Day 7: Write a scene with no dialogue.


I crept into the unlocked house, immediately feeling a chill from the drastic change of temperature as I entered. It was always unlocked, and it was always cold. Nothing could be heard except my wary footsteps, but that wasn't a surprise, either. It was always silent here. After passing the foyer with not so much as even the smallest of lamps to illuminate it, I came across a familiar hallway I had gotten to know fairly well over the past few months.


My feet led me down the elongated corridor, seeming to have a mind of their own as my fingers brushed across the narrow walls on either side of me. I passed doors. A lot of doors. They were all closed, though, as usual. There were a lot of doors in this house, but they were never kept open for very long. When I finally came across the seventh door to the right, I knocked hesitantly, only to receive no reply. There was never a response whenever I knocked. I pushed open the plank of wood attached to hinges, and held my breath, not prepared for what my eyes were about to see.


Lying before me on his floor in a heap of filth was Jack, my boyfriend. I was in love with Jack, so seeing him like this always made me weaker on the inside. The chest of his lifeless body moved up and down with the sound of his breath, as it just remained sprawled across the ground without so much as a care in the world. There were smashed beer bottles everywhere, in addition to pizza boxes, clothes, papers, pictures, and other objects of a miscellaneous state. In his hand was a bottle of Sam Adams--his favorite.


Cautiously, I walked into the dark room, and over to the bed. I always went over to his bed. Even in a place of such chaotic depression, it was like an anchor--not being able to fully touch the rest. I sat down on the bare mattress, the springs just barely squeaking as I did so. They always squeaked like this. I allowed myself to extend my body, planting my head by the wall, so that I was lying prone. I always lay like this. There wasn't a pillow on the bed, for it was hidden somewhere under the heap of sorrow within the room.


I stared up at the blank ceiling as I always did. And then I cried. I didn't want to cry, but seeing Jack like this always made me sad and wonder how our lives had turned out this way. We used to be so good together. He was the carefree boy without any ambitions besides winning the state championship with the rest of his hockey team. I was the girl with a million thoughts flying through my mind, and the desire to become the best artist I could be. Where had those people gone? What had changed since then?


As the small droplets of water began to race down the sides of my face, I didn't let out a sound. I just continued to weep mutely, like always. We had started out so happy. So content with our lives. Jack was the best boyfriend I had ever had, and we loved each other. We still did, it was just harder for him to show it now. Our love story had began so simply. He was just a boy, and I was just girl, and we were just two crazy kids who loved each other, and thought we knew what love meant. We had been so naive at the time. We still were naive--thinking everything would eventually work itself out. It wouldn't.


It started when Jack lost the championship with his team. He was mad. Really mad. Instead of dealing with the loss constructively, he turned down a destructive path. That was when Jack began drinking. He had drank before, but never with a purpose in mind. Before, he drank for the fun of it--for the buzz. Now, he drank with one objective in mind: numbness. He didn't want to feel the pain anymore or wrongly think about what a failure he was. All he wanted was for it to go away. So he drank.


Then, his parents got a divorce. It was probably the worst timing for something like that to happen, but they hadn't known what he was going through. They still didn't know. They probably never would know. The drinking increased after that, and he stopped showing up to school on a regular basis. He didn't party on the weekends anymore, for he thought that there was nothing worth celebrating. He was right. All he did was drown himself in alcohol, and I watched him. I shouldn't have just watched. I should've done something. Unfortunately, there is no "should've." I couldn't go back in time now and fix my mistakes, no matter how much I wish that I could.


Jack had to live with his mother because his father was going through a tough time, and the courts thought that having a stable guardian was better than nothing. Unfortunately, what they didn't realize was that his mother wasn't stable, and probably would never be. His brother had to live with his mom, too. But that didn't last long. The divorce was too much for his brother, and he had been dealing with issues long before any of that, so one night, he just ended it for himself. Jack's brother committed suicide, and that was really when things took a turn for the worst.


He had already dealt with losing the state championship and his parents' divorce, but when his brother passed away, things got bad. Really bad. When his brother was still alive, Jack would occasionally come over to my house or make an appearance at school or at a friend's, but once his brother was gone, that all stopped. Now all Jack did was drink in the comfort of his own room, and all I could do was watch.


The boy I was in love with was throwing his life away, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had tried to talk to him in the past, but he said that nothing could help him. I tried anyways, though. Every night after coming home from school, finishing homework, and claiming to be going to bed, I would sneak over to Jack's house. He lived a few blocks away, so it was only a five minute walk. It was a tough walk with all the emotions that came with, but still a short walk, nonetheless. I would get to his house, enter through the unlocked front door, glide past the hallway, and then come into his room to the same sight every night: Jack, passed out on the floor, with a beer bottle in his hand. I never stopped coming, though, and I never would.


I would spent every night here, in this room, just thinking as the boy I loved tossed and turned as he battled his nightmares. In the morning, it was always the same. I would wake up. I would wake Jack up. I would kiss him. I would say I had to leave for school. I would tell him that I loved him, and that I always would. It was my personal theory that as long as Jack knew someone cared about him, maybe he would eventually begin to realize that he needed to care about himself, too. It was just a hope, though. Nothing more than a silly fantasy.


Blinking some of my tears away, I sat up from the mattress, and stared down at Jack. At the boy I loved. I got up from the bed, and then carefully crouched down so that I was nearer to his frozen body. With all the strength I could conjure, I heaved him up from the ground, allowing the brown bottle in his hand to tumble to the floor, just like the rest. Somehow, I managed to drop him onto the mattress, and he stirred a bit, his eyes slowly finding their way open.


My breath hitched as I looked into Jack's dark eyes. Even in the blackness of night, I could still make out the blue color that once possessed so much animation and life. Now, though, they were emotionless, filled to the brim with apathy and indifference. He looked at me for a moment, as if trying to figure out who I was. Then, without a word, he took my hand, meshing our cold fingers together. He wrapped his other arm around my waist, and then brought us down to the bed so that we were both lying again. This time, though, we were lying together.


I felt his warm breath against the back of my neck as he just held me, as if he never wanted to let go. I never wanted him to let go, either. After a few seconds of having my back pressed against his chest, I managed to turn, facing him so that I could see the beautiful boy who I fell in love with. He tightened his grip around me once I was done moving, and just stared at me. It was such a tender gaze, yet filled with so much sorrow and pain. I loved this boy. I loved having his arms around me. I loved how caring he could be. I loved everything about him, and even if he was going through a tough time, I would remain by his side. I loved him.


Catching me by surprise, he suddenly pressed his lips up against mine, kissing me in such a way that I knew it was my duty to kiss him back with as much passion as I could. Our mouths collided, and I still felt the same way I had when he had first kissed me so long ago. I loved him.


Minutes passed by, and then we both finally pulled away from each other, and just stared at one another, Jack's arms encircled around me as he held me close. We breathed in the unfiltered air, and didn't say a word. We didn't need to say anything, though. All was understood as we just held onto each other with the melancholy silence looming in the air. After all, the only thing Jack really had left was me, and all I had was him. This was our love.