[Time by Mac Miller and Kali Uchis]
[soft] TRIGGER WARNING: VERY VERY VERY BREIF MENTIONS OF SELF HARM/SUICIDAL THOUGHTS.
ELEVEN: when you're tired of the missed calls.
I couldn't get ahold of him until the morning, I'd spent the night worrying about where he was when my calls wouldn't even go through and I would've been panicked. I would've been so scared if I didn't think to check Isaiah's social media, luckily his was public as well.
I'd shuffled through all twenty posts in his story, not caring about the fact that he'd see that I'd watched it, he'd think I was stalking Paul or something, maybe stalking him but honestly, I was. I just wanted to make sure he was okay. Isaiah had a picture last posted that somewhat calmed me, him in the interior of an apartment I'd recognized, dancing to a song I didn't. When he'd turned, I'd caught a glimpse of Paul in the background, sipping something, that had been posted a few hours before his text.
I told myself not to worry, told myself that worrying would do nothing but hurt me in the long run since I was so far away from him anyways. In the midst of stressing, I'd said a prayer and let exhaustion take me. That was the first time I'd prayed in a year.
When I woke up, it was to my phone ringing, a few messages on the screen and instantly I'd answered. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I didn't think about classes, I didn't think about practice, I didn't care about anything but making sure he was okay so when his soft voice rang through, him talking about something I wasn't even trying to hear, I sighed in relief.
And it felt like I'd released a breath I'd been holding all night.
"Paul?"
He was rushing, stumbling over words and his voice was still quiet and raspy. I'd pictured him still laying in his bed, phone pressed to his ear and an arm thrown over his face in that embarrassed way he always did. "I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to send that at all and I know you probably hate me and I'm sorry, I don't even know what I was thinking-"
"Are you okay?" That was the only thing I cared about, making sure he was fine and saying anything more would stretch this out longer than it needed to be.
For some reason, after relief had settled in, anger had risen and I wasn't sure who I was more mad at, him or myself. I nearly felt my blood boiling at the idea that he really drunk texted me and a part of me still believed it... that he was drunk when he was the last person who should have been and he knew that I knew his history with alcohol. Paul really had the fucking nerve to text me of all people because he was fucked up and couldn't control himself and still I fell for it.
I still fell for it.
"Yes." Maybe anger was better, that had to mean I was getting through something at least. That had to mean I was over him and all these games, at least starting the stages of grief because I had no right to still be grieving. Because he made it clear that he didn't want me and this was just cruel. "Julian, I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have sent it, I just-I was really drunk and-"
"Yeah, you shouldn't have." I felt bad cutting him off, I did, especially when he sounded so upset with himself. He really let himself get wasted. "You were drunk."
Above all, my resentment stemmed from the fact that him drinking felt nearly spiteful. I was finally moving on so he did the one thing that he knew would pull me back, I convinced myself of this although it was illogical, Paul wasn't that person and I knew it. But why the hell would he text me of all people? Why would he do that to me? Have me worried out of my fucking mind and helpless, he knew I was going to fall for it.
His voice was weaker and I found myself feeling sorry for my short responses but I still couldn't shake the thought that nothing in his life could be that bad for him to start drinking again. And I was angry at Isaiah for bringing it around him, angry at Paul for getting a fucking bartender as a roommate knowing that he was that fucking weak, angry at myself for caring this much. "I-I was home. I had a few glasses of wine, I wasn't thinking." You shouldn't have been drinking at all. "I was okay, I promise."
But I couldn't say much, I didn't have that right anymore so I stuck with an, "Okay." If he was gonna let himself do stupid things, I couldn't stop him, I had too much going on in my own life to care this much about someone who wouldn't say they loved me sober.
The numbness was clocking in a bit early and I tried to see it as progress, I was getting over him.
"Thank you for checking in."
It was soft, I tried to make it as gentle as possible but my heart hurt and I felt like crying. He was done with me, and he was dragging it out. "You can't do this to me."
"...Angel."
No. "You can't keep walking in and out of my life. I'm not strong enough for that, Paul."
"I know." He sighed, like I was the one stressing him out. "I'm sorry."
"Are you?" It felt meaningless at this point and I was fed up of letting it slide. "Cause you keep saying you are and you keep doing it."
"Jules."
It was silent, the moment after he gave that tone always was. He sighed, again, this one less heavy and I pictured that condescending look. He was pretty good at that.
"I care about you." More than I care about myself.
"I care about you too."
That felt like a lie. "If you care about me, love me or leave me alone."
: : :
January 2015
"I hate this, Paul." Even after he'd assured me that he was there, I felt alone. Sinking back into his arms, I gripped the fabric of his tee shirt again, curling my fingers around it to prevent myself from digging my nails into my own skin. I was sobbing into his shoulder and he just held me. I loved him so much that it hurt.
Once I get better, he'll love me back, I convinced myself, I had to try. I had to try to fix whatever was going on with me but the little voice in my head was telling me that I wasn't ever going to get over it.
"I know."
"I wanna..." I wanna not be here, I really... really want to die.
"You wanna what, Angel?" My heart would've normally skipped a beat at that, I would've felt warmth spread through my chest but for some reason, his support... his soft words made the ache in my chest feel deeper, not even that could bring me back. I buried myself further into him, whispering out my words and avoiding my teary eyes meeting his.
Maybe things would be okay once I got checked out, I could fix myself and everything would go back to normal.
"Can we go to sleep?"
And brushing his thumb on my chin, he turned it up and I let him. I always melted when he did that, always listened as soon as I could feel him on me and my senses were heightened when he placed a chaste, tingly kiss on my parted lips before not-so-discreetly wiping under big, brown eyes. "Yeah, just for a little bit and then we can talk to your dad."
"Okay." I didn't know what to do but agree, tucking my head back under his chin and hoping he wouldn't continue this conversation. I was tired and I just didn't want to hurt him anymore than I already had.
I didn't want to hurt him so I just settled for a, "thank you."
And he held me tighter, nodding, a kiss placed in my sweaty hair was the last thing I felt before falling asleep.
: : :
Sighing, I put the combination in my locker, pulling it open. It'd been a pretty brutal practice and I was sure that there were turf burns on my skin. Coach had ordered a scrimmage to see who would play in the next game and the guys vying for my spot were ruthless.
Throughout practice, I wasn't even in it, not when all I could rethink was my fucking ex. I could only think about Paul, could only think about what his relapse meant for him and it just wasn't fair.
Ripping off my shirt, I let out a heavy breath, the cool air from the door opening as players left had washed over me. Licking my lips, I tasted salty sweat and I had no more classes that day so showering there wasn't a priority. Thankfully, I hated showering in the lorckerrooms, my shower shoes barely fit and I hated the idea of being naked around the rest of the team.
Danny was built and so were the rest of them, I already had to live with him and I wasn't looking forward to the insecurity that rushed through every time I realized that I didn't look as nice as I wanted to.
Taking a beat, I wiped my shirt over my hair, attempting to rid some of the oil. "Damn, bro, those hurt?" That was Danny, sitting on the bench and untying his cleats, he had sweat pouring down his face and I was just grateful that I wasn't the only one who'd struggled. Stretching out my arms, I felt a sharp sting on my back.
I'd forgotten that my back was marked up, didn't even think about it until he'd mentioned it but now all I could do was regret fucking Ernest again. I was regretting even letting him ask me about Paul, regretting sleeping with him, regretting stressing so much about shit I couldn't fix or change.
"What?"
"Your back." He was laughing then but I could now feel the pain of sweat sinking into scratched skin. I had already felt guilty sleeping with his brother and he'd even left reminders just so I wouldn't be able to let it go. Ernest never really marked me but maybe he'd been really fucking excited the last time, maybe I'd been hitting it right because he'd raked a few lines down my back. "Who you been in and are they tryna scar you?"
"Shut up, Danny." It wasn't that bad, or at least, it didn't feel that bad, I was just angry that this meant I definitely had to shower here or I'd be uncomfortable my entire walk back to my hall.
"I thought only girls did that dumb shit." That was Alvarez weighing in, maybe he thought since I'd spoken to him, I was interested in conversation. They hadn't really said much to me before, I normally stayed out of locker-room talk.
He was pulling his shirt over his curly head, towel around his waist. Alvarez was a skinny kid and I always felt more comfortable changing around him, he wasn't tall and he didn't have much muscle mass.
"You don't like it?"
He shook his head at Danny, water droplet flying and then he was rubbing his towel through his hair, jeans pulled on. "I hate it, I'm a lover not a fighter, bro." Shrugging, he threw that into his own bag. "It's like if I'm not hurting you, why you hurting me?" It was hard to imagine him having sex, let alone straight sex... I couldn't see him being rough either, at least not enough for anyone to scratch him up.
Our goalie, Dixon, laughed, his eyes flitting over the small kid, dark skin stretched over his prominent pectorals and I turned my head to the side as to not make eye contact.
"I bet you stay in Missionary too, huh, Alvarez?" That was Danny then, Alvarez rolling his eyes at that comment and Dixon turned to bump his fist into my roommate's.
"Nigga probably cries jackin' off." That was Dixon again, throwing his shirt on over a clean torso and I bit my lip looking away. He was packing his bag then and I still hadn't moved from my spot, shirt balled in my hands. Realizing this, I tossed it in my athletic bag, trying to seem less stunted by his physique.
His skin tasted as good as it looked and all I could see when I looked at him was a kissing on him in some bunk bed at a frat house. He was one of the many players I'd had a drunken fumble with at a party the quarter before and I had no real intention on letting anyone else in this room know.
"Shut up, Dixon."
I could feel his deep brown eyes on me then, fanned by thick lashes and I tried not to get hard at the way he said my name. "I thought Julian was the gay one." I could feel that it had another meaning and when I'd looked over, he was looking me in my eyes, biting his thick bottom lip and all I could think about was kissing them again.
It was fast when we fucked, of course, it was a quickie at the end of the night when I couldn't find Danny in time to leave. I busied myself making out with him after we'd locked eyes one too many times over the kitchen counter. That was really the first time I realized that everyone in college was a bit fucking gay.
Sitting down, I went to unlace my cleats and Danny had bumped my shoulder with his from behind. He was standing then and the rest of the locker room had dissipated pretty quickly, it was just me and my fully-clothed roommate then, the strap of his bag slung over his shoulder
"You know he's just fuckin' with you, right?"
I didn't try mentioning that I wasn't exactly gay and I knew that any homophobia Dixon had worn on his sleeve was counteracted by how eager he was to get fucked that night.
Danny was eased at my nod, finishing up and I didn't understand why he was lingering until he'd asked. "So, who's the lucky guy?" And he was prying then when I really wished he wouldn't. "Was it Sullivan?"
"No."
He must've understood that I didn't have any intention on telling him yet but I knew that this conversation would be furthered later. I was pulling on my shower shoes then, occupied with thinking over the homework I'd have to do later, standing up once that was settled, I'd noticed Danny's presence was still there.
"Aight," and I'd looked over at the tall broad shouldered man leaning back on the door. When we'd met eyes, he raised a brow with his lips downturned and I tried not to reply like an asshole at his, "You comin'?" I was obviously nowhere near dressed to leave.
Shaking my head, I grabbed my towel motioning towards the shower and he scrunched his nose up nodding and exiting after that, leaving me to shower alone just like I preferred. Danny was dumb as fuck but it was kind of endearing.
: : :
My phone buzzing on my dresser, as I was knee deep in Calculus, had distracted me later that day. From Paul's call to class and then practice and then homework, I had been way too busy to even think about Sullivan so when his name had flashed across my screen, I had hesitated.
I wasn't expecting anything, didn't really think he was into me after two days of no response and I was kind of content with that. Maybe, I needed a break from everything romantic, I was convincing myself as I watched my phone ring, maybe that morning was a sign. Watching 1 missed call from Sullivan pop up on my phone made my palms itch and I was dialing his number back before I could talk myself out of it again.
I had months of a break, I didn't need to keep dwelling on Paul, I was strong enough to hold him accountable, I was strong enough to move on. Maybe it was the fact that I hid my sadness for him with anger so well I was convinced I hated him. I hated everything about him, the fact that he really felt like he had the right to pull me back in when I was finally letting go.
As if he knew I was letting go, as if he could sense that I was finally getting over him, he decided to call me. He decided that his drunken mistakes were more important than my happiness and he didn't want me to be happy. I didn't deserve to be happy either, not with all the shit I'd done to make him think that way about me. Maybe telling myself that he hated me was enough.
He hated me, he hated me so much that he kept me hooked on him, especially knowing I needed to move on. Especially after he himself told me that I needed to, he was angry I'd given my ring back. I tried to tell myself that Paul was spiteful.
Or, at least, that was my logic, in all honesty... I didn't really know why I wanted to talk to Sullivan. All I knew was when he'd picked up, his deep voice sounding through my speaker made my breath catch in my throat.
"Hello?" Tightening my hand on my pen, I tried not to sound too eager. I wanna move on.
"Hey, Sullivan?"
"Yes," he'd paused then, a confused laugh coming through and I gulped at that. He was continuing then, "sorry, who is this?"
Of course he doesn't know who the hell you are. "Oh, uh, Julian." Realizing that he probably hadn't remembered who I was, I tried to remind him, hoping that he wouldn't hang up in my face. "You gave me your number."
Waiting around and being desperate isn't the way to do it.
Sullivan laughed then and it was more full, more like the little chuckles he'd given at the bar and I felt less on edge. "I remember you, you just sound different over the phone."
I wanted to mention that everyone kinda did, that he did as well and it made me nervous.
Before I could say anything, he thankfully filled in the empty space. "Sorry for not responding yesterday, I was busy and then I got an early call time this morning and-"
"It's okay, you don't owe me anything." I repeated his earlier words, cutting him off and I tried to feel more comfortable, I did. Just be yourself, I tried to remind. He offered his number, he told me to call.
Sullivan sounded a little off guard. "Alright." He didn't give me enough time to regret anything, that was one thing I was starting to like about him. I didn't have time to overthink anything because he didn't leave enough space in our conversations. Paul wasn't like that, Paul and I's phone calls always had a lot of comfortable silence... which, I guess now was uncomfortable silence.
Trying not to think of him, I shook my head again, grateful Sullivan couldn't see me. I was moving on, I have too much going on in my own life to care this much about someone who won't say they love me sober. "What are you up to?"
"Uh, nothing really." I was biting my nail then, I could do my homework later, I needed to get out of this room and Sullivan seemed interested. Pushing any fears to the back of my head, I bit my tongue. "My class got cancelled so I don't really have anything to do." Maybe this would be good for me, not being alone with my thoughts seemed like it would do me good. I didn't feel like shit, that already seemed too good to be true after the morning I had.
Don't seem too desperate. Sullivan's into you.
He sounded like he had something going on at the moment, I heard crinkling and then his voice muffled. "Well, I'm on a late lunch right now but I get out at five," I took a second, hoping he'd offer so I didn't accidentally invite myself somewhere I wasn't wanted. Luckily, he let out a soft laugh after a pause that felt a bit too long, "do wanna do something?"
Trying not to overthink, I agreed, not giving my anxiety time to think it out a million times. I tried to seem unbothered but truthfully, my heart was pounding in my chest.
"Sure."
: : :
Later that night, I awoke to an empty bed. That same feeling of Paul leaving sinking into my skin. Pushing that feeling away, I laid there for a little longer, reluctantly pulling myself out of my sheets. My body was warm but I still shivered as I slid my feet off my bed, pushing myself up and padding across my room to replace my sweaty shirt.
I wasn't sure when I started sweating in my sleep but I knew it was sticking to my skin and it made me uncomfortable. Tugging my shirt off, I opened my dresser drawer, not allowing myself to look up into the mirror, hating what I'd see. Quickly, I threw on one of the biggest shirts I had of Paul, it fell down to the middle of his thighs and it thankfully, fit way too baggy on me as well. My sweatpants hid how much weight I was gaining as well.
Looking up, I met my reflection then, my puffy eyes bloodshot and deep bags underneath. My nose was cherry red, freckles splayed across my entire face like some fucked up mosaic and my lips were bitten raw from holding in my panic attack the night before.
I sighed, raking a hand through my hair, trying to make myself look less dead before putting a small amount of chapstick on.
I'm not breaking up with you, Jules.
Picking at the paint on the sleeve, I slid on my slides, stepping out into the hardwood floors of my hallway. The smell of something cooking floating past my nose, I stepped down the stairs carefully as to not notify anyone of my presence, my dad was sitting on the living room couch, his posture slouched.
There was a bowl sitting on the coffee table, food in it although it looked untouched, and I wondered when he stopped eating at the dining room table, if family dinner was another thing that my mother had taken with her. I mean, we weren't much of a family now anyways.
He was raking hands through his hair, rubbing down on his face with his eyes screwed shut. When he'd opened them, he'd looked up to see me still standing stationary and stiff on the staircase.
"Julian." His voice was rough, eyes bloodshot and he hadn't had a chance to hide it.
I told your dad about your panic attacks.
Clearing his throat, he wiped his eyes before closing the documents he was looking over and standing as if I wasn't his kid. He was hiding whatever remnants of his sadness that was left, ready to be there for me and I always took that for granted. "You-you're awake, hi."
Sending him a small smile, I tried to at least seem better than I'd been but I knew that he could tell, I knew he knew everything now.
Stepping down, I inched closer, not knowing what else to do and he ran sweaty hands over the dark fabric of his work pants. "uh- Paul had a shift and he didn't wanna wake you."
I tried not to feel spiteful at that, he said we'd do it together.
Maybe I was right and I was just too much for him now, I was a fucking mess and he couldn't handle it anymore. He couldn't do it anymore and I didn't blame him.
"We," my dad started then, his eyes not meeting mine and I wondered how long he'd pretend to care about me, how long it would be until he gave up too. "We have an appointment. I -um- I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Lueeth for Monday."
Nodding, I clenched my jaw, no intention on speaking.
"You'll have to miss your first period but I've already- I've already called your coach."
I nodded again, stepping past my dad to head for the kitchen. He still didn't look at me and I could take a hint. I'd disappointed him, I'd ruined two relationships in two days and I probably needed medication because I was such a fucking fuck up.
Balling my hands into fists, I tried to pierce my palm with my nails. I'd been growing them out a little, hoping that just that small pinch of relief would stop me from doing something dangerous. Gulping, I tensed at my dad's voice, trying to push back the tears that had started to form.
"You're gonna be okay, J."
A/N:
I never really know when and when not to put a trigger warning so I feel like I misplace them sometimes and scare you guys a lil, don't be afraid to tell me when I need one or don't need one, that'll be greatly appreciated!
so i've noticed a bit of confusion... if it helps or puts anything into perspective:
open was about julian coming to terms with his sexuality and it planted the seeds for his mental health issues. in open, we were told the story through julian's eyes (remember that he was medicated for most of it and recovering so he was of sound mind completely).
in open, we realized how unbalanced his relationship with paul was and that had a lot to do with paul's fear of opening up.
that's a common theme of alone, a fear of opening up through their relationship ending and them dealing with the aftermath of that while their own problems are pushed to the forefront. they've never dealt with letting people know that they need help and while julian tells the story of the breakup, he's in a major depressive episode while trying to move on, so it gets chaotic.
meanwhile we get tiny glimpses of the situation from paul's eyes (his brief point of view) and the flashbacks are there to help the readers understand so yes, he's thinking about this stuff but at the same time it's more of a tool. if it helps: this story is written in julian's point of view but it's meant to be read as an outsider. remember that we're in julian's head.
i wanted this story to delve deeper into his mental health as he's off his medication a lot of the time, he's self medicating, and experimenting with coping in various ways.
if there's any more questions, i will be happy to answer here:
last update for a very active pride month, babes. I'm so baby when I write this story, I don't think I'll be able to let these characters go when it gets to the end. Ugh, enjoy.
Updated: Wed. June 26th.
If you could talk to one character (from either open or alone), who would it be, what would you ask? Any advice would you give?