Wait For Me to Come Home (Noah Schnapp x Gay Male OC Story)

Part One

adrian_cooper: ngl, i'm kinda annoyed you didn't tell me that you were going on tour. I've supported you for as long as we've known each other and i feel like you're ignoring me nowadays.

For Gods sake. Of course I know what he's doing. He wants to know everything so he can go tell his real friends that he knows someone whose actually 'interesting' from our hometown. Well, now he's starting to go through what I had to go through for practically the last few years of my life.

robbie.mp3: dude you don't message me at all, and when I try talking to you you don't pay attention? You've been ignoring me for ages, so can you see why maybe you weren't my first choice to tell about this??

I see the read receipt come in immediately, but the typing bubble takes a while to appear. He's actually putting thought into a message he's sending me for once. Okay, maybe I'm being a bit of a dick but come on. He's finally getting to understand how I've felt about our friendship for years.

I'm going to bite the bullet here, I don't care. That numb sensation from my head is flowing across my body as I start typing out another message as he continues to type.

robbie.mp3: do you even care about me? i've been trying to keep our friendship going cause I refused to believe that you really didn't care, but it's obvious now. you weren't here for me when I needed you, and I would've done literally anything if you needed me. I'm tired of trying.

My breath catches in my throat. There's no going back now. Those three dots appear, disappear and appear again, mocking me and my anxiety. Finally, a reply comes through.

adrian_cooper: see this is typical from you. you're only thinking about yourself, even when people are going through the exact same shit. It's boring and you're always talking about yourself and your problems, being a tranny isn't ur entire personality.

Is he being serious?! Why can't transphobes come up with original insults for once? And of course he's turning it round to me again, trying to cover up his problems by pinning them on me. Like he did one time in Year Eight, and has continued to do ever since. I'm unaware of the tears forming in my eyes until I blink and one drops onto my cheek. Another buzz from my phone.

adrian_cooper: you know what? Fuck you Robbie. I thought we were close but clearly this isn't the case. You did this to yourself. This is your fault.

I feel a pang in my chest as my breathing quickens. I tell myself to ignore what he's saying, but that dark part of my head is already agreeing with Adrian, telling me I've always been the problem.

I can't focus on the screen as I type out my response, my hands shaking and breathing much more quicker than it's ever been when I've felt like this.

robbie.mp3: I'm sorry.

adrian_cooper: you should be

You have blocked adrian_cooper. Delete chat?

I can't take this anymore. I'm so far away from home, from my family, and I haven't felt this bad in so long. There's something rising up inside of me as I roll over onto my side, crying heavily in between ragged gasps for air. I know the feeling which is coming up. The desire to feel something other than the crippling sadness, isolation and numbness overwhelming my head. I've been clean for nearly eight months, and I know the implications if I start again.

I try to think. But I can't think or focus with the whirlwind inside my head. I slip out of bed, wiping a hand across my face and running nose. I flick on the small, cheap bedside lamp and reach for my rucksack on the floor near my bed. I know what's inside the small pocket I'm reaching for in the back of the rucksack. Shaving equipment. Disposable razors.