Touch The Sky (Christian Novelli fanfic) (In editing!!)

Chapter 17

Tristan nods stiffly and I raise an eyebrow. She lets out a puff of air before shaking her head no, silent tears falling slowly from her eyes.

"They were awful. The doctors, they were awful." She croaks, her voice cracking with nearly every word.

"What did they do?" I reach up and pet her hair.

"They gave me this medicine and it made me sick... And then they did tests but the throwing up didn't work... So then they had to pump my stomach... And it was awful. They were awul." She sounds so fragile and vulnerable, like a child.

I don't know how to reply, so I just continue stroking her hair. She takes a shaky breath before speaking again, quietly, "Do you hate me?"

I look up in shock. "What? No! Why would I hate you?!" 

"Because... I... Tried to... Kill myself..." She breaks eye contact and fiddles with her thin hospital sheets.

"No, I could never hate you..."  I kiss her forehead and she blushes ever-so-slightly, a small smile playing on her lips.

It disappears, though, just as quickly as it had appeared. "Even after seeing me like that? That was my very worst. My very worst. Screaming, crying, trying to die. That was worse than my worst. How can you not hate me after seeing that horrible thing? I'm a monster! A complete monster! Aren't you just terrified of me!?"

"I've seen much worse..." I say quietly. I have seen much worse.

"What?"

"I've seen much worse... In myself."

TRIGGER WARNING

*Christian's Flashback*

I scream. As loud as I possibly can. So loud I feel the floor beneath me shaking. I pound my fists against the bathroom wall, not caring about the pain. Of course I'm not caring about the pain.

My face is completely soaked in my own tears. 

I cry as I fill up the bathtub, as full as it can get.

No one will care, I think, No one will even know. You'll just rot in here, forever...Which is exactly what you want, right? Right.

I nod to myself and stand up, finding my blade in the cupboard. It's getting rusty, it could probably get infected... but if I'm going to be dead it doesn't matter, now, does it?

I turn off the water and sit in it, still fully clothed. I roll up my sleeve and stare at the old scars. Old Christian wasn't trying to die, he was trying to cope.

But I am tired of coping, I just want to be dead. I don't want to cope anymore.

One for weak.

Two for stupid.

Three for ugly.

Four for fat.

Five for paranoid.

Six for depressed.

Seven, eight, nine.... Until there's 20 fresh, bleeding cuts on my left wrist. I realize there's no more room on that arm, so I roll up my other sleeve. 

If I want to die, these ones have to be deep.

*End of flashback*

A/N: This chapter sucked. And it wasn't fluffy like I promised. Sorry. I don't even know where this is going. So. Yeah.