His heart was pounding as he ran away. The first place Zach arrived at was where Sam was, not out of choice but out of sheer coincidence. It was the blood that made him pause. There was a hell of a lot of blood, pooled on the floor like an exaggerated Rorschach picture. Zach knew the word Rorschach because his therapist used to show him plenty of them. Zach took dainty little steps. Couldn't get blood on his boots, it would stain. He didn't see how this could be considered hypocritical, seeing as how he just shanked someone in the leg.
Her gun was out in the open. The shelf was tilted, Sam's body supporting it. If he wanted to, he could grab her bag and all of her shit.
He didn't want to. Zach felt that he had to. He just didn't want to.
Sam had asked him a question. Went along the lines of "Why do you act nice to me?" or "Why am I an exception?". At the time Zach didn't have an answer. He still didn't have it. The sea of unanswered questions, the doubts, the lies was so wide that Zach could drown. He didn't understand why the hell all of this was sprouting up now. It didn't seem relevant before. Just go away. Stop pestering him.
Zach thought about going back to Jimmy and killing him with Sam's gun. Then he remembered how that would make him as much of a monster as the ginger, so he didn't go through with it.
Fuck, no, bitch, don't even bother. Don't go apologizing unless you mean it. You don't mean it. You're only saying that because you think you have to.
His mind lingered to places it's never been. A bunch of responsibility shit that he wanted no fucking part of. Revenge, anger, loneliness. Maybe if he ignored it all, he won't have to deal with it.
Zach took the gun. His hand trembled. He almost touched the blood but he managed to avoid it.
Keep apologizing Zach. See where that gets you. Sam'll really appreciate that, for sure.
"I'm so so sorry."
Apologizing did not feel right. It made his raspy voice sound lighter. Squeakier. Like he was fourteen all over again. He just spun the barrel with his thumb. Considered taking the easy route, thought better of it.
"I'm so so so so fucking sorry I'm sorry..."
Okay, yeah, you got him. This was his fault. He should have been watching her. He swore he must have ADD or something because he promised himself he wouldn't let her out of his reach. Then he wandered off five seconds later and bam. Zach didn't know the definition of irony, but if he did he'd sure as hell use the word right now. It was his fault, there was no use denying it, his only friend was dead and he practically shot her.
Zach wasn't crying. No. He just had something in his eye. In both his eyes. Yeah. That was all. Fuck, no, he wasn't crying. Stop bothering him. There was nothing wrong. He was fine. All he wanted was a pepsi, a goddamn pepsi.
His voice fell low. So low that he could not figure what the fuck he was saying anymore. He looked nuts, well, the frizzy hair that stuck out to all sides did not help. He looked like a crazy hobo.
Man, fuck Jimmy. Fuck him in his ginger face.
What the fuck ever. God damn small-dicked pussy ass bastard. Fuck him and his fucking asshole egotisitcal attitude. Zach wanted to find whoever conserved him and beat the everloving shit out of them with his bare fucking fists until the huge ass caves that they used to call faces were as fucking wide as the goddamn Grand Canyon. He wanted to pick up that fucking shelf that topped over Sam's corpse and throw it through the fucking wall, break every last piece of the damn thing into a million pieces, maybe cut his wrists on the shards just so he can feel something. He wanted to kill fucking everyone, every last pathetic, passive, selfish fuck on this island, make them feel the anger and hate and sadness that he felt because oh ho
they didn't fucking know a single fucking thing about loss. They couldn't even fucking comprehend the meaning of loss, the best they probably could ever come up with was burying their puppies in their backyards, bunch of frightened mice. They couldn't understand what loss meant because they were so fucking concerned about themselves. Zach was the most self-centered person to ever exist but now he knew what loss felt, and it made him feel small and pathetic. Fuck anyone who thought they can just skate through this game unscathed. Wait. No. Fuck him. Fuck Zach Jamis. Fuck that fucking asshole, he was the worst. He started this. He put himself in this situation. Zach had a chance to change though, he had the capability to change. All he had to do was find the exit. He had to find the exit before the situation ate him alive. Had to find the exit. Had to find the exit. Where's the fucking exit? Where's the fucking exit? He wanted to find the exit had to find the exit and the tears burned like acid and his tongue swelled and he couldn't see because his eyes were clouded with tears that he fought so desperate to fight off and -
Okay. He was crying. You happy now America? He was crying. You've won. You've made Zach Jamis cry. Here's your fucking medal. Are you happy? Are you proud of what you've done? Well you sure better be!
Zach Jamis heaved a sniffle. He could not cry here. He did everything. He bit down on his tongue.
"Sam, you treated me like a human. Like I mattered. Even before I started this rebel sh..." No. "Before I became this.
Even when were stuck here. So thanks. I... I needed you."
Hell, she needed an answer. That was the best he could come up with. Whatever. She'd be fine with whatever. Zach wanted to say something else but the lump in his throat stopped him. About all else he could do was pocket the gun, grab all the ammo and strap her bag. Picking shit off of the dead. Smooth as fucking ice. Zach, you're an asshole.
He managed to say something else as he was turning away.
"... I'll put this to good use."
That was it.
(Zach Jamis continued in Failing to Reappear