"Jake?" I asked, switching on the light switch as I took a step forward. The overhead light flickered on, and I was able to see the disaster I was faced with. Chairs littered the floor, cupboards had been opened and plates shattered to pieces. The figure continued sobbing quietly, hunched over.

It was dreadfully cold too. The heating was off, and the window was open. I shivered as I looked around at the devastation that was greeting my return home. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, although as per usual, it didn't seem to do much,

"Jake?" I asked again, unsure whether he had heard me. I took another step closer, being careful as to not step on the broken plates. There was silence, my hand hovering on the doorknob as I wondered if it was too late to turn around. I went to say his name again when his voice caused me to jump.

"I'm so sorry..." Jake's voice was cracked, quiet, and when he looked to me, I saw that his eyes were red. Jake looked beyond exhausted, his head hanging as he said, "I... I don't want to try anything, please.... I'm just one massive fuck up,"

I gently closed the door behind me, my heart racing. As I took another step closer, I remained on guard, clearly seeing he was in an unstable state. I didn't know what had happened, but this didn't seem like the Jake I had expected to see today. As I took another step closer, I was startled once more.

"This is all my fucking fault!" he yelled, standing up and clenching bloody fists. He was shaking, his cheeks plastered with tears. Jake raised his voice again and I jumped back, "I'm a fucking monster!"

"Jake..." I said quietly, trying to remain calm although I was terrified out of my mind. He looked at me frantically with bloodshot eyes. I took a step closer, my arms extended and palms up. I didn't know what he was going to do, but he was definitely on edge, "Just... calm down..."

"Stay away from me!" he cried, stumbling backward. He ran backward, hands running through his hair before his back hit the wall. He crumbled to his knees, sinking against the white plaster. He buried his head in his hands, blood coating them.

I walked over, still slightly panicked, but his reaction wasn't one of hostility. It was of fear. When I kneeled down in front of him, he looked up at me, I met those boring blue eyes swarmed with tears. He was frightened.

"I-..." Jake was struggling through his words, his lip trembling. Gently, I placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, but didn't move away. He stared forward as if everything around him was surreal. Like it wasn't there, just an illusion. And I realized he was scared of himself.

When I was little, Dad had gotten really sick.

I remember wondering if he was going to die. I would wake up every morning to hear him screaming. Mom said that it wasn't a normal sickness, it was a mental sickness. I would come crying into his room as Mom sat there, trying desperately to comfort him between his tears.

Dad would stay up late then. He was scared to go to sleep.

"But it's just a dream," I'd said, as Dad lay on the sofa with a blanket draped over him. Mom had made him warm milk and honey. She had sighed when she looked at me. She was tired. She didn't get any sleep either.

"But it feels real to him," she explained quietly, "Sometimes our minds play weird tricks on us. Make us scared of ourselves. And that's why he needs us, we need to be strong, alright Becca? You're strong, aren't you?"

"The strongest!" I'd said, taking the cup from her hands. It had been warm, smelling comforting. I hoped that this would make Dad feel better. It had made me feel better when I had been sick after all, so why wouldn't it do the same to him?

When I had brought it over to Dad, he had been sitting up, staring off blankly. He hadn't even recognized me at first. The world around him didn't seem to exist, or that it was far away. I remember asking, "Dad?"

But he never responded.

It scared me, seeing him like that. His eyes blankly staring forward as if nobody was around. That the world was a television, playing on, and he would just stare blankly forward until the end credits rolled and the screen faded to black.

And that's how Jake looked now.

I took Jake's hands carefully, and for a moment, he panicked. His eyes scanned mine in fear before he relaxed slightly, although it was clear he wasn't calm yet. I helped him over to the sofa, moving back towards the kitchen. I filled a cup of milk, trying to ignore my shaking hands. I had to be strong, because that's what he needed right now.

As the milk microwaved, I got out some honey, wondering if I should make ANZAC cookies tomorrow, considering I had another day off for therapy. As if my watch could read my mind, it beeped, reminding me of my therapy appointment for 8:45 am. I mixed in a teaspoon of honey into the mug of milk before stirring it, trying to ignore the mess around me.

"Here," I said, walking over to him and handing him the cup. He looked at it as if it were a foreign object before taking it. I quickly added, "Be careful... it's hot,"

He nodded, taking small sips, before he placed the mug back onto the coffee table. I wanted to ask him what had gotten him so upset, but I knew he wasn't in the right mind frame to deal with that for now. Instead, I waited, watching as those blank eyes stared forward.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, taking the mug in his hands again, looking to me. At least now, his eyes didn't look so blank, "For... a lot of things. For not stopping. For now. For this mess... I know sorry doesn't mean much at this point,"

"Thank you," I said, sitting down on the armchair across from him. I noticed his watch was beeping at him, and he scowled, dismissing it.

"A kid died in my arms today..." he said quietly, not meeting my eyes. There was a deep pain behind his voice, and what he had said definitely startled me. But I didn't say anything, I just listened, "A Lower kid... he got shot in crossfire between a group selling Vextine. And- and when I grabbed him..."

He paused, a tear rolling down his cheek. He shook his head, his hands shaking. He put the mug back down onto the coffee table, looking down at the ground. I knew that right now, the best I could do was be here, to listen.

"An- an officer..." he was struggling to get each word out, "An officer shot him... square in the head. Whilst he was in my arms... I kept shouting that he was breathing. They wouldn't listen to me. The kid looked up at me, opened his mouth to say something... and they shot him. Right there, I was holding him..."

I could picture what Jake was saying so clearly. Closing my eyes, the image only got worse. Before March 3rd, Charlie had been saying that the guards were getting stricter. To kill a kid for no reason seemed inhumane. But nobody would care, nobody would know. Because they're Lowers.

Although Jake was dealing with a lot, it didn't entirely excuse his actions. But in truth, we all were dealing with a lot. It was a rough time, and we were still kids. I still felt like I was going to go back to class again, I still felt like I should be going home to my Mom and Dad. But I was supposed to be an adult.

And that would be hard on anyone.

"That wasn't your fault," I said quietly. He looked up, completely broken. He wiped his eyes, shaking his head like he was going to object. I continued, "No- I'm serious. Jake, the world is fucked. You tried to help, but- life isn't easy. For anyone. Not for me, not for you, not for anyone. And that situation wasn't something you could have helped..."

"I should have covered him, yelled at them to stop," he was rambling now, and I could see his hands clenching, "I- If I had just done something he'd be okay... or if I hadn't then maybe-"

"Jake," I said, knowing that he wasn't going to listen. I walked over to him, kneeling in front of him. It was difficult to see those boring blue eyes swarmed with tears, "It's okay,"

"Why are you comforting me?" he asked, his voice hardly audible, "You shouldn't have to- to do..."

"Yeah, well, I am," I said. I gave him a small smile and he gave a heartbroken chuckle, wiping his eyes. I continued, "Because, I want to help- this world is fucked, okay? Like royally, truly fucked. But it's a lot less fucked when you have people around you. Now, I don't want any of this... kissing and things. I just want friends,"

"Yeah- yeah no I'm good with that," Jake said, giving a small laugh. He was calming down now, and I was definitely relieved by his answer. He continued, "I... I got carried away last time. And I shouldn't have ever. I just want to be friends,"

He extended a hand as if it was a business deal. I shook it, surprised at his grip strength. We both couldn't help but laugh at the situation. It felt good to just be friends, it felt comforting. Because Jake wasn't a bad guy, he wasn't a bad person. And sometimes, it's easier to forgive than keep on fighting a fight where everyone loses.

"I have a therapy appointment tomorrow," Jake said as he looked down to his watch. He sighed, "8:45am..."

The exact same time as mine.