Jefferson Lake (knightsrachel) One Shot

One Shot

Lee's POV
••••

Why was I even here-lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling fan whipping around endlessly, at two in the morning? Why wasn't I dead? I mean, that was the point.

But nonetheless, I'm here. Alive. And scrambling to pick up the shards of mass destruction that I singlehandedly caused.

F*ck this.

My stomach growled, and I remembered I hadn't eaten since Parker essentially forced an ice cream down my throat after that stupid therapy session. The gesture was pleasant enough, but all it did was reignite the memory I had been so desperately trying to suppress. The memory of me lying on my bed, the veins in the my wrist severed vertically, the blood slipping out of my body, and the coldness. I was freezing, my teeth chattering, tears forcing themselves out of my eyes and into a river of insanity.

Whip. Whip.

I swear, that freaking ceiling fan is the only thing stable and in check these days. Is it normal to wish to be an inanimate object? I'll just go with yes.

Rolling up off the bed, I snuck towards the door towards the kitchen. But apparently Parker beat me to it. Shielding partially by my door and the darkness, I watched Parker lean over the counter, his hands holding up his head, and the weight of my world, and his. He stood there for what happened to be fifty-two seconds, but felt painstakingly slow. Standing up, he shook mangled hair out of his face, swallowed some migraine pills, and went back to his room. As the moonlight from the window hit his face, I saw the shiny trail of tears marking his cheek. My heart plummeted. It honestly wasn't even that I caused him a migraine, he's quite susceptible to those, but rather that I made him cry. He's my older brother, and has more responsibility and heartbreak than anyone, especially an 18 year old, should ever have to deal with. And I'm more than half that burden.

I made my big brother cry.

The brother that is a superhero to me.

I made him cry.

I cause his pain.

I made a superhero cry.

Me. It's all me.

Slowly turning back towards my bed, my feet halted by the mirror. Parker luckily had enough trust in me to keep a mirror in my room. I stared at the reflection in the mirror, icy blue eyes piercing through me and penetrating my soul.

Those people at therapy, they don't understand it. They don't understand what it feels like to stare at yourself with such loathing, and to hate yourself more than any life from the Arctic to the end of the universe. They don't understand what it feels like to cry yourself to sleep, every single night, your heart being shredded by the demons of your own mind. They don't understand how worthless I felt, and what a burden I was. The doctors should've let me go. I no longer deserved a life. I was ruined before but now I'm a nuclear disaster, poisoning everyone near me and slowly killing them. Letting out a silent scream, I fell back into the platform bed with a long sigh.

The Celtic meaning of Lee is healer. Irony is so hilarious sometimes I want to punch it right out of the English curriculum. Another website said Lee means that those with that name bring completion to everything they come across.

Then why can I not seem to heal my broken self, or feel completed? Why can't I be good enough, normal enough...
just...

...enough?

I twisted my bracelets down my arm so I could see the battle grounds, the collagen slowly mending my skin. The scars, lightly colored and slightly raised being the only evidence of the silent war that manifested. I skimmed my fingers over them.

My scars.

My downfall.

My lifeline.

I'm no longer who I was. I'm a rag doll, broken and ripped at the seams, slowly leaking the stuffing keeping me alive. I'm weak. I'm a failure. But I'm alive. That must count for something, right?

I stared at the scars harder.

My pain.

My love.

My everything.

I am now the boy who committed suicide, the boy who couldn't handle his emotions.

But had you ever been in my situation, you wouldn't dare call me cowardly from trying to get a express ticket out of life.

Every night I would lie in bed, waiting for peace and sleep to overcome me. But all I heard was the chatter from my devil infested heart. The whispers, that carried into screams.

Worthless.

Burden.

No purpose.

I couldn't take it, the devil scrounging every resource and hitting me where it hurt. My pure heart, my love, it was being absorbed by a monster created by myself. I wanted to live so badly, there was so much to live for. The Beatles Christmas Album that Emily loves, and seeing Parker happy when he's sprinting down a soccer field. There's so much. And yet I felt so little. What's the point of being alive if I'm confined to therapy, food, sleep. Therapy, food, sleep. I'm a walking travesty, my heart tearing out my head, and my head tearing out my heart. 

The fan continued to circle.

I'm like a fan, stuck in a track that I can't seem to pull myself out of.

The thing is, do I want to get better?

That's why my devil infested heart asks at least, but I know that I truly want salvation.

I want to be able to look in the mirror and not see the invisible blade in my hands and noose around my neck.

I want happiness.

I want freedom.

I will be strong than depression.

I will be stronger than anxiety.

I will be stronger than that.

I'm Lee freaking Adams.

And I will learn handle this.

I'm a beautiful disaster, just like Emily, just like Emmet, just like...Parker.

We are all disasters. We are all nuclear reactors. And everyone we love takes those risks to protect us. And now it's my turn to step up and protect them. Protect them from the pain I can cause and the pain I've felt.

I am weak. But I will be stronger. I will grow. I will live. It may hurt more than I can possibly fathom, but it's not impossible.

I will get there.

I will be better.

And that is my promise.

•••

Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed :)

Creds to All Time Low's Therapy for 'I'm a walking travesty'

Creds to Michelle Hodkin-The Evolution of Mara Dyer for 'I'm a beautiful disaster.'