*Disclaimer - I do not own any of the members of ‘N Sync (nor would I ever really want to), they belong to their respective owners (hopefully themselves). I do, however, own all fictional characters, plot lines, etc. Plagiarism is against the law. Please don’t do it. Thank you.
Shades Of Pale
Chris Kirkpatrick sighed heavily, eyes squinting open as he blearily tried to read the glowing red numbers of the hotel clock. Nearly three in the morning. Vaguely he wondered who would be calling him at this hour of the morning, then shrugged it off as he reached for his cellular phone. His hand fumbled around the bedside table for a moment before he finally found the shrilling object. He clicked it open, grimacing into the dark, hoping the ringing didn’t wake Joe, his roommate for the night. He held the phone to his ear, sighing once again.
“Hello?” his voice was hoarse with sleep and he rubbed a hand over his face, trying to urge his mind awake enough to hold a short conversation.
“Yeah, is this Chris?” an unfamiliar female voice inquired, her voice thick with a Bostonian accent.
“Yeah. Who’s this?” he mumbled, struggling briefly as he sat up, resting his back against the headboard.
“Doesn’t matter. You know a Devon Summers?” the voice continued. In the distance, he could hear traffic, the sounds of cars driving by, occasionally a horn honking.
“I know her. Who are you?” Chris’s mind slowly started processing the conversation and began wondering who in the world was calling him about Devon at three in the morning.
“Like I said, it doesn’t matter. Look, Devon tried to commit suicide. She’s in the hospital. I found this number and she talks about a Chris all the time, put two and two together. I thought you might want to know.” the voice continued almost angrily.
“Come again?” he stuttered, momentarily shocked beyond thinking.
“Devon Summers tried to commit suicide earlier this evening. She’s in the hospital.” the voice stated impatiently.
“How?” the soft question escaped through wooden lips.
“With a really sharp knife. Listen, as much as I’d like to talk to you about this, I really can’t. I just thought you’d like to know.” the voice muttered through a sigh.
“This can’t be happening.” Chris shook his head, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. The dial tone was the only reply he received. Numbly, he placed the cell phone back onto the bedside table, his mind worrying over the new information swirling around his brain. Logically he thought it was all a horrible practical joke being played on him, but, why would someone do such a thing to him? No one but family, close friends and various members of his business knew his cell phone number. He rubbed a hand over his face, debating on whether or not he should call Devon’s apartment. The worst he could do is wake her up, but somehow he didn’t think she’d mind, especially after he told her about the phone call he just received. He reached for his cell phone again and dialed her number from memory. He called her often enough. Once, sometimes twice a day, just to talk with her and see what was going on in her life. He held the phone to his ear, waiting for Devon to answer the phone with growing dread. On the tenth ring, he finally turned off the phone and set it aside, his heart nearly ceasing to beat in his chest. He knew he was probably jumping to conclusions, but the knowledge didn’t stop his heart from paining him, didn’t stop his lungs from being unable to draw full breaths. There could be a thousand variables. She could be working late, or just out with friends. He shook his head, stumbling to his feet. Devon wouldn’t commit suicide. She had too much to live for, too many people who cared about her.
“Chris?” Joe inquired groggily, his voice thick with sleep. “You a’right?”
“Yeah, Joe. Go back to sleep.” Chris muttered the reassurance before shutting himself up in the bathroom. He turned on the light, wincing as the harsh bulb seemed to explode from the ceiling, and turned to the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, long and sleepless nights were held accountable for that. He turned on the tab and proceeded to splash cool water on his face, trying to instantly wake himself up. It didn’t help. His thoughts remained muddled. He slowly returned to his bed, wondering what his next move should be. There was only one major hospital in the Orlando area. He would call there and ask, just to make sure. He reached over to the phone and quickly dialed information. Once he got ahold of the number, he had information automatically dial it for him. The phone rang four times before it was answered. The woman working at the reception desk couldn’t tell him anything other than there was, in fact, a Devon Summers being treated in the hospital for serious injuries. He hung up the phone once again, his fingers tingling, beginning to turn numb. This couldn’t be happening. Devon was so much stronger that she thought, she knew that. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the hotel alarm clock pierced the silence, startling Joe awake. Joe groaned loudly, shoving a pillow over his face in hopes of blocking out the noise as Chris shifted, reaching over to the bedside table to turn off the annoying alarm. The strange numbness spread from his fingertips and invaded the rest of his body. Something had to be seriously wrong. The Devon he knew would never try something this cowardly. He snapped on one of the lamps as he made his way over to his duffel resting in the corner of the room. Joe continued to grumble loudly, tossing his pillow across the room as he winced with the sudden brightness of the room. Joe rubbed the side of his head, watching mutely as Chris gathered clean clothing and shut himself up in the bathroom to take a shower. The sound of water running finally galvanized Joe enough to move from the bed and wander around, gathering his own clothes for the day ahead. Soon, their room was bustling with activity, though Chris had barely said a word, other than answering every question thrown at him with ‘yes’ or ‘no’, even if the questions required more than a one word answer.
“Chris, dude, we’re gonna go get some breakfast. You coming?” Joe called over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
“No.” Chris shook his head as he flopped down on the bed he had occupied throughout the night. He didn’t feel much like socializing and he knew he didn’t feel like eating. He gritted his teeth, trying to smile at his friend when Joe cast him a curious glance.
“All right, but you need to be downstairs in about thirty minutes so we can get to it.” Joe shrugged, concerned worry flickering in his eyes. Chris nodded wordlessly, lost in thought. Joe sighed, wondering what could have possibly happen to his friend over night to become the man he saw in front of him this morning. Chris braced his elbows on his thighs, head in his hands as his mind scrambled to connect the pieces, all the information he had been able to gather in the past two hours, which was hardly anything. His mind refused to grasp onto the thought. He shook his head, surging to his feet in one swift motion only to begin pacing the room like a caged animal. He had known Devon for more than five years, ever since she had opened up her small record store three blocks from where he used to live. She was one of life’s most infuriating creatures, but he couldn’t imagine his life without her. Not now, not after all they had shared.
Chris lifted an eyebrow as he wandered into the small record store, it’s door standing open and a sign in the window saying the grand opening would be in eight days. Boxes were strewn everywhere, some of them unopened, others open with their contents spilling out onto the floor. There was no way this chick was going to get the place in order for the grand opening. He shook his head in silent amusement, then jumped slightly when sudden loud music filled the room. Trumpets blared from the speakers mounted on the walls, causing Chris to glance up and count twelve before his attention was grabbed by a petite form dancing around the room while stocking the shelves. He gazed at her for a moment, totally enraptured with her. She had blond hair which fell to her shoulders in tight ringlets and wore a white tank top with cut-off shorts. He shook his head with a sort burst of silent laughter. It would figure the only decent record store to open, other than all the corporate ones, would be owned and run by a chick who looked to be the biggest smart ass in the world. Other than himself, that was. His eyes swung back up to the many speakers when words were finally crooned from them.
Let’s say that our little show is over
And so the story ends
Why not call it a day
The sensible way
And still be friends
Look out for yourself
Should be the rule
Give your heart and your love
To whomever you love
Don’t be a fool
Darling
Why should you cling
To some foolish thing that used to be
If you can forget
Don’t worry about me
(Don’t Worry About Me, Frank Sinatra)
“Excuse me!” her voice startled him from the song, and he swung his gaze back to her. He folded his arms across his chest and arched an inquiring eyebrow at her.
“We’re not open for business yet. You have to leave.” she shook her head, bracing her hands on her hips.
“I’ve never known anyone who could listen to Ol’ Blue Eyes at such a decibel.” he commented loudly over the music. She grabbed something from the floor and the room was suddenly pitched into silence.
“Blame it on my dad. He got all of us kids hooked onto Frank, Dean, Sammy, Billie and all the other jazz greats.” she shrugged, waving a hand in the air. “But, like I said, we’re not open for business yet, so you have to leave.”
“Sorry. I was just walking by and I heard the music. The door was open so....” his voice trailed off as he shrugged a shoulder, glancing around the room once more.
“You still have to leave.” she shook her head, folding her arms stubbornly across her chest.
“Looks like you could use some help.” Chris glanced pointedly around him. “Or you’ll never be ready in eight days.”
“I have enough help, thank you.” she replied with a roll of her eyes and he noticed for the first time they were blue with a tint of lavender.
“All right. If you think so.” Chris shrugged a shoulder as he turned to the door.
“Devon Amber Summers, I can’t believe you’re turning down help when we need it so badly.” another female’s voice filled the room with the teasing scold.
“Michaela Elizabeth Costeo, this is my store and I’ll decide who helps and who does not.” Devon retorted with a snort. Chris snickered softly, biting his lip to keep from smiling. He turned to see who the new voice belonged to. A young woman stood in a doorway near the back of the room. She was of the same height as Devon, though her hair was longer and a dark auburn color and her eyes were bright green.
“Too stubborn and full of pride for your own good.” Michaela shook her head in mock-disappointment as she wandered into the room only to open up a box and pull everything out, setting it on the floor. She plopped herself down in front of the pile, grabbing a pricing gun before slapping prices on all the CDs in front of her. He turned his attention back to Devon and lifted an eyebrow at her.
“Fine!” she tossed her hands into the air. “You can help, but, I can’t pay much.”
“Who said I wanted to get paid? I have a job that pays quite well. I just thought you might like a little help from one of your neighbors.” Chris shrugged as he wandered over to one of the boxes. Michaela handed him one of the knives so he could open the box.
Chris wandered over to the window, pulling the drapes back so he could gaze outside. The city below him was just starting to become active, people rushing to their cars, dreading to begin the day ahead of them. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and reside under the covers until he could come to terms with Devon’s hospitalization. If he didn’t have so much to do, the temptation would have outweighed everything else. Even through all the responsibilities he had, the thought of staying in bed all day was mildly appealing. He made his way over to the bed, yanking the covers back but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Chris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why hadn’t she called? She knew she could talk about anything with him. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind as he pulled open the door. He lifted an eyebrow at Lance, who stood in the hallway, looking rather miserable with a head cold.
“You ready to get this show on the road?” Lance inquired, his voice somewhat muted. Chris nodded with a sigh, reaching over to grab his jacket.
“You all right, man?” Lance continued, giving his older friend a strange look.
“Yeah.” Chris shrugged as he followed Lance to the elevators, where the rest of the group was waiting for them. Chris shoved his hands into his pockets, not daring to meet any of his friends’ eyes. He knew he must look like a soldier suffering through a bought of shell shock. He snorted softly. He felt like a soldier suffering from shell shock. The elevator doors slid open and everyone stepped inside, JC jabbing the button that would bring them down to the lobby, where their bodyguards were waiting for them. For the next couple of hours he went through the motions of people ‘N Sync’s funny man, being his usual sarcastic self, telling all sorts of weird stories to the various interviewers for the amusement of the fans, but he didn’t feel the laughter he was exuding. Finally the group returned to the hotel long enough to grab some lunch and get an hour of down time before sound check. Every instinct told him he had to return to Orlando to check on Devon. He knew he would catch hell for leaving, but he couldn’t stay. Not with Devon in the hospital of her own hand. He made a few phone calls, reserving a seat on the next flight to Orlando, then packed his bags. He glanced up when JC walked into the room, stopping short upon seeing Chris’s actions.
“What’s going on, gramps?” JC lifted an eyebrow, watching as Chris zipped his bag.
“Something came up. I have to go back to Orlando.” Chris mumbled, some of the feeling in his numb limbs coming back with the knowledge he was returning to Devon, whether she needed him there or not.
“You want to tell me about it? I mean, just in case everyone demands to know where you are.” JC amended, taking a seat on the empty bed, gazing expectantly over at his friend.
“I don’t really want to talk about it, Jace.” Chris shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around the room for any last minute items he had forgotten.
“People are gonna ask where you are. Not to mention the concert tonight.” JC pointed out logically.
“Devon tried to commit suicide last night.” Chris mumbled, wincing at the sharply indrawn breath JC took.
“Wow.” was all his friend could say.
“I know. I figure I should be there.” Chris shrugged, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
“We’ll see if we can get the concert postponed for a couple of days.” JC sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.
“Thanks, man.” Chris gave him a sad smile before wandering out into the hall, disappearing into an elevator.
Chris rubbed his face warily as the cab passed through the streets filled with traffic, taking him to the apartment he kept in Orlando. He still wasn’t quite sure what to think about Devon and her attempt on her own life. What could you think when the person you loved did such a thing? He still was unable to come to terms with her actions, and though he wanted to see her, make sure she was all right with his own eyes; part of him was so hurt, angry and devastated, he didn’t think he could tolerate the sight of her yet. When the cab pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex, Chris reached for his wallet, pulling out enough money to cover the fair and climbed out of the car. On the way to his apartment, he checked the mail and started sorting through the envelopes as he made his way up a set of stairs. Once inside his apartment, he took a look around and sighed, tossing the mail onto a low coffee table. Everything was just the way he had left it nearly two months earlier. He opened up a couple of windows to get some fresh air circulating through the apartment then continued on to his bedroom where he dropped his bags. The thought of calling the guys to tell them he made it back all right fluttered through his mind as he toppled face down onto his bed. He was too tired to worry about that at the moment. All he really wanted to do was get a couple of hours of sleep. Then he would figure out what to do about everything.
Chris hadn’t been asleep for long when the phone rang, jarring him from the nightmare he was having. He groaned softly, his head starting to throb painfully, and silently cursed the invention of the phone. Twice in one day he had been woken up by one, and he was none too pleased. He reached for the phone, indecisive, hand hesitating, hovering over the intrusive object. He didn’t have the energy to talk with anyone, no matter how friendly the voice may be. He rested his hand on the receiver, the vibration from each ring tickling the palm of his hand until the ringing stopped all together when the answering machine finally picked the call up. Lance’s voice fluttered through the apartment, asking to be called back. Chris shivered slightly, reaching for the blanket resting on the foot of the bed. A coldness had settled into his very bones and he couldn’t seem to warm up. He curled beneath the blanket, gazing up at the ceiling for an undeterminable amount of time. Nearly two years earlier, he had finally confessed his love for Devon to the rest of the group, who had in turn, told him to let Devon in on the little secret. A couple of months later, he had. She had been slightly shocked and almost denied the whole thing, but he had somehow managed to convince her everything would work out. She had been wary about dating someone who would inevitably never be around, someone who was so in the public eye, there were only rare moments of privacy. It had taken her a while to warm up to the idea of dating him, but once they started, she found it had put to quit seeing him all together. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on the front door. He didn’t move.
“Come on, Chris, I know you’re here. Josh called me and told me.” Mike’s voice, muffled by the door, rang out. Chris sighed with a wince. He really didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even a member of Devon’s family. He burrowed deeper beneath the blanket, trying to shut out Mike’s voice of reason, and finally, succeeded. Tears burned his eyes, and he shut them tightly, breathing deeply. The only words coursing through his head were, ‘my love wasn’t enough for her’, and they became a sort of mantra. His heart ached painfully in his chest, each beat nearing it’s breaking point. He threw the blanket off his body and stumbled to his feet, wondering if there was any alcohol left in the apartment, needing a stiff drink in the worst way. He rummaged through the fridge and the cabinets, finding nothing. He sat heavily on one of the kitchen chairs, wondering how in the world he could make it through this without having his heart die on him. After a few moments, he reached for his keys and wandered from the apartment. The sun had set sometime during his hibernation, stars shimmering brightly in the sky with a quarter moon. He didn’t know how long he had walked when he came across a small bar located on one of the side streets. The place looked old, a good place to lose oneself in a drink, and he doubted anyone who frequented the bar would recognize him as Chris Kirkpatrick of ‘N Sync. He opened the door, strolling into the small, smoky room. After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the dim interior. Chris made his way to the bar a took a seat on a stool near the end of the bar itself, his back to the wall so he could see whomever entered the small establishment. The bar tender, a tired looking woman around his own age, smiled at him as she cleaned one of the many glasses in front of her.
“What’s your pleasure?” she inquired, lifted an eyebrow.
“A shot of anything strong enough to make me forget.” Chris answered after a moment of thought. She nodded slowly, grabbing one of the bottles of liquor arranged behind her. She poured a shot glass full of amber liquid before handing it to him with a napkin. He swallowed the contents of the glass in one mouthful, the liquor burning a fiery trail down his throat to pool warmly in his stomach. He knew drinking wasn’t the way to handle things. Far from it, but he couldn’t help feeling like a couple of drinks would help his outlook on the situation standing before him.
“Another, please.” he stated, pushing his glass toward the bar tender. Silently, she poured him another shot, gazing at him in curiosity.
“Want to talk about it?” she finally inquired.
“No. Thanks.” he shook his head, swallowing the second drink as fast as he had the first. He motioned for another. He would drink until he was warm again, or, at least until the strange numbness disappeared. Chris continued to drink, the bar tender cutting him off at his limit, which happened to be twelve shots.
“Looks like 89 is your lucky number.” she smiled at him, clearing away the last shot glass. Chris gazed at her for a moment, unable to understand what she had meant before it dawned on him. He reached for his wallet, taking out the cash and handing it over to her.
“Whomever the girl is, I hope she’s worth it.” she commented with a shake of her head, mumbling to herself as she watched him stumble to his feet and weave his way to the door.
“Why don’t you let me call you a cab?” she called after him. Chris waved a hand, continuing to weave to the door.
“I’ll be fine.” he answered, his words slightly slurred with the alcohol he’d consumed. He stumbled out onto the sidewalk, grimacing at the bright sigh his eyes encountered before he headed back in the direction of his apartment. All he wanted to do was get some sleep. In the morning, he’d go to the hospital and see Devon. He shook his head, wondering why Devon had felt so poorly and not mentioned a thing to him. She always told him she was doing wonderfully, she was happy and she loved him. There was never anything said about depression. And with his infrequent visits, he wouldn’t have seen the signs of depression. It was rather difficult seeing through a voice. Lost in his thoughts, Chris stumbled up the stairs and nearly pitched backward before his hand latched onto the railing for added support and balance. He pulled himself up the rest of the stairs, fumbling in his pockets for his house keys. He nearly groaned when he saw Devon’s younger cousin, Michaela, sitting on the floor, back resting against his front door.
“What are you doing here? Go home.” he made a face, waving her off drunkenly.
“Chris,” she sighed, climbing to her feet. “Are you drunk?”
“It would appear that way, wouldn’t it? But, I can tell you right now, I’m not drunk enough.” he muttered under his breath with a firm shake of his head, then he grimaced as his world spun in crazy loops. When the world finally righted itself, he attempted to slip the key into the lock. After three more attempts, Mike took the keys from him and unlocked the door. She turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
“I coulda done that.” he glared mildly at her as he sauntered into the apartment.
“I’m sure you could have.” Mike sighed in exasperation, closing the door behind her. Chris weaved his way to the bedroom, pulling his shirt off in the process of bumping into the low lying coffee table in the middle of the living room. He yelped, throwing the balled up shirt at the table, rubbing his shin before stalking to his bedroom. Mike shook her head, groaning softly.
“Why’d she do it, Mike?” he demanded, kicking off his shoes before he toppled over onto the bed.
“I don’t know, Chris.” Mike shook her head, arms folded across her chest, resting a shoulder against the door frame of his bedroom.
“What could’ve been going through her mind to make her want to do it?” Chris inquired slowly, his eyes fluttering as he fought the inevitable sleep that came with imbibing too much.
“No one knows for sure. Depression runs in our family. Her father committed suicide when she was two. That might have something to do with it, but I can’t be sure.” she shrugged, voice slightly pained.
“Didn’t I make her happy?” his voice wavered slightly as he flung an arm over his eyes.
“Chris,” Mike sighed, finally at a loss for words. She stepped further into the room and took a seat beside him on the bed. “Being with you was never a question of happiness for her. You made her the happiest she could be.”
“But it wasn’t enough, was it? My love, my devotion - none of it was enough to save her from herself.” his voice broke, trailing off.
“Chris, it was enough. Everything was. She’s just confused, depressed. She knows you love her in her heart. Her head tells her something else and she begins to doubt. It’s not you, Chris. It was all her and what was running through her head.” Mike tried to explain, fumbling for the right words to help ease the pain his heart was in. He slitted an eye, gazing at her for a moment.
“I need sleep.” he finally mumbled. Mike nodded, pulling the blanket over him before she stepped from the room, pulling the door shut behind her. She picked up the phone and quickly dialed a phone number she had memorized months earlier. Someone answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Um, yeah, hi. I’m looking for Josh.” Mike’s eyebrows hiked when the female voice answered.
“He’s in the shower right now.”
“I need to speak with him. It’s important.”
“I’m sure it is, but even he needs some time away from his fans.”
“Look, lady, I’m far from a fan. I’m not wild about the music they create, but I tolerate it because they’re friends. And contrary to what you believe, I need to speak with Josh about Chris, so just give him the message that Mike called and all will be well.” Mike sighed, shaking her head as a muffled conversation took place before JC’s voice fluttered through the lines.
“Hey, Mike, what’s going on?”
“It’s Chris. I’m worried about him. He got back here last night and wouldn’t talk to anyone. He hasn’t answered his phone, he doesn’t answer his door and he got drunk tonight.”
“Isn’t that understandable with what’s going on with Devon?”
“I haven’t shut myself off.”
“You don’t love Devon the same way as Chris.”
“Josh, he hasn’t even seen her yet. He just keeps asking why he wasn’t enough to stop her.”
“I’m not sure I know what you think I can do.”
“He needs his friends with him. I don’t compare with you guys. If he’s going to get through this, he needs all of you.”
“Management is gonna frown on this.”
“Dammit, Josh, I know things Chris doesn’t know yet.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, the doctors don’t think Devon’s going to live. Don’t even think she’s going to come out of the coma she’s residing in. Once he finds that out, he’ll be on a one way destruction path and I’m not strong enough to deviate that path. You and the others are. He needs you here. And as much as I like you and think you’re a great person, if you don’t do this because of what some managers think, than you’re not the person I thought you were.” Mike tried to keep her voice low, her mind whirling as she finally faced the bitter truth of her cousin’s attempt at suicide.
“Mike, calm down. You know as well as I do, none of us care what management thinks when someone we care about needs us. I was just worried about the time it’s going to take to reschedule everything and get out there. Now, are you all right?”
“No. Not really. Everyone else is allowed to freak out and become depressed and get drunk over this. But I don’t love Devon the same way as anyone else. I’m only her family, so I couldn’t possibly care as much as Chris, or anyone else for that matter.” the words tasted bitter in her mouth, but they couldn’t be stopped. She was tired of everyone being able to cry out their anger, or drink their anger into oblivion and she had to stay in limbo, waiting for everyone else to heal before she could.
“You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Yeah.”
“Mike, talk to me.”
“I’m tired of talking. Talking gets us nowhere.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means maybe Chris had a good idea.”
“Oh, that’s bright. Go out and get hammered when you’re needed most.”
“What happens when I need someone?”
“Kayla,”
“You better get back to your new girlfriend, Josh. Wouldn’t want her to start becoming suspicious of my intentions. I’ll see you around.” Mike sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.
“Wait, Mike....,” JC’s voice cut off when she pressed the hang up button. She set the phone down on the coffee table and walked to the door, leaving the apartment as silently as she could.
Chris groaned loudly, grabbing his pillow and burying his face beneath it when sunlight suddenly filtered through his room. JC sighed with a shake of his head as he took a look at his older friend still trying to cling to his alcohol induced sleep. Justin and Joe were in the kitchen making breakfast while Lance remained on the phone, trying to explain to management why they had returned to Orlando without notifying anyone first. JC walked over to the bed and yanked the blanket from Chris, who opened his eyes and glared at him, reaching for the blanket once again.
“Get up.” JC’s voice was uncompromising.
“Go to hell, Jace. This doesn’t concern you.” Chris shot back, stuffing his face in his pillow again. The pillow was suddenly yanked from him and tossed to the other side of the room.
“The hell it doesn’t concern me. Get up. Now.” JC’s eyes flashed with anger. Chris sighed, folding his arms under his head, using them as a pillow. Without thinking, JC grabbed onto one edge of the mattress, lifting it to toss Chris onto the floor.
“What the hell are you doing?” Chris demanded with a yelp, struggling to a sitting position on the floor.
“Get up and get dressed. You have twenty minutes.” JC glanced at his watch before leaving the room. Chris glared at his retreating back, grumbling under his breath the entire time he was in the shower and getting dressed. He stormed into the living room, sighing when he saw the rest of the group sitting around talking about the rescheduling of their interviews and photo shoots, breakfast waiting on the kitchen table for everyone.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Chris demanded suddenly, catching everyone’s attention.
“You shouldn’t have to deal with this by yourself, so we’re here.” JC shrugged, handing Chris a plate. Chris glanced down at the food piled on the plate, closing his eyes tightly as his stomach revolted against the idea of being fed.
“What makes you think I can’t handle this on my own?” Chris countered, setting the plate on the coffee table.
“That would be the drunken stupor you were in last night.” Justin stated matter-of-factly, taking a seat on the couch.
“Who told you?” Chris demanded, gazing from one person to the next until his eyes returned to JC. They all remained silent, devouring their breakfasts.
“Who told you?” Chris demanded again.
“Mike.” JC answered shortly, the hold on his temper starting to fray. Neither himself, nor Lance, Justin or Joe had gotten any sleep the night before because of all the traveling they had to do so they would make Orlando by morning. Chris sighed, flopping down on the couch, holding his head in his hands.
“I knew I should have made her go home.” he mumbled more to himself than anyone else in the room.
“But you didn’t. And she called me, worried about you.” JC sighed, leaning back against the wall after setting his dish in the sink.
“Why is everyone so damn worried about it? It’s not like I haven’t dealt with suicide before.” Chris raised his eyes to his friends.
“Everyone’s worried about you because you have dealt with this before. We all know how you feel about your father.” JC replied, folding his arms across his chest. Chris shook his head, eyes closing for a moment.
“I’m dealing with this my own way.” he tried weakly.
“Your way isn’t working out too well. Chris, we’re only here to support you. Nothing more, nothing less. You’d do it for any one of us.” Joe stated, pushing his plate away from him from his seat at the kitchen table.
“That’s not the point.” Chris shook his head.
“It is the point.” Lance countered, climbing to his feet in one swift motion. “Now, get your jacket, we’re going to the hospital.”
“I’m not going to see Devon yet.” Chris stated immediately.
“Why not? She needs you there if she’s going to pull through this.” JC inquired, lifting an eyebrow.
“I’m just not ready.” Chris sighed, flinching slightly when Lance tossed a jacket to him.
“You’ll never be ready.” Justin mumbled, shrugging into his own jacket. After a moment of silence, Chris sighed, climbing to his feet and followed his friends out of the apartment.
Chris sighed, eyeing the elevator door warily, wondering how he had let his friends talk him into doing this when he was so far from ready. The doors opened and they all stepped inside, pulling their baseball hats low over their brows so they wouldn’t be immediately recognized. Chris leaned back against the wall, waiting for the elevator to take them to the third floor, his mind wandering, though he desperately tried to keep the memories at bay.
Devon hummed softly to herself, dancing around the apartment she and her cousin Mike shared near the record store she had bought nearly a year earlier. The sky seemed to be painted with water colors, casting off an orange-pink light. She glanced up when Mike stumbled into the room, looking the four horsemen of the apocalypse had chased her throughout the day.
“Still not feeling better?” Devon winced slightly. Mike grunted, shaking her head as Chris wandered into the room, giving them both a devious smile. Mike grunted again, pitching face first onto the couch, hugging one of the small pillows residing there.
“Oh, Lord. She’s dead.” JC stated dryly from a chair opposite the couch.
“I wouldn’t be so lucky.” Mike’s voice was barely there. This was the worst summer cold she had ever had and losing her voice only made it worse.
“Here, have some tea. Chris brought it for you.” Devon urged, handing a cup to her.
“Wait. Chris just smiled at him in that maniacal way, and now you want me to drink something he brought? I don’t think so.” Mike shook her head, promptly handing the cup over to JC before she buried her face in the pillow once again.
“Dammit.” Chris grumbled with a good natured smile.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to kick a woman when she’s down?” Devon inquired with amusement.
“Nope. Sorry.” Chris shook his head, shrugging his shoulders as he pulled Devon into his arms.
“Come on, Chris. We’re here.” JC prodded gently, breaking the older man’s train of thought. Chris shook his head, the memory fading slowly as he exited the elevator and met up with a very harried and tired looking Mike. She gazed at them all in mild shock before pushing her way through them to step onto the elevator.
“Mike, hold on a second.” JC called after her. She glanced up, meeting his worried gaze seconds before the doors closed. JC sighed, shaking his head.
“Go on, Jace. We can handle things from here. Looks like she could use someone to talk to, anyway.” Lance assured him softly. JC nodded, pushing the elevator call button. Lance wandered over to the nurse’s station, where Chris, Justin and Joe were all waiting to find out which room Devon was currently residing in.
“Go on. We’ll be here when you get back.” Justin nudged his friend toward the hallway. Chris sighed and nodded, taking a deep breath, sighing it out before he started his journey to seeing Devon. He followed the nurse’s directions, taking the first left and walking to the end of the hall. He stopped in front of her door, hand resting on the doorknob as he mentally and emotionally prepared himself for the worst. He pushed the door opened and stepped inside. His heart caught in his chest, twisting painfully. She looked so tiny in the huge hospital bed, her skin so pale he momentarily feared she had passed away. He sighed heavily, almost in relief when he saw her chest rise with an indrawn breath. He stood there for a moment, trying to decide what he should do. Stay and talk to her, or turn and leave. He mentally chided himself for even thinking of turning back. Devon needed him now. He would ask the questions burning inside his head when she was ready to answer them. Until then, he had to make sure she would pull through this all right. He took a seat on the chair pulled up next to the bed, and closed his eyes, waiting for the right words to come.
Mike made her way through the crowded emergency room, trying to make it to her car before one of the guys would think to stop her and try talking. She wasn’t in the mood to talk. She wasn’t in the mood to be around anyone at the moment. Devon had been more of a sister and best friend than a cousin to her, and though she had seen the signs of depression, she had been powerless to do anything about it because Devon had refused. Then she had come home one night and found Devon in a pool of blood in the bathroom. Two cuts on both her wrists, going from wrist to elbow. She shook her head, clearing the image from her mind. She sighed, her step pausing when she saw JC leaning against the hood of her car, arms folded across his chest.
“Trying to make your great escape?” he inquired softly, raising an eyebrow at her.
“Not that it’s any business of yours, but, no. I have a ton of work to do and thought I should get a head start.” Mike shook her head, unlocking the car door.
“Mike,:” JC sighed.
“Josh, please don’t. I don’t want to talk about this. I’ve talked about it ‘til I was blue in the face and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. I just want to go home and start packing Devon’s stuff.” she held up a hand.
“What do you mean? Is she?” worry threaded his voice.
“No. The hospital psychologist said that if she pulls through this, she’ll have to go through therapy. And she’ll need to go to a place where she can get that therapy. My parents have already signed the paperwork, so I have to make sure the things she needs are ready to go whenever she is.” she opened the car door and climbed inside.
“Mind if I join you?” JC inquired. Mike closed her eyes, sighing heavily before she unlocked the passenger side door. He climbed into the car, glancing over at her in silence. She sighed softly, doing her best to shove her churning emotions further down into her soul. She wouldn’t, couldn’t lose it in front of JC. She wasn’t the type of person to openly invite someone into her grief. The pair remained silent throughout the drive to Mike and Devon’s apartment, the radio playing softly in the background as they pretended the music was keeping their minds from the more serious topics. Once Mike pulled into her normal parking spot, she climbed out of the car without a word to JC and headed to the front door of the small, two floor apartment. JC followed at a slower pace, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He hoped the words would strike him on the drive to the apartment, but he had no such luck. He couldn’t stand to see Mike bottle up everything coursing through her mind, her soul, but there were no words for him to speak that would inevitably help her through this. Her cousin had done something everyone would have to live with. Had done something that would always be questioned and never understood.
“You all right?” he inquired softly, watching as Mike instantly attacked the dishes resting in the sink, filling the sink with hot water and soap.
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” she shrugged a shoulder, keeping her eyes trained to the sink and the dishes she was washing. She would be fine if she didn’t look into any pair of eyes filled with sympathy. If she saw sympathy, she’d break. Her vision blurred slightly and she blinked, hoping the tears would wait.
“Why are you shutting yourself off?” he demanded suddenly, hands grasping her arms to pull her around to face him.
“Because it’s easier than doing the alternative.” she mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes.
“Mike, its okay if you’re not strong all the time.” he murmured, fingers tipping her chin up so she would finally meet his gaze.
“If I’m not strong, I’ll fall apart. There’s no one to pick up the pieces if I do.” she stated, taking a deep breath, ignoring the concern threading his voice, filtering through his eyes.
“Are we talking about the pieces to Devon’s life, or your own?” he lifted an eyebrow, reaching behind her to turn off the faucet.
“Me and Devon were always the strong ones.” Mike shook her head, bringing a hand up to cover her face.
“Come into the living room. I’ll make some coffee and we can talk.” he suggested softly, almost pleading. She gazed up at him, uncertain.
“Just talk. We don’t have to talk about any of the most recent happenings. Just talk about whatever you want.” he continued.
“All right. But, I don’t drink coffee.” she sighed, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.
“Tea?” JC gave her a small smile. She nodded, pointing to the large glass canister sitting on the kitchen countertop before she wandered into the living room and taking a seat on the couch. Minutes later, JC handed her a mug of hot tea, taking a seat beside her, shifting so he faced her.
“Like I said, Devon and I were always the strong ones in our family. It’s why we left Boston in the first place. We knew we wouldn’t be happy there. So we left. We probably shouldn’t have with everything our family was going through at the time, but we felt smothered. Like we couldn’t do anything we needed to do to keep our lives on track. She left before me because though she had my parents, she didn’t have hers to hold her there. Even as a kid, I don’t ever remember Devon crying over her mother’s death. She couldn’t remember her father, so she didn’t worry too much about that part of her life. She came to live with us when she was ten. That’s how we became so close, even through the age difference. Somehow, she and I had an understanding. We didn’t cry. We didn’t let our emotions get the best of us because we thought it was a sign of weakness. Anyway, she moved long before me because of her age jump and because her parents weren’t around to hold her in Boston.” Mike sighed, spooning seven sugars into the mug, stirring absent mindedly.
“Why’d you stay so long?” JC inquired, genuine curiosity spurring the question from his lips.
“My brother. He and I were born ten months apart, so essentially, we were twins. I promised him I wouldn’t leave until he was ready for me to leave.” Mike shrugged her shoulders.
“Somehow, I think there’s more to that story than you’re telling me.” he replied, sipping from his own cup.
“He died. I figured he was ready for me to leave.” she answered shortly, the distant ache of losing her brother panging sharply in her chest.
“How did he die?” the question was so soft she almost missed it.
“Car accident. He was hit by a drunk driver. Sage never saw it coming. He was seventeen, on his way home from a party where he had been the key master.” she shook her head, an ironic smile twisting her lips.
“Key master?” he arched an eyebrow.
“Yeah. The one sober person who collects all the keys of everyone at the party. He would keep them over night, and either call everyone a cab or drive them home himself. He lived for that stuff. Always making sure everyone was safe. He had just dropped off his last drunk at home and had called to say he was on his way home to expect him in about twenty minutes and could I have a cup of coffee waiting for him cause he was freezing. Three blocks from our house, this car came from out of nowhere. Sage died instantly, so he didn’t suffer.” she sighed, staring off into space, smiling slightly with a far off memory.
“Sounds like your family as a general rule weathers tragedy rather well.” he commented softly.
“Devon was the best at it. Or so I thought until now. I always tried to get her to talk to me, but she would always pass over the most difficult things to talk about. She never told me she was suffering as much as she was to have tried suicide as a way out.” she shook her head, setting the mug she was holding on the coffee table, folding her hands in her lap. She closed her eyes against the burning tears.
“Its okay to cry.” he set his own mug down. “I even have a cotton shirt on. Good for collecting tears.”
“I don’t cry.” she whispered thickly through the knot forming in her throat.
“I won’t tell a soul if you do.” he cajoled, resting his back against the arm of the couch, holding his arms apart.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” she chastised him hoarsely.
“Haven’t made a promise I couldn’t keep yet.” he shook his head. She held herself suspended for a moment, eyeing his open arms warily before she crawled into his embrace, resting her cheek against the gentle thunder of his heart. She closed her eyes, and the tears finally came.
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