//TW: swearing, trauma, self-hatred, self-destruction, suicidal thoughts\\

Alexander

The gray ceiling stared back at me, empty, obsolete. I had stared at it for hours now, unable to chase down sleep, unable to escape the millions of nightmarish thoughts murmuring in the back of my mind. I had stared at the ceiling above me for so long I had every crack and hole memorized, and yet, I could not tear my eyes away. The uniform blanket of that unforgiving monochrome was the only thing keeping me from letting go, from tripping over an edge I thought I had long put behind me.

I had stared at the ceiling for so long, expecting it to change through pure force of will alone. But it didn't. It remained the same ceiling I had kissed Thomas under, the same ceiling that witnessed our most intimate moments, that heard our most private secrets.

And now, all of that was gone.

It's funny. After close to ten hours, one would have thought I'd be fresh out of tears. But my mind wanders, and whatever I try to distract myself with somehow morphs right back into Thomas and his sad, knowing smile as he walked away, becoming just another shadow in a world full of them. And fresh tears return to my eyes like nameless, faceless soldiers come to replenish their fallen brethren.

And I found myself crying once more, the only sense of comfort being the scent of Thomas's perfume washing over my senses every now and again. And even that was already starting to fade.

That image, of Thomas turning and walking away from me for what could very well be the last time, would forever become the thing I saw just before I fell asleep, the nightmare that haunted me every moment I was awake. Yet another mark of my failure.

Anything that happened after that was a blur. It was almost like my mind had left my body. I was just there, experiencing everything that happened and not being able to do anything myself.

The only thing that stood out to me was Thomas's smile. His soft, sad, goddammed smile. His knowing yet afraid-of-the-unknown smile. His reassuring, yet somehow unnerved smile. That stupid smile he held on his face as he turned around and walked away, like a lamb following a butcher to the slaughter.

And I couldn't help the questions screaming in my head, each asserting their dominance and assuring that I would never be able to think straight again.

How could he do that? How could he just so willingly give himself up, just because there was a slight chance that James Madison would hurt us if he didn't? How could he give everything up, just so it would all be okay? Better question: how could he think it would all be okay?

I gazed up at the ceiling and I weeped, for that's all I could do anymore. That and mourn for the world I hadn't cherished enough, a world I would never see again. My phone was going off steadily, an empty chorus devoid of the meaning Thomas brought to my life, and thus, I ignored it. I ignored the constant pings! of the only people I had left checking to make sure I was alright. Why did it matter anymore? They'd leave me to, in the end.

Everybody always fucking leaves.

So I guess the only person I have to blame is me.

My eyes flickered to the plants spread through the room, covering the gray walls with their own brilliant greens and vibrant hues. A spark of life, a touch of color, a reminder of Thomas. They had flourished under his care, just as he had thrived under their steady watch. He had depended on them just as much as they on him, needing them to breathe. Perhaps it was my imagination. Perhaps I made the entire thing up in my desperation to assign a meaning to something that made no sense whatsoever.

But it seemed as though the flowers were already wilting, the vines already drooping, the plants already dying.

My world already starting to lose its significance.

Because what good is there now that the only person that kept me here, the only thing I has to look forward to each day, the only boy that ever mattered to me the way he had, was gone?

There were too many empty spots. Empty spots that cannot be filled.

Did he honestly think that we didn't want him? Did he honestly think that we would rather he give up his happiness so we could be safe? Did he honestly believe that James would leave us alone if he went with him? And did he honestly think he meant nothing to us?

Or maybe we just mean nothing to him.

The thought emerged from a place I would not like to return to ever again, a place I had seen before a million years ago. And the second it's last syllable tolled through the air, I erased it from my mind, killed the seed before it could grow. Because even if it was true, it would do no good to let myself suffer in the presence of such awful thoughts.

But the truth of the matter is that Thomas left. He left for what? A chance that James might leave us alone? A chance that I might find a happiness outside of the only thing that's made me happy in years?

And some people accuse me of not completely thinking things through.

I flipped onto my side, staring out the window as the sun slowly climbed up the sky. The sunrise was dull. Its colors did not matter. And it poisoned something inside of me, watching it without having my boy to wrap my arms around and kiss softly, just as I had so many times before, that one, pure moment of bliss and relief before the storm inevitably came crashing down day after day.

So I flipped back on the other side, rejecting whatever vibrancy it had tried to offer.

Nothing mattered anymore.

I hugged my body, curled up, and let myself cry once more. Cry despite knowing that it did no good. Cry despite knowing that I had already lost everything.

So what the fuck was I doing here anymore? Why the fuck am I still here when obviously, I'm just taking up too much goddamned space? I obviously wasn't fucking good enough for Thomas so what did it matter if I disappeared from this world without ever seeing him again?

Without hugging him one last time?

Without reminding him how much he meant to me?

Without kissing him softly, happy he wanted me the same way I wanted him?

Without promising him the world even as I knew it was not something I could ever truly give him, but only that I would try and try and never give up until he was he happiest person on this entire planet?

So why not just give up already?

But I thought of Thomas, thought of holding his body close to mine as we watched the sun peak over the horizon together, and the thoughts disappeared under the heated sunlight.

As long as he was still here, still living not even a city away, then what right did I have to give up fighting so soon?

I would stay for him. Even if he didn't want me to, even if he shunned me, I would stay and I would fight for the boy I'd give up anything for.

I reached for my phone, ignoring the thousands of messages prompted by the people who cared about me more than I realized.

I scrolled through my contacts, selected the one I was looking for, and typed out something that didn't quite seem adequate but it was all I had to go off of. I poured myself into the four messages, letting them murmur the words I could never say myself, letting them express the truest, deepest part of me I would show for nobody else.

I waited for a minute, and he never responded.

Sighing, I tossed the phone on the desk and let my eyes wonder back to the ceiling.

If I disappeared, would he even know? Would he even care?

Go fuck yourself Alexander. You know you're not being fair.

I just want him back.

It hasn't even been twelve hours and I feel as though I've already forgotten the warm brush of starlight against my bare skin. The gentle humming of a beautiful, ethereal song lulling me to a sleep free from the suffering of the waking world.

And why did I let go of him?

I had his hand in mine, I had his body pulled so close against me to the point where I had been so aware of the unsteadiness of his pulse. I had felt every same inkling of fear, of doubt, of self-hatred that he had. For the briefest of moments, under the harsh glare of the street-lights that were somehow still not strong enough to drive back the shadows, I had been so close to Thomas.

I could have kept him at my side. I could have held onto his hand and shielded him from the storm raining down all around us. I could have held him tighter, promising to never let go, promising that no matter what happened, he would always be mine and I would always be his and the world may try to come between us but it could never truly succeed because we were one.

But instead, I hesitated, I faltered. And in that brief moment of self-doubt, I lost everything.

Why didn't I try harder to make him listen to reason?

Why did I let him follow that monster?

Why didn't I tell him I loved him?

The thought rose from nowhere, echoing through the barren landscape that had become my mind with the absence of my love pressed against my body. It repeated itself over and over, its harsh syllables mocking me.

If I had told him I loved him, he would be with me right now. If I had told him how I truly felt, how vulnerable and weak and stupid he made me, I would once more feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, or perhaps the lazy, sweet humming of a song plucked straight from a dream.

But I hadn't. I wasn't strong enough.

What is wrong with me? If I had told him I loved him, would he be next to me right now? This is my fault, isn't it? I should've tried harder, I shouldn't have let go of him so easily, I should have let him know how much he meant to me, but I didn't. I failed Thomas, I failed myself, I failed everyone.

I failed.

It's all my fault.

I could've done something.

Instead, I stood there like an idiot and let Thomas walk out of my life.

And so there I lay on the bed that we used to share, all sprawled out, staring up at the ceiling through the entire night, contemplating every last thing I had done wrong, every last thing I had ruined simply because I wasn't as strong as I should have been. It seems as though my promise to protect him had broken, after all.

Nothing mattered any more.

I may as well die.

My phone went off, and for the briefest of seconds, my heart skipped a beat in my chest. Perhaps it was my Thomas, promising me that he was okay, promising me that this would eventually work out. Perhaps it was my Thomas asking me to come and save him yet again, and I would. I would happily do anything he asked me to, even if it meant following him to the ends of the world, even if it meant burning an entire civilization down to its roots, for a civilization that allowed something like this to happen was a civilization that deserved destruction. I would do whatever my Thomas wanted me to if it meant getting to hold him again, getting to whisper those three ghostly words into his ear, meant only for him.

The words I was too weak and frail to actually say, relying simply on the hope that my actions could be enough.

But my hope died the second my eyes skimmed over the message, and shame prickled hot underneath my skin. I swallowed, forcing down the pinprick of tears in the corners of my eyes as the message blurred.

Eliza: hey I'm coming over. you don't have to say or do anything but I am coming in.

I picked up my phone, typed out a response, deleted it, and typed it out again. And before I could second guess myself once more, I sent it.

Alexander: Don't bother.

Alexander: Please just leave me alone.

A second passed.

Eliza: yeah sorry buddy but thats not happening

Eliza: I'll be over in twenty minutes

I sighed, dropping my phone against the mattress and stared back up at the ceiling. Part of me wanted to get up, to clean myself up, to at least look as though I hadn't been crying for ten hours straight. But what was the point? Neither of us were stupid, despite what we would have liked to believe.

A heavy weariness pulled at my eyelids, torturous in its tempting promises. It would do no good, but it was a stubborn mistress intent on playing with its prey.

Anytime I fell asleep—if I managed to fall asleep—I would have those stupid fucking nightmares.

Thomas dies. Over and over again. I can't seek any refuge in sleep like I used to be able to. There would be no point in going to sleep only to dream that Thomas was dead, and when I wake up, not be able to find comfort in the fact that he wasn't right next to me.

It hasn't been like this since high school.

Back before I was used to all the pain life had to offer. Back when there were still a few shards of hope left lingering in my veins, waiting for the moment their dedication could pay off. Back when I still had Eliza, but I suppose I just fucked that up too.

I should die already.

I used to stay up all the time, working, writing, doing anything except for sleeping. Just endlessly working all the time, relying on nothing but coffee and my endless spite and determination. And that might be one of the reasons that Eliza and I decided we weren't right for each other.

I gave that up. It wasn't good for me, so I tried my best to quit. And I actually managed to for a time.

But now?

What was the point of sitting in bed, mourning the things I had lost? Contemplating the ways I could have prevented it? It wouldn't bring Thomas back.

What was I going to do?

I sat up, kicking the blanket that I had pulled over my body in the vain hope of relinquishing myself to sleep off of me. I blinked, drawing in the empty room, and allowed myself to breathe for a moment. My fingers twitched.

I had already finished all the work I had to get done. My portion of the essays that we were supposed to write were pretty much completed. Well, except for that one area where I wanted to go over into more depth.

It was the last refuge I had. The only way I could finally release all the emotions building up inside of me, threatening to pour loose. I had nothing else going for me but the promising release of a thousand things that could never prosper in the strict glare of the burning sun.

So I moved to my desk and began to write. And write I did.

Writing was like an oasis in the middle of a desert. Like I was surrounded by an impenetrable barrier that wouldn't allow any of my problems through. It was just me and the somehow soothing sound of my pen scratching against the paper. It was cathartic. It was safety. It was controllable.

Nothing else mattered, not as long as I was writing. I could shut myself off to the outside world and live forever in the darkness, fueled only by an ambition that I could pretend was enough to overcome the millions of reasons why the world would be better off without me in it.

The words flowed out of me and onto the page, creating when all I wanted to do was destroy. Was this how Thomas felt, whenever he played one of his gorgeous songs? Was this how it felt to release years of hatred and unacknowledged feelings all at once, using it as a force of good?

The thought saddened me. I'd never hear his music again, would I?

Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced underneath the bed. His violin case was still there, laying untouched. At least I had a small piece of him left.

I threw myself into my writing without even realizing it, not at least, until my phone exploded with a hundred more notifications signaling those damned texts.

Eliza: I'm here let me in

I gazed down at the pad of paper sitting alone in the yellow glow of the lamp, and let out a weary sigh, pulling at my hair. I could just ignore her. I could pretend the rest of the world didn't exist, as occupied as I was with the senseless, babbling writing that may very well be the only thing I have left. It wasn't fair, but, hey, that's life. I shuffled through the stack of papers, counting eleven different essays, each leaving me empty and unfulfilled. They could try, but they'd never take up the space Thomas left.

Great. I should just write forty more because why the hell not? My life is already a mess. 

I got up to make myself (another) cup of coffee when I heard a soft knock on my door.

I stopped, sighed, and silently debated with myself. But a second later, the doorknob turned and the door itself flung open. The figure on the other side stepped into the room, gazing at me apologetically.

"It was unlocked," she whispered.

"Oh. Was it?"

I hadn't even noticed. I always locked my door, but tonight? I don't know, perhaps I had been hoping that Thomas would return in the middle of the night. Perhaps I had been hoping a criminal would break in and end my pathetic suffering. Either one worked at this point.

"Hey," she said softly, her eyes dull. That alone was awful. Eliza always had a light in her eyes, something that always seemed to say: If you need a friend, I'm here. To see that completely gone, well, it kinda hurt.

"Hi."

I stood there, my mouth hanging slightly open. I doubt that it would have taken very much, to reduce me right back down to tears. The grasp I had, keeping myself together, was tenuous at best. One of her signature, sympathetic glances, and I doubt I would have been able to keep myself from crumbling at her feet. How fucking embarrassing would that have been?

But what did it matter?

"Are—are you alright? You look like you've been crying."

"Oh, do I?" I mumbled, trying to keep myself from snapping at her. The last thing I needed was to completely shut out the people I depended on for happiness, even as much as it hurt for them to see me like this. As loathe as I was to admit it, if I didn't have them, I would have already pitched myself over the side of a building and let the wind drag me down, down down, until they found my broken, mangled body on the hard, unmoving concrete.

"Please tell me you haven't been crying all night?"

I didn't respond, and she sighed.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked finally.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You're quiet, Alexander. That's a rare thing for you."

"You know me too well." I didn't mean for my voice to be so wry, so sarcastic. And the way she flinched as the words left my mouth? Well, it sucked. It fucking sucked, and not just that little thought in the back of my head that I had hurt somebody I cared about.

No, the smallest, stupid fucking movement reminded me of Thomas.

And that was unforgivable.

Eliza pushed past me. "I couldn't sleep either," she admitted, sitting down at the table and holding her head in her hands. "I just couldn't stop worrying about..." She let the sentence hang in midair.

She didn't have to elaborate. Of course I knew.

"Coffee?" I asked, moving over and making myself a cup.

"No thanks."

I wanted to say something. Anything, to cure this intolerable silence. To feel brave, to feel strong. To feel as though I may have the smallest idea as to what I'm doing, but the truth of the matter is that I am completely and utterly lost. Lost without Thomas's starlight to guide me through an eternal blackness, lost without Thomas's warmth driving away the unrelenting frost determined on freezing over my perfect world. Lost without Thomas, and the joy he brought to my life.

I ached all over for his touch, but it would never come.

"What do we do?" I murmured finally.

"What can we do?" she returned softly, eyes focused on something just beyond my shoulder, a million miles away. I didn't turn around to trace her gaze; I couldn't stomach up the energy to.

I felt drained. It hurt to exist, as exhausting as my mere being awake had become. It hurt to spend every moment toiling away in pain, only to receive nothing. I didn't even want to die at this point, just to stop existing.

I'm tired. So fucking tired.

I let my eyes wander through the room until they found the very thing that less than twelve hours ago, would have symbolized hope and beauty and the rarest of things that could ever be found; they were the key to a secret I had finally learned to let myself embrace, the product of a garden built for me and my Thomas. Now, the dark red roses hanging limply in their vase only seemed to represent all the things I wanted, and all the things I could never have.

My eyes welled up and my throat began to burn, and even as I tried to turn away from Eliza before she caught the most shameful vulnerability, I doubt she missed it. She always saw. She always knew. There was no point to hiding it anymore.

I gazed at the roses, at the subtly colorful bouquets scattered through the room, making it unrecognizable to what it had been only a few short months ago now bathed in the essence of my Thomas and everything he stood for. I gazed at the flowers, and a spark ignited inside of me, fanning the flames of dissent and displeasure at all the world had thrown at me.

I was tired. But I will not succumb. Not yet, not until the fire has consumed every last thing deep inside of me.

I swallowed, hearing the click of my throat as I did so. "I'm fighting for him."

"Alexander—"

"You don't have to, but I am not giving up until I have my Thomas back."

She softened, and strangely, smiled.

"Somehow, I knew you would say that."

The sudden burst of determination was short-lived, killed by the tenderness coupled with doubt in her eyes. It was promptly replaced by some cold little inkling of fear, of unbridled concern and dread. The thoughts that washed over me in the long moment were not ones I wanted to think about. They were monsters that lurked in the confines of nightmares, the most disgusting, heart-wrenching possibilities that could ever come to fruition. I tried to drown them out, and of course, it did not work. Why would it?

All I could do was hope and pray, and maybe, if there really was some God up there or not, He'd grant me some favor. Maybe He'd keep my Thomas safe for just a day more.

Please, please, please let my Thomas be okay.