My Own Personal Sun [A Jacob Black Story]

My Own Personal Sun [A Jacob Black Story] {Part 5}

SUMMER’S POINT OF VIEW:

            Each day bled into the next, slowly, painfully.

            I never got out of bed; it was my safety blanket, covering me from all the hurt that the world had tossed in my direction. I’d wake up every day, around 3:00 pm, and just toss the covers over my head, the ache in my chest still too painful to consider thinking about.

            I felt so alone. My brother—the only person left that reminded me and proved I had a life, with a mother and a father—was gone, dead. I hadn’t worked up the courage to start planning his funeral, or even go to the hospital to discuss how he died; I didn’t go anywhere near his room.

            His room would be the most painful thing, I could tell. I’d have to go through all his things, put them all in boxes, go through every little detail of his life and memories…

            Of course, I wasn’t as alone as I felt; Jacob came by every day.

            Jake wasn’t very happy, and it was obvious. Sometimes, when it was a hard day for me, I could see him breakdown. He was beginning to look a little crazy—his eyes were so bloodshot, and there were bags under his eyes that looked like black bruises. His dark eyes had no life; they were flat, dull and dead.

            He didn’t try to cheer me up anymore, like he did in the beginning. Now, when he was over—he came over every single day, and just sat on my bed, his arm wrapped around me, until I fell asleep—he just watched my face, silent, as I cried into his chest, staining all the clothes he wore. He looked broken; like he was going to burst into tears any moment.

            Some days, if I asked, Jacob would stay the night with me; he would sit up with me until I fell asleep, and then he would curl up on a blanket on the floor—I’d always made a mental note to tell him to sleep on the bed, but forgotten—and in the morning, he would be gone. The only clue he’d slept on the ground was the crumpled blanket, stretched out in front of the bed.

            I know it was selfish of me to take advantage of Jacob’s kindness like this; I surely didn’t deserve as good of a friend as him. I knew he was getting sick and tired of me just crying every waking moment of every day, holding onto him, crying into his shirt. Obviously, it was getting to him; he beginning to lose his spirit, and fade into mine.

            He seemed so sad, and it hurt me even more to realize I was affecting him badly. But I wasn’t sure if this pain was something that would just fade away, or just suddenly be gone one bright day; I hoped for the latter, but knew nothing was that simple. It would take time for this to fade, for me to get over it.

            I needed to grow up, keep living, and get over it. I decided that if I covered up the pain, hid the feelings, they would leave after a while.

            But it was much to my surprise when I woke up the next day, and felt absolutely perfect.

            My stomach had a sharp, jabbing pain—I hadn’t eaten a meal in weeks, only soda crackers—my head ached slightly, my throat was sore, but I felt lovely. Alive. Better.