Learning how to let go ~ karlnap

chapter one ~ addicted

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Song: Listen Before I Go- Billie Eilish

Bahaha I know I've mentioned this song alot of times but i had so many songs and this one kinda fitted I guessed. Anyway I hope you enjoy, or not, you decide.
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TW: mention of suicide, swearing, blood

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/third person pov/

The breaths became shallower as the pool of blood gradually grew larger the longer the limp body lay on the ground, becoming more morbid and lifeless as the lengthy seconds ticked on. Time seemed to pass that way when you take your last breaths. Well, that's the way Karl saw it. The peacefulness of being moments away from leaving your mind...forever. The rush of adrenaline as your instincts struggle to survive, the collapse of your lungs as they give up, and your mind can finally rest. Although this time it seemed longer, the struggle, the pain, the emotions, finally letting go. It was if he was seeing his body from third person, seeing the slit of light coming through the crack in the door, knowing no one would find his body, knowing he would just wake in his bed again, like a nightmare.

But that was the thing. Is it possible to like a nightmare? Wanting it all to come true. Karl let out a suffocating noise as he felt blood pooling inside his lungs as he closed his eyes. Was it normal to be addicted to this feeling? He knew no one was going to answer that question, they would think he was lying, or crazy. But it didn't matter what he thought now, he didn't want to spoil the emotion coursing through his veins as his eyes closed for the final time, letting the slow thud of music drift from his ears.

...

Karl's eyes shot wide open as he sat straight up in his bed, finger's clutched into fists, entangled with the duvet. Pain. That's what always came first when he woke up followed by the bitterness of disappointment...the disappointment of waking up. Then all senses flooded with numbness. Karl clutched his screaming head as he stumbled out of bed dragging the blankets to the ground as he went. He wanted it to stop. He tried to make it stop. He couldn't make it stop.

Karl's senseless fisted hand shoved at his bedroom door with force only to find it locked from the inside. Splinters dug under the skin of his knuckles; wood embedded into his tender hand. Shit. Karl cursed as his eyes pricked with tears as he ended up grabbing the knob with his uninjured hand, unlatching the lock, then turning the handle to open his door. His face was rushed with fresh air as he stumbled into the dark hallway, only now noticing he was suffocating in his room. Karl felt blind and helpless as he shuffled in the direction of what he hoped was the bathroom. Luckily, it was and with some persistence and a wobbling hand, he managed to get the door open.

Shutting the door quickly he fumbled for the lights, flicking them on so he could see in the cold tiled room. The area was so chilled he could see his breath coming from his gaping mouth, curling like smoke before disappearing. Karl hated the silence, he hated how he could hear his pathetic heartbeat thud in his chest in the echoey bathroom, he hated how his mind was so loud, he hated how he had no control over his thoughts, he hated how he couldn't tell them to be quiet. He hadn't noticed his hand was dripping with wet sticky blood until it was on the tiles before him. This time, Karl didn't have time to swear, he was loud enough to wake up his parents. They would hate to see the tiles tainted with his blood, they would ask questions, they'd take him to a therapist. This made Karl more uneasy and determined to clean his mess and retreat to the darkness of his room.