Invisible

[Jefferson's POV]

In which you can't help but fall

Ah. The pain. It sings in my ear and haunts the crevices of my life, more often unexpected than not. I had never imagined that it'd be this gruelling. But you know what made it worse? It was the fact that no one even cared, except for the dumb counsellor... I guess...

"You ready?" She held her hand over the doorknob to the hospital.

"Yeah." I croaked, tentative to follow.

"Now, don't be shocked." A door was flung wide open and a body was lying motionless. She tiptoed to the side of the bed, letting me take centre stage. Eyes bulging open, skin going pale, veins translucent, everything dull. There was nothing in him left, as expected. Of course, the first phase of grief has to be denial, which made its debut too quickly to grasp.

"James!" I yelped, clutching his right hand. "W-Why now? You barely had a life! I d-d-d-don't understand... Help me, lady!" And down the waterworks poured. No resistance, just pure water with a dash, more like a heaping of salt. I didn't even regard my clothes, just as the creepy lady didn't regard the floor. Blood, sweat, and most prominently tears. As I barraged myself in sorrow like beer at a crazy alcoholic party, she remained expressionless, reaction nil. "What do you expect of me?!" I flung my head to her as she shrugged.

"I would've told you earlier, but you were drunk and enjoying yourself with your girlfriend. Tragedy takes time. Love consumes. You needed that..." she muttered, disregarding the widened, how-the-hell-can-you-track-me look that my face adorned. Quick and snappy she transformed the next minute. "Just close his eyes for me. I have other matters to deal with. Nice to meet you." She dawdled off to somewhere else in the precinct, sighing massively and fiddling with her blonde straight locks. Why the hell did she just walk out? Not even an, "I'm sorry for your loss..." or freaking, "Condolences to you," adding on, "and your family," if applicable.

"What has the world come to?" I thought to myself. "Forgive and forget doesn't work for everything..."

My hands were jittering like flies in the chilling winter air as I raised them to give him one final salute, but my brain restrained, deciding that before he was lifted up spiritually into a better place and buried physically six feet under, that memory lane was mandatory. A few thoughts came to mind, but one drawn out event trumped them all.

You know those kinds of bonds that are made when parents become instantaneous companions and the children were dragged along for the sake of it? Yeah, James and I. The perfect example. I was the energetic, goofy brat of a kid at about six years of age. He was a shy and humble pie, the same age as me.

"Hi!!" I jerkily sprinted and frantically waved, panting to catch my breath. "I'm Thomas!" I beamed, full of childish pride. "What's your name? Or your favourite food? Or colour?!" I took an elongated breath. "Name first."

He said absolutely nothing for the first two minutes, just waved and occasionally coughed, covering his tiny mouth. I viewed beads of sweat forming on his forehead and trickling down his face.

"J-James." he stuttered, tugging at his mother's arm in desperation.

"Jamesie, what's wrong?" she kneeled down and whispered, and he exploded in silent urgency, as if needing to go to the bathroom. "Gotta run!" she smiled, pointing to him without his notice. Bonding: Done. Socialisation: Finished, and I could already recognise that he was someone I sorely missed having as company.

"He's got some problems, Thomas." My mum stated once the trivial chatter was over.

"What problems?" I ask in that obvious tone of curiosity.

"I'll tell you when you're older." she said.

Flash forward two years later, and my parents still don't give me the answers, whether it be subliminal messages, overly obvious insinuations or a subtle nudge. None. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Maybe it's just the fact that she cuts me off like a smooth knife.

"Hey, mum! Remember that kid I met? Ja--"

"I'm cooking, ask me later." She says nonchalantly while stirring a pot once through.

I came back to her later that evening, "Um..." I pause, staring her in the eye whilst trying to manipulate my answer so that everything ends up being suffice, "What did you mean when you told me he had--"

She opens her heart in the most heart throbbing way possible as her favourite character in that random grown-up show dies in a creepy ritual or something, completely ignoring my existence, "Nooo! He didn't deserve that!" She squeezes the floral patterned cushion to her left and grabs a tissue, blowing her nose vehemently. "He only wanted love..." She brushes her eyes like nothing happened. "You really shouldn't be disturbing me," And with that, I slink away. The best answers are sought for yourself, and soon my mum was approaching her payback. Karma is a bitch, they all say.

It was finally time for the weekly shopping bout, and I was hungry for information. Not food, as everyone would expect. Of course, she managed to convene with her best friend at the David Jones outlet, engaging in the smallest of small talk. Now was my chance, whistling to gain this small boy's attention.

"Y-yeah?" He squeaked.

"Remember me?" I barely got to take a breath before he answered.

"Of course I do!" He said shyly, "You're kind, and I have an eidetic memory." He turned his head to the floor.

"What problems do you mean?" I whispered to mum, with James' staring back quizzical.

"What did you say about my son?!" She hisses, and a hectic mum fight occurs. No inching towards physical contact, just a barrage of tongue tying wordy stuff. Us kids were perplexed, but the guardians were in the zone. "Unacceptable of you!" She screams, flicking back her crimson hair. A whirlwind of rage spiralled around her, and she was unstoppable.

"I'm sorry, Eleanor... I didn't mean it."

"You know what, Jane? Thomas needs to know. He can't live in a life of uncertainty forever." I stared up with beady eyed intent. She kneels down to my level. "Thomas, he has no problems, just a chronic illness." She clutched at her child's hand, who groaned and drew closer. "If you become friends with him, which will be highly likely, look after him for me, will you?" I shuddered and paced back. The weight of a child was on my shoulders now. It was parallel to that of the world.

"I can try, but I don't know if I'll succeed." James tilted his head in puzzlement, the poor thing, and Eleanor took me with her. My mum was fuelled with disgust, contrasted later to a severe isolation. Her life was in tatters. Little did I know that mine would be, too.

I spent the rest of the day with James and his family. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned to months. He grew a sense of confidence around me, because my aura was thrilling and contagious. If I screamed something to him, like, "Let's play!" he'd reply almost immediately with, "What? Running around the house like headless chickens?!" Proceeding to throw Battleship pieces at my face. This all led to peals of laughter, of course. These small steps helped him at school, building up his already growing potential. What came next? He was no longer blocked by lack of ability. He studied and strived for achievement, which was easily gained as much as it was deserved, and all too soon came the next building block: college. The place where he met his brutal end. I almost forgot about the chronic illness in time, seeing as it was never disclosed. He occasionally coughed as he did when he was younger and often had the urge to gag up alcohol.

Now, he's gone. He's gone. Depressed and alone. That makes two of us. Not really for me, but I braced it nonetheless. A famous proverb I thought I knew sank in my memory. "There is a time where all will meet death," it said.

"James is in a better place now." I plead myself to think. I raised my hand to his head, taking one last look at his pure eyes. Oh, how they shone with lifeless character! In a blink, it was over.

It was over. He was over. I was over.

My days could never be fixed. Make that weeks. No, months. Scratch that, years. I hurled myself out of the room in dread and collapsed onto the icy floor. Again, the water flooded down like it was blood. Amidst all the angst, everything had heightened, leading me to believe that something unnatural was lurking. My ears rested against the concrete whilst I was cautiously sliding by. I came to a succinct conclusion: The space was abandoned.

Whatever torture my mind had been experiencing was coercing me towards an anxious spiral, so my body escaped the hospital in a desperate plea for change. Forgiveness. Or it could just be the fatigue talking. It was only late afternoon, the sky a shade of crystal blue, nimbus clouds rolling through the air. No matter the time of day. It was time for rest. Oh no, I spoke too soon. Racing to my dorm, I threw myself under the bedsheets, red, drenched and sweating. And there was that ethereal noise again. Startled into standing, I was quaking on the spot, as vibrations echoed through the space, starting at the bathroom and making their way towards me. I took a deep breath in.

"Why are you such a scaredy cat?" A voice called. It was light, hushed and seemingly other worldly. Perhaps it was an angel guiding me to the future, or a devil teasing me about my unfiltered past. I flung my head to James' bed and felt the duvet which was left astray. The whole space felt undeniably cold, as if winter had been transported here.

"Relax..." The voice spoke once again, and there I could see it. A pale white outline of a body. A recognisable one at that. Everything inside me was on hyper alert. I didn't know whether to hug him or punch him or just feel him. The last one resonated with me the most of all. I think, therefore I am. A massive sigh flew out from my mouth, and although I shouldn't be taking a day off, everything else was telling me I should, moreover, I can. I let my eyes rest, wondering whether James will still be here in the morning. Whether it was me controlling him. As predicted I was blessed with the burden of sleep, which overcame me for the rest of the day.