Wilting Flowers

22: Hellfire

Tw: Intrusive Thoughts/Self Harm/Suicide/Alcoholism

Reader Discretion Advised

(Note: This chapter is INCREDIBLY heavy. It deals with these issues a lot, and it's all very on the nose. If you ever feel like this, please reach out for help. This is a work of fiction, and I do not support the romanticization of these issues at all.)

~~~

Gabriel must have been gone in the morning, to Grim's relief. He'd have to apologize on Monday, but he didn't mind as long as he could put it off.

He did, however, have a slew of text messages from him.

Gabe 🌝

Are you okay

Ik ur probably
not gonna read
this but if you
do I love you

Please take care
of yourself

Im fine

Love you too

I wonder if he left before...

Grim sighed and turned off his phone. He didn't want to deal with anyone at the moment, not even Gabriel.

I owe it to him. Guilt panged at him. I was awful to him last night.

The memories of the fight were vivid in his mind.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because you'll feel guilty if you break our promise."

"That's stupid."

"It's what's gonna keep you from doing shit to yourself."

"Go the fuck home, Gabriel!"

"No."

He was just trying to help me. God, why am I so stupid?

He rubbed his face and immediately regretted it, the fresh cracks stinging him. He winced.

Putting his phone on the floor and shaking himself to reality, he tried to gauge his surroundings.

He was laying on the floor. The hoodie he had worn the day before was crumpled up by his head. He sat up, and his head throbbed.

The room blurred in and out for a moment. When it came back in focus, Grim looked to his feet.

The box cutter was still open, probably due to drunk Grim's utter foolishness, and the vodka was all gone.

Jesus fucking Christ- all of it? How much was left when I drank it? He scoured his memory. He remembered taking swigs, here and there: one before work on Thursday and one before the party on Friday. He washed down his Xanax with it before roller skating, which probably wasn't the best choice, but Grim didn't break down as soon as they stepped through the door, so he supposed it did the job.

Although he didn't know exactly how much he drank, he did know that he felt like absolute shit.

So, after wallowing in self-pity for a bit, he finally got up. He pulled his hoodie over his head and stretched. His bones were screaming for help.

First priority, Liquid IV. Second, painkillers.

He then realized Immy was probably up, or would be soon.