The demons are gnawing at his mind again.
He can hear them, whispering to him from the deepest part of his mind. They're using their deep, sharp claws to tear into his memories and force him to relive them over and over again, just like a broken record. They're taking over his body, making him numb.
He hunches over his old oak desk in his dark room, head in his hands, holding in the tears. His hands ball into fists and then unclench. He's taking in deep, shaky breaths and trying to keep it together.
It's your fault, you worthless excuse for a human being, one whispers. It's your fault. You did this to yourself.
He tells himself that he can't break, but it's not working. He's already cracking under the pressure, and they're just getting started.
Who would want to be around you? Why would anyone ever love you?
He thinks of his mother, his father, all of his best friends at school. They care about him. Right?
They pretend. All they ever do is pretend. There is no love for you here. You should know that better than anyone. When have you ever felt like you actually belong here?
He takes out his pen and his notebook that the therapist makes him use. His heart is pounding in his chest, his ribcage feeling like it's about to snap.
He's suffocating. The air is exiting his lungs, getting too heavy for him to breathe. It feels like liquid lead is being forced down into his lungs.
Shaking his head, he tries to write, tries to remind himself that he can still breathe. That he doesn't need to panic. That he'll be okay. He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting it out. Then he reopens his eyes and begins to write.
Your fault your fault this is all because of you you didn't listen and you must pay you're going to pay YOU WILL PAY
He takes one look at the book and stands up. Then he hurls it across the room, and then the pen goes too. The book slams into the shut and locked door before clattering on the floor. The pen makes a black mark on the other wall before hitting the floor.
A tear suddenly slides down his cheek as he sees what he's done, the mess he's made. He's always doing that, throwing things when his thoughts get the best of him.
He knows that he's a coward, that he can't take the awful thoughts---awful truths, he corrects himself---like a man. All he is is a scared little kid, undeserving of everything that's ever been given to him.
He leans against the desk, then begins sliding down it, no longer able to find the strength to stand. When he's sitting on the floor, curled up into a small ball with his arms covering his face and his knees pulled up to his ribs, he finally allows himself to sob.
Gabriel Lancaster doesn't move out of that position for a long time.
YOU ARE READING
Project Smile
General Fiction"Why do you never smile?" "Because I'm not like you. I'm not important enough to be happy." ~ ~ ~ Gabriel Lancaster has never smiled. He has never grinned, never laughed. He goes through life as the world's biggest...
