Old Habits Die Hard

It's Literal Hell

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Two years. He'd been clean for two years.

But he fucked up. Oh, God, he fucked up so badly. His mom was going to be so disappointed in-

But she'd never know. No, no, she'd never know. No one would. So... it didn't even matter. It didn't matter at all.

He deserved it. Every. Single. One. He deserved it because he is selfish, and weak, and pathetic, and so goddamn annoying. He's useless, and worthless, and stupid, and such a fucking burden. Lance remembered all of his feelings from years ago. They weren't good. None of them. And they were back.

It's funny, no, hysterical how quickly Lance returned to the state that he had been in two years ago.

But if it was so fucking funny... then why couldn't Lance laugh? Why could he only find tears on his cheeks and blood on his wrist?

Suddenly, there was a knock on his door, and he was snapped out of his thoughts. Oh, fuck. He had to clean up before they-

"Lance?" It was Hunk. He sounded nervous. "Uh... can I come in?"

Lance placed his Bayard, which was now back in it's original form, on his bed and quickly pulled his jacket sleeve down. The contact of the fabric burned, and he flinched. With one final wipe at his eyes with his sleeve, Lance got up and opened the door.

"Hey, Hunk!" He said with a forced smile. "What's up?" Lance was trying desperately to stop his hands from shaking, but to no avail. He resorted to stuffing his hands in his pockets and hoping that Hunk didn't notice.

Of course, though, Hunk did notice.

"I was just coming to see if you were alright." Hunk said. He was obviously trying not to stare at Lance's red eyes and shaking hands. "Is something wrong?"

Lance had done something very bad, and now he had to hide it.

"What? No," Lance responded with enthusiasm. "Nothing's wrong." He smiled, or tried to. "I'm fine."

Hunk placed his hand on Lance's shoulder. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Lance looked down slightly. He couldn't. He shouldn't. He won't. "Yeah, buddy. I know."

Lance's performance definitely wasn't convincing, but it was at least good enough to get Hunk to go away. So he sat. Alone. In the dark.

The next week was also eventful. It was full of intense training, which Lance obviously failed, and they even had to save a planet from the Galra. It was some sort of quintessence (or spirit?) planet that would allow its inhabitants to communicate through it. They had to obliterate the Galra very gently as to not destroy the planet completely in the process. Eventually, there was a giant monster that they had to beat, and that did not go well.

Apparently, they were supposed to somehow defeat it without damaging the planet, but it's kind of hard to fight something if you can't trust the ground that you're standing on. However, they managed to subdue it for long enough to heal the planet which then enveloped the monster in a giant crystal? Honestly... he couldn't make this shit up if he tried.

Praise and thanks were passed around after the battle. All of the words directed towards Lance were obviously superficial, though. He could have done more, talked less, reacted faster. He didn't deserve their praise. He didn't deserve their thanks. However, Lance smiled and shook so many aliens' hands like the rest of his team. Like he was supposed to. They seemed so genuinely happy that it almost hurt. God, he knew that he didn't deserve happiness, but did the universe really have to rub all of this in his face every fucking day? He knew he was weak, but now the battles proved it. He knew he was pathetic, but now his rapidly advancing friends proved it. He knew he was useless, but now his true worthlessness was shown when compared to his friends. Hell, he calls them friends, but surely even they only pity him. Why else would they keep him around?