Mike bowed to me as I walked out of Charlie’s room, letting her change privately into clothes that I had Jaime bring for her. They were Jess’ clothes, of course.


“What are you doing?” I asked him as he continued to hail to me.


“I never thought I’d ever see the day when Vic Fuentes brings home a girl,” he smirked. I slapped him. A literal, passionate slap right across his face.


“You are a fuck,” I spat.


“Woah,” Mike stopped, immediately backing off. “I was just kidding, dude,” he said, shaking his head. I bit my lip, guilt and alarm instantly flowing through me. I didn’t know why I got so angry with him; I was just really sensitive.


“Sorry,” I said in a tiny voice. He nodded, be he was still staring at me incredulously.


I looked away from him, seeing Charlie slowly exit her room. Walking looked extremely painful. So did breathing. I jogged over to her and gently offered my arm, which she gratefully accepted. I helped her limp along to the car, giving Mike a death glare as I passed him.


When we got back to the house, I showed her around. “Yeah, so that’s the kitchen, feel free to help yourself to anything. And, uh, here’s the guest room you can sleep in. But make yourself at home,” I said, feeling incredibly awkward.


“Thank, a lot, really,” she said, softly smiling. “Only one night, I promise, and then I’ll be out of your hair,” she added.


“Take as long as you need. I can’t imagine having to travel far while being hurt like that,” I said, feeling genuinely bad for her. She was on crutches, and every word she spoke looked painful and came out as almost a hiss. Anger fired within me—why would somebody do something so terrible to another human being, let a lone a girl?


She smiled thankfully, and I led her into the guest room.


Tears sprung in my eyes immediately, and I couldn’t bring myself to walk any further. I stopped immediately in the doorframe, and I saw white spots in my vision as a memory suffocated me.


“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I asked, racing into the guest room after hearing a scream. She stared at me, her eyes wide in terror and her bottom lip quivering. “Are you okay?” I asked, knowing the answer to that question already. I knew she wasn’t okay; her hair was sticking to her sweaty face, her body was shaking violently, and her eyes continued to stare at me in horror. She shook her head slowly, saying no, that she was not okay. I nodded, not bothering to say anything because I knew no words could ever help her. Only actions. I slowly walked over to her and sat on the edge of the bed that she was sitting so petrified in, and then I opened my arms for her.


I hummed our song softly in her ear, her sobs slowly subsiding.


I know you’re tortured, within…


“Do you want to talk about it?” I murmured, petting the back of her head.


“Later,” she croaked, shaking her head again.


“It’s okay,” I cooed quietly, rubbing her warm back.


I didn’t realize that her clutch to my shirt was so strong until gravity swiftly shifted and I was suddenly bent down with her as she laid back down.


“Sorry,” she said quietly, realizing that she accidently pulled me down with her. But I wouldn’t call it a mistake. I didn’t mind. I pulled my legs up onto the bed and brought her closer to me.


“It’s okay,” I said quietly again. I wrapped my arms around her and held her securely, and she buried her face into my bare chest. I felt her heart rate slowly decrease until she was finally calm.


I knew it might be too soon, especially after what happened with her and Jaime, but I couldn’t help but like being here. I liked having my arms around her. I liked protecting her. I would never admit it out loud, yet, but I might even love her.


“Vic? Vic? Are you okay?” I returned to reality when Charlie lightly shook my shoulder. I realized that I was crying… shit.


“Uh, sorry, um… Mike! Can you help Charlie get settled please?” I swallowed the lump in my throat and darted off in the opposite direction. He grabbed my arm before I could escape, staring at me intently. “I have to go,” I mumbled, my vision clouding with tears again. He looked at me with sympathy and sadness twirling in his eyes.


I heard him speak to Charlie: “Sorry about that…” his voice faded away slowly as I locked myself in my room, and the only thing I could hear now was the muffled sounds of my own sobs against my pillows.


I couldn’t feel anything. The memory of Spencer was random and unexpected, but it also was faded… I couldn’t remember the smell of her hair or the way her breathing slowed when she fell asleep… and this scared me. I didn’t want to forget the little things about her. I didn’t want to forget her. I couldn’t.


I cried until the tears and feelings ran out. I felt like a zombie. I felt dead. I forgot about my brother. I forgot about Tony and Jaime. I forgot that Charlie was just down the hall. She was beautiful and sweet, and I was glad I saved her, but she wasn’t Spencer. Nobody would ever be Spencer.


All I wanted was to see Spencer again. As much as she didn’t want me to desire her this much after her death, I was weaker than she thought. I wasn’t strong enough to be selfless.


I wanted to feel her again.

I wanted to feel.


I hated myself for this, but that always made me hate myself even more and want this even more as I rummaged through my bathroom drawers almost robotically, looking for my old friend.


No, this wasn’t my friend. This was my enemy. But I deserved every bit of its wrath. I craved it.


My hand shook as I toyed the silver blade in my hand.


“No, Vic, please don’t,” a voice rang softly in my ears.


“It’s the only way,” I muttered to myself, pressing the blade into my forearm, making sure I didn’t ruin the beautiful dove tattoo on my wrist. I pressed the tip of the blade into my skin, letting the tension in my supple skin increase before I broke it. It’s been so long, and the fact that I didn’t want to do this made me want to do this even more. It was a vicious cycle. I could hardly remember what it felt like to pierce through skin, just like the way I could hardly remember what it felt like to hold Spencer in my arms. But I wanted to remember. I wanted to remember all of it. Maybe this would hurt at first, but I wasn’t scared. How could I feel pain if I couldn’t feel at all?


“No, Vic!” the voice yelled this time. It wasn’t just a voice; it was Spencer’s. I smiled, dragging the blade across my skin slowly.


It burned. Fire. Electricity. Warmth. Pain shot through my arm, but it was pain that I could ignore; it was more of a stinging sensation, a sensation that would be painful for other people, but not for me. It was also relief. The blood burst out immediately—I had cut deeper than I thought. Not that I cared. I didn’t really care about anything, anymore.


I watched as the blood dripped down my wrist, the red overtaking the white of my tattoo. The dove was covered in blood; the peace was dead. Peace did not exist anywhere on Earth…


I know you’re tortured within…
Oh, torture didn't even begin to describe what I felt within!


“Vic!” a new voice yelled at me as I lined up the blade for another cut, but this time the voice was strong and more present. I looked up to see Mike, staring at me with a mix of anger and sadness in his milky brown eyes.


I looked at him, and then I looked back down on to the mess I made on the floor. Blood dripped off of my fingertips. I dropped the blade on to the ground, and I slowly stood up to hug Mike. I needed to hug him, to tell him I was sorry.


“Careful!” Mike yelled, but it was too late. My legs were weak and I collapsed to the ground with a groan. I didn’t get back up. I didn’t want to get back up.


Someone up there’s telling me: you’d better not get back up…


I stayed on the ground. That was where I belonged, anyway. I curled up into myself, ignoring the stinging and burning in my arm and ignoring the blood spilling all over me. I found fresh tears pouring at the same consistency as the blood that was pouring from my veins. I don’t care, I don't care.


“Vic, damn it,” Mike huffed, picking me up. I fought against his grip for some reason. I wanted to curl up into nothing, I didn’t want him here.


“No! No!” I continued to thrash around irrationally, and another horrific memory took the place of reality.


The bullet directly pierced through her forehead, making her fall back immediately. With a loud, irrevocable thump, her body collapsed to the ground before me. I screamed. It sounded so foreign, so distant, despite the fact that it came from my own lungs.


“NO!” I screamed again, my throat gurgling and scratching as I screamed for her over and over and over again. “NO! NO! NO!” I screeched, holding her broken and bleeding head desperately, despite knowing, deep down, that she was gone. She was gone, and she was never coming back.


“Mikey, please help,” I croaked, turning to my brother, who was slumped down to his knees and who’s face was struck with pain.


Mike crawled over to me, and I returned to screaming and mourning over the now bloodless Spencer. She was already pale. All of her blood was on the floor. All of her blood was on me.


I felt arms wrap around me, pulling me away, but I fought back stubbornly. “No, no!” I moaned in agony. Mike’s hands finally found mine, and he held my shaking hands tightly with his own as I continued to cry over the sudden, irreversible, and gruesome death of the girl that I never got to say ‘I love you’ to.


“No! NO!” I continued to cry as the memory overwhelmed me. Mike finally found my arm, holding a random t-shirt against it as I cried into the floor. He picked me up, and my body submitted to his movements. He held me very similarly to the way he held me when Spencer died, only this time he was trying to stop my bleeding instead of stopping my screaming.


Why couldn’t I be the selfless Vic I used to be? Why couldn’t I return to the pre-suicide-attempt-Vic, when I would help my brother with his broken fingers and tell fans that everything was going to be okay? Why did time have to make me so selfish?


“Vic, shh, please stop,” Mike said, and that was when I realized that he was crying, too. Why did I have to make my brother cry? Why couldn’t I just be a good big brother? Why did I always have to ruin everything?


“You’re okay, Vic,” Mike said softly until I finally started to calm down. As my adrenaline and agony wore off, I began to feel the pain in my forearm more profoundly.“Here,” Mike grunted as he pulled me on to my feet and led me to the bathroom. He sat me down on the edge of the tub, and I hung my head low in shame as he helped clean and bandage my single yet deep cup.


“It’s okay, Vic. You’ve been doing pretty good, and you had a moment. It’s just one cut. Don’t worry,” he smiled positively at me, kissing my bandage. “But no more,” he added. I knew he was trying to be strong for me (since I couldn’t be strong for myself), but I could see the pain behind his eyes. Mike was a different man, now. I’ve never seen him so affectionate and protective. Obviously, Mike has always cared for me, but he also was a typical douche, an irresponsible party animal. But he didn’t have time for that nonsense, lately. I hated myself for taking away his free spirit.


I nodded anyway, though. “No more,” I repeated quietly. He smiled softly at me before helping me back into my bed. I guess he cleaned the crimson mess on me and the floor, because without another word I was asleep in a restless, nightmarish, horribly deep sleep.


MIKE’S POV


Vic went to bed early tonight, his arm sore and his mind ever sorer. I had given Charlie pain pills so she good get some nice rest, so she was fast asleep quickly and luckily didn’t witness Vic’s outburst. I wondered if maybe I should give Vic pain pills, too, just for some uninterrupted sleep.


I was now sitting on the couch in Vic’s room as he slept—no, he wasn’t peacefully sleeping. He was tossing and turning and occasionally cried out. It was torturous to watch, but I needed to be in here. I couldn’t leave him alone. I knew he wasn’t going to kill himself, but I knew that he would try to cut again, wanting to take away the pain temporarily. I couldn’t let my brother slip back into that terrible habit again.


He started to cry more constantly, this time, so I decided to get up and help him.


“Vic, please don’t cry,” I said softly, rubbing his back. I’ve never seen my brother so broken. The problem was, though, that I didn’t know if he could ever be fixed. When he broke, a vital piece went missing, and now he could never be fully repaired.


“I’m s-sorry,” he sobbed, burying his face in his hands.


This happened often. I always checked on him in the middle of the night, and, almost always, I found him crying, either consciously or in his sleep. Tonight, it was in his sleep.


His cotton t-shirt that he had slept in was warm and damp, and his hair tangled in a mess around his twisted face. I hugged him tightly, trying to calm him down.


“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, referring to the nightmare he probably was having. He shook his head; he always did. I didn’t need him to tell me, though. I knew what his nightmares involved. I knew who his nightmares involved.


“My heart hurts,” he cried.


“Vic, it’s ok, please calm down,” I rocked him back and forth, tears forming in my eyes, as well. I hated seeing him like this. It hurt, and the old feelings of guilt rekindled in my soul. It was my fault that my brother was this broken.So many different outcomes could have played out that day, but because I insisted that we make noise to break down that door to free her from that room…


I shook my head. I couldn’t think like that right now. Vic needed me. I continued to comfort him, rubbing his back and swaying slightly from side to side. He clenched my t-shirt and buried his face into my shoulder.


“I just want it all to stop,” he cried softly. I froze; those were words I dreaded to hear, especially after what had happened earlier.


I pulled back from the embrace, forcing him to look me in the eyes. “Please don’t give up, Vic. Don’t say things like that,” I said, my tone teetering on the line between comfort and anger.


“I-I’m s-sorry, Mikey,” he cried again, nuzzling his head into my shoulder again. I sighed, smoothing down his hair on the back of his head.


“It’s okay, Vic. Everything’s going to be okay,” I said, trying to believe the words myself. “Tomorrow will be a better day, okay?” I pulled back, looking him in the eyes again.


He nodded. “Tomorrow will be a better day,” he repeated quietly, no new tears developing but old tears finishing the race down his cheeks.


“Yes. We will do something fun, okay? And you can get to know Charlie. She’s really nice, Vic. You could use a new friend.”


“A new friend,” he mumbled to himself. My heart continued to break for Vic; he seemed like a little kid, again.


“Exactly. Remember, Vic? Remember how you saved her? That was good. Remember, you were there for her when the rest of the world wasn’t,” I said truthfully, hoping to remind him the reason why he was alive.


“Yes,” he said, the words slithering quietly through his teeth as he passed out again from exhaustion.I sighed, laying him back down.


I sat back down on the couch, my eyes zoning out after staring at the same, boring spot on the wall. I repeated the same line in my head over and over and over again until I partially believed it myself.


Everything’s going to be okay.

Notes

Vic is encountering some MAJOR demons right now, isn't he? :(
Can he ever get better? Will the band suffer from his recent breakdowns?
Speaking of the band, what is going on with Jaime and Tony? How are they handling things? We will find out soon...
And, Charlie. Will her acquaintanceship/friendship be a good "distraction" for Vic, or will he avoid using her?


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