(tw: panic attack, mindless self-harm, intrusive thoughts)
Lucas
It was dark outside. And Lucas was tired.
He was on his way home, his bag swinging and hitting the back of his legs with every step, and his arms wrapped around his skateboard, pressed against his chest.
It was dark outside. And the stars were bright.
Lucas wished he was a star. He wouldn't have to worry about anything. Not a mother, not love, not safety or fear. He would just exist. Or maybe he could be a bird, he thought as he caught a flutter of wings in the corner of his eye. It would be nice to be able to just fly away if any problems arose.
Fly away.
Jens's face flashed in Lucas's mind, his dark eyes, his smile. Lucas stopped in the middle of the empty sidewalk, closing his eyes, savoring the image, holding it. He hugged the board closer, taking a sharp, shallow breath. He exhaled with a quiet whimper.
Shit.
Another sharp breath.
Another.
Another.
He forgot he was holding the skateboard, and it clattered the ground, rolling away until it hit the wall. He opened his eyes, the same darkness remaining like they were still closed, until he could see the stars again. His eyes darted to the ground, to the wall next to him, to the street. He made his way to the skateboard, holding his hand out and catching himself on the wall when he stumbled, light-headed and breathless.
He sat on the floor, holding his head, shutting his eyes, trying to control his breathing. Not now. Not now, please, not here. He could almost hear his mom's voice, the way she would whisper to him, the way she would reassure him. In...Out...In...Out...
---
Lucas's arms were wrapped around his legs, his forehead on his knees. His breaths were shaky, and he could see them in the night air. His hands felt chapped, the skin on his face tight in the cold, and he was shivering, but he didn't get up to make it the rest of the way to his house.
Lucas was tired.
He let go of his legs, slowly taking his bag off and placing it on his skateboard, which was still against the wall. He rubbed his hands over his face, taking a deep breath, his throat rough and dry, before reaching out, placing his hands on the wall as he slowly stood. Standing, he pressed his forehead to the wall, barely noticing the coldness of it against his cold skin.
When he was stable enough to stand on his own, he pulled his phone out of a pocket in his bag, leaning down to unzip it. He hadn't checked his phone since calling Ralph at the train station, and he had several missed calls, several unread messages.
A lot of them from Jens.
Are you okay?
Where did you go?
Baby, what's going on?
Lucas
Please
Lucas scrolled through the messages, his heart heavy. He didn't know he was crying until tears dropped onto his screen, and he realized his vision was blurred, the words from Jens blending into a mess of letters.
It's okay. Take your time. I'll wait for you.
Text me when you can, just let me know you're okay.
Lucas felt like his lungs weren't working. He wanted more than anything to call Jens, to tell him he was okay, to listen to Jens whisper into his ear, to hold his hand. But he couldn't even breathe on his own.
And he wasn't okay.
He wasn't okay at all.
His hands gripped his phone hard, his knuckles white, feeling like they were going to split, and he gasped for breath. He felt like he was drowning.
Everything was too much. There was so much inside of him, too much inside of him, so much anger and fear that it bubbled over in the form of tears falling from eyes that darted from the ground to the wall to the streetlights to the stars. He was so angry.
Angry at himself.
Why are you like this?
Why are you so broken?
Defective?
Fucked up?
Calm down.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
There was a tingling in Lucas's forearms, that felt like he had to rip out. He rubbed his hand down his arm, his nails catching the fabric of his sweatshirt, his phone nearly tumbling out of his hand. A whine broke out of his mouth as his shoulders came up, this feeling in them, that wouldn't leave. His hands flew down, the sides of his fists hitting his thighs hard, pain flaring. But he didn't stop, nearly falling to the ground, his eyes squeezed shut. He was in the middle of an alley, his bag and board still against the wall near the empty street.
"Fuck!"
Lucas hurled his phone at the wall, not hearing it slam into it, not hearing the glass shatter, not hearing it hit the ground, the light from the screen disappearing, and dropped to his knees, his head between his hands, sobs racking his body.
He dug his fingers into his hair, pulling as hard as he could, groaning as he cried, gasping, before letting go and wrapping his arms around himself, gripping his shoulders and burying his face in the crooks of his elbows, muffling his voice.
"I'm sorry," he said to no one, dropping forward over his legs, his breaths staggering and violent.
You could die here.
A violent sob was ripped out of Lucas.
"I don't want to," he whimpered.
---
When Lucas could finally breathe, he turned onto his back.
He lay on the pavement, in the middle of the alley, his arms spread out to his sides, staring at the sky.
He wished he could be a star, without worries or thoughts.
Maybe someday.