Boston (One-Shot)
Title: Boston
Author: sherrycookies
Pairing: Alex Gaskarth/ Jack Barakat
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "A cannon blast. A clap of thunder. The ground shakes and screaming is heard. I see smoke billowing a little further to our right down the city block."
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, okay.
It’s a beautiful day out. The sun shines in a deep blue sky dotted with small wisps of cotton clouds. It is an early day in spring, and the weather is perfect; not cold but also not hot enough to be uncomfortable.
The city is alive, buzzing with enormous crowds of locals and tourists alike. The streets have been blocked off by cold metal barricades. The entirety of Boylston Street is lined with spectators. Their faces all ebb and flow together, creating the illusion of a vast see of human beings.
I am situated behind an old couple who have obviously gotten here before us. They sit in their lawn chairs talking aimlessly about the marathon, a now one hundred and seventeen year old tradition in the city of Boston. Getting a little bored waiting for more runners, I clutch my boyfriend’s arm a little more tightly.
He looks down on me as I do so. He’s not that much taller than me, but his figure is a little more imposing than mine. His black and blonde hair shifts slightly in the cool breeze as his eyes, deep with concern, meet mine. “What’s wrong, Alex? Are you cold?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine,” I say. I rest my head against his shoulder as I listen to someone else far off talking about the current Red Sox game. Boston. It’s one of my favorite cities, aside from my hometown of Baltimore of course, but still an amazing city nonetheless. The people were friendly if you are and tough if you are. This is the kind of city where you know your neighbors and strangers wave back when you say hi.
To be honest, I didn’t want to see the Boston Marathon as much as Jack did. Something about lots of people crowding into downtown Boston watching a bunch of runners get past the finish line didn’t appeal to me as much as it did to Jack. Still, being a good boyfriend, I let him drag me up north to see it. And that’s where we are now.
We’ve been here for a few hours now. Taking a taxi was out of the question (traffic was blocked off for most of the city) so we took the subway. The “T”, or what the locals call the subway system, is surprisingly fun to ride. I’m jealous that these people get to ride it every day, but then again, it might not seem as fun to them as it is to me.
We’re supposed to stay here for a few days, to sightsee and stuff. We managed to fly in on Patriot’s Day, the day of the Marathon. Obviously, my meticulous boyfriend planned all this out; I have no such talent in this.
We watch as a few people in wheelchairs pass by. The Marathon is divided into four categories, women’s’ wheelchair, men’s wheelchair, women’s running, and men’s running.
I’m fascinated as I watch the racers. They use their arms to turn the wheels for over twenty six miles. I don’t think I’d ever be able to do that; my arms would fall off. Every time one passes, a wave of cheering, clapping, and ringing follows them from the crowd. It’s amazing to see all these different people banding together to cheer on complete strangers into finishing this long race.
This year’s race is dedicated to the children who were shot in Newtown, Connecticut. Many of the runners are running for charities. The goal of this race isn’t to win, but rather to finish it and have a good time. Jack had told me that afterwards, the city is filled with runners walking off with smiles of accomplishment. Coming here is more of a transcendent thing rather than a temporal one. I’m glad Jack took me here.
A police car rolls by with a timer on it, set from the start of the race. The first female runner, an Ethiopian woman, comes racing by, quickly followed by two others. A roar erupts from the crowd, and the support isn’t directed toward anyone in particular. More likely, they just want each runner to give it their all to pass the finish line.
“Wow,” I breathe.
“Do you think you’d be going that fast if you had run twenty six miles?” Jack teases.
“Psh. All that matters is that I can run faster than you,” I say playfully.
I feel his hips press against the top of my head. “Mm, doesn’t matter. We both can’t run a marathon, okay?”
“Okay,” I giggle. I lift my head up and intertwined my fingers with his. They fit perfectly together, like puzzle pieces. We watch as another few runners speed past, each earning the same reaction from the crowd. The cheering never falters for each runner.
About twenty minutes pass before another police car with a timer passes. Almost immediately following it is an African American man, sweating and panting, though maintaining a steady pace. The crowd screams and bells ring out, urging him on. A few minutes go by and another man passes. For the next hour, racers, runners and cyclists, alternate down the long road. A wave of noise follows each racer. I can’t help myself; I’m clapping and cheering for each runner. It must help the exhausted runners to know that they have the support of the citizens of Boston.
Jack and I stay cheering on runners for a few more hours; hours which speed by. Like the saying goes, time flies when you’re having fun. Runners become quite common now and the crowd gets no break from the cheering. And that’s when we hear it.
A cannon blast. A clap of thunder. The ground shakes and screaming is heard. I see smoke billowing a little further to our right down the city block. People swarm to and from the smoke. “Jack? What’s tha-?”
My response is cut off by another blast, this time to our left and a little closer. The ground trembles and the screaming becomes louder. I feel something sharp dig into my forearm and I cry out. A wave throws me to the ground and I clutch my arm, feeling warm wetness seep through the material of my t shirt. “Jack!”
I hear a yell that I’m assuming is my name as people run in all directions, screaming in all directions over me. I feel hands yank me roughly up and I see Jack’s relieved face. We are quickly shrouded by white smoke and I clutch Jack’s hand tightly, afraid I’ll lose him.
“Alex! Stay close to me!” I hear his voice over the chaos.
“What’s happening?!”
“I don’t know but we have to get out of here!” For a brief moment, I see a flash of terror in his eyes but he quickly regains composure.
Someone shifts the metal barrier in front of us. The old couple that was in front of us is nowhere to be found, and I find myself hoping that they got out okay. Some people beside us have fallen the ground, which is now stained with blood. I feel Jack letting go of my hand and I think he climbs over the metal onto the street. “Jack!”
Wordlessly, his hands find my waist and I found myself being lifted over the fence and onto the rough pavement of the main street. The noise is deafening now, and I hear a mingle of terrified screams and shouts of people giving orders. I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, but I know for sure that this is not supposed to happen.
Jack’s hand locks onto mine as I feel him urging me forward. “Don’t let go!” He orders me. “I don’t want to lose you here!”
I nod though I’m sure he can’t see. Together, we weave our way through the enormous crowd. There must be tens of thousands of people here! I see people kneeling over hurt loved ones, crying out for help. I see men taking off their shirts in an effort to help cover people that have been injured. Policemen try to herd the mass of humans away from the scene, to clear a way for medical personnel to reach those in need.
We stumble blindly through the massive horde of people, where we were heading, I don’t know. All we really know is that we needed to get as far away as possible from this chaos.
We jog on for what feels like an eternity, though I know that we have only gone a few blocks. There, the crowd has thinned out and we find a place to sit down on a curb to catch our breath. For the most part, things were a lot more controlled here than a few blocks away. Other than the occasional group of people hurrying away, things are quiet.
Though it’s cool out, I find that I am sweating heavily. I think my wound is still bleeding, yet I’m too afraid to look at it. It throbs painfully on my arm.
Suddenly, I find myself being tightly hugged by strong arms; Jack’s face is buried in my neck. I hug him back, overcome by a realization that I could have lost him in a second. After a few minutes, he pulls away and slouches down, eyes far away.
Jack doesn’t speak at first. I think it’s because though he seemed so calm and collected through all this, he is as frightened as I am.
“Are you okay?” It’s the first thing he says to me after a few minutes.
“Other than being shaken up, I’m fine.” I don’t want him worrying too much about me. And besides, it’s not like I’ve never been hurt before.
He looks at me, eyes traveling the length of my body as if he doesn’t believe me. He spots me trying to hide my cut and he holds out his hand. “Your arm?”
“Oh,” I reluctantly show him the wound and his eyebrows furrow in concern. I try to reassure him. “It’s nothing; it’ll heal.”
“That looks pretty nasty to me,” he murmurs. His fingers dance around the cut, presumably because he has no idea what to do about it.
I stare at him for a while, taking in his disheveled appearance as he stared at the brick sidewalk. His hair is messier than usual, and his face a lot paler. His eyes, though he tried to cover it, were blank, most likely because he is in shock.
“You’re bleeding,” I say, noting a small cut on his cheek, most likely from a piece of glass. I reach towards his face but he flinches back.
“Yeah, but I’ll be fine as well. It’s nothing; not as bad as yours, at least. Don’t worry, okay?”
My hand drops to my side and I nod. We sit in silence before I speak again. “What happened there?”
“I’m not sure, but I think that was a bombing.”
My heart drops. A bombing? In Boston? Something about that sends chills down my spine, and I shiver involuntarily. “A b-bombing?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think that…that people were hurt?”
“Well, considering that there were so many people there…it’s likely.”
I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “Do you think people were killed?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“How could something like that happen? In Boston, of all cities?” I go from scared to upset. “During a marathon?”
“Alex, I’m as pissed at whoever did this as you, but let’s not focus on that now, okay? I mean, this just happened, there’s probably no news on it just yet. We’ll get answers, though. Right now, I’m just so happy that you’re okay and that none of us were hurt.”
“But not everyone was as lucky as us!”
“I know but-” He stops when we are approached by a police officer. His fluorescent yellow vest is stained with red, and he too looks very shaken up. But his voice is steady as he speaks to us.
“You two need to get out. We’re evacuating the area.”
Jack stands up and bends down to help me up. “Officer, what happened back there?”
He looks at us, unsure if he should tell us, but something in Jack’s eyes must have convinced him. “We were bombed.”
“Injuries?”
“I don’t know, but many.”
"Deaths?”
“Unconfirmed.”
“Thank you, officer.”
The man nods and looks at me. I have clutched my arm, which has begun to sting a little. “Is your friend hurt?”
Jack wraps an arm around me. “He’s got a cut, but I know he’ll deny any medical attention. He’s a little stubborn.” The last part is a tease, and I know he’s starting to become more like himself.
“Well, you should get it checked out, kid. There’s no such thing as being too cautious,” the policeman says. “And you,” he turns to my boyfriend. “That cut on your face could be looked at as well. There’s a medical tent little further down, I suggest you two head there.”
“Alright, thank you, officer,” Jack smiles at him, and he nods and walks away to tell another group to leave as well.
“Well, Gaskarth, you heard what the nice policeman said. Let’s go get your boo-boo checked out, okay?” Now he is back to himself.
“Fine,” I pout, but I let him take my hand as he takes me to the big tent marked with a red cross.
We get there and I am surprised to find the place swarming with others with all sorts of injuries. The more severe ones are taken away by ambulances, while the minor ones are treated here. A nurse approaches us.
“Hello, are any of you two hurt?”
“Yes, doctor, my boyfriend here. His arm,” Jack replies.
I show her my arm and for the first time, I look at it myself. It’s a gash along my bicep, about four inches long. To my relief, it’s not deep and stitches aren’t required. Dried blood surrounds it while fresh blood oozes out. I can understand why Jack was so worried.
Wordlessly, the nurse goes away and returns with a first aid kit. She sprays it with something that stings and I try to stay still as my boyfriend clutches my hand. Then she cleans the wound as best as she can and wraps it in white gauze. “There,” she says. “You’re all set. And you?” She turns to Jack.
“Just the face,” he responds.
She finds a small disinfecting wipe and cleans off the blood. Then she places a band aid over it. “You’re all set as well,” she says.
We thank her and leave the tent as she is called to attend to someone else. We walk hand and hand toward Boston Common, a place where we could rest for a while.
Boston Common is a large park in downtown Boston. We find a bench under a tree and sit down. The park is swarming with people, partly because it’s such a nice day, and because people, like us, seek refuge here from the chaos further away.
“So, what do we do now?” I ask.
“I don’t even know if we can stay in downtown, or the city, for that matter.”
“They’re gonna shut down the city looking for the people that caused this. And who knows, there could be more bombs throughout the city. Remember 9/11?”
Of course he does. He was only twelve years old, and it was two years before we even met. But he must remember the confusion and terror that occurred that day, and the uncertainty that something worse could be in store. Could the Boston bombing be a distraction from something bigger? I don’t want to think that.
“Yeah, I do,” he chews his lip uncertainly. He pulls out his phone to check something. It must be important, so I don’t pester him further. After a few moments, he looks at me. “Airports and Amtrak are shut down so it looks like we can’t get out of the city. At least we’re not staying in a fancy hotel in downtown, right?” He smiles slightly.
Despite the tense situation, I giggle. “Yeah, I guess it’s lucky that I am so easily convinced to stay at some sketchy motel in the suburbs. You’re so romantic.”
He laughs. “Yup,” he kisses me briefly. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I’m so lucky I didn’t lose you today.”
I can tell by the sincerity in his eyes that he meant it, every word of it. “I’m glad you’re just a little banged up.”
“I don’t know what I’d do if I had lost you.”
A/N: Hey guys! Finally finished with this one shot. Please don’t be offended by this; this is by no means any form of disrespect.
So I do live in Boston, and putting together different witness accounts of the bombings, this comes out. I’ve never really written anything like this, and I’m not sure if it’s even good. Thoughts?
I was also on lockdown for a day. A bunch of cities and towns were; the one of the suspects was on the run and was spotted less than a mile from me. I was awake since I heard gunfire in the middle of the night. Do you know what it’s like to see SWAT teams walking down the street with guns I’ve only seen in video games? It was terrifying and I felt like I was in a movie.
Oh, and they did manage to catch the kid (I say "kid" because he's only 19) after like a day of searching.
I don't even know when I'll have the next update of my other fic up since I'm going to be quite busy with term tests, presentations, and I'M SEEING ALL TIME LOW, PIERCE THE VEIL, YOU ME AT SIX, AND MAYDAY PARADE ON FRIDAY SOMEONE HOLD ME. I'll probably be an emotional mess, so bear with me here.
I'm trying to get a boyfriend and I don't even know if it's working. Help me.
I hope you have an amazing day because it's spring and it's nice out okay.
Author: sherrycookies
Pairing: Alex Gaskarth/ Jack Barakat
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "A cannon blast. A clap of thunder. The ground shakes and screaming is heard. I see smoke billowing a little further to our right down the city block."
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, okay.
It’s a beautiful day out. The sun shines in a deep blue sky dotted with small wisps of cotton clouds. It is an early day in spring, and the weather is perfect; not cold but also not hot enough to be uncomfortable.
The city is alive, buzzing with enormous crowds of locals and tourists alike. The streets have been blocked off by cold metal barricades. The entirety of Boylston Street is lined with spectators. Their faces all ebb and flow together, creating the illusion of a vast see of human beings.
I am situated behind an old couple who have obviously gotten here before us. They sit in their lawn chairs talking aimlessly about the marathon, a now one hundred and seventeen year old tradition in the city of Boston. Getting a little bored waiting for more runners, I clutch my boyfriend’s arm a little more tightly.
He looks down on me as I do so. He’s not that much taller than me, but his figure is a little more imposing than mine. His black and blonde hair shifts slightly in the cool breeze as his eyes, deep with concern, meet mine. “What’s wrong, Alex? Are you cold?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine,” I say. I rest my head against his shoulder as I listen to someone else far off talking about the current Red Sox game. Boston. It’s one of my favorite cities, aside from my hometown of Baltimore of course, but still an amazing city nonetheless. The people were friendly if you are and tough if you are. This is the kind of city where you know your neighbors and strangers wave back when you say hi.
To be honest, I didn’t want to see the Boston Marathon as much as Jack did. Something about lots of people crowding into downtown Boston watching a bunch of runners get past the finish line didn’t appeal to me as much as it did to Jack. Still, being a good boyfriend, I let him drag me up north to see it. And that’s where we are now.
We’ve been here for a few hours now. Taking a taxi was out of the question (traffic was blocked off for most of the city) so we took the subway. The “T”, or what the locals call the subway system, is surprisingly fun to ride. I’m jealous that these people get to ride it every day, but then again, it might not seem as fun to them as it is to me.
We’re supposed to stay here for a few days, to sightsee and stuff. We managed to fly in on Patriot’s Day, the day of the Marathon. Obviously, my meticulous boyfriend planned all this out; I have no such talent in this.
We watch as a few people in wheelchairs pass by. The Marathon is divided into four categories, women’s’ wheelchair, men’s wheelchair, women’s running, and men’s running.
I’m fascinated as I watch the racers. They use their arms to turn the wheels for over twenty six miles. I don’t think I’d ever be able to do that; my arms would fall off. Every time one passes, a wave of cheering, clapping, and ringing follows them from the crowd. It’s amazing to see all these different people banding together to cheer on complete strangers into finishing this long race.
This year’s race is dedicated to the children who were shot in Newtown, Connecticut. Many of the runners are running for charities. The goal of this race isn’t to win, but rather to finish it and have a good time. Jack had told me that afterwards, the city is filled with runners walking off with smiles of accomplishment. Coming here is more of a transcendent thing rather than a temporal one. I’m glad Jack took me here.
A police car rolls by with a timer on it, set from the start of the race. The first female runner, an Ethiopian woman, comes racing by, quickly followed by two others. A roar erupts from the crowd, and the support isn’t directed toward anyone in particular. More likely, they just want each runner to give it their all to pass the finish line.
“Wow,” I breathe.
“Do you think you’d be going that fast if you had run twenty six miles?” Jack teases.
“Psh. All that matters is that I can run faster than you,” I say playfully.
I feel his hips press against the top of my head. “Mm, doesn’t matter. We both can’t run a marathon, okay?”
“Okay,” I giggle. I lift my head up and intertwined my fingers with his. They fit perfectly together, like puzzle pieces. We watch as another few runners speed past, each earning the same reaction from the crowd. The cheering never falters for each runner.
About twenty minutes pass before another police car with a timer passes. Almost immediately following it is an African American man, sweating and panting, though maintaining a steady pace. The crowd screams and bells ring out, urging him on. A few minutes go by and another man passes. For the next hour, racers, runners and cyclists, alternate down the long road. A wave of noise follows each racer. I can’t help myself; I’m clapping and cheering for each runner. It must help the exhausted runners to know that they have the support of the citizens of Boston.
Jack and I stay cheering on runners for a few more hours; hours which speed by. Like the saying goes, time flies when you’re having fun. Runners become quite common now and the crowd gets no break from the cheering. And that’s when we hear it.
A cannon blast. A clap of thunder. The ground shakes and screaming is heard. I see smoke billowing a little further to our right down the city block. People swarm to and from the smoke. “Jack? What’s tha-?”
My response is cut off by another blast, this time to our left and a little closer. The ground trembles and the screaming becomes louder. I feel something sharp dig into my forearm and I cry out. A wave throws me to the ground and I clutch my arm, feeling warm wetness seep through the material of my t shirt. “Jack!”
I hear a yell that I’m assuming is my name as people run in all directions, screaming in all directions over me. I feel hands yank me roughly up and I see Jack’s relieved face. We are quickly shrouded by white smoke and I clutch Jack’s hand tightly, afraid I’ll lose him.
“Alex! Stay close to me!” I hear his voice over the chaos.
“What’s happening?!”
“I don’t know but we have to get out of here!” For a brief moment, I see a flash of terror in his eyes but he quickly regains composure.
Someone shifts the metal barrier in front of us. The old couple that was in front of us is nowhere to be found, and I find myself hoping that they got out okay. Some people beside us have fallen the ground, which is now stained with blood. I feel Jack letting go of my hand and I think he climbs over the metal onto the street. “Jack!”
Wordlessly, his hands find my waist and I found myself being lifted over the fence and onto the rough pavement of the main street. The noise is deafening now, and I hear a mingle of terrified screams and shouts of people giving orders. I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, but I know for sure that this is not supposed to happen.
Jack’s hand locks onto mine as I feel him urging me forward. “Don’t let go!” He orders me. “I don’t want to lose you here!”
I nod though I’m sure he can’t see. Together, we weave our way through the enormous crowd. There must be tens of thousands of people here! I see people kneeling over hurt loved ones, crying out for help. I see men taking off their shirts in an effort to help cover people that have been injured. Policemen try to herd the mass of humans away from the scene, to clear a way for medical personnel to reach those in need.
We stumble blindly through the massive horde of people, where we were heading, I don’t know. All we really know is that we needed to get as far away as possible from this chaos.
We jog on for what feels like an eternity, though I know that we have only gone a few blocks. There, the crowd has thinned out and we find a place to sit down on a curb to catch our breath. For the most part, things were a lot more controlled here than a few blocks away. Other than the occasional group of people hurrying away, things are quiet.
Though it’s cool out, I find that I am sweating heavily. I think my wound is still bleeding, yet I’m too afraid to look at it. It throbs painfully on my arm.
Suddenly, I find myself being tightly hugged by strong arms; Jack’s face is buried in my neck. I hug him back, overcome by a realization that I could have lost him in a second. After a few minutes, he pulls away and slouches down, eyes far away.
Jack doesn’t speak at first. I think it’s because though he seemed so calm and collected through all this, he is as frightened as I am.
“Are you okay?” It’s the first thing he says to me after a few minutes.
“Other than being shaken up, I’m fine.” I don’t want him worrying too much about me. And besides, it’s not like I’ve never been hurt before.
He looks at me, eyes traveling the length of my body as if he doesn’t believe me. He spots me trying to hide my cut and he holds out his hand. “Your arm?”
“Oh,” I reluctantly show him the wound and his eyebrows furrow in concern. I try to reassure him. “It’s nothing; it’ll heal.”
“That looks pretty nasty to me,” he murmurs. His fingers dance around the cut, presumably because he has no idea what to do about it.
I stare at him for a while, taking in his disheveled appearance as he stared at the brick sidewalk. His hair is messier than usual, and his face a lot paler. His eyes, though he tried to cover it, were blank, most likely because he is in shock.
“You’re bleeding,” I say, noting a small cut on his cheek, most likely from a piece of glass. I reach towards his face but he flinches back.
“Yeah, but I’ll be fine as well. It’s nothing; not as bad as yours, at least. Don’t worry, okay?”
My hand drops to my side and I nod. We sit in silence before I speak again. “What happened there?”
“I’m not sure, but I think that was a bombing.”
My heart drops. A bombing? In Boston? Something about that sends chills down my spine, and I shiver involuntarily. “A b-bombing?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think that…that people were hurt?”
“Well, considering that there were so many people there…it’s likely.”
I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “Do you think people were killed?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“How could something like that happen? In Boston, of all cities?” I go from scared to upset. “During a marathon?”
“Alex, I’m as pissed at whoever did this as you, but let’s not focus on that now, okay? I mean, this just happened, there’s probably no news on it just yet. We’ll get answers, though. Right now, I’m just so happy that you’re okay and that none of us were hurt.”
“But not everyone was as lucky as us!”
“I know but-” He stops when we are approached by a police officer. His fluorescent yellow vest is stained with red, and he too looks very shaken up. But his voice is steady as he speaks to us.
“You two need to get out. We’re evacuating the area.”
Jack stands up and bends down to help me up. “Officer, what happened back there?”
He looks at us, unsure if he should tell us, but something in Jack’s eyes must have convinced him. “We were bombed.”
“Injuries?”
“I don’t know, but many.”
"Deaths?”
“Unconfirmed.”
“Thank you, officer.”
The man nods and looks at me. I have clutched my arm, which has begun to sting a little. “Is your friend hurt?”
Jack wraps an arm around me. “He’s got a cut, but I know he’ll deny any medical attention. He’s a little stubborn.” The last part is a tease, and I know he’s starting to become more like himself.
“Well, you should get it checked out, kid. There’s no such thing as being too cautious,” the policeman says. “And you,” he turns to my boyfriend. “That cut on your face could be looked at as well. There’s a medical tent little further down, I suggest you two head there.”
“Alright, thank you, officer,” Jack smiles at him, and he nods and walks away to tell another group to leave as well.
“Well, Gaskarth, you heard what the nice policeman said. Let’s go get your boo-boo checked out, okay?” Now he is back to himself.
“Fine,” I pout, but I let him take my hand as he takes me to the big tent marked with a red cross.
We get there and I am surprised to find the place swarming with others with all sorts of injuries. The more severe ones are taken away by ambulances, while the minor ones are treated here. A nurse approaches us.
“Hello, are any of you two hurt?”
“Yes, doctor, my boyfriend here. His arm,” Jack replies.
I show her my arm and for the first time, I look at it myself. It’s a gash along my bicep, about four inches long. To my relief, it’s not deep and stitches aren’t required. Dried blood surrounds it while fresh blood oozes out. I can understand why Jack was so worried.
Wordlessly, the nurse goes away and returns with a first aid kit. She sprays it with something that stings and I try to stay still as my boyfriend clutches my hand. Then she cleans the wound as best as she can and wraps it in white gauze. “There,” she says. “You’re all set. And you?” She turns to Jack.
“Just the face,” he responds.
She finds a small disinfecting wipe and cleans off the blood. Then she places a band aid over it. “You’re all set as well,” she says.
We thank her and leave the tent as she is called to attend to someone else. We walk hand and hand toward Boston Common, a place where we could rest for a while.
Boston Common is a large park in downtown Boston. We find a bench under a tree and sit down. The park is swarming with people, partly because it’s such a nice day, and because people, like us, seek refuge here from the chaos further away.
“So, what do we do now?” I ask.
“I don’t even know if we can stay in downtown, or the city, for that matter.”
“They’re gonna shut down the city looking for the people that caused this. And who knows, there could be more bombs throughout the city. Remember 9/11?”
Of course he does. He was only twelve years old, and it was two years before we even met. But he must remember the confusion and terror that occurred that day, and the uncertainty that something worse could be in store. Could the Boston bombing be a distraction from something bigger? I don’t want to think that.
“Yeah, I do,” he chews his lip uncertainly. He pulls out his phone to check something. It must be important, so I don’t pester him further. After a few moments, he looks at me. “Airports and Amtrak are shut down so it looks like we can’t get out of the city. At least we’re not staying in a fancy hotel in downtown, right?” He smiles slightly.
Despite the tense situation, I giggle. “Yeah, I guess it’s lucky that I am so easily convinced to stay at some sketchy motel in the suburbs. You’re so romantic.”
He laughs. “Yup,” he kisses me briefly. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I’m so lucky I didn’t lose you today.”
I can tell by the sincerity in his eyes that he meant it, every word of it. “I’m glad you’re just a little banged up.”
“I don’t know what I’d do if I had lost you.”
A/N: Hey guys! Finally finished with this one shot. Please don’t be offended by this; this is by no means any form of disrespect.
So I do live in Boston, and putting together different witness accounts of the bombings, this comes out. I’ve never really written anything like this, and I’m not sure if it’s even good. Thoughts?
I was also on lockdown for a day. A bunch of cities and towns were; the one of the suspects was on the run and was spotted less than a mile from me. I was awake since I heard gunfire in the middle of the night. Do you know what it’s like to see SWAT teams walking down the street with guns I’ve only seen in video games? It was terrifying and I felt like I was in a movie.
Oh, and they did manage to catch the kid (I say "kid" because he's only 19) after like a day of searching.
I don't even know when I'll have the next update of my other fic up since I'm going to be quite busy with term tests, presentations, and I'M SEEING ALL TIME LOW, PIERCE THE VEIL, YOU ME AT SIX, AND MAYDAY PARADE ON FRIDAY SOMEONE HOLD ME. I'll probably be an emotional mess, so bear with me here.
I'm trying to get a boyfriend and I don't even know if it's working. Help me.
I hope you have an amazing day because it's spring and it's nice out okay.