platonic crush // dwt

XIX

Tᴏsᴋᴀ (ɴ) -A ᴅᴜʟʟ ᴀᴄʜᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ sᴏᴜʟ, ᴀ sɪᴄᴋ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴀ sᴘɪʀɪᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴀɴɢᴜɪsʜ

Triggers:
-Alot. Warning you now.

Next chapter will be the epilogue </3

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Time skip a few weeks later

Everything was absolute shit. Ava relapsed in her bathroom after Clay left her apartment, and was regularly cutting now. She didn't make any effort to be clean again. She didn't want to be clean.

She was fasting for days and days.

She was still streaming, though. She knew she needed the money, and she knew her fans needed the content. Every day she streamed, usually minecraft, and luckily none of her fans noticed anything. She was doing her best to conceal her fucked up mental health, and apparently it was working.

On the other hand, her friends did notice. It was hard to convince them that she was fine, but she managed. Except for Clay. Obviously, he saw through her bullshit, but honestly didn't know what to do except stay calm, be her grounder. He visited her regularly, listened to her when she needed to vent, and stayed with her when she was screaming, when she was freaking out, when she lashed out at him from stress.

He sat with her when she was sobbing because of the food in front of her, cleaned up her cuts for her when he saw them and noticed they were infected, and hugged her tightly when she was having a panic attack.

He urged her to see a therapist, to do something, but she refused.

She had constant flashbacks to the night at that party. Every fucking thing reminded her of it. She drank and smoked to escape, and even though her highs were always bad, at least she was busy worrying about a fake thing to dwell on a real thing.

Every minute was a living hell. Even with Clay. Nothing helped anymore.

Streaming ruined her, barely being able to make it through a 2 hour stream without breaking down in front of tens of thousands of people.
She convinced herself she couldn't keep going. She couldn't keep fucking going.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

She sat at her desk, pencil in hand and 6 pieces of paper set out in front of her. Each for a different person. Aera, her mom, Tyler, George, Nick and Clay.

She started with Aera, crossing her name off on a notepad.

mama
a̶e̶r̶a̶
tyler
george
nick
clay

———————————————————————————————

Aera-

It's honestly pretty hard to write this without making it seem like I'm blaming you for this. Because I'm not. I'm not blaming you for what happened. Fuck Aera- you've been my best friend since goddamn freshman year of high school. Remember how we met? When we both tried out for basketball and were the only ones who didn't make the team. I fucking loved you back then, Aera. You were my other half. I don't know what happened honestly. You got all popular and shit, and never hung out with me anymore unless there was an event you wanted me to go to so I could up my position in the hierarchy of uni. All I wanted was your support after what happened. And you sided with Tyler. Why would you choose to believe him over your best friend? You confuse me so fucking much. And then you have the audacity to come to my house unannounced and start crying?? Fuck you, Aera. I'm sorry, and I love you. But you hurt me. Bad.