Chase Atlantic One Shots

Sliding Off the Edge

Words: 1276

Written: February 7, 2021

Summary: As Mitchel's mental health drastically declines, he refuses to tell anyone. He depends on drugs and alcohol to ease his pain, but it eventually gets to be too much.

⚠️ Trigger Warning (talk about suicide) ⚠️
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Mitchel's POV

Christian's soft lips brush against my cheek, waking me up from my sleep.

"Morning, babe." he breathes into my ear.

He slowly uncovers himself and swings his legs to the floor. He wraps himself in his cotton robe, covering all the cracks and crevices of his skin. His heavy steps fade into the hallway, out of our shared room. I find my eyes become heavy as I creep back into a daze.

  BEEP BEEP BEEP

My alarm blares. I groan as I sit up because my bones ache. My head throbs against my skull. I would do anything to stay here. The bed is warm and comforting.

  BEEP BEEP BEEP

I find my hand slapping the top of the clock. The plastic machine slides off the table onto the floor. Shit.

"You good there, mate?" Christian hurried back into the room. He sits near my feet and picks up the now broken clock. "We have to leave in 30 minutes, you'll be ready right?"

He always makes sure I'm on time as if we'll die if we are a second late. I don't want to get up, but I have to. Christian removes the covers from my body, exposing me to the cold air. I steadily move my weight into my hand that holds my body up. My body controls itself. It slowly raises me and walks me to the bathroom. My stomach starts to churn and grumble, rising into my throat. I quickly hover over the open toilet. Last night's party comes out of my mouth, burning my throat on its way out.

"Maybe you shouldn't have done that molly," Christian mocks me.

I rinse my dull face with water from the sink. The cold water burns against my tired skin. I spit the remaining of my vomit onto the drain. The remains come out red, which doesn't shock me. I've been doing this for years. Partying all night and feeling like death in the morning. My body is starting to suffer.

"Ten minutes,"

The mirror is dirty, covered in dirt and grime. Christian refuses to clean up after my mess... but it's not mine, it's him, the figure's. His dark shadow stands in the mirror taunting me. Haunting me. Following me.

"Five minutes. Come one, I have to get in there too,"

My tired eyes pollute my thoughts as I turn away from the mirror. I can't he'll but think about the man I once was and who I've become. How has my life gotten this way? What have I done? I twist the brass doorknob. Christian stands on the opposite side of the wide entryway. His eyebrows furrow into his forehead. He looked like a train of sorts, with steam boiling out of him. He shoves me aside and locks himself in the room. My feet guide themselves to the couch where I slump into the cushions.

   "Let's go!" he shouts.

A ringing sound lingers in my ear. His voice was stern and loud. He's had enough of me. He's had enough of me for a while now. He wipes his keys off the counter and dashes to the car. I stumble behind him, keeping my distance. With rage that large, I'd get burned the second I'm too close. I slide into the leather seats. Its material scorches my skin, and I'm only cooled off when Christian starts to speed down the side street.

The wind whips my long braids against my skin. Each thin strand leaving its own rage with me. Each turn is harsh. My body leans to one side and the car jumps. Tire marks weave around the curbs, trailing the brisk movements of the car. We suddenly stop at a small building. The red bricks held the weighty roof high. Vines traveled up the walls, twisting and bending around each crack.

"Get out. Come on, we are going to be late." Christian hurries inside.

-

The meeting is slow and boring. Our manager keeps blabbing about god know what about. My brain isn't processing anything he says. All I hear are different pitches and he goes on with his speech. Clinton looks nervous. The corners of his mouth are positioned in a frown. His forehead glimmers with sweat.

"Mhimchl"

"Huh?"

"Mhimchl"

"Huh?!"

"Mitchel!" My manager is basically screaming at me at this point. "Did you hear what I just said? I guess not. I was saying the album is merely weeks away from being released, you have to be on your A-game."

The album was almost out, but I couldn't care less. Don't get me wrong, it's a big accomplishment... but I'm not me. I've been high since the beginning of quarantine. I can't go two hours without a joint or something of the sort. So when I pull a joint out of my pocket and light it up, our manager isn't thrilled.

"Mitchel you have to take this seriously! You can't just blow this off like everything else. Make sure you're at the party tonight. You have to promote this."

-

The party is noisy, full of people jumping and screaming. It hurts my brain. I can't think which is, in some way, nice. I can't hear my own thoughts. At first, it's fine. I'm able to escape my demons, but then it gets too numb. I find some girl in the house's living room spreading out a white powder. Without knowing what it is, I ask to join. She invites me in and we inhale the fine particles. My nose burns as the substance find its way inside me, but it feels good. A few more lines later and I can hardly stand. My knees wobble beneath me and my hand starts to quiver.

"Thanksm-mate." my words slur together.

I can't stand the noise any longer. It's like screaming inside my head. I wander up the stairs, trying to find the patio doors. The staircase elongates as I climb up them. With each step I take, another two are added. It's a never ended cycle of walking. Miraculously I found myself at the top of the stairs. My body starts to lean back towards the stairs, but that's not how I'm going out.

I almost fall trying to catch myself, but I stumble forward. I spot the door wall in front of me. The clear glass doors call out to me. The fresh breeze is calling my name. The doors swing open and I step out.

"Mitchel? Mitchel!" Kras runs out to me.

The wind tugs me down, pleading me to come. The ledge is thin but sturdy. The ground looks so far away as if I sat on a plane looking down on myself. I feel like I'm floating. I can see my body. My mind is floating around. I can feel my body and its pain, but I can't see out of my eyes.

"Mitchel, step down from there."

"Why?"

"You're going to fall! Step off of there, now!"

"What if I want to?"

"Want to what... fall?! Mitchel you have so much to live for. The album alone should be enough. You've worked so hard this past year on perfecting each song, you can't give up now. Why are you doing this?"

"You know when you're laying in bed at night and the room is flooded with darkness? The darkness affects you. It embraces you in its warmth, easing your pains. It's inviting. I just want to see." I take a step closer to the edge.

Christian tugs my hand backward, ripping me off the concrete ledge.

"Not today." Christan places his hand on my lower back and guides me to the stairs, "You need to stay with me for now." he places a kiss on my forehead and opens the door.