Jefferson Lake (Watty award one-shot)

Lee's POV

*trigger warning*

At the moment, there were two central points of pain in my body. One, the steady ache in my back that was caused by countless hours laying on the thin mattress over the metal bed structure. Two, the pull that had been relentlessly tugging on my heart for longer than I'd like to admit.

I'd take the back pain any day.

How long had I been here like this? Who would care if I stayed here a minute longer? Here I was, stuck by some invisible force holding me down. The same force that held me down at Cornerstone. The same force that caused me to...

Parker hasn't called.

Alone.

You're such a drag. Parker deserves a life.

Scared.

When's the last time you've done something good?

Empty.

Stupid. So, so stupid. You'd be better off—

I flipped over in my bed, shaking and letting the hot tears build up behind my eyes. The invasive thoughts pushed at the barriers in my mind like a raging river held back by a dam. I could snap at any minute; God, it would feel so damn good to just break. And who would care? I wouldn't know.

I lay on my side, letting the thin mattress take its toll on my hip. I curled my arms to my chest, adjusting myself into a fetal position, just thinking. How good would it feel to have Mom here, stroking the hair out of my eyes like she used too? Or even Dad, as firm as he was, to just look at me one more time? Or Parker—

Parker. Just thinking about him. The rage built up in my chest. Parker, who didn't understand. Parker, who thought I was selfish. Parker, who wasn't there. Parker, who didn't just let me die—

My eyes fell upon my wrist. Wrapped tightly around it was the bracelet, the one that Emily gave me. How it was supposed to represent the good and the bad, how she told me that it was just like me and it was beautiful.

But that's where she was wrong. I wasn't a balance of good and bad. I wasn't a 'balance' of anything. Where there was once personality and hope and joy and all the good stuff, well, now it was all gone. It was hollowed out it was empty. There was nothing left. And as I lay there, I let that feeling wash over me in steady waves.

No, not the feeling of sadness. Not anger, not pain—although yes, I was feeling all of these things. It was the aura of emptiness. The emptiness that came when all of my tears were gone. The emptiness where I knew I had to feel sad but I just couldn't. Where I should be feeling all of these emotions and being a mess, I just wasn't. Because that's not what depression is. It's not always never-ending sadness. There is so much more to it than that. Sometimes it's just the inability to do anything. The realizations that there's nothing left for me now. The feeling that I've lost all happiness, and I can't replace it. The nostalgia of not being the person I used to be. The anger towards everyone and anything that stood in my way of leaving this hell that I've created in my mind. And rather than actually feeling all of these emotions, everything just shut off. I stopped constantly crying myself to sleep and being bitter all of the time. I just felt hollow. I had no energy to actually have emotions. And while sometimes some feelings would come out in bursts, it was replaced just as quickly by the emptiness.

I was trapped in a hell of my own creation. 

<<>>

One day later, and I was riding home with Parker from a therapy session. And as usual, we weren't talking. That's how I liked it. I needed that time to recuperate in the car. It was my time to just let my mind run. Today was tough. After our therapist suggested that we dug a little deeper, Parker and I just ended up yelling at each other.

I sat in silence. The car engine hummed. The windshield wipers squeaked occasionally, wiping away the steady rain.

"Lee."

I shifted in my seat so that my body was completely angled away from Parker.

"We need to talk, and I know you're not going to let us talk when we get home. We're talking now."

I didn't respond and instead let my eyes follow the guide rail on the highway. Twenty minutes until we're home, I thought. Noting my disinterest, Parker let out an angry hiss, grumbling something under his breath. Next thing I knew, we weren't on the highway anymore.

"Hey, that wasn't the right turn," I noted, sitting up in my seat. "What the hell, Parker?"

"We're not leaving this car until we talk, alright? I'm not fooling around, I'm serious," Parker barked.

"How are we going to get home if you get us lost, huh?" I snapped, folding my arms across my chest.

"Don't change the subject."

Back to silence.

"Okay, looks like I'll start," Parker huffed. "Lee, all I was saying was that you need to start actually listening to the therapist. I know you think—"

I huffed, grumbling in disagreement.

"Let me finish," Parker said, obviously frustrated. "Nothing's going to get any better if you just disregard what the therapist says. That's why we're going."

"Oh, so are you suggesting that you listen to what she says?" I said haughtily.

"Excuse me? Of course I—"

"Right, because your anger is so much better," I drawled. "I haven't heard you yell in, what, six minutes?"

"Lee—"

"And you are most certainly respecting me and my boundaries, as shown by this lovely little detour we're taking," I said bitterly. "Yeah, listening-to-the-therapist my ass, Parker. You haven't done shit."

"Lee!" Parker snapped, his face red. I could feel the anger radiating off of him, watching him struggle. He took some breaths. "I'm not saying this isn't difficult. I know—"

"Oh you know me, do you? You know what I'm going through? You know what it's like to want to die—"

"You know I don't like it when you talk about it like that—"

"Like what? Like it happened?" I barked. "You want to talk about it? Fine. I wanted to die. I was making it easier for you. I was making it easier for everybody. I'm going through things that are indescribable to you, okay? And you think I need to listen to my therapist more? As if I'm not trying enough?"

"I didn't say that you weren't trying—"

"But that's exactly what you meant, isn't it? Because if I was in fact trying my very hardest, then I'd be better, right? I'd be back to normal and we could go back to being a happy little family, is that what you want?" I yelled.

Parker didn't say anything, but the look on his face said enough. I let tears that I didn't know I was holding back fall down my cheeks.

I shakily sat back in my seat, turning back away from Parker. "You don't know a damn thing, Parker."

We were back to silence. The car engine continued to hum. The windshield wipers continued to squeak.

"You don't understand. No one does."