CHAPTER NINE
°⋆∴☽°:۵≼

i. pain, pain, pain !

— THE SHERIFF'S STATION HAVING ACTUALLY SUCCEEDED AT KEEPING YET ANOTHER DEAD BOY SECRET FROM THE REST OF THE TOWN WAS IMPRESSIVE. Jonathan would have asked how they did it exactly, but he was too busy breaking down.

Neil had been the youngest of the boys, and they tried to look out for him as big brothers would.

That's sort of what they became. Brothers. How could you not when you're locked underground together for years.

They made their own family. It's what kept them alive for so long.

Now, Jonathan had to just sit back against his hospital bed, hands gripping the sheets as tightly as possible as if hoping to ground himself, as the sheriff told him that they'd found the kid just outside town, with a hunting knife in his chest.

Of course they did.

It was no secret; Neil wasn't as perceptive or strong as the other boys. He was quick to dodge but would easily become overpowered if someone came at him with a knife.

This only made Jonathan sob more, knowing exactly how it felt when a knife pierced your skin. He could imagine what Neil was forced to experience in his last moments.

Pain, pain, pain.

The sheriff tried to ease his cries, "He wouldn't have suffered."

What the fuck do you know about suffering.

Johnny wanted to scream, he wanted to shout at sheriff Keller. Curse him out for not doing his job properly and finding them sooner- they were half an hour away at most all this time, and no one even bothered to check. God- he wanted so badly to tear the sheriff a new one right then and there.

"Don't lie to me." Is what came out instead. In the form of a lowly whisper. "Don't you dare lie to me, Tom." His voice wavered and shook, his hand still pressing at his mouth.

The sheriff looked down at the boy's arms, which were now hugged close to his chest again. He saw the scars that riddled the skin there. Little reminders of his time in that dark and horrific basement.

Tom Keller said nothing more, only choosing to fold the picture back up and tuck it away before standing and heading to the door, preparing to call the station to go search the Strattman's farm.

This left Johnny, staring at his sheets with a certain sunken feeling in his stomach. It became angry and began churning into something more.

He was gonna be sick.

Rushing to stand up as much as he could, trying to avoid ripping or irritating his stitches, he rushed to the washroom off the side of the psych ward and threw himself into the closest stall.

Pain, pain, pain.

All he could feel was pain.

He fell to his knees in front of the toilet, not caring that his already bruised legs screamed as they hit the floor, and nearly stuck his face in the bowl. His chest was warm and swirling, a wretched bile rising in his throat only too quickly.

There he stayed, heaving until his throat was raw and the contents of his stomach had emptied. Yesterday's dinner, today's breakfast. It didn't look all that appetizing now. In fact, the grotesque view almost made him sick again.

Jonathan stabilized himself against the stall's wall, feeling dizzy as he blindly reached for the toilet paper across from him.

He made quick work of wiping his mouth, and tossed the now gross rag into the even more disgusting water.

Johnny let his head fall back, trying to keep his world from spinning. He spread his hands against the tiled floor, allowing the cooled feeling to sweep over his palms and calm him slightly. But the bitter taste in his mouth and the suffocating stench from beside him reminded him of why he felt so nauseous in the first place.

The boy choked on a whimper, pulling himself up from the ground and racing to flush the toilet.

He felt so tired. Genuinely exhausted, and it was barely noon. His mind just kept wandering. Back to that cold and dusty basement, that was excessively large for a place that wasn't supposed to have a basement.

As Johnny pushed open the stall door again, his eyes trailed over his arms, the cuts and bruises now clean and so easy to see.

Knives hurt. They really fucking hurt.

Jonathan's hand gripped the stall door so hard he was sure it would break, if the creaking of metal wasn't enough of a sign.

How long had Neil been out there? How long did he have to suffer before the life he had been fighting so hard for finally drained from his eyes.

Johnny let out a shaky, angry sigh as he pulled at his hair, trying to stop these thoughts before he got sick again. He dragged himself over to the sinks, trying to avoid looking in the mirror as he washed his hands and rinsed his mouth to rid himself of the vile taste.

Finally, with the sound of the faucet still running a distant unnoticed sound, chocolate brown met chocolate brown as his eyes fled to his reflection.

Johnny's face was pale and an unhealthy green colour, his lips red from irritation, the cherry tint matching the tip of his nose. His eyes were sunken and dark, and Johnny failed to ignore the ring of partly dried tears.

He sighed again, looking down and letting his cheeks puff up as the air escaped, splashing his face with cold water and glancing at his appearance one last time before stumbling to exit the washroom.

Johnny had barely made it two feet out the door when a small, warm presence wrapped around him, circling their arms around his waist carefully.

He exhaled softly, leaning into the touch.

As they pulled away, Andie offered him a sad and sympathetic smile, letting him lean on her for support as they moved back to his bed.

author's note

wooo let's hope this becomes a streak: me actually updating frequently again

so this chapter was probably kinda boring and angsty, but I really wanna show the kind of affect loss has on Johnny- and how close him and the other boys were,, sure the process may be gross but its also human nature to deal with loss in that way