- Alexander -

My only escape now was writing.

When I was younger, when I lived in the Caribbean, I wrote my way out. Ever since I was a child, writing always just felt like home to me. Holding a pen and paper put me at peace, calmed my mind, gave me a distraction from the things I couldn't bear to deal with.

I had written about the loss of my family, the death of my father and how I was to blame for it. I had written about storms and hurricanes, drowning, sickness that I thought would carry me to the other side. When I got to Charleston the first time, when I came to America, I had written about my travels and adjusting to my new life and meeting new people, trying desperately to fit in when I stuck out so much because I wouldn't talk.

And now, I'm writing again. I'm writing about New York. Or at least, I was. I was writing about treatment and the apartment with John. Now I'm writing about another flight, another death just waiting to happen.

Usnavi does not deserve to die. He was the most welcoming, most loving, most helpful person in my life for months. He saved me in a time that I needed him the most, and for that, the universe decides he needs to be taken away? Ripped away from me, just like that?

I couldn't help but cry when I saw him in his coma in the hospital. I tried to hold the tears back, keep them from falling down my face where everyone could see them. I wrote about the embarrassment I felt about being seen crying, crying again. It seems like all I do at this point is cry.

I stopped writing around midnight, setting my writing materials on the nightstand by my side of the bed. I put on an oversized shirt and a pair of baggy shorts that barely stayed on me, trying to cover the body I hated so much with extra fabric so I couldn't see it.

I hated the way my self-neglect hurt John. I never, ever wanted to hurt John. I thought by getting skinnier, getting smaller, that he would care more for me and love me more and find me more attractive. I guess that wasn't the case. He just got sad when I said these things, told me it didn't matter how much I weighed because he loved me the same.

Perhaps what hurt the most was when John asked me if I saw him as lesser because he weighed more than I did. Of course, my truthful answer was no. I can honestly say that I did not negatively judge others for the way they dressed, looked, or how much they weighed. The only person I could ever find criticism in my heart for, was myself. It hurt to think that John couldn't see how much I loved him and how perfect I knew he was.

I wrote these thoughts down too, before I had everything put away. I didn't want John seeing what I had written. I knew he wouldn't invade my privacy like that, but just in case, I decided to move the items off the nightstand and into my suitcase, buried under a pile of clothes.

When he came upstairs at last, he looked worn down, exhausted. He changed out of his clothes and into just a pair of sweatpants, not even bothering to put on a shirt. He plopped down on the bed and sighed deeply, the bedside lamp casting a dim glow over his figure and the rest of the room.

"I love you, you know that?" He said quietly, turning his head towards me and looking up to me. He was laying down while I was still sitting up, pillows propping my back up. I nodded and signed back 'I love you too'. He nodded, waving me over to him.

I laid down and let him pull my into him, relaxing the moment I had my back pressed against his bare chest. It felt really nice, really calming. He began to whisper, not needing to speak up since my ear was right near his mouth.

"I know how difficult today had to have been for you. And I don't know how religious you are or anything, but before my mom died, she tried to raise me and my sister somewhat religiously. Not like, super devout-Catholic or anything, but she would sing us little songs and taught us how to pray and things like that." He began in a hushed tone. I nodded to encourage him to continue. I was curious as to where this was going.

"I was younger when she died, but old enough that I remember it all. And I remember sitting at her bedside, praying with all my might that she would get better. I prayed every night that when I woke up in the morning, I'd still have a mom." He said. I gave him a moment as he took a shaky breath. I'm sure he missed his mom a lot, the way I did.

"I asked God to save her, and when she passed, I had so much anger in my heart. I didn't understand why it was suddenly my mom's time to go and why God didn't listen to my prayers. I asked him so often, using the best manners my mama taught me, and the cancer still took her from us." He said. I moved my hand down to where his hands were around my waist and put my hand over top of his. He continued.

"Ever since then, I hadn't ever really prayed. That anger I was filled with, it lasted for such a long time. And then after a while, I realized that my mom wouldn't want me to be so mad, that she was happy and healthy up there as an angel. I still didn't start to pray, though. I just began to finally process her death in a healthier way. I talked about it with my sister after years of my mom being gone, which we never did. I put out pictures of her again and didn't block her out of my head. I visited her grave often and talked to her while I was there."

"But you know what? All of this, this whole story, me connecting back with my mom after her passing? That's not what brought me back to praying after years and years of anger and disappointment and feeling like I had been cheated out of something. It was seeing you in that room with Usnavi that made me sit by myself at Peggy's kitchen table and put my head in my hands, and ask with those same manners my mom taught me, that he would make it out of this mess." John finished. I flipped around in his arms to sign to him.

Thank you, John. You don't even understand how much it means to me. Thank you.

a/n: some lil john background for you, trying to hopefully deepen his character a little bit here. also- the discussion of religion in this chapter is by no means meant to make anyone feel as if they do or dont have to participate in any particular belief/religion! just wanted to make that clear to you all. i support everyone in their beliefs and i just hope that everyone can respect the slight addition of prayer and religion i gave john to try to add to who he is as a character. i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, a lil bit of a filler but it'll get moving again here soon.