Tate Langdon / Evan Peters One Shots

I cant lose you.

TW: Self harm, mentions of suicide
(Tate is still alive in this one)

Tate's POV

I don't want to be alive anymore.

I don't feel sad, I don't feel anything. It's a filthy world we live in, it's a filthy goddamn helpless world; and I'm a filthy, goddamn helpless boy.

My whole life has been spent drowning in sorrow. My mother divorcing my father, my mother sleeping around, my mother marrying a man I fucking hated.

I just want to be okay, I just want to stop drowning.

The only person ever to keep my head above water has been Y/N. Ever since she came around, moved into that house, there's been this light in my life that only exists when I'm with her. For awhile, I stopped cutting. For awhile, I didn't need to have weekly therapy appointments with her father, Ben. For awhile, I was okay.

She's grown distant, although we're together, I've never felt more apart.

I've been cutting every night, the blood dripping down my arm in drop-formed reminders that I'm worth nothing, that I'll never be anything. I feel trapped, I feel like I'm drowning.

I miss Y/N. I so badly want to just walk across the street, storm into her bedroom and ask her what her deal is. I don't know why she would get so distant from me all of the sudden, or what drove her to become so cold.

I love this girl with every fiber of my being, with every cell in my body, and with every atom in those cells.

Laying down on my bed, I run a hand through my sandy blond hair, messing it up even more than it already was. I've been laying here all day, the darkness of my room only enhancing the shameful emotions, I continue staring at the ceiling, occasionally attempting to pick up a book and read, to absolutely no avail.

My depressing thoughts consumed me, ringing throughout my head in a deafening scream, interrupting any singular moment of silence I might be lucky enough to obtain.

I feel my eyes being to water, hot tear drops falling down my face, wetting the pillow beneath my head as I become consumed with the insurmountable urge to end my life. I attempt to wipe away my tears, but there really was no point in doing so when they wouldn't stop spouting.

"Fuck," I audibly sob to myself, knowing that nobody in this house would care enough to come check on me. I slam my fist into the mattress beside me, before rolling onto my side and bringing my head into my hands, crying so profusely that my vision started to become extremely blurry.

Bringing my hands up to my hair, I tug, hard, just to feel something. I wanted to fight the urge to cut, I needed to fight it, for her. Despite the two of us growing distant these past few weeks, I knew she would be so heartbroken if she knew I started hurting myself again.

At the same time, I so desperately need to do something to release the mental turmoil I'm experiencing, which has only worsened since this morning. Hell, since about three weeks ago.

I glance at the time, and I was meant to be at therapy about fifteen minutes ago. I could easily walk across the street right now, sit on that depressing couch, and cry to a grown man about my feelings; but I can't, and I won't. I refuse to go over there in this state, and for Y/N to see me like this.

Part of me thinks the reason she's been cold with me is because of this, because I've been down lately, which can weigh another person down if they have to deal with it. I just don't want to be a burden to her, and if I show up to her house sobbing, that's exactly what I'll become, a burden.

I am a burden to everyone in my life. To my mother, because she has to take care of me. To my sister, because I never want to spend time with any of them. To Ben, because our therapy sessions always go way overtime and always lead to absolutely no resolution, not even a little bit of one. To Y/N, because instead of being strong for her, I find myself constantly breaking down.