I'm just letting you know, this story is very hard to read, even for me who has written it. It consists of self harm, death, and very harsh topics that someone like myself handles quite poorly. So if you have experienced such things or don't take them well, I recommend that you don't read this until you're ready, or unless you won't ever be. It's completely okay with me.
If you are struggling with any of these issues that I have mentioned, or anything else for that matter, please talk to someone about it if you are hurting. Also, my dms are always open if you ever need to vent. Everything will be okay my loves.
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"I craved a glorious escape that was never there for me. I craved and felt hiraeth for something that never existed. Not even the sharp plane of a razor blade on my skin could offer such to me. How could something ever be good enough for someone who wasn't even that?"
Sharp wall molding jabbed into the skin of my back, its hardened plaster scraping viciously as my body slid down the wall of my home. My backside came into contact with the wooden floors with a thump, and tears spilled freely from my reddened eyes, its shape surrounded by a weary black. For hours, I've been trapped in this cellar, this hell that I called a home. My body was engulfed by the darkness that lingered in the corners menacingly, almost as if the absence of light could take the shape of a freely moving form and hiss at me with a dry, eerie voice, "He's gone, he's gone, he's gone". All that surrounded me felt like a reminder of my dad's passing. The books that lay untouched on the shelf that we used to read at night, its covers slowly gathering dust. The green Winnie The Pooh baby blanket he had given to me when I was just born. The framed photo of us outside fishing, his lips turned up into a grin, holding nothing but pure joy as I held my first fish I've ever caught in my tiny, infant grasp. He loved fishing. He used to take me out to the pond every Sunday, since we were not much of a church family, and thought it would be better to venture out deep into the woods to spot our favorite place. To escape. To get away.
I had not realized that just eight Sundays ago was the last time I would ever spend fishing with my father. It was growing dark at that time, and I urged him to catch a couple more so we could fetch my mother to begin cooking dinner. Something inside of him kept his body planted on the dock, and I groaned at his unmoving figure. Cmon, Dad. It's getting cold. I'm cold. Can we go inside and eat? With his famous fishing hat tipped low above his eyebrows, his fixated eyes not leaving the unmoving waters, he muttered a response. I can feel one coming, Y/N. I know I'll catch it. But why? It's getting late. Mama is probably wondering where we are. Just a few more minutes, sweetie. You can head back home now, I'll catch up. When I retreated back home, I had fully doubted his expectations for catching a catfish. Though, when the garage door slammed and heavy footsteps were heard echoing through the walls, I saw him with a million dollar grin... Holding the very catfish he deemed he could catch.
It all happened so quickly. The visit to his pond. His death. The sorrow. All of the events consumed me and ate at my flesh, leaving me to rot with grief all alone in my room. None of what I did was healthy. I have barely eaten a crumb in over the last two weeks, and I have not seen my mother since she had delivered the news of his passing; or, if she were to silently bring my meals up to my room. I physically couldn't stomach anything, couldn't converse with anyone without having the agonizing feeling of dying right then and there. I never expected for him to leave us so quickly. It made me want to scream until my vocal cords ripped apart, and maniacally destroy everything I came in contact with. But it wasn't his fault. The driver that ran into his car held all responsibility for his passing.
Ding!
A light from my phone casted its dull glow in my bedroom, and my hands let loose their nasty grip on my H/C hair. All of the messages I have received within the past couple of months have been nothing but fake sympathetic sorry's and wishes of good health in the future from random relatives I never knew I had. I had not replied to any of them, for I let them sit there, expectantly awaiting my thankful response. In which no one would ever receive such a thing.
Though, I sat up and pushed myself off the wall I was previously against, and stormed over to my phone that rested on my nightstand. It was nothing but small notes from random numbers, and fiery rage licked up from deep within my stomach, making me want to hurt, hurt, hurt, just like my father had. But my furious swiping of messages halted when I viewed one message in which I had received. It was from my boyfriend of two years, Aidan.
His gut wrenching text had stated, "Hey. I'm coming over to your place. We need to talk". The beating of my heart halted to a painful stop, and my crying was silenced. I had not known what he wanted to converse about, but when he usually sent me requests to talk, he would send an emoji or a smiley face along with it. But now, it was short and blunt. From the get-go, I already knew he was upset.
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My body was placed in the same area that I've been in for weeks: my legs were brought up to my chest while I hid my sullen, exhausted face. The familiar feeling of the textured wall scraped at my back with sharp needle-like bumps, and I could almost see the red lines that were painted on my back in my peripheral vision. Though, the pain was somewhat of a distraction, a numbing treatment to make me lose thoughts of my dad. Being pressed up against the same wall for days almost led me into finding sentimental comfort in the spot. Like it was my new life now: my body curled up in silence in the dark, with no one to talk to. It was almost pleasant. The silence was addictive, and I craved it more and more, until I heard a sharp ring of the doorbell echo through the quiet house.
I slowly brought my head up from resting on my knees, and I weakly got up to view myself in the restroom, not minding if Aidan had to wait a minute or a century. Lights flickered on, and I almost gasped in horror at the sight of my reflection. Liquids gathered at the corners of my lips and under my nose, causing them to dry and become an encrusted state. My eyes were bloodshot while dark circles were painted underneath them. Tears made my cheeks glitter with beautiful sorrow, and they began to spill once again as I viewed the sight of the stranger that stared at me in the mirror. If one could die from crying so much, I would've been long gone by now. Maybe I wanted to be gone.
Water ran through my fingers when I turned on the sink and hastily washed my face with care, and I tugged on my black hoodie once I was finished. A ding rang from my phone, and it was another message from Aidan: "Open up". With a shaky breath, I shoved my way out of my bathroom to storm downstairs. I don't remember the last time I took a shower.
A shadow moved from behind the obscure glass of my front door when I reluctantly approached it, and I then realized that I was terrified. Sure, Aidan was an amazing partner and lover, but when he was vexed, he was intimidating. Not once had he snapped at me, but in my heart, I felt like he was planning to in the future. A shaking hand reached up to the door knob, and a faint click of the door opening ajar led to reveal a brunette leaning up against the outside wall. A small frown was set upon his face, and his dark eyebrows were fixed in a slight scowl.
Cold shivers rushed through my blood in pulses, and I gestured a hand to let him inside, in which he did with no hesitation. Usually when I invited him to my home or vice versa, the rooms were lit with joy and life, and all of our faces were beaming with welcoming happiness. Aidan was a favorite of the family and was well known, and he loved coming over. Which was why he did it so often, because he was part of my family. My heart. But now, neither of us were smiling. The rooms were a dull blue, almost as if it were reflecting our very souls at this moment. Saddened. Grieving. But he was not aware of all that had happened.
His green stare slid to my tired one, and he queried, "Where have you been? I haven't seen or heard from you in two months. I even came over to check up on you multiple times and no one answered." The way he spoke led me to believe that he came up with his own absurd answer, but I tried turning down the aching to happen argument for both of our sakes.
"I haven't felt good," my voice was hoarse with emotion, yet the absence of such. Lately, everything I felt began to be muffled: the fiery nails in my throat began to subside, my crying began to become emotionless, and I just felt nothing. After all, I did once have a fit of throwing things across my room, screaming slurs and pleads such as "Make it stop", or "I don't want to feel anymore". Well, it was evident that my wish was granted.
Aidan took a step forward, "Have you? Because you've been ignoring all of my calls and messages as if I was never here." His arms flailed upwards as he spoke with clear frustration laced in his tone. "I could've come to help you."
"I-I had a virus... I didn't want to get you sick," I attempted a lie, but it did not cross with him.
"Bullshit! I still would've come. I still would've cared!" A red tint began to grow on his face.
And with that, anger began to seep behind my eyes and fly out of my mouth; now I was at the point of yelling. "I just want you to get out of this, Aidan! There's nothing you can do!"
"Oh yeah? Is it another guy?" His hands grabbed onto my shoulders tightly, his fingertips pressing into the scratch marks of my back. His breath fanned over my face when he shouted in it, "Are you cheating on me? Did I do something, Y/N?"
"No!" My voice broke slightly as I sternly pushed his arms away with my fists, making him wince in pain and frustration. It surprised me that he touched me in this situation, and it led me to believe that this was it. We were never going to each other after this.
"Then what the hell did I do? Huh? What did I do? How should I believe you!" He practically screamed at me.
Tears streamed down my face while I weeped, "No, you don't understand- I thought we trusted each other! You know I would never hurt you." With my covered hands, I rubbed at my eyes. It felt like my body was collapsing in on itself like a black hole, my body's endless void dragging people down into my event horizon of pain along with me. It led me to think that all of this from the start was my fault. My fault, my fault, my fault!
He pivoted his body away from mine, and placed a hand over his eyes tiredly. "I don't know what to do. You're keeping something from me, and I know it. I know that you are." I knew it wasn't right to keep this information from him, but something that burned inside of me forced me to bite my tongue and say nothing. The last thing I wanted to happen was for Aidan to be dragged into the same unescapable hole that I was in; I cared too much for him to do such a thing.
Aidan and my Dad were always close, almost as if he were the son he never had. On some starts of the week, us three would go fishing together. While he and Aidan fell into a deep conversation about boats or other manly topics, I would gaze off into the distance, peacefully watching a crane stand perfectly still in its spot, like nothing could make its body move. No noises, no thoughts, nothing. Sometimes, I wished I could be a crane. Especially in this situation.
"I am trying, Aidan. I'm trying for-"
He cut me off sharply, his voice cutting through the air with such tension and terror that made me flinch violently, "Trying for for for for what? You've always kept secrets from me! Please Y/N, tell me what you're hiding!"
And that was when I snapped. It was as if an invisible collar kept me bound in my spot, keeping me silent. But it broke with such fury and anger that no one could ever witness in their lifetime. At the top of my lungs, so loud that it could rattle the stars, I screamed out, "BECAUSE MY DAD IS DEAD! MY DAD IS DEAD AND HE WILL NEVER COME BACK!"
And then it clicked with him. All of the anger dissipated from his face, and was replaced with bewilderment. Something in him altered, almost as if it were a sudden realization, and his voice dropped to a whisper, "What?" Only a singular word could describe all of the emotions that piled up in his mind, waiting to tip over and break him.
"My Dad is fucking dead! Don't you get it?" I vigorously shoved him into the wall, letting my emotions take control of my body, my mind. The pictures that hung high up on the walls rattled, some of them falling to the ground and shattering. A picture frame could even represent my life. One false mishap, and I would fall down, down, down. All the way to the wooden floor that awaited its deadly blow, making my fragile body shatter. My hands balled into hard fists, and I began punching him, making him grunt. "He's dead! He's dead! He's dead!" I cried out with every blow I landed, and he gritted his teeth at the throbbing pain. Aidan unexpectedly did not fight back, instead let me hit him to my confusion. But that didn't stop my anger at all.
Reds and pinks lined his arms and his neck where I hit him, and my movements began to weaken, as did my lividness. What I would have expected for him to was to take me by the shoulders, force me off of him with a gasp, and call someone for help. A deep ache settled in my throat when I realized that I had no right to touch him like that, making me freeze my movements and begin to back away. All that we ever did: our loving touches and caresses that we desired for every time we saw one another, was nothing compared to the pain that he just endured. Because of me.
Tears spilled from my reddened eyes, and I bursted into loud, heavy sobs in the middle of the room, my hands guiding themselves into my hair to tug at it. I may have looked maniacal, I may have looked insane, but I possessed no care in the world for my appearance. Damn the whole world's judgment to hell; someone's father had just passed.
I vigorously flinched at the feeling of gentle arms wrapping around my body to pull me into a hug, but I shook off the feeling to grip onto Aidan's back with one arm tightly, trying to use his body's warmth to numb me in ways that I have not been numbed before. I wanted to forget all that had happened. I wanted to die. I wanted to see my father again, in which I never will.
His hands softly took mine away from its stinging grip on my scalp to rub my reddened knuckles, and he shushed me sweetly when he heard my wails grow louder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I cried repeatedly into the crook of his neck, feeling horrible for hurting him. All of the strength ebbed away from my legs, making me oh so weak and frail. My body lowered down to the floor to rest my weary body, taking Aidan with me to sit beside my collapsed body.
"No. I'm sorry for yelling," he rubbed his fingers up and down my back soothingly, trying to distract me from the fact that he, too, was crying. The tears that also slipped from his eyes landed lightly on my exposed shoulder, and I whimpered as defeat made its presence known deep within the caves of my mind. "I'm so sorry," he whispered with a broken voice.
His apology was different from the rest that I had received over the course of the two months. It didn't sound like the faked this-only-benefits-me apology; he truly meant it. His shaking words that collided with each other to form the sympathetic statement made a pain in my heart dissipate. Someone truly cared about me and my family, my dad. And that was why I loved him so much. That was when I realized how I deeply needed him in my life now, and for years to come. Without him, I would be nothing, for I would be long gone, dead with the pain still seated far into my tired soul.
"I'm s-so tired, Aidan," I weeped with a tremble, admitting to how I truly felt for the first time in a long while. It was evident on my face and in the tone of my voice that I was; what else was there to prove?
"I know, baby. Let me clean you up and get you to bed, okay?" He placed his hands on my wet cheeks to peer into my eyes, finding nothing but broken defeat that lingered in them. I nodded, and he stood up to lift me up onto his hips, bringing me upstairs into my bedroom where I once was.
Minutes passed by, silent moments of him and I in the bathroom together, his body hovering over my legs as he ran a warm washcloth over my face to get rid of the messed up makeup, tears, or even to simply relieve me of the pressure that built behind my eyes and nose. I stared at the wall behind him, finding no purpose as to look at his beautiful face any longer. Every face that filled my vision reminded me of my dad's passing. All I could see and all I would ever see was his face; the face I would never have the possibility to see again.
Water dripped down my forehead and onto the bridge of my reddened nose, and Aidan wiped at it softly, his thumb skimming over the slightly irritated and raw skin due to me scratching at it alone in my room from pure rage and sorrow. Bolts of pain danced up my face and into my sore scalp, and it tingled with pins and needles, aching for me to pull at it again. To hurt myself.
"My scalp stings," I told Aidan hoarsely, somehow trying to find a way for him to protect me from my own being and the dangerous things I ached to do to myself, my pulsing form. I craved a glorious escape that was never there for me. I craved and felt hiraeth for something that never existed. Not even the sharp plane of a razor blade on my skin could offer such to me. How could something ever be good enough for someone who wasn't even that?
He lightly placed his warm palms on my head to halt the throbbing pain that persistently scratched at my roots, and he brushed his soft lips on my forehead. "My angel, it will go away soon. I know it hurts." He let his deep and meaningful words sink into my thoughts.
My hair spilled on top of my hollowed cheekbones while I nodded, and he slid his hands underneath my shaking legs to carry me to my bedroom, setting me down on the messy bed with ease. Consent lingered in his eyes when his fingers latched onto the hem of my hoodie, silently asking if he could change me since he knew I wouldn't. I took his hands off of my piece of clothing to pull it over my head, the chill air of the room whooshing over the bare skin of my exposed chest. I wore nothing underneath. Though, he didn't mind the sight; he had seen me before.
He grabbed my hoodie and pitched it into the dirty basket, and went to my drawers to find a change of clothing. He returned to the place where I sat on the bed, a clean shirt, shorts and underwear in hand. I took that as a sign to take the rest of my outfit off, and I did so, finding the dirty fabric itchy and uncomfortable on my skin.
His gentle hands helped slip each piece of clothing on my body, his fingertips skating easily up my figure along the way. Nothing intimate was intended, nothing heated or pleasurable was commencing when he kneeled down to help me into my clothes, making sure I was comfortable in them. The only thing left to put on my shaking figure was the shirt he chose, and he took it to pull it over my arms, his hands unintentionally skating over the planes of my ridged forearms.
I flinched, and he pulled back immediately to examine what he had touched with remorse. And when the sight of red lines that painted my body in peaked edges met his gaze, he froze. A gleam of tears filled his waterline when his fingertips skirted around them, surprised at what I had allowed myself to do to my body. To inspect my wounds closer, he settled down beside my bed on the chill floor.
"Y/N..." his voice shook and stuttered, the tears now breaking their barriers and making trails down his pale face. He took my two hands in his, and rested his lips on my knuckles in a long kiss, staring up at my red eyes. Nothing but hurt filled his green irises, and I could almost hear his heart shatter. What had happened was never his fault, nor will it ever be. Everything that occurred had no one behind its fault, besides the man holding the steering wheel of that damn car.
He dipped his head to rest his forehead on my cold hands, and he whispered more to himself, "I will fix this. I will make things better for you. I'll make sure of that." And with that promise, I stayed silent, soaking up his words with the parts of me that broke with him.
And for a while, we sat there, staring into each other's eyes as he placed small, meaningful kisses on my knuckles or my hand. I watched him carefully: how his body ticked to shuffle in his spot on the ground or how a shudder racked down his spine from the lack of heat in the space. Then finally, he stood up and let the bed dip as he laid on it, invitingly opening his arms for me to sleep next to him.
I crawled under the bed and writhed to get comfortable in his embrace, allowing a shaky breath to emit from my lips. I tucked my head underneath his chin, and peered down at his arms through puffy eyes, making a rush of cold flow through my veins. The sight of the purple splotches painted on his limbs made something inside of me crumble into dust; this wasn't me. I never acted so irrationally and hurt the love of my life. It led me into thinking that maybe I didn't deserve him. My thoughts raced as I skated my fingers over his purple bruised arms. "I'm so sorry," I breathed, my weeping never halting to a stop. Sometimes, I cried so often that I forgot that I was; I grew accustomed to the feeling of water dripping from my eyes and the pounding headache that constantly urged me to calm down.
A moment passed by, maybe because he was contemplating on what to say next, but a hand came up to rub my shoulder and a pair of lips pressed against my head. "It's okay, baby. It's okay," his soft, dulcet voice filling my senses. I knew it was not fine; it was all but okay. My fists should not have left dark bruises on his body, my fists should not have come into contact with him. Never would I forgive myself for what I have done.
I shuddered and pulled up my blanket to cover us up with its warmth, and I scooted closer into his figure, practically laying atop of him. His arms wrapped around my waist and held me tight, a hand creeping underneath my shirt to rub my back. I had forgotten I had wounds on my back as well, for I hissed at the sharp, stinging pain that began when he grazed his touch over them. His hand quickly retracted from my back, and he immediately apologized for his unknown mistake. Instead, he took my hand to give me tiny pecked kisses on my skin, miraculously making my tears halt in its flow.
Something familiar yet comforting settled behind my eyes, making a blushing tint wipe over the scratches of my cheeks. It was ten minutes of laying in my bed, our bodies unmoving as we held each other with so much love. For a while, my eyes couldn't let their lids close for a well needed rest, and it stayed focused on the benign hand that still held mine on his chest. After all that happened, Aidan still somehow managed to love me...
My heartbeat in a fast-paced rhythm when I looked up at my boyfriend, his green eyes settled on mine as if he was dazily watching me for the whole time. I wasn't aware that he wasn't going to sleep, possibly trying to hold onto his consciousness and look after me as if I was to suddenly exit the room. His loyalty and compassion stood out in our relationship, making all that he did so careful and so planned out that even I couldn't match up to his pure kindness.
"Aidan?" I spoke so quietly, even I could barely pick up on my hoarse words that were whispered so lazily, yet so longingly.
"Yes?" he asked in the same volume as me.
I paused, my words scrambling together on my tongue before I let them go into the air, "Do you still love me?"
His eyebrows knitted together, nonplussed. "Why would I ever stop? You're my girl."
Emotion punched me square in the chest, all of the breath whooshing out of my throat when I stared up at his small smile he gave me, despite all that had happened in the previous hour. The shine in his eyes and the turn of his lips radiated reassurance like the pouring heat of the sun. His pressing palms against the back of my hands and the quick peck he planted on my quivering lips came to prove that maybe I could move on from this. Maybe the shadow of my father's death would linger in the deepest corners of my mind or stick to my skin like gray clouds in the night sky, but I knew that Aidan would be there to cast the darkness out. I knew by the look on his face that his arms would always hold me through the wars of pain and grief, his voice would always soothe me into calmness. Forests of green stared at me through the darkness of his lashes when they fluttered in tiredness, though his hand rubbing mine never slowed. "Go to sleep, Y/N. You need it... I'll be here when you wake up."
Without questioning or without a lingering doubt, I knew he wasn't lying. His promises could be held as easily as one would hold a box of prized jewels, his words gleaming, sharp edges more precious than any gemologist or jeweler would ever hold in its rising numbered price. With his soothing words as soft as flower petals running so gently down my spine, I settled back down on his chest, a hand laid flat on one arm I painted my grief onto. My head was tucked beneath his chin once again, and I felt and heard as the rhythm of his breathing slowed and deepened, gently coaxing mine to do the same. Small trickles of starry nights rained on my skin as the night's wave washed over me with its blue crest. And as I watched that wave break over me and Aidan as the night grew dark, I let the finality of the sleep's drift I had been deprived of for weeks swallow me whole.
❤︎︎❤︎︎❤︎︎
I'm sorry if this upset you.