in the way.

                                    

                                          

warmth of the blood trickled down my hand, down my palm and wrist as i stare back at the boy in disbelief. 
                          
his face is anemic and dull as his weary blue eyes flick down to the floor, at the bloody-stained knife and the drops of red on the smooth white tiles. he cocks his head to the side and looks up at me, meets my eyes in a curt gaze. 
                          
"i'm taking you to the hospital," i hiss dryly, my eyes wide in a glare that only showed how the situation we were in simply broke me.
                          
"you're not taking me anywhere, david," the blond chuckled, yanking his arm away from my shaky grip and i felt his raw wound glide across my fingers for just a few mere seconds; it making me cringe and squirm in second-hand pain.
                          
"i make my bed, i lie in it," he stated, reaching down for the knife on the floor, not paying any attention to how this is breaking me. "it is what it is, i make my own decisions and my decision is death."
                          
"i don't care what your decision is!" i cry, snatching the knife away before he can even touch it. "you're going to the hospital and i'm not taking no for an answer!" 
                          
he chuckled wryly. "doesn't fuckin' matter. i'll be dead by the time we get there anyway, i'll make sure of it." 
                          
unable to do nothing but sob, i throw the knife at a wall as far away from him as i could possibly throw before grabbing his— well— undamaged wrist and yanking him with me.
                          
i couldn't risk it. not this time.
                          
at least that's what i thought.
                          
that was a week ago and kurt was apparently still in the hospital.
                          
or, so i thought.
                          
it all happened on a friday night and i got a call a week after that; another friday night.
                          
now i assumed the— well, i assumes nothing at all. i picked the phone up in the hall between the kitchen and the living room, thinking great it's just an old friend or something, as it was almost christmas. christmas planning and all that jazz.
                          
but, no.
                          
i was met by a shaky, low voice that sounded too out of the ordinary.
                          
"he's fucking gone," the voice heaved. "he-"
                          
"wait, hold the fuck up," i cut in. "who?? who's gone and who is this?"
                          
i narrow my eyes suspiciously and press my back up against the wall, getting this weird gut-wrenching feeling that something was wrong and that i might know exactly what it is.
                          
"it's krist."
                          
"krist— holy fuck. who's gone??" i gulp. 
                          
the fact that i couldn't even recognize his voice only confirmed the weird unnerving feeling that something was indeed wrong. i could only hope for the worst now.
                          
"kurt."
                          
there's a pause. i take a deep, shattered breath.
                          
"kurt's gone. i was going to visit him today but he signed himself out— i don't know where the fuck he is now."
                          
"he signed an ama?" i choke up.
                          
"yeah, i don't know why the actual fuck he would do that, but,"
                          
"krist, do you even know what happened to him?? do you know why he was in the hospital?" i laugh weakly, desperately running a hand through my tangled hair in a frustrate motion.
                          
"wasn't it an accidental overdose?" his voice is questioning and unsure, as if even he was unsure now.
                          
"who told you?" 
                          
"um, one of his family members. one of his cousins or some shit," he explained cautiously. "why?"
                          
"they lied. god, they fucking lied," i chuckle. "jesus fuck— no. it wasn't an accidental overdose, not an overdose at all," i exhale shakily, sliding down against the wall and sitting down on the floor. 
                          
"he tried to kill himself, krist. he slit his wrist. the wound was deep as shit and he was bleeding out, that's why they kept him for so long and that's why we were barely allowed to see him last week."
                          
"so that's why his arm was bandaged up," the older whispered meekly. "why would he do that? i though he was happy for once.."
                          
"he isn't," i murmur, sliding my hand down into the pocket of my hoodie and pulling out my lighter and a pack of cigarettes. "honestly, krist. would you be happy if you were married to courtney fucking love?"
                          
"you've got a point," he laughed bitterly. "what should we do? should we file a missing person's case? do we call a private investigator or something?"
                          
"private. please keep it private— we don't want him to get jumped by a bunch of groupies or anything," i sigh to myself and press the phone to my ear using my shoulder, both of my hands working on lighting a single cigarette instead. "do you know when he signed out?" 
                          
my hands are shaky as i push the cigarette between my lips and take a long drag, suffocating myself with the smoke before exhaling forcefully, grabbing the phone with one of my hands now, the other still holding onto the cig.
                          
"it was yesterday, actually," krist informs grimly, pausing to take a swig of whatever he was drinking, most likely alcohol. "i knew that i should've visited him! god, i'm a fucking idiot."
                          
"don't beat yourself up over it. it wasn't your fault. it's none of our faults— hell, if you wanna blame someone for this then blame courtney." 
                          
"right," he agreed. 
                          
"krist, i'll talk to you tomorrow. i'm gonna call a private investigator and get this shit fixed, alright? you do your best too," i clear my throat. "if you need to talk then please call me, alright?"
                          
"yup," he affirmed, huffing briefly. "g'night, dave. be careful, okay?"
                          
"you too."
                          
and he hung up.
                          
and instead of checking up on the tv to see if the show i was watching was back on, i dialed a private investigator and did my best trying to figure this out.
                          
i knew this would happen.
                          
i fucking called it.
                          
yet, still, i did nothing about it.
                          
that's why i'm such a horrible—
                          
band mate. yeah. kurt made it clear that we were just band mates. he made it clear that he no lighter wanted anything romantic between us.
                          
why do i still care so much? why can't i just let go?