His Darkness (bxb)

chapter forty-eight

i thought that i was special

you made me feel like it was my fault

you were the devil, lost your appeal

━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━

I hear three slow knocks on my bedroom door before Mom walks in. "Hey, sweetheart," she greets with a wary smile. She glances around the room - closed curtains even though it's nearly two o'clock in the afternoon, piled of clothes scattered around the room, the plates of food she brought for me untouched on my desk where she left them. "How are you feeling?"

"Good."

"Are you sure?" I feel the bed dip as she sits on its edge. "No shortness of breath, fatigue, anything like that?" 

I shake my head, "Nope."

"I still think it's a good idea to get you to a hospital, Noah."

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Mom, I'm fine. You're being dramatic."

"Noah," she breathes, "your heart stopped beating." The sentence comes out as barely a whisper, like saying it too loudly would make it true. "Don't tell me I'm being dramatic."

"And then it started beating again. Nothing that hasn't happened before."

I was told Ella found me in the bathroom only a few minutes after I overdosed. She called Mom over who immediately reached for the Narcan she had stashed in the medicine cabinets, like she knew this would happen eventually. 

With me, disappointment is inevitable. 

I threw up as soon as I gained consciousness and spent the next two hours telling my family I'd rather overdose again than go to the hospital. Eventually, I was allowed to go back to my room to sleep, but only if Ella spent the night in my room on an air mattress. I agreed because my head was pounding and my ears were ringing and I just wanted some peace and quiet. It's been almost two days since that regretful night and my head still feels like it weighs a hundred tons. 

Mom sighs and my heart clenches at the tired look in her eyes. You did this. "I would drag you to the hospital against your will if I knew I could."

"But you can't," I remind her with a smile. 

"There are people downstairs who want to see you."

I sit up immediately. "Who?"

"Come to the living room when you're ready," Mom says, patting my leg through the covers. "You're not in trouble."

I watch her leave my room, not closing the door behind her, before rolling my head back and rubbing my eyes. There's no point putting this off. I roll out of bed for the first time since I was carried to it just over twelve hours ago. As soon as I step out of the room, I am overwhelmed by the bright afternoon sun peeking in through the windows and immediately rush back into my room for my sunglasses. 

I step into the bathroom without closing it - another rule imposed by my mother - but don't turn on the lights before washing my face and brushing my teeth. I run my hands through my hair and remind myself to dye my blonde roots black when I'm back in Waterloo. I give up on brushing it after encountering the first knot and throw it up into a bun. I put my sunglasses back on and head back to my room to throw on a hoodie and put on some deodorant; whoever it is downstairs doesn't need to see the current state of my arms. 

My mind is restless, trying to imagine every possible scenario that's about to play out in the living room as I take the stairs at an agonisingly slow pace. I take a deep breath before taking the last step that makes me visible to whoever's sat in the living room.