The Most Formidable Thing

Talking to an Empty Room

A.N. — be forewarned, this is DEFINITELY a more serious chapter, so if you have any triggers relating to blood, severe anxiety/panic attacks or physical sickness, please don't feel the need to read! I tried not to make it too bad, but I also don't like to sugarcoat topics like this so please be wary and stay safe <3

I've linked the song used in the start of this chapter above :)

***

"We all move on

Some faster than others."

George tapped his foot against the side of his desk as he listened to the gentle guitar picking instrumental playing through his headphones.

"We all know."

He closed his eyes, his brain numb from squinting down at the tiny print of the English textbook in front of him for the past three hours.

"We all sacrifice."

And of course, as soon as his eyes closed, hell returned.

"In a bath late in the evening,

Building up sorrow..."

The music began to fade as reality began to warp around George once again. His eyes still closed, he felt himself slip further and further inside his head.

And there she was, waiting for him like always.

She danced tauntingly behind his eyelids, smiling at him brightly, as if everything was okay. As if nothing had ever happened.

As if it's not my fucking fault you're not here right now.

No matter how much he got used to these visions, these horrible memories, they never got easier to deal with.

She walked around his thoughts, her footsteps echoing, the sound of water trickling down smooth river stones in the distance.

George's stomach lurched.

She hopped from rock to rock across the small, flowing body of water, reaching the other side and flopping down in the grass, laughing. She reached a hand up to wave at him, her other hand shielding her face from the sun.

It's not real, George. Just open your eyes.

But the more he stared at her, the harder it was to leave. That perfectly messy, wavy hair falling over her shoulders, her mouth stretched into a happy grin...

This time, the nausea was too much to handle. At the very least though, it saved George from getting lost in the memories in his head any longer: his eyes flew open and he ripped his headphones off his head, a hand clutched over his mouth as he stumbled to the bathroom.

After expelling the contents of his stomach into the sink, he wiped his mouth and splashed his face with the cool tap water. He relished the cold shock, the feeling of the freezing liquid hitting his skin, washing away his tears and the awful feeling of nausea. Then, he shakily stepped back and sank to the floor, his back sliding down the far wall as he wrapped his arms around his knees.

He felt weak, his hands trembling as he sat there, but at least he wasn't throwing up anymore. He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed, trying desperately to clear his mind.

'You're okay. It's okay. It's gonna be okay...'

Sapnap's words echoed in his head as the slow stream of tears continued to cascade down his cheeks. He sobbed out loud, every inch of his mind and body in anguish.

"Enough..." he struggled to speak his words, but it didn't matter since, as usual, he was met only with dead silence as he spoke to an empty room.

No one was there to listen.

He wanted to sit there forever, cry away the evening, forget about how horrible his life was. But the longer he sat there, curled up against the cold, hard wall, the more he was filled with an overwhelming sense of angry, helpless despair.

George got back up, reeling with dizziness, and stumbled back over to the sink.

It was all too much.

He spotted an empty glass perched on the edge of the sink, the one he had used to wash down his meds last night. In a blind rage, he swiped it off the surface and it sailed across the room, smashing into pieces as it came into contact with the opposite wall.

Shit.

He walked over, bending down to scrape up the shards, but as he reached over to do so, his weight shifted too far forward and his hand landed right on top of a piece of the sharp, broken mess.

"Ow."

He swore, clutching his hand tightly as he, once again, ended up at the sink. He ran his hand under the flow of water, wincing as he watched the water turn a deep, scarlet red before being pulled down the drain. He swore again, shakily opening the medicine cabinet with his one good hand to try and find a band aid. He rummaged through bottles of Tylenol and various medicines, searching for the box desperately. It was then that he realized the extent to which he felt incredibly dizzy, having just puked his guts out and now, attempting to stop the blood flowing from the large gash in his palm. He teetered on his feet a bit, breathing heavily, until finally, he found what he was looking for in the cabinet. He clutched the box weakly, prying it open with his fingertips.

"Shit. shit. Shit."

Panic spread through his body as he quickly realized that none of the band aids were big enough to cover the wound, but at this point it was too late. His eyes began to fill with spots, his head suddenly feeling incredibly light.

And after that, his night became a fever dream.

He vaguely remembered collapsing, and then later hearing the distant sound of yelling and fists banging on the front door. He remembered the sound of footsteps, quick ones, walking around his dorm, while a confused voice called out to him. He recalled seeing, through half-lidded eyes, a tall figure standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

He remembered hearing a yelp, as the figure rushed towards him.

He remembered feeling a pair of strong, warm arms lifting him up, carrying him away.

And then he lost consciousness.