𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗖𝗛𝗔 𝗖𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡

𝗛𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗢𝗻

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️

"I'm happy you're here with me." Chase squeezed her hand.

"We never get the chance to just relax especially since we've both been so busy."

They were walking along the busy street going to lunch. A man shouldered Chase on the sidewalk. He grunted and side-eyed him as the stranger walked by with his hands in his hoodie pockets.

Chase stopped and turned his head around ready to tell the guy off. Charli was pulling at his hand to just let it go.

"Hey watch where you're—"

He yanked her to him. At the same time, the man withdrew his hand from his pocket and a flash of silver caught his eye.

In slow motion, a pop went off and a flame burst from the metal object in the stranger's hand. Charli bumped into Chase as his unexpected tug sent her off balance.

A short gasp left her lips was all Chase could remember before she went down to the ground. The man's eyes widened and then bolted.

"Charli!" He went to the ground with her as red blossomed across her chest quickly. Her eyes were wide in surprise and pain.

"Chase..."

"Charli! Charli!" He glanced around wildly. "Someone help me! Charli!"

"CHARLI!"

Chase bolted up from his bed. It was the night after her funeral. She's been gone a week. He stumbled to his bathroom, unable to gather any air. He fell sick in the toilet.

Trying to choke back the sobs, he nearly dunked his head in. He pushes himself forcefully away so his back jolts against the wall. He drags his shaky fingers through his hair, inhaling through his nose and out his mouth.

He slid his back down until he was completely on the cracked tiled flooring. The coldness felt marginally comforting against his hot skin.

As soon as he got his breathing under control, he left the small bathroom to enter his room again.

Two days after the incident, Chase went off-grid and rented a small apartment in a little neighborhood in LA. His phone has been shut off since then. He couldn't deal with any of it from anyone, the pitied glances, the angry stares.

He reached on his nightstand for his pack of cigarettes. Counting the remaining in his pack, he might as well smoke them all as he waits for dawn to break. There is no way he's sleeping the rest of the night.

It hurts, it's a constant pain that thrums into his very soul. He doesn't know how to make it better, maybe it never will.

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Chase takes several deep breaths, "You can do this. You can do this..." He assured himself.

His knuckles were white from gripping the handle of his pocket knife tightly. It was poised above his wrist.

One deep cut, that's all it would take to see her again. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, ready to drag it across his skin.

"Please don't do this to yourself, Chasey."

The voice startled him so badly he sliced his palm. "Ah fuck!"

The knife dropped from his hand and cradled his injury to his chest.