Categories > Original > Romance
Wrecking Ball
4 reviewsJalex. || Destructive love oneshot? Fuck me, I dunno. Contains self-harm and eating disorders, ooo.
2Moving
Wrecking Ball
Jack can't even speak. He's slightly distracted by the fact his boyfriend has his lips all over Vic fucking Fuentes. Tears well in Jack's dark eyes, and he tries to swallow back the rising lump in his throat. Unable to carry out the simple gesture, he utters a few, deadly quiet words.
"I knew you were nothing but trouble."
"Jack, please! I was drunk!" Alex's pleas are loud enough for the whole arena to hear. Jack's pretty sure one of the guys from Every Avenue came round and told them to shut the fuck up earlier. He doesn't care.
"You cheated on me! How am I ever meant to fucking forgive that? I trusted you!" Jack's screams are choked, laced with anguish, fraught with desperate heartbreak. He receives only tears from Alex.
"Fuck you, Alex. We're fucking through." Jack shakes his head before he pulls on a jacket, storming through the bus to the door. Swiping tears away angrily, he tells Danny not to wait up. Danny gives him a sympathetic look and hands him twenty bucks.
*
Stumble. Stumble. Slur. Trip. Swear. Giggle. Kiss.
Alex is lying awake as ever in his bunk, tears still streaming down his face. He can hear the sound of Jack's mouth against someone else's and it's only adding to the sinking feeling deep in his chest. He listens to Jack muttering a name that isn't his, and if Alex thinks hard enough, he can almost imagine that it's him that Jack's undressing. If he pictures it, he can see Jack's hands all over his body. When the cause of his distress moans, though, the reality of the situation comes flooding back and it's like someone's stuck a needle right through Alex's torso. Grabbing his headphones, he tries to block out the sound by putting his music on shuffle.
How've you been?
Can I come in?
Just came to grab my things and then I guess I'm leaving.
If I could say,
What you'd like to hear,
I'd whisper in your ear it's only temporary...
The song doesn't help Alex's mood. The vocalist doesn't think he could cry any more but as soon as the chorus came into play, a river of silent tears flows down his cheeks.
Sometimes the one you want,
Is not the one you need.
What goes around don't come around,
You should know me by now.
*
Jack glances over at Alex. The elder is sleeping, but it doesn't look peaceful. The skin underneath Alex's eyes is dark and bruised from the tears he's been crying. Jack's are similar, if he's completely honest. The guitarist almost feels pity for the sleeping man opposite him - almost as if on cue, the image of Alex's lips all over Vic's reappears in his mind and he can't help but mutter a 'fuck you' before rolling back, hands searching for the warm body that isn't there, the warm body that should be there - the warm body that lies only metres away, bruised soul dead to the world.
*
The tension after the show is intense. Zack's biting at his lip as he gazes at Alex, who hasn't looked himself for days. His hair is matted, his eyes sunken. He has a pallid sheen to him, and he's taken to wearing long sleeves. Zack doesn't understand why - it's the middle of summer. He's shrugging it off for now, maybe Alex will go back to normal soon.
"Seen Fuentes recently?" Jack's words are sharp and icy, and they cut through Alex like a fucking knife.
"I could say the very same thing about you and your bar sluts," he sneers back, trying to hide his immense hurt under a heavy layer of hatred. Jack flinches.
"At least I slept with them after we ended it," he murmurs, and Zack grabs onto Alex but it's too late.
"Fuck you, Jack! I fucked up once! Once! Do you know how many times I caught you making out with some other chick when you were drunk? Too fucking many! And you dump me for one time? Fuck you, Jack! Fucking fuck you, you asshole!" Tears run down Alex's face as he screams out his words, anger taking ahold of his skinny frame, causing him to shake. Zack shakes his head and pulls the vocalist into his arms, letting Alex's tears stain his shirt. He hears Jack stomp away, off to another bar. Zack shakes his head again, fingers running through Alex's greasy hair.
"I-I love him so much.. Wh-why doesn't he understand that?" Alex's sentence is muffled as he buries his face against Zack's shirt.
"He's being a dickhead.. Hey, Lex?" The bassist's fingers run down to the sleeve of Alex's cardigan, lightly tugging at it. Alex's own fingers snap to attention, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt with a determined force.
"Yeah?"
"Why are you wearing long sleeves? It's the middle of summer, bro."
"It's nothing."
That's the last Zack gets out of Alex. The vocalist storms away and curls up in his bunk. He falls asleep and stays that way for the next 12 hours. He doesn't hear Jack fucking another 'bar slut'. Zack thinks it's probably better if he doesn't.
*
When Alex is sleeping, he has a tendency to lose his shirt and stretch his arms out. Tonight is nothing out of the ordinary - Alex's chest is bare against his sheets, arm outstretched. Zack can't sleep - energy buzzes through his muscles like electricity. When he sees his friend's outstretched, naked arm, he can't help but poke his head out. He's determined to get to the root of the question, and he'll stop at nothing. I isn't much of a difficult answer.
Alex's wrists are painted with burgundy slashes. Some are fresh, and some are old. Zack can see raised scars, and every little cut is like a knife to the chest. He can't stand to see his best friend in so much pain. He doesn't even bother about keeping quiet when he shakes Alex's shoulders, tells him to put clothes on and meet him outside.
*
"I saw your wrist." Zack has never been the best at putting things lightly.
"Oh" is Alex's only reply, eyes widening to the size of saucers.
"Why, 'Lex? Why would you hurt yourself like that? You've spent your whole life telling kids to never feel like that, and now you're doing it!" A thread of anger laces it's way into his tone, eyebrows cocking.
"It's Jack. It's fucking Jack, Zacky. I miss him so much, and I feel like shit. I can't even look at him without wanting to slit my own throat. I can't believe I ever hurt him like that. I'm fucking trouble. Jack was right. Maybe.." He swallows before continuing. "Maybe the world would be better off without me."
"Don't you ever say that." Zack pulls Alex into his arms, fingers running through his hair, thumbs brushing away tears that fall constantly down his cheeks. "The world would suck without you, Alex."
"Jack would be better off." The vocalist shakes his head, nose nuzzling against Zack's collarbone.
"Jack loves you more than you could ever understand," Zack mutters as he presses a soft kiss to Alex's forehead. "He's just being a dickhead."
*
"I'm a fucking dickhead," Jack tells himself as he looks in the mirror. He's not looking himself at all. The color has drained out of his face, his hair is in a disastrous disarray - he generally looks a mess, rather like his counterpart who's curled into Zack's side as they watch horror movies.
Jack still can't quite comprehend how much he hates himself. He's left the only thing that he ever loved - Alex. Alex. Jack hates the way the name rolls off his tongue, sugarcoated with love and affection that he didn't know he still possessed. He shout hate Alex - he cheated on him, goddammit! Alex sucked face with Fuentes!
So why does Jack feel so empty without Alex's fingers threaded in the spaces between his own?
Shaking his head, Jack hunches over the toilet. He's done this so many times, he knows exactly what to do now. He knows exactly what spot to hit. He presses two long, calloused fingers into his mouth, groping round for the spot that makes him gag and -
He's hit it. The lunch he's barely held down comes rushing back up, painting porcelain white with splatters of grotesque color. He imagines it to be his regrets - if he was still with Alex, he wouldn't be doing this. He presses his fingers back to that same spot, and up all the regrets come, only to be washed away into the drains. Oh, if only erasing mistakes was that easy.
*
"We'll see you guys round, we're All Time Low!" With a flourish of his clothed arms, Alex rushes offstage. The cool metal of his razor is pressing against his leg, begging to be slid across his sweaty skin. Danny doesn't even ask as he rushes to the bathroom.
Jack raises a hand to his stomach, feeling the flesh that isn't there. Fat, he tells himself. Alex won't love me like this. He too heads toward the bathroom.
The only thing running through Kurily's mind is please tell me they've made up and a gonna have bathroom sex. In truth, everyone has been affected by the recent mood change. Rian and Zack seem less enthusiastic. The fans can definitely feel the tension between Alex and Jack, if their Tumblr posts are anything to go by. Danny himself feels like shit because he can't fix the slowly-growing rift between the two. Can anyone?/, he thinks as he watches the two rush off towards the bathroom.
*
They're completely unaware that the other's in the room.
Alex is extracting his savior from his pocket, a demented grin spreading across his chapped, bitten lips. Pulling up his sleeves to expose slashes upon slashes, old against new, bright red against faded white, Alex lightly drags the metal against his skin, more of a warm-up than anything.
Meanwhile, Jack is trying to remember all the things he's eaten. A burrito, an apple, he drank three beers.. He feels disgusting, and fat. Alex definitely won't love anyone who's fat. He slowly slides down to collapse against the floor, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his wrist. Crescent-shaped marks are left, and Jack kind of likes the way they look. They look like stamps - except these stamps are telling the world that I'M NOT GOOD ENOUGH. PLEASE DO NOT LOVE ME.
Alex is pressing it deeper now. Blood starts to surface, spilling against his pale skin. He tries to hold back a soft chuckle when he starts digging a little deeper. The line he's working on is getting deeper and deeper. If he's lucky, he might hit a vein. All the pain would be over, all the suffering and all the hatred he feels toward himself.
Jack's got his fingers down his throat, decorating the toilet with the contents of his stomach. It's making him feel a little better - he knows he'll be skinnier and better after this. He'll be up to Alex's standards.
When Alex hears the sound of someone vomiting, his blood runs ice fucking cold. The blade he has clutched between his fingers falls to the floor with a clatter. He swipes at a wad of toilet paper, pressing it to his bleeding wrist before swooping to shove his bloodied tool back in his pocket.
At the same time as he's throwing up, Jack hears metal against tile. Instantly worried, he wipes his fingers on his jeans, nose wrinkling at the aftertaste left lingering in his mouth. He unlocks the door, and fucking hell. He didn't expect this.
Alex and Jack are left gawking at each other, trying to figure out what the hell's going on. Alex can see a faint smear of something suspicious-looking on Jack's jeans. Jack can spot the paper pressed against Alex's wrist.
"Are you okay?" Alex asks weakly, because even if they've broken up, Jack is still Alex's best friend and it's his responsibility to make sure the younger male is okay.
"Are you?" Jack's eyebrow raises. Alex chokes back the urge to cry 'no', instead nodding his head bravely. Jack can tell the movement is fake. Taking a large step forward, he grabs Alex's wrist, yanking up his sleeve and letting the bloody paper fall away, the evidence of Alex's self-destruction clear as the nose on his face. The scent of vomit wafts to Alex's nose as he tugs his arm away, tears welling in his eyes.
"Alex.. why?" Jack's voice is broken, fragile. He searches for an answer in Alex's unresponsive eyes.
"Because of you. Because I fucking miss you and I fucking hate you and I fucking love you so fucking much, Jack fucking Barakat. I miss you, okay?! I want you back! I want you! I don't want.. this mess." He waves a hand at Jack's skinny, broken frame. He knows what Jack was doing, locked in his cubicle.
"Me?" With wide eyes, Jack's knees decide to fail at being knees, bringing him crashing to the floor. Tears spring to his eyes and he's sobbing now, hands raising to rub at his eyes as he realizes that his beautiful, beautiful ex-boyfriend has been hurting himself because of [/him and it's knowledge that no one should ever have to bear.
"Yes, you, Jacky. I-I love you." Alex is down on the floor now too, arms outstretched. Jack finds his way into them and Alex clamps them tight around his frail torso, afraid to let go.
"I-I love you too, I'm so sorry, I'm such a fucking dickhead.. I'm a wrecking ball, Lexy. I just break everything. I broke your heart and I broke the skin on your wrists and I broke myself and I'm s-so sorry." Half of Jack's words are slurred as fuck and Alex can't make out many but he can tell that Jack is honestly sorry and right now, all he wants to do is hold the boy tight.
So he does.
They stay there for a while, Jack locked tight in Alex's arms. Jack occasionally sobs out a broken 'sorry' and Alex kisses his forehead. They don't move, they don't speak. They just sit.
"W-we should go out," Jack murmurs, brown eyes wide as he looks up at Alex.
"We're not leaving until you promise never to make yourself sick again."
"Only if you promise never to hurt yourself again."
"Jacky?"
"Y-yeah?"
"Be my boyfriend again?"
Jack responds with a hearty kiss, and within moments, the two are making out on the bathroom floor. When they leave, hands locked and happy, dopey grins on their lips, Kurily breathes a heavy sigh of relief. So they did have sex on the floor, he thinks. He can't help but grin too.
*
"Am I better than a band slut?" Alex asks as Jack plays with his freshly-washed hair, a cheeky grin dancing about his lips.
"Am I better than a razor blade?" Jack counters. Alex's lips press to Jack almost at the same time that Jack chooses to press his lips to Alex's.
"Always."
(Needless to say, next time they got drunk, they stuck close to each other.)
I DID IT. Seven pages of stupid, badly written Jalex fluff. Oh man, I love this one. Like, I genuinely feel a connection to it. For those of you who don't know, I have experienced both issues, so I'm not pulling shit outta my ass right now.
Speaking of right now. Well, it's 5:05 AM and I'm only up this early so I can watch Masterchef. See, my aim is to get ready before 6, so I can just.. sit and enjoy the lovely sight of hot men bending over in tight jeans. Seriously, that shit should be illegal. Better than booze.
Just onto a bit of a controversial topic right now: Miley Cyrus's video for Wrecking Ball. Judge me all you like: I love the song. I honestly do. I think it's a really beautiful, emotional song. The video, though.. She could've done so much better. You don't need to get naked and swing round on a wrecking ball and make out with a hammer to get viewers, Miley. I wish she'd realize that she's naturally beautiful. Go back and look at her when she had long hair, don't tell me she wasn't gorgeous. I really hope she figures things out. You can tell she's severely anorexic, just look at her. She's acting like an idiot to get her boyfriend back.
To end on a gory note: if I ever met Robin Thicke (the dude who sang Blurred Lines), I'd like to kick him in the fucking balls, slice off his supposedly 'big' dick and choke him with it, all the while singing "act like you don't want it, I know you want it." The amount of pure fucking misogyny in there. I think it's fucking disgusting his he chooses to portray women - we aren't handbags, we're women, with emotions and feelings and goddamn ideas. If I was ever, ever objectified, I would punch the bastard's face in. I don't stand for that. He.. I don't like Robin Thicke. At all. Fucking sleazebag.
For an upcoming event I'm going as Daria Morgendoffer. If you know who she is, you're instantly 1000000000x cooler. I love Daria SO.FUCKING.MUCH. She and I are the exact same, I swear to god. I'm getting these boots too, they don't go to my knee but they go to about my calf, they're studded and laced and they have a heel on them which is good because I need to be taller than some motherfuckers. I'm only 5". Fire your 'omg you're so tiny lemme squish you' comments - all I need to be is intellectually and politically large. That's all I need. I'm a smart, independent woman. Not a handbag.
Jack can't even speak. He's slightly distracted by the fact his boyfriend has his lips all over Vic fucking Fuentes. Tears well in Jack's dark eyes, and he tries to swallow back the rising lump in his throat. Unable to carry out the simple gesture, he utters a few, deadly quiet words.
"I knew you were nothing but trouble."
"Jack, please! I was drunk!" Alex's pleas are loud enough for the whole arena to hear. Jack's pretty sure one of the guys from Every Avenue came round and told them to shut the fuck up earlier. He doesn't care.
"You cheated on me! How am I ever meant to fucking forgive that? I trusted you!" Jack's screams are choked, laced with anguish, fraught with desperate heartbreak. He receives only tears from Alex.
"Fuck you, Alex. We're fucking through." Jack shakes his head before he pulls on a jacket, storming through the bus to the door. Swiping tears away angrily, he tells Danny not to wait up. Danny gives him a sympathetic look and hands him twenty bucks.
*
Stumble. Stumble. Slur. Trip. Swear. Giggle. Kiss.
Alex is lying awake as ever in his bunk, tears still streaming down his face. He can hear the sound of Jack's mouth against someone else's and it's only adding to the sinking feeling deep in his chest. He listens to Jack muttering a name that isn't his, and if Alex thinks hard enough, he can almost imagine that it's him that Jack's undressing. If he pictures it, he can see Jack's hands all over his body. When the cause of his distress moans, though, the reality of the situation comes flooding back and it's like someone's stuck a needle right through Alex's torso. Grabbing his headphones, he tries to block out the sound by putting his music on shuffle.
How've you been?
Can I come in?
Just came to grab my things and then I guess I'm leaving.
If I could say,
What you'd like to hear,
I'd whisper in your ear it's only temporary...
The song doesn't help Alex's mood. The vocalist doesn't think he could cry any more but as soon as the chorus came into play, a river of silent tears flows down his cheeks.
Sometimes the one you want,
Is not the one you need.
What goes around don't come around,
You should know me by now.
*
Jack glances over at Alex. The elder is sleeping, but it doesn't look peaceful. The skin underneath Alex's eyes is dark and bruised from the tears he's been crying. Jack's are similar, if he's completely honest. The guitarist almost feels pity for the sleeping man opposite him - almost as if on cue, the image of Alex's lips all over Vic's reappears in his mind and he can't help but mutter a 'fuck you' before rolling back, hands searching for the warm body that isn't there, the warm body that should be there - the warm body that lies only metres away, bruised soul dead to the world.
*
The tension after the show is intense. Zack's biting at his lip as he gazes at Alex, who hasn't looked himself for days. His hair is matted, his eyes sunken. He has a pallid sheen to him, and he's taken to wearing long sleeves. Zack doesn't understand why - it's the middle of summer. He's shrugging it off for now, maybe Alex will go back to normal soon.
"Seen Fuentes recently?" Jack's words are sharp and icy, and they cut through Alex like a fucking knife.
"I could say the very same thing about you and your bar sluts," he sneers back, trying to hide his immense hurt under a heavy layer of hatred. Jack flinches.
"At least I slept with them after we ended it," he murmurs, and Zack grabs onto Alex but it's too late.
"Fuck you, Jack! I fucked up once! Once! Do you know how many times I caught you making out with some other chick when you were drunk? Too fucking many! And you dump me for one time? Fuck you, Jack! Fucking fuck you, you asshole!" Tears run down Alex's face as he screams out his words, anger taking ahold of his skinny frame, causing him to shake. Zack shakes his head and pulls the vocalist into his arms, letting Alex's tears stain his shirt. He hears Jack stomp away, off to another bar. Zack shakes his head again, fingers running through Alex's greasy hair.
"I-I love him so much.. Wh-why doesn't he understand that?" Alex's sentence is muffled as he buries his face against Zack's shirt.
"He's being a dickhead.. Hey, Lex?" The bassist's fingers run down to the sleeve of Alex's cardigan, lightly tugging at it. Alex's own fingers snap to attention, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt with a determined force.
"Yeah?"
"Why are you wearing long sleeves? It's the middle of summer, bro."
"It's nothing."
That's the last Zack gets out of Alex. The vocalist storms away and curls up in his bunk. He falls asleep and stays that way for the next 12 hours. He doesn't hear Jack fucking another 'bar slut'. Zack thinks it's probably better if he doesn't.
*
When Alex is sleeping, he has a tendency to lose his shirt and stretch his arms out. Tonight is nothing out of the ordinary - Alex's chest is bare against his sheets, arm outstretched. Zack can't sleep - energy buzzes through his muscles like electricity. When he sees his friend's outstretched, naked arm, he can't help but poke his head out. He's determined to get to the root of the question, and he'll stop at nothing. I isn't much of a difficult answer.
Alex's wrists are painted with burgundy slashes. Some are fresh, and some are old. Zack can see raised scars, and every little cut is like a knife to the chest. He can't stand to see his best friend in so much pain. He doesn't even bother about keeping quiet when he shakes Alex's shoulders, tells him to put clothes on and meet him outside.
*
"I saw your wrist." Zack has never been the best at putting things lightly.
"Oh" is Alex's only reply, eyes widening to the size of saucers.
"Why, 'Lex? Why would you hurt yourself like that? You've spent your whole life telling kids to never feel like that, and now you're doing it!" A thread of anger laces it's way into his tone, eyebrows cocking.
"It's Jack. It's fucking Jack, Zacky. I miss him so much, and I feel like shit. I can't even look at him without wanting to slit my own throat. I can't believe I ever hurt him like that. I'm fucking trouble. Jack was right. Maybe.." He swallows before continuing. "Maybe the world would be better off without me."
"Don't you ever say that." Zack pulls Alex into his arms, fingers running through his hair, thumbs brushing away tears that fall constantly down his cheeks. "The world would suck without you, Alex."
"Jack would be better off." The vocalist shakes his head, nose nuzzling against Zack's collarbone.
"Jack loves you more than you could ever understand," Zack mutters as he presses a soft kiss to Alex's forehead. "He's just being a dickhead."
*
"I'm a fucking dickhead," Jack tells himself as he looks in the mirror. He's not looking himself at all. The color has drained out of his face, his hair is in a disastrous disarray - he generally looks a mess, rather like his counterpart who's curled into Zack's side as they watch horror movies.
Jack still can't quite comprehend how much he hates himself. He's left the only thing that he ever loved - Alex. Alex. Jack hates the way the name rolls off his tongue, sugarcoated with love and affection that he didn't know he still possessed. He shout hate Alex - he cheated on him, goddammit! Alex sucked face with Fuentes!
So why does Jack feel so empty without Alex's fingers threaded in the spaces between his own?
Shaking his head, Jack hunches over the toilet. He's done this so many times, he knows exactly what to do now. He knows exactly what spot to hit. He presses two long, calloused fingers into his mouth, groping round for the spot that makes him gag and -
He's hit it. The lunch he's barely held down comes rushing back up, painting porcelain white with splatters of grotesque color. He imagines it to be his regrets - if he was still with Alex, he wouldn't be doing this. He presses his fingers back to that same spot, and up all the regrets come, only to be washed away into the drains. Oh, if only erasing mistakes was that easy.
*
"We'll see you guys round, we're All Time Low!" With a flourish of his clothed arms, Alex rushes offstage. The cool metal of his razor is pressing against his leg, begging to be slid across his sweaty skin. Danny doesn't even ask as he rushes to the bathroom.
Jack raises a hand to his stomach, feeling the flesh that isn't there. Fat, he tells himself. Alex won't love me like this. He too heads toward the bathroom.
The only thing running through Kurily's mind is please tell me they've made up and a gonna have bathroom sex. In truth, everyone has been affected by the recent mood change. Rian and Zack seem less enthusiastic. The fans can definitely feel the tension between Alex and Jack, if their Tumblr posts are anything to go by. Danny himself feels like shit because he can't fix the slowly-growing rift between the two. Can anyone?/, he thinks as he watches the two rush off towards the bathroom.
*
They're completely unaware that the other's in the room.
Alex is extracting his savior from his pocket, a demented grin spreading across his chapped, bitten lips. Pulling up his sleeves to expose slashes upon slashes, old against new, bright red against faded white, Alex lightly drags the metal against his skin, more of a warm-up than anything.
Meanwhile, Jack is trying to remember all the things he's eaten. A burrito, an apple, he drank three beers.. He feels disgusting, and fat. Alex definitely won't love anyone who's fat. He slowly slides down to collapse against the floor, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his wrist. Crescent-shaped marks are left, and Jack kind of likes the way they look. They look like stamps - except these stamps are telling the world that I'M NOT GOOD ENOUGH. PLEASE DO NOT LOVE ME.
Alex is pressing it deeper now. Blood starts to surface, spilling against his pale skin. He tries to hold back a soft chuckle when he starts digging a little deeper. The line he's working on is getting deeper and deeper. If he's lucky, he might hit a vein. All the pain would be over, all the suffering and all the hatred he feels toward himself.
Jack's got his fingers down his throat, decorating the toilet with the contents of his stomach. It's making him feel a little better - he knows he'll be skinnier and better after this. He'll be up to Alex's standards.
When Alex hears the sound of someone vomiting, his blood runs ice fucking cold. The blade he has clutched between his fingers falls to the floor with a clatter. He swipes at a wad of toilet paper, pressing it to his bleeding wrist before swooping to shove his bloodied tool back in his pocket.
At the same time as he's throwing up, Jack hears metal against tile. Instantly worried, he wipes his fingers on his jeans, nose wrinkling at the aftertaste left lingering in his mouth. He unlocks the door, and fucking hell. He didn't expect this.
Alex and Jack are left gawking at each other, trying to figure out what the hell's going on. Alex can see a faint smear of something suspicious-looking on Jack's jeans. Jack can spot the paper pressed against Alex's wrist.
"Are you okay?" Alex asks weakly, because even if they've broken up, Jack is still Alex's best friend and it's his responsibility to make sure the younger male is okay.
"Are you?" Jack's eyebrow raises. Alex chokes back the urge to cry 'no', instead nodding his head bravely. Jack can tell the movement is fake. Taking a large step forward, he grabs Alex's wrist, yanking up his sleeve and letting the bloody paper fall away, the evidence of Alex's self-destruction clear as the nose on his face. The scent of vomit wafts to Alex's nose as he tugs his arm away, tears welling in his eyes.
"Alex.. why?" Jack's voice is broken, fragile. He searches for an answer in Alex's unresponsive eyes.
"Because of you. Because I fucking miss you and I fucking hate you and I fucking love you so fucking much, Jack fucking Barakat. I miss you, okay?! I want you back! I want you! I don't want.. this mess." He waves a hand at Jack's skinny, broken frame. He knows what Jack was doing, locked in his cubicle.
"Me?" With wide eyes, Jack's knees decide to fail at being knees, bringing him crashing to the floor. Tears spring to his eyes and he's sobbing now, hands raising to rub at his eyes as he realizes that his beautiful, beautiful ex-boyfriend has been hurting himself because of [/him and it's knowledge that no one should ever have to bear.
"Yes, you, Jacky. I-I love you." Alex is down on the floor now too, arms outstretched. Jack finds his way into them and Alex clamps them tight around his frail torso, afraid to let go.
"I-I love you too, I'm so sorry, I'm such a fucking dickhead.. I'm a wrecking ball, Lexy. I just break everything. I broke your heart and I broke the skin on your wrists and I broke myself and I'm s-so sorry." Half of Jack's words are slurred as fuck and Alex can't make out many but he can tell that Jack is honestly sorry and right now, all he wants to do is hold the boy tight.
So he does.
They stay there for a while, Jack locked tight in Alex's arms. Jack occasionally sobs out a broken 'sorry' and Alex kisses his forehead. They don't move, they don't speak. They just sit.
"W-we should go out," Jack murmurs, brown eyes wide as he looks up at Alex.
"We're not leaving until you promise never to make yourself sick again."
"Only if you promise never to hurt yourself again."
"Jacky?"
"Y-yeah?"
"Be my boyfriend again?"
Jack responds with a hearty kiss, and within moments, the two are making out on the bathroom floor. When they leave, hands locked and happy, dopey grins on their lips, Kurily breathes a heavy sigh of relief. So they did have sex on the floor, he thinks. He can't help but grin too.
*
"Am I better than a band slut?" Alex asks as Jack plays with his freshly-washed hair, a cheeky grin dancing about his lips.
"Am I better than a razor blade?" Jack counters. Alex's lips press to Jack almost at the same time that Jack chooses to press his lips to Alex's.
"Always."
(Needless to say, next time they got drunk, they stuck close to each other.)
I DID IT. Seven pages of stupid, badly written Jalex fluff. Oh man, I love this one. Like, I genuinely feel a connection to it. For those of you who don't know, I have experienced both issues, so I'm not pulling shit outta my ass right now.
Speaking of right now. Well, it's 5:05 AM and I'm only up this early so I can watch Masterchef. See, my aim is to get ready before 6, so I can just.. sit and enjoy the lovely sight of hot men bending over in tight jeans. Seriously, that shit should be illegal. Better than booze.
Just onto a bit of a controversial topic right now: Miley Cyrus's video for Wrecking Ball. Judge me all you like: I love the song. I honestly do. I think it's a really beautiful, emotional song. The video, though.. She could've done so much better. You don't need to get naked and swing round on a wrecking ball and make out with a hammer to get viewers, Miley. I wish she'd realize that she's naturally beautiful. Go back and look at her when she had long hair, don't tell me she wasn't gorgeous. I really hope she figures things out. You can tell she's severely anorexic, just look at her. She's acting like an idiot to get her boyfriend back.
To end on a gory note: if I ever met Robin Thicke (the dude who sang Blurred Lines), I'd like to kick him in the fucking balls, slice off his supposedly 'big' dick and choke him with it, all the while singing "act like you don't want it, I know you want it." The amount of pure fucking misogyny in there. I think it's fucking disgusting his he chooses to portray women - we aren't handbags, we're women, with emotions and feelings and goddamn ideas. If I was ever, ever objectified, I would punch the bastard's face in. I don't stand for that. He.. I don't like Robin Thicke. At all. Fucking sleazebag.
For an upcoming event I'm going as Daria Morgendoffer. If you know who she is, you're instantly 1000000000x cooler. I love Daria SO.FUCKING.MUCH. She and I are the exact same, I swear to god. I'm getting these boots too, they don't go to my knee but they go to about my calf, they're studded and laced and they have a heel on them which is good because I need to be taller than some motherfuckers. I'm only 5". Fire your 'omg you're so tiny lemme squish you' comments - all I need to be is intellectually and politically large. That's all I need. I'm a smart, independent woman. Not a handbag.
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