was the way Jack had turned his head to the crowd, the way his eyes had locked with Alex’s-Alex knew he needed to find help. He was able to stop it the first time.
The second time, he remembered the words William had spat into Jack’s ears-you have avoided me twice-and he had let it happen.
Now, as he sat on the end of Jack’s cot and watched him sleep, he thought about what he had seen. He had spent some nights in William’s memories, watching him hurt and rape other men in the prison. Alex lightly ran his fingers along Jack’s face, causing the sleeping boy to shiver slightly and curl up into a tighter ball, and Alex knew what was necessary.
Somebody was going to have to bring William Beckett down.
And his name was going to be Jack Barakat.
D