20. "without love of goodness"

"Jewee?"

Jared called his name when we noticed him stir. We couldn't get him back into his room unless Jewee himself authorized us to get in from the inside, and in his unconscious state, he was unable to do anything like that, so we had to make things as comfortable as possible for him on the outside cement, with his head propped up against the wall.

When he opened his eyes in response to his name, there was no movement besides that flutter. His pupils made a bee-line to the area out in front of him, where nobody directly sat, and for a full ten seconds or more he just stared, without blinking. He was pale, and I don't know if that was out of his weakened condition, or his fear, or possibly both, but whatever it was, it gave him the look that he had just seen Ryan himself, raised from the dead, and speaking to him.

His blankness contrary to what you would think wasn't emotionless, but emotional, like he were trying to convince himself that Ryan had never died, and that it was one very detailed and tear-jerking nightmare, but that was the very most of it. He tried to convince himself that there was nothing about him to misunderstand and that he was still the same, ordinary quiet person that he always was, that kept to himself and never harmed anyone. That is, until something rattled him and he shook his head, properly looking at us as human beings.

The pity set back in. The self-blame. The grief and the mourning -- it was all coming back to him, and I don't think he was happy to have that break where he felt nothing. He hated it because when pain left only to come back later on, and allowed you to get used to feeling better for a couple minutes of feeling numb, it came back harder and worse than it was originally.

"Y-yeah? Wh-what happen?" He had answered, but it's the most he got out because his sobs got the best for him.

"You passed out while you were telling us about the gun and about Ryan and about you," Jared broke it to him slowly and calmly, and it made quite the impact on me because there were things that I'd say with confidence that make me a better person than him, but right now, he overcame a situation I would have had a hard time overcoming. I'd be too quick to judge and he was there for his friend despite how bad it looked.

Jewee shuddered. Everything he told us and likely more came flooding back to him like a broken dam -- this tsunami that veered off into an unknown course unexpectedly, ten times more destructive than it would have been if he were prepared. Peace, what we longed for and tranquility did't exist in a bone in his body and I know -- I just know, the corpse written in permanent ink in the wrinkles of our brain was there at the top of his head, fresh blood on his skin and stained upon our beating hearts.

"I-I didn't -- I didn't kill him." He yelled it. He yelled it at the top of his lungs, but then he whispered it at the throb of his throat. "I didn't do it. I didn't kill him."

"I know you didn't. Breathe, okay? Just breathe and when you're ready to talk, then talk. But you know, Jewee, you have to tell us what happened then, alright? We have to know so we can keep you safe. You know we want the best for you. You know that," Jared reassured him. It's the gentlest I've seen him. I forgot he was capable of such grace, elegance and compassion. It seemed like such a hypocrite thing to do, but it's a factor of life. We treat everybody differently, and it's Jewee that held his soft side.

"Yeah. I know that. I know," Jewee nodded.

"Okay. Good. Are you ready then? Close your eyes real quick. Think back to it."

His eyes remained opened despite the command. "I don't want to. I don't want to remember."

"Nobody does, but that's why we have to do it now. So that it's done and over with. So that everything can get a little bit better," and with that, Jewee listened to the man here that he respects the most. His eyes shut. He continued to tremble, but closed behind his eyelids and alone with his thoughts, it was more calm than it was before -- when he was so clearly wishing to be anywhere else but here. He had Jared's voice to navigate through it, and to make sense of it. It's possible that made a difference.

"Okay, listen," he told him. "We're back in room 327. You just finished the vaccine as far as you did, it falls down to the ground, and you get down on the floor to pick it up. Are you experiencing any side effects?"

Jewee shook his head. "No. I'm tired, but it's usual."

"Alright. Cool. You get down onto the floor. The floorboards are cold, and you peek underneath the counter. You see the gun taped to the bottom. What do you do? Do you remain on the floor?"

To this, he nods. "Yes. I'm frozen from seeing that. I can't tell anyone but I want to."

"For how long are you on the ground?"

"I think-- nearly fifteen minutes."

"Then you start experiencing the side effects?"

"Yeah. I can't see. My head is hurt."

"I see. Do you ever feel the gun in your hand?"

Jewee winces at this and my breath hitches in my throat by just having to look at him, but to my surprise and also my relief, he shakes his head no. "Never," he claims. "I did not touch it."

"But you're still nearby to the counter, correct? Before the gun shot?"

"I am, yes."

"The shooter had to have passed you to get to it. You still can't see, but can you feel anyone in the vicinity near to you? Can you smell anyone's fragrances? Can you hear the way someone walks or steps? Anything like that?"

There was no reply, and without him speaking, the shuffling in the group became more prominent on the ears. Nobody kept still, and it was a strange feeling to acknowledge that it had to have been one of us that tip-toed their way through their plans -- so thorough a gun was under the counter -- right by his face and that in these seconds, they were in high hopes that Jewee was not aware enough in the past to blow their cover.

Most of our shuffles were out of our anxiety, but one of us shuffled because they were petrified of what he knew. They were petrified because they were hanging by a thread, and their entire future where they would suppress their badness could come out much sooner than they thought it would. Every effort that they've made to keep themselves hidden could be exposed by barely a word -- and yet we had no idea who that was. They hid among us flawlessly.

I couldn't even think to guess.

"I think, yes," he stated, still in deep ponder. "It's a woman because there's long hair that nearly touch my face. I felt a wind or like that when she walk by me. The shoes has little heel also, and it's cherry blossom lotion or perfume that she wear, I think. Fruity kind of."

Jayvee and Nova twirled in their shoes to see each other's expression at nearly the exact same time. Disgusted looks plastered to their faces, their words came out in unison. "Ew? You wear the cherry blossom fragrance?" which was followed by the, "What? No! I would never!" as if they planned it out for the last ten years.

The rest of us were dumbfounded. Who could've ever thought that one day we would denying the littlest things about ourselves like the perfume we wear or the shoes we buy when there used to be a day that we lived in where none of us cared about such little things? Now, we were hiding unimportant things about ourselves in order to hide a deeper, darker and sinful secret.

Yes, one of us was covered in crimson sins.

Unsure how to confront the two of them about sorting that out, since I think we doubted we were capable of it, Jared shifted his focus back to Jewee, and took the attention again. "Okay, kid. You can open your eyes now," he told him softly. It was barely above a whisper as if he knew that if he did it any louder he would spook him all over again, but we were in close enough of a circle to hear him without a problem.

"Am I bad also?" Jewee asked hesitantly. It's wrong to think this way, but when the tears from his eyes fell, and continued to fall and fall and fall uncontrollably and so extremely unstoppable, it seemed he cried harder and in further longing and missing than Jayvee did. I wouldn't think it could be possible, but when he was right in front of me, just about pulling out his own hair and clutching his nails into his palms so tightly I thought they'd bleed, it seemed that way by a long shot.

Jared's eyebrows furrowed. "Why would you be bad?" He responded, confused.

"'Cause I could-- I saw that gun and I could do something. I can prevent a death, but I did not move it or hide it, and--."

"That's not your fault. You couldn't have known. Don't blame yourself," I told him. I figured Jared would say about the same thing and that it would be the most reassuring if he said anything to him since their bond was built on more than what our connection was made up of, but at the same time I thought it could mean more if it came from someone else too because Jared could just be saying what he had to to support his friend, and me -- who was a lot closer to Ryan and who actually cared about him unlike Jared, forgiving him could be important to him.

If what he says is true, I forgive him, truly. He doesn't have anything to apologize for.

Ryan is gone and of course -- of course I wish that could've been prevented, but it wasn't and I couldn't act like that was Jewee's fault. I knew better than that. I wasn't going to allow myself to pretend the truth he hesitated so much to tell us made it so it was right for me to blame him. It's the shooters fault, and that's the only person that should be blamed. When everyone knows who that is, then I will blame them.

I'm blaming them even while we don't know.

Not Jewee. It'll never be Jewee I'll point my finger at unless there's proper proof.

It's an equal fight for every one of us.