s t o p

fine

for a partial moment, he actually thought everything was fine. he thought for once in his life it would all be fine. that nothing bad would happen, that everything would finally be good for a change. but he was so wrong. he was always wrong.
tears raced down his slender face. they were warm as they landed on the backs of his hands which were pressed roughly against his knees. he was sitting on the cold floor, his body bunched up as if to get away from the looming darkness around him. he was on his knees with his bottom barely touching the ground. he slowly moved his body to where he was now laying on the floor, curled in a fetal position.
after a while, his tears began to dry up, and his face felt sticky and uncomfortable from where the salty residue was left. he clambered up to his kitchen sink after a moment's hesitation. taking shallow breaths, he turned to the faucet and splashed cool water over his face and neck, scrubbing anxiously, as if he was covered in dirt. it felt like it, though. he felt dirty, disgusting. why would anyone want him? he tried to block out the negative thoughts racing through his mind, but he failed miserably. no matter how much effort he put into it, the thoughts would always catch up to him, and slowly drag him down.

over and over and over again.

he'd feel fine, and he'd feel that way for a long time, even. but the thoughts would always find him. the memories would never leave.

"i'm fine," he'd tell himself. but he never really was. it was a lie rolling off his tongue every day. and it's been like that for as long as his memories would allow him to see.
his face began to droop again as he was thinking too much. he always forgot about that.

stop thinking so much. you can't keep thinking. your thoughts will kill you. stop it, stop.

stop.

he thought to himself. it was the antonym of "go". the opposite of "keep going". so why didn't they know that?
tears escaped his eyes again. he shut them forcefully. this was the hardest part, trying to block out memories. so many memories were tied with the word "stop". just like so many were tied with the word "fine". maybe "i'm fine" has more memories tied to it, but he didn't care. they were both one in the same thing, were they not? they are both lies, that should be reason enough.
he paused and shut off the faucet, not realizing how long he had it on for. he stumbled into his room, careful not to wake other persons in the abode. he was very good at that— not disturbing anyone. he learned how to cry silently or how to walk quietly and those really helped in situations like these.
he heard some shuffling in the another room and hurriedly stepped into his own room and slipped into bed. he rubbed at his reddened eyes before glancing at his bedside clock. he'd be getting up in the next two hours. he let out a shaky sigh. it would be fine.
he tried to sleep on that word, but his thoughts kept him up. he felt as though his body was crawling with germs. it was gross. he wanted to get into his shower and never leave it. his mind was spinning at this rate. his body ached and he didn't want to look at himself. he wished that he could talk about his issues and that people would care or believe him, but he knew he couldn't. they wouldn't care. they wouldn't believe him. and even if they did, he could be caught. he didn't want to be caught. oh, lord (if there is one) never again did he want to be caught. he wished everything could go back to the way it was. he wished he could smile on the outside without wanting to break on the inside. he wished he wasn't so fragile. he wanted to be truly happy again. but most of all, he wished everything would just stop.
there was no hope for him. there never would be. nothing will ever be fine. so why couldn't he just stop? wouldn't it all be so much easier if he stopped?
he let his eyelids close for a moment, not realizing they'd been tearing up. when he opens his eyes again, he looks at his clock again. he has half an hour before he has to wake up for the day. the sun is beginning to rise.
he inhales.
he exhales.
his feet are on the floor before he realizes what he's doing. he thinks to himself.
thirty minutes isn't a long time anyways. maybe i can just get ready now.
he pauses. his mind rambles for a period of time, probably no longer than three minutes.
maybe thirty minutes is a very long time. maybe i should just stop.
he straightens his back and shuts off his alarm that is scheduled to go off in less than twenty minutes. he steps over to his door and peers into the opening. looking into the hallway, he can see another door is wide open. inside, the other is sleeping soundly. he sighs, turning back around and walking into his bathroom.
his mirrors are covered with sheets and his windows with towels. it's dark and cold. but he relaxes once he has shut the door. he is expressionless, and his face resembles what he's feeling inside: empty. he's glad he's doing this. maybe he can finally be happy once it all stops.
tip-toeing over to his bathtub, he begins to fill it with lukewarm water. he paces for a bit until he sees the tub looking full enough for him to slip into. his eyes squint at the soap in the shower, he wants to grab it and pour it in the bath and on himself to rid the nasty feeling. but he reminds himself the feeling will go away. he'll be fine.
turning from the shower, he goes around the room and slowly removes all the towels and sheets from where they were hanging. he cringes at the brightness of the outside and especially at his dirty reflection, but ignores it as he faces the bathtub. he doesn't bother stripping himself of clothes as he dips one foot into the water. the water is cooler than he expects it to be, making him shiver slightly. he eases himself into the water and thinks for a moment. he hears noises from outside that are slowly growing louder and he wants to block them out. a headache is forming.
he pushes himself deeper into the water and finally relaxes once he is submerged in the translucency. it feels calm underwater and he enjoys it. he had not been this happy in quite a while. his lungs are beginning to scream for oxygen, but he doesn't care. he ignores the pain.
he was finally going to be fine.

everything was stopping, and he felt fine.

~

// AN: idk what this is. character goes by "he/his" pronouns. if you want, tell me who you thought of for it. or if you didn't think of anyone, that's chill fam. again, im sorry, this is rlly bad bcus i couldn't use a bunch of other words besides "he" and "his", plus a lot of it you have to figure out for yourself and some of it is just downright cringey honestly. but it was just sitting in my drafts and im a sad boi tonight so i thought "why not post it" and so i did. here you go rats hope you enjoyed. ps,, if i actually do have followers out there who are reading this pls do me a favor and tell me what to write or if i should even write at all idk. im OK at writing ngl but i don't have the confidence to post anything you know? ah anyways im done with this "little" note. bye x
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