Lams Oneshots^^

An Attempt

A/N: CONTENT WARNING :
This chapter has THEMES of SUICIDE and DEPRESSION. If you are sensitive to either of these topics, please consider skipping over this chapter.
Otherwise, enjoy!

John's pov -

I wake up suddenly, finding myself upright, staring into the darkness. The covers have fallen off of me, which is fine bc my entire body is drenched in a cold sweat. My intuition tells me something isn't right, I'm almost sick to my stomach. I can tell Alex isn't next to me before I even turn around to see the tousled bed sheets; I could feel the lack of his presence. My stomach flips as I remember the events of the evening.

"John.. I'm going to sleep.." Alex stands from his place next to me and ambles towards the bedroom.

"But Alex, it's only nine. Are you okay?" He stops and stares ahead of him for a moment before turning around slightly to face me. He smiles, but I know it's fake. Why does he even bother pretending with me? Doesn't he know I see right through him? And doesn't he know he can talk to me about anything and everything?

His eyes are sad and tired, "I'm fine. Just sleepy. Long day, you know?" I take note of the way he speaks, his words chopped up and disconnected. He isn't fine. I stand up to follow him when he turns his back again.

"Alex," I turn off the tv, "I'll come too then." He hunches his shoulders and slows to a shuffle.

"No, you can come to bed whenever you'd like, don't worry about me." I don't listen to him, flipping the light switch down and skipping to his side. I reach down for his hand, but he quickly pulls his arms up around him, his nails digging into his bare skin.

I draw my hand back uncertainly, "Lexy?" He looks away and there's that rueful smile again.

"You should finish the show," he mumbles, "It's your favorite, love." His voice sounds strained and he bites his lip.

"Lex, no, I-"

"Stop," he cuts me off, his voice sudden and harsh, tinged with rich emotion. I swallow hard, trying not to let it hit me. He's upset, he doesn't mean anything he says. "I don't want you to come with me."

"You.. don't want me-?" He jumps in again.

"No," he replies curtly. He speeds up, and I stand dumbfounded and unmoving, left to watch as he slams our bedroom door and clicks the lock into place.

I had no choice but to leave him alone since he locked me out; when I checked in around one in the morning it was unlocked so I came to bed. He was sound asleep when I layed down, despite the tear stains accenting his face. It's three now, only a couple hours later. Where would he have gone?

As I jump out of bed something seems to stab at my heart, making it pound and forcing my breaths to speed up. No, don't panic. I heave a nervous sigh. Something is wrong, I know it is. I throw open the bathroom door; nothing. Not even a razor sitting out, no blood, no pills. Okay, good. I throw open my bedroom door and I'm shocked to see a light from the kitchen. Maybe he's there! I'm excited for all of a half a second before doubt creeps in; it's candlelight, why would he be in there with a candle? The electricity is working just fine. My question is answered when I peek around the doorway; he isn't in there. But indeed there is a candle, a tall wick sitting in a glass holder, the small flame glowing brightly. On the counter next to it is a small slip of paper and a pen, even from here I can make out Alex's sloppy handwriting. He only writes messily when he's in a hurry or upset. Oh, God no..

I run over and snatch the paper off the counter, holding it up to read it by the fire's light.

I'm going somewhere where you won't have to deal with taking care of me anymore. I'm sorry for all of these years, you aren't my dad and you aren't my therapist. Thank you for everything though.