Catharsis || Lashton AU - boyxboy

14. kutolewa

"I think that we've all made our gravest mistakes,
On the greatest intentions that we're too stubborn to let go,
With this little time before I go,
I'll open up my mouth and scream it out to cast my voice into the crowd."
The Dear Hunter, Whisper ☯

l.h.

I was feeling very raw.

I was feeling very beaten down and carved out and lit on fire and raw.

I felt like I was clenching fists of hot coals in both hands and just couldn't fucking let go.

I woke up in a mess of short breaths and cold sweats and sobs that wouldn't fucking stop.

I hated that dream.

I used to have it every day after my mom died, and it got progressively worse after Jack died. Eventually, it faded, and I stopped going to bed at night too terrified to fall asleep in fear of having the dream. However, after my dad died, the dream started again. Every night. Just like before.

Only this time, it didn't stop.

I had it for years after mom died, but not nearly as often. Once every few weeks or so, but I never knew when the night would be.

But I've had it almost every goddamn night since my dad died.

Every. Fucking. Night.

It wasn't a bad dream, per se. It was just so fucking real. It was so real that I'd wake up thinking it was real life and I'd feel like leftover rot on the inside when I realized that I was still the same, fucked up kid living the same fucked up life.

I hated it.

I still make the mistake sometimes.

The first few times I'd just woken up crying.

I'd woken up a crying mess and Jack would just come into my room and pull me into his lap and rock me back and forth until I stopped.

Once Jack died, Ben took over. Only it was different with Ben, because he didn't just hold me and tell me that everything was going to be okay and that we'd get through this like Jack did. With Ben, he'd always start crying, too. He'd hold me in his lap and rock me back and forth like Jack, but he'd cry and cry and cry and he'd swear under his breath and tell me he loved me so many times it was like he dying and this was the last time he'd ever see me.

I think the dreams stopped when I decided I didn't want to put Ben through that anymore.

At one point, I found myself going into Ben's room at night just to hold him and tell him it would all be alright.

See, Jack dealt with it internally--if you could call surpressing your feelings so deep inside of you it fucking eats you alive "dealing with it internally", that is, but Ben was a lot more manic. I think that the way Ben was outwardly was how Jack was inwardly.

And I was kind of a mix of both.

I wanted to be like Jack. I wanted to be strong for everyone and I wanted to make it all okay. But as it seems, you can't cut someone wide open and expect a band-aid to fix everything.

Metaphors aside, I didn't help anything.

I couldn't help it, really. I was a kid then. A kid who was forced to grow up way too fucking quickly, but a kid nonetheless.

Death doesn't sit well with kids when it's crammed down their throat and in their eyes and in their ears and soaked in through their skin.

Nothing does.