Our Time Will Come - An After Story

109

Songs for this chapter
Little lion man - Mumford and son's
The cave - Mumford and son's
Wait - M83

TW / Brief Mentions of Mental Illness/ Suicide
A/N - This chapter may be a little bit deep, but it links with the ahead storyline🖤

Hardin

"You can't sleep either?" My mother chimes as she enters my office. It's three in the morning and I have been in here for an hour now, flickering between scribbling on a scrap piece of paper, glaring at the wall and spinning on my chair. "How did you know I was in here?" I ask her as I clock the box that she is carrying in her arms. "I didn't. I was wide awake so I thought I'd drop these off at your office" she shrugs. Before I can ask what's in the box, she opens it and places it on the desk before me.

"I found these in the attic back home" she tells me as I retrieve the stack of old papers from the box. "You can't have been any older than seventeen when you wrote these. I believe it was just before you left for Washington" she places a hand onto my shoulder. "And yet, they're still so good" she mutters. I scan through the hefty pile of notes and instantly flashback to when I wrote them. "Mum" I begin. "Hardin, You have to use them. They're too good to waste. I haven't read them all, but the ones I have... wow" she interrupts. Use them for what?

"I know what you're doing. You're planning on writing your next book. Aren't you?" She pesters and I let out a huge sigh, before nodding. "Yes. But you can't tell anybody, not even Mike, not even Tessa. Okay?" I make her promise and she nods in agreement. "I want this to be a surprise" I tell her. Not only that, I don't want to create a huge fuss and the book not be a success. I need to keep this under wraps for now.

I have been thinking about doing this for a while now, but confirmed it when I couldn't sleep and ventured into my office. When you can't switch your mind off, why not use it to its advantage and create something? That's my train of thought anyway. A lot has changed since I wrote my last book and hell, I have a lot to write about.

"I'll read them.. but there's no saying that I'll use them" I shrug. My mother glares at me, before nodding in agreement. "Okay" she smiles, before heading to leave the room. "Try and get some sleep. It won't be long until the twins have you up with that adorable little scream they do" she giggles and I join her. She has a point. "Don't you mean have you up?" I smirk back at her. "What do you mean?" She sighs harshly.

"Well.. if Tessa and I leave for Amsterdam in a couple of days.. you need to start getting used to the twins and that adorable little four Am scream they do! London Nana" I mock her and she swats the air before leaving the room.

"The fuck is all of this?" I mutter to myself while flickering through the pile of scribbles that my mother so desperately wants me to put to use. "Finally" I say aloud, as i retrieve a paper that is perfectly handwritten from start to end. I turn on my desk lamp and rub my eyes, preparing myself to read the rather lengthy piece. I take a deep sigh before doing so.

01/05
The past is a foreign country, they do things differently there. That's just how I always saw it, which is why I'd forever catch myself reliving the times of when i was a small child, whose creativity had no limits and reality..was just a miniature part of my imagination. But never did I imagine I'd wind up here. From being a small boy who was full of life, I idolised the idea of writing my own story books, I'd sit at my little white desk in my bedroom with a pen and a pad, and 'once upon a time' would be the first few notes that I would scribble onto a piece of paper. They'd usually involve a Prince, a princess and a happily ever after. Strange, because back then the only thing that mattered was my handwriting being perfect. Frustration meant having to start my story over and over, because of one... stupid mistake, just so I could get the the part where there's a happy ending.

After several attempts, I'd take that piece of paper that had one microscopic error and i'd take all of my frustration out on it, i'd scrunch it into a ball until it physically could not be made any smaller. I'd then open it up, seconds later. There would be hundreds of creases in this sheet of paper, making it difficult to read, but it wasn't torn... just yet. Though it didn't bother me as I was just a kid, I knew that I could try anything to make that paper the way it was before, but I also knew that no matter what, it would never be the same again. These moments of impact, can mean so much, but you never expect them to come
back and haunt you.

But there I was, sixteen years old, sitting at that very desk, in the early hours of the morning, and my story had finally come to an end. I wish it was a happy one, but that wasn't the case. Just like my story, my life had come to an end, because just like those screwed up, battered, ruined pieces of paper, I knew I'd never be the same again.

My heart shattered at the fact that I was no longer writing 'Once upon a time' and instead I was writing that I was sorry. Sorry that I wasn't the son that my parents had always wished for, sorry that I wasn't the friend that could end people's suffering, but only my own. I had hurt too many people, made their lives a misery and I had no regrets. I had no remorse.

Of many, my most anxious habit was to repeat myself over and over.. mainly to reassure myself, but there were four words that i had written over and over in this letter and those four words were "It's not your fault". To me, in the the last few years of my life, I was hanging on by a thread and that thread was knowing that if I left the world, some poor soul would spend the rest of their lives blaming themselves. No matter how much of an impact my father leaving me at a ridiculously young age, and all the heartache I encountered had on me, nobody but myself was to blame for my desire to disappear. No Matter what, it was always my fault and I just needed to make sure that nobody blamed themselves, because I knew that that guilt, could cause the same pain that I had encountered, day in, day out and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

But depression had well and truly taken over my mind, and who I was, it had to be done. It was like a game of tug of war, but nobody was pulling the other side and it had consumed every ounce of happiness I had ever had. There was nothing left of the man I once was. I had no motivation to save myself anymore and every single day became a battle with darkness.

One last thing I couldn't stress enough was that I wanted something good to come out of the life that I no longer wanted. If I was useless at life, I'd hope that i'd at least have some purpose in death. I ended the sorrowful note with "please, Give somebody my organs, give them to somebody who is worth saving, somebody who deserves to be on this planet but most importantly somebody who wants to be on this planet".

Although, my time here was done. There was one thing that  was never going to die and that was the love I had for my mother. I expressed my unconditional love for her and the friends I was leaving behind and ended it with one last plain, simple signature. It was funny how the handwriting was to perfection and to my satisfaction, for the first time, at this time .. and that is what made me decide that my decision was meant to be. I placed a kiss on the frail, almost transparent sheet of paper and leaving it on my desk, I snuck down the creaky stairs, trying ever so hard not to wake up my mother.

I took in the surroundings of my childhood home one last time, and a natural smile began to creep upon my face because I knew, I knew that my decision had been made, to know that I was no longer going to have to be in unexplainable, invisible pain every single day of my life, and that gave me some kind of warm, fuzzy feeling. But as soon as I opened the front door, the January, bitter winds piercing my rosey cheeks, made everything ten times more real.

"Fuck" I whisper to myself, as a warm tear drops onto the stained sheet of paper before me. This is deep for three in the morning. I haven't thought about that piece in so long ..but I remember writing it like it was yesterday. Reading it has created a burning sensation in the pit of my stomach, but has also made my heart full. This was before her, before I met my Tessa.. and look at me now. She really did lead me out of the darkness. I all of sudden need to be with her, I have a desperate craving to be snuggled up to her, to feel her warmth against me. Before I know it, my feet are carrying me to our bedroom.

I scrunch up the paper before me, into a ball so small that I'm not sure it will recover and I place it into the pocket of my sweats. I hear it miss and hit the ground, but I'm too focussed on Tessa and only Tessa, that I don't retrieve it. Everybody is in a deep slumber, nobody will find it, I tell myself as my feet pick up the pace. I will go back when I've got what I do desperately need. Her, my subconscious adds.