The Fall of Forever {A MyStreet FF}

{7}: The Dividing Wrath

*TW: implication of suicidal intent*

Having felt any quality of life was ripped from him, Garte Ro'Meave craved nothing more than the peace that came with the lack of existence.

He submerged himself in the tub, praying that the water would consume him. His chest burned as the two lungs he had screamed for air to expand upon. He shut his eyes and allowed his ears to fill with water, muffling any of the outside world that could come to him. His blond hair floated in every direction.

As though some otherworldly, paranormal being had a hold on his soaked hair, his searing lungs became enough and he broke the surface of the water. He immediately drew in a reviving breath that granted his body life. His eyes shot open as he slid his wet hands over his hair to push it out of his face.

The moment he emerged from the water the weight of the world was back on his shoulders. Garte stared blankly at his legs that were still submerged in water. He was angry, though he hardly had the energy to show it.

His mind was betraying his every bodily instinct to stay alive.

Or maybe it was his body betraying his mind.

He wasn't aware of how much time had passed. To him, it could've been thirty minutes, or even five, but those minutes stopped passing as silent when his phone began vibrating on the counter. He ripped his hand out of the warm water and picked up his phone, not giving a second thought to the drops of water landing on his phone screen. The screen was illuminated with the notification of a call from Derek.

Sighing, Garte answered the call and tried to pull off the most living sounding voice he could. "Hello?"

"Hey," Derek began, but hesitated. "Are you alright? You sound exasperated."

Garte sighed and ran his free hand through his hair again. He cursed himself out in his mind and cleared his throat.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. What's up?" He asked.

"Are you sure? G, it's only been three days since you found out. Can I do anything?" Derek begged.

Garte froze. Three days? There was no way it had only been three days. It felt like an eternity. He acquired no sleep, ate very little, and the only medication he was able to think of was the ones he was administering to Garroth.

The conversation spun in circles for several minutes. Derek insisted that something was wrong, and that he's happy to help. Garte insisted that it was under control and that he could do it, knowing that this was anything but true.

Eventually, Garte gave in, and admitted he could at least use the company. It had just been him and Garroth at home that day. Zianna took Zane and Vylad to their grandparents' house, while she was spending the day with Sylvanna, Zack's wife and her best friend. Garte had insisted that his wife take a break and spend the day out, and to let the boys get out of the house, too. They offered for Garroth to go as well, but the little one was much too exhausted and in pain to go on an outing.

Their conversation came to an abrupt halt when there was a soft knock on the bathroom door. Derek let Garte know that he would be at their home in a matter of twenty minutes, and the call ended. Garte quickly pressed himself out of the bath and stepped out. He managed to dry off and dress quickly, leaving only his hair wet. Another knock came through at the door, and Garte questioned what could be so important.

The door opened, and the father knew he had to put on a strong face for his suffering son. He first noticed Garroth's blonde, messy hair from being in bed all day. As his eyes trailed down, he saw a crimson red draining from his son's nose and down onto his pajama shirt.