Ch.5-Break me more.

JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW

The pain I felt when I heard Dee's name can’t be put into words. My eyes haven’t stung like this since the day I caught them. My insides, which were already broken, feel like they are put in a blender, which destroys me all over again, this time even worse if that’s even possible.

I see Dee, or a blurred image of him, fact that tells me that I’m about to cry, and I bite my cheek hard in order not to and focus on the pain and the metallic taste of blood that floods my mouth, then close my eyes shut for a second to push the tears away, and without wanting, my eyes land on him again, examining him, trying to see what he has that I don’t, trying to figure out why Tristan chose him.

We look different, but he’s also black, just a darker shade than me, he has a buzz cut, he's taller than me and even Tristan, and bigger, he always was. He's about 6 ft 6 and has around three hundred pounds of muscle. 

Maybe that was it, the fact that he's bigger, taller, more muscular... Oh, God... I gotta stop.

“What happened?” He asks as he helps Tristan sit on the ground, and the need to go and never look back is bigger than it ever was because the pain is more than my body can handle, but again, I can’t, I’m way too numb and way too broken to move a muscle.

“B.b.ba..m..bi...” Tristan barely stutters, and I see Dee shaking his head, and his broad shoulders rise and fall as he sighs heavily.

“It’s gonna be ok, you’ll see. We’ll talk about it later. Now calm down, and try to breathe.” He says in a somehow sympathetic and worried voice, and I want to curse him, oh, God, I want to do so many things...

“N.no... Ba...m...bi” Tristan repeats through very hard attempts of taking a breath and shakily takes the hand that up until now fisted his jumpsuit, and points it at me.

Dee followed his movement, and when our eyes locked, the bastard smiled.

“J.J.!” His voice is cheerful, his smile gets bigger, and I look at him confused, trying to figure out why he's smiling, and I realize that he’s probably smiling because I got to see that they are still together and I’m still an outsider.

“Fuck you,” I curse in a low voice because I can’t talk really well, or loud, or clearly, and his smile turned into a disappointed frown, then, he shrugs her shoulders.

“Understandable, but still not nice.” He states with a sigh, and I open my mouth to tell him everything I wanted to tell him then, but I was too hurt, too busy to beg, but now I mostly want to curse at him, but my voice is really lost, my body is numb due to the trillions of feelings that are assaulting me, the excruciating pain that doesn’t allow me to do anything but stay frozen and pray that I won’t die, even though death sounds pretty fucking good right now.

The sound of Tristan struggling to breathe takes both of us from our silent conversation, and as I see Tristan’s lips turning blue, and tears running down his cheeks, I almost cave and go to him, but what he said that night came back to me and stopped even my heart.

“Oh, shit! T., man, breath...” Dee tries to soothe Tristan... my Tristan... not mine... but... mine. He was mine and Dee... he...

Oh, shit!

Don’t cry, Jamal! Don’t you fucking cry! You are a strong man now, you're not the weak boy you were when you left, you don't cry in front of anyone!

“Don’t pass out on me again, man... come on... breathe... please!” Dee pleads, but Tristan’s eyes slowly close as he loses consciousness.

“Help me take him to the back room.” He says with a sigh as he looks at me, and I bet that my teary eyes went comically wide.

“I’m not touching him... or you... no...” I barely talk, but I’m doing my best to show the disgust in my voice and on my face, and Dee scoffs.

“I can’t move him alone, J.J., he’s damn big--” Hearing the pet name that he gave to me and forbidding even Tristan to use it, detonated the grenade of anger inside of me.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING CALL ME LIKE THAT!” My voice echoes the shop as I finally snap, surprising even me, and causing the little guy to jump startled.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re angry, I get it, but come and help me, then you can punch me.” His voice, even if it’s deeper and more hoarse, it still sounds like it used to, cheery and almost smooth, and I hate it, and I hate the smile on his face, I fucking hate everything that has to do with them... I hate them...

“Fuck you and fuck him! Fuck off!” I yell and turn around to go, but his voice, which for once sounds deadly serious, stops me.

“We need to talk. Now, come and help me, then you can punch me, then we’ll talk.”

“I have nothing to talk to you about. I tried once, and you didn’t even acknowledge me, so now, as I said before, fuck you, and fuck off!” I snap again, and he sighs heavily in defeat.

“Corry, come and help me. As for you...” He says, pointing at me.

“Don’t go. We really need to talk.” He demands, and I try to fight the side of me that wants to stay, and listen to my brain and go the fuck away until I’m still breathing.

“Help you, how?” The little guy, Corry, asks, and for good reasons, because he couldn’t support ten percent of Tristan’s big body, then looks at me with pleading eyes.

“No. I’m not touching them.” I state before he has the chance to even ask, and he sighs heavily.

“I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. But please, for now, we're the only ones here. James will come in an hour or so.” Corry begs with a blush, and my eyes land on Tristan, who’s passed out on the ground with wet trails of tears on his face.

“There is no dry-cleaning in this world that could save this suit if I touch them!” I snap and curse my legs for going toward them.

Turn around, Jamal! You don’t owe them anything! You also begged, and they... Just turn the fuck around, and go far away from here!

But what does Dee want to talk to me? Apologize? Maybe this is what Addis was talking about. Maybe I will get my closure.

I curse myself, but even if I almost throw up, disgusted by my weakness, my brain lost the battle, and another organ, which I officially declare as being useless and stupid, won, and before I know it, I’m crouched next to Tristan.

Good God... he’s... God... no! Just help him and go.

He helped me also, even though I don’t know why, but he did, so I’ll help him as well. Not because I... there’s no reason except for that one!!! None whatsoever!

“Well... let’s take him there, and you can stare at him for as long as you want once we lay him on the sofa.” Dee’s voice brings me back from... Oh, God, I should stop thinking!

“I was not staring!“ He chuckles in disbelief, making it very fucking hard for me not to punch him, but I remind myself that I have to keep my cool, not show them that I’m still hurting, even though I don’t know how good my body masks my pain, and I have no control over it, I never have when I’m in Tristan’s...

Just stop!

“Do you want my help or not?!” I snap, and he purses his lips and makes a sign with his hand as if he's zipping his mouth, then, with very shaky hands, I reach for Tristan’s hand, which is as warm as I remember, but more calloused, and way bigger than mine, giving me that feeling... those feelings...

No! No! No!

I’m okay, I hate him, I despise him, I don’t even stand him...

I fight the stupid urge that I won’t even talk about and which I hardly succeed in pushing at the back of my head, then wrap one arm around his waist as I put his arm around my neck so I can keep him up, and Dee does the same.

The mix of feelings that assaults me is like a Molotov cocktail, bombarding me with sensations that I never thought I’d ever feel, and they are so many, so bad, and so... good.

I can smell his scent, it’s the same, even though the oil that covers his jumpsuit masks it a little, but not in a bad way... it’s even more...

Damn me! Damn him!

STOP, JAMAL!