Little White Lies | Klaus Mikaelson (1)

What Did You Do?

**Bitch this entire chapter is a trigger warning not gonna lie.** Also play thee song.

I walked aimlessly. My mind was quiet, for once. Quiet because I'd finally made up my decision. The cycle was over. I fell too fast, and I crashed too hard. This was it. The air in my lungs was the last I'd ever breathe. The villain had won. All the superheroes were dead. A bloody and hard-fought battle reaches its dramatic closing. A stormy sea, waves tossing and turning, now nothing but a tranquil stream. The dust had settled, and now the picture was clear.

I stopped outside my home. The air was foggy and cold. The house was still shabby, with overgrown grass and choppy paint. I made my way towards the door, breathing deeply as I opened the door.

My father immediately came up to me upon my coming into the house. His beer belly stuck out of his clothing, giving him the impression of a slob. "It's late." He said. His breath wreaked of alcohol.

"I'm going to bed," I responded. I walked past him without a second thought, something that I usually didn't do. Perhaps I was no longer afraid. Or maybe I just didn't care. But his footsteps receded, and I knew I was free. That was the last time I'd ever see that drunk.

I made my way to my room slowly, tracing the walls with my fingernail. It collected dirt as I made my way further up the stairs. My body was tired, fatigued. Each step felt like an eternity. Each breath felt like a millennium. But the rawness of pain seemed to be the only thing giving me the strength to place my foot atop the carpeted steps.

I walked into my room and opened my closet. I picked up a solid grey t-shirt and threw aside my sweater. I pulled it over my body slowly, taking deep, sure breaths. I took off my pants slowly, leaving them on the ground. A ripped pair of leggings replaced them. I glanced around my room slowly and took a deep breath. I made my way to my desk and carefully placed every pen, every notebook, every piece of paper into its proper place. Next, I made my way to my bed. I slowly pulled the comforter over the side, straightening it to perfection. I got rid of all the crinkles and ruffles that remained. I fixed the pillows and made each side of the comforter equal. And, finally, I folded my pants and sweater and placed them on my bed neatly.

Everything had to be clean. In reality, if you slit my throat, with my one last gasping breath, I'd apologize for staining your shirt.

I walked to the bathroom, looking inside my room one last time. My heart was heavy and my head was dizzy, but part of me knew things would never get better. And then I closed the door. I slowly walked towards the bathtub. I turned on the tap, running my hands under it, looking for the perfect temperature. The perfect temperature.

I slowly stood up, placing one foot in the icy cold water. Then my other foot. My knees were too weak to stand, so I found myself slipping into the water. I turned my body to face the faucet, watching as the water slowly filled up the bathtub. My mind hummed with the ending of a tune I'd been singing for the last 17 years.

No more nights filled with the kind of crying where you need to muffle yourself. Where you need to clench your eyes shut and grip your stomach in order not to cry out. Where you're crying so hard your head hurts and your body aches. Your shoulders bobbing up and down as sobs wrack your body.

Because no razor could ruin me the way my mind did.

When the bathtub was full, I took a deep breath, shutting off the faucet. I glanced around at my surroundings for a few moments. The bathroom was bland and bleak, an ironic last thing I'd ever see. I gripped either side fo the bathtub as I took one, deep breath. Cold, fresh air filled my lungs. I relished in the lividity of it, before I eventually pulled my body underwater.

The instinct not to breathe underwater is so strong that it overcomes the agony of running out of air. No matter how desperate I became, I didn't inhale until I was on the verge of losing consciousness. At that point, there's so much carbon dioxide in the blood, and so little oxygen, that chemical sensors in the brain trigger an involuntary breath whether I'm underwater or not. That is called the 'breakpoint.' Laboratory experiments have shown the breakpoint to come after 87 seconds. It's sort of a neurological optimism as if the body were saying, Holding our breath is killing us, and breathing in might not kill us, so we might as well breathe in. And I did. And it hurt. I wanted to pull my body out of the water to get away from the pain.

But I didn't.

OML IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO DARK IDK WHAT TO DO IM LIKE SO SORRY. OML IM SO SORRY ILL GO STUFF A WHOLE BAG OF JELLY BEANS UP MY ASS. But like seriously, life is beautiful, don't do it. I love you, people love you. Even though it might feel that way, they still love you. Think about your future. Life is beautiful don't end it. If you need help, call the crisis hotline. We love you, and we dont want you to be gone.