𝙰𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚈𝚘𝚞 ➳ [𝙻𝚎𝚘𝚗 𝙺𝚞𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚊 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛]

[𝙰𝙳𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄: 𝙿𝙷𝙾𝙴𝙽𝙸𝚇] 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚢

"Do you want to talk about what happened in the hospital, Y/N?"

I stared vacantly at the therapist. The plaque on her door informed me that she was a "therapeutic psychologist," which I thought was bullshit. There's nothing therapeutic about psychology, it's about digging in your mind and uncovering the stuff that's rotten. Psychology is about taking the rotten shit and dusting it off, maybe even cutting it out if you're lucky. But it's nothing therapeutic, nothing fun.

"Which one?" I asked.

"Whichever one you want to talk about," she replied. 

"I don't want to talk about any of them," I explained. She stared at me. I looked at the door.

The "self help" train fucking sucks. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar, or they're getting paid to write a book about it. Nonetheless, I was seven months sober. Rapidly deteriorating, alone, but sober. Nothing comes of doing what everyone says is right for you. Like it or not, the bad shit you did is going to catch up with you no matter how fast you run, or how many medications or therapy sessions you put in front of it. The bad shit caught up with me after the funeral. 

"(Y/N), I need you to know that I'm here to help. But I can't do that if you're not willing to give me anything." I stared. "For God's sake, your baby died, your boyfriend left you, you got your scholarship taken away, I mean, I hate to say it, but your whole life has fallen apart! But I can't help you pick up the pieces unless you give me something to work with." She closed her eyes and took a breath. A salty tear rolled down my cheek, which I was quick to wipe away. "Why don't we start with your boyfriend..." She gave me a look as if to ask his name.

"Leon," I choked out.

"Yes, Leon. I recall you telling me he left after the funeral."

He had. After I got out of the first psychiatric facility (I was there for "stabilization"), I decided to have a funeral for Lilac. They delivered me her hand-print in the mail a week after I got out. When I saw her name printed in the concrete, I had to rush to the bathroom to throw up. Her hand was so small. So fucking small.

Small because you fucked her up, (Y/N).

I told Leon the next day that I wanted a funeral. A small one. He said fine. I noticed changes in his demeanor even in the hospital room while we were together. From the beginning, I sensed that he never really forgave me for

killing

losing our baby. There were only a few of us at the funeral. Me, him, Aoi, and our families, all surrounding a little casket with nothing but ashes being lowered into the ground. It looked like a casket for a barbie doll. It was so fucking small. As they filled in the hole with dirt, Leon turned to me.

"Are you still on Vicodin?" he asked, squinting his eyebrows, his hands in his pockets.

"No, what the hell—"

"You didn't cry once during the service. Not once," he accused.

"Excuse me if I have a different way of grieving, Leon!" By then, I could see it in his face. My face returned to a neutral posture, my eyes starting to water. I stepped towards him.

"No," he spat, backing up. "I can't do this. How am I supposed to do this?" He looked at me like he was genuinely asking before turning and walking to his car. 

The worst part was that I couldn't blame him. I had sat there and ripped his life apart, like old letters being shredded and thrown into a fire. I had played with him, let him be a punching bag for my emotions, and then made him save me when I decided I didn't want my life 

or him

anymore. So yeah, I deserved it.

He stopped returning my calls soon after, and he switched dorms. Hope's Peak decided they didn't want that kind of stain on their reputation and dropped my scholarship following that; I got the letter as soon as I got home. Of course, my restaurant closed, and my classmates iced me out. My family acted like I was invisible; maybe I was. I was a phantom walking around my house. The girl who ruins everything she touches.

The night after the funeral, I sat in my room with the lights off, the bottle of Vicodin from my injuries in front of me. I replayed the day's events over in my head. I thought of Leon walking away, the cold grass crunching under his footfalls. I thought of Lilac, her premature hand-print stained on the concrete slab that served as her tombstone. I thought of the letter, regrettably informing me that they were relinquishing my scholarship from Hope's Peak. I took the pills. All of them. 

"I said," I began, gritting my teeth and turning towards the therapeutic psychologist, "I don't want to talk about it."

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833 Words

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Author's Note: hey guys. its been a minute. how are we? if youve been reading my discussion page, u might know that this story is based on my numerous trips to mental hospitals and rehab. so yeah. more catching up to do in following chapters, but right now im tired. hope u guys like! ill try to remember to update. gn all