ahopper84

Title: Never Be The Same Again
Chapter: 17
Pairings: Zaylor
POV: Taylor
Rating: PG-13
Warnings:
Word Count: 2153
Author's Note: The night is darkest before the dawn...

I think I'm going insane. I haven't heard from Zac in almost a week, and I'm starting to really worry. Ike hasn't been able to get a hold of him since his text; he waited to tell me this until yesterday, claiming he didn't want to worry me. Great job there, bro. I've tried calling Zac's cell and house phone, but to no avail. I didn't sleep at all last night, and even though I'm physically exhausted, my mind couldn't be more awake.

This isn't like Zac. We rarely go this long without at least texting each other. Add to that the stressful (to put it delicately) circumstance, and I'm downright scared. I decided that if I can't reach him by lunchtime today, I'm going to his house; I'll break down the door if I have to. Ike told me not to worry too much, that he's probably just thinking things through. I'm praying he's right, but I can't shake the sinking feeling that something is horribly, wrong.

I glance at the clock; it's only nine. Zac is rarely up this early unless we have business to attend to. I sit up in bed, running a hand through my hair roughly. I wonder if he's sleeping, or thinking, or... A chill runs through me. I don't know why, but I can't stop worrying that he's doing something... drastic. Memories float through my mind, whispers of darker times.

I shake my head, getting to my feet. No, I'm sure he's okay. Well, maybe not okay, but not... that bad. I hope. I shuffle to the kitchen, not really hungry, but knowing I should force myself to eat. I wonder if Zac's been eating... I know he has a tendency not to, when he's really stressed. And I can't imagine too many things that could be more stressful than this.

The morning creeps by; I call both of Zac's numbers, not getting an answer on either, but I hadn't been expecting one, really. I pace my house, trying to find a distraction, but nothing can get my mind off of Zac. The pit in my stomach grows as the hours tick by, and I have to step outside for some fresh air. It's a beautiful day, blue skies, birds chirping, all that happy-day bullshit, completely going against my mood. It should be pouring, bolts of lighting tearing apart the bleak, colorless horizon.

At eleven forty-five, I try Zac's cell one last time. It goes straight to voicemail. At eleven fifty, I I pull on my shoes and jacket. At eleven fifty-five, I try the house phone. Again, nothing. At eleven fifty-nine, I'm pulling out of my driveway, heading in the direction of his house.

The gnawing, twisting knot in my stomach tightens with every passing minute as I speed across town, almost running three red lights. I'm glad there aren't any cops out, because I'm doing at least twice the speed limit most of the way. With every passing mile, my breath gets a bit quicker, and by the time his house comes into view, I'm almost hyperventilating. I take a moment to try and compose myself, but it's no use.

With shaking hands, I run to his door and knock loudly. I wait... nothing. A few seconds later, I knock again, harder this time. Another minute goes by, with no sounds coming from inside. This time I pound my fist against the wood, calling out to him. When I still don't hear anything, my breath catches. My fingers tremble as I try the door; it's unlocked, and swings open ominously.

The house is eerily quiet as I step inside. For some reason, I'm almost afraid to break the silence, but my eyes narrow, and I slam the door behind me hard enough to rattle the picture frames on the wall. A chill of terror runs down my spine as I listen for something, anything other than the sound of my own breathing. I force myself to step forward, barely breathing as I search the living room, the kitchen, the dining room. At the end of the hallway, Zac's bedroom door is shut.

Dark, terrifying visions flicker past my eyes as I make my way down the hall, the journey seeming impossibly long. Finally, I'm at his door; I place one hand on the knob, and the other flat against the door, and lean forward. Again, all I hear is the deafening silence, and I blink back tears. With a surge of courage, or maybe panic, I thrust the door open.

At first, I see nothing but an empty room. His bed has been slept in, the sheets twisted haphazardly across the mattress. My entire body is shaking as I enter the room fully, and it's then that I hear it. A murmur, a whimper; no actual words, but a sign of life. My heart stops as I run to the side of the bed.

Zac is curled up on his side on the floor; in his arms are two items, both held in a death-grip to his chest. One is an empty bottle of whiskey; the other, a stuffed bear I gave him when we were little. My heart tears in two as I take in his state. His hair is a tangled, matted mess; his skin is dangerously pale, except for the dark circles under his eyes; he's wearing the same clothes he wore to the party, dirty and wrinkled, and reeking of alcohol.

He makes a noise, flinching in his sleep. My hand hovers over his shoulder for a moment, not sure if I should wake him; he can get pretty violent, I even have a couple scars still. But his breathing is uneven, and his color is just... wrong. Bracing myself, I gently lower my hand to his shoulder, shaking lightly.

Nothing. I shake a little harder, but all he does is groan a little. His lack of reaction actually scares me even more. I shake him harder, using both hands to roll him onto his back. When this fails to get a response, I really start to panic.

"Zac," I say softly, my voice shaking. "Zac, wake up," I try again, a little louder. My breathing threatens to get out of control again, fear seizing my throat.

"Zac!" I shake him as hard as I can, slapping his face. THat gets a reaction, and he sits up suddenly, his eyes wide. I'm struck by how bloodshot they are, the red contrasting starkly with his almost grey complexion. His gaze is unfocused, staring at ghosts in his mind, until I shake him again.

"Zac?" My voice breaks, and I grab his face in my hands. Finally, he looks to me, taking a moment to truly see me. In a matter of seconds, I watch as he completely falls apart. His face crumbles, and I pull him to me, holding him against my shoulder as he cries. Angry, violent sobs that shake his entire body. He pounds his balled-up fists into the floor, then into my back, before he twists his hands into my shirt, clawing at the fabric, digging into my skin.

I hold him as close as I can, stroking his hair and whispering soothing words in his ear, but I'm just as terrified as before. I'm overjoyed that he's in one piece, but he's so far from okay. I pull him into my lap awkwardly, rocking him back and forth gently. Silent tears flow down my cheeks, but I ignore them, all my focus on the fragile, broken boy in my arms.

I don't know how much time goes by, but eventually the tears stop. I look down at him, and see that he's asleep, but I still don't like how ragged his breathing is. I shake him awake, still having trouble, but not as much as before. He looks up at me groggily, his gaze only half-focused.

"Zac... listen to me. How much have you had to drink?" He stares blankly for a moment, before shrugging.

"How much have you eaten?" Again, he shrugs, and my worry is renewed, if it ever went away. Waves of guilt wash over me, but I ignore them. Now isn't the time for blame; that will come later. Right now I have to take care of my little brother. I pull him to his feet; he sways dangerously, unable to stand on his own. The knot in my stomach twists again, and I sling one of his arms over my shoulders, wrapping an arm around his waist.

A shower would be too difficult, so I sit him down on the floor of the bathroom while I draw a bath. As soon as my back is turned, I hear him gagging; I don't have to look to know that it's mostly bile, fading quickly to dry heaves. I pour him a cup of water when he's finished, tilting his head back and forcing him to drink the fluid.

Undressing him is a bit difficult, but I manage to get him stripped and into the tub. There's absolutely nothing sexual about the situation, as I begin to scrub the dirt and grime from his body. He lets me do what needs to be done, sitting silently as I get him cleaned up. He does smile sadly, however, as I rub the shampoo into his hair, gently massaging his scalp. I smile back, a tiny bit, even though his eyes are closed. I tilt his head back as I rinse his hair, repeating the actions with his conditioner.

He's almost able to stand as I towel him off, leaning on me slightly less as we walk back to the bedroom. Some of the haze is gone from his eyes as I dress him, and he smiles as I run a brush through his hair. Once he's fully dressed, I lead him to the kitchen, sitting him down at the table. He looks at me suspiciously, but stays silent; I bite my lip as I look at him. His breathing is starting to even out, but I know he needs food.

"Zac... please. When did you eat last?" His smile falls, and he looks away, but I pull his face to mine again, not so gently, letting him know I'm serious.

"Tell me," I say again, my voice surprisingly strong. He bites his lip, seeming to think it over.

"What day is it?" His voice is so rough, so cracked, that I barely recognize it, and I have to blink back tears.

"Thursday." His brow furrows for a moment; did he not realize how much time had gone by?

"I... had some chips... um, Tuesday? No... maybe. I'm not sure," he said finally, his eyes staring up at me weakly. My heart drops; I had a feeling it was bad, but this is worse than even I expected. Without another word, I rush around the kitchen, searching for something to make. I pull out some eggs and bacon, and within a few minutes I'm frying them both up, simultaneously heating up some toaster waffles. I pour him a large glass of orange juice; he eyes it skeptically, but I stare him down until he drinks half the glass.

"All of it," I warn him, and he sighs before emptying the glass. I refill it, and turn back to the stove. A few minutes later, I push a heaping plate of food in front of him. Again, he looks at it as if it's a poisonous snake, but I cross my arms and glare at him. Nodding glumly, he stabs at an egg, wincing painfully as he chews. But one bite is quickly followed by another, and another, until he's shoveling the food down.

Two full plates and three glasses of juice later, and he's leaning back in his chair, looking leaps and bounds better than I found him. He smiles at me gratefully, and I nod. I clean up the dishes and put them away, then motion for him to follow me to the living room. We sit on the couch, and I take a deep breath. I don't know what to say, but I know something needs to be said. I may have helped him start to recover physically, but I know I have so much more to do.

"Tay..." Zac's voice startles me out of my thoughts, and I look up at him. His voice is still rough, but it's better than it was, thanks to the heavy dose of liquids. I look up at him expectantly, and watch in amazement as he smiles. Really smiles. The first honest, pure, totally carefree smile I've seen in longer than I can remember. It's his signature smile, the one that I realize has been gone, ever since this whole insane mess started. It's so beautiful, that I can't stop my eyes from misting.

"I missed you."