𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑭𝒊𝒙𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 {𝘚𝘢𝘭 𝘍𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳}

Cut Me, Hurt Me, Use Me [26.2]

Sal's Lore Pt. 3

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TW: substance abuse/addiction, su!c!dal thoughts, and mentions of self harm

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Chains gripped him, held him down under a torrent of consistent, suffocating, and lethal waves of affliction. It was a plague that had been taking him over for decades now and he wondered how he hadn't become used to it after all this time.

Every time it started to get bad, he shattered under the weight of realizing 'again.' He was trapped again. A victim of his own torment. He tore himself down, stripped himself of dignity and of hope. 

This time, he didn't care where these abyssal waters dragged him.

Sal's rapidly deteriorating life was transforming into something monstrous and untamed. He no longer recognized himself when he looked into the mirror-- not that it mattered much in the first place. He hadn't recognized himself since he was five years old. 

He stared blankly at his ceiling. Counting the stained tiles and filing through arbitrary numbers and combinations in his head no longer aided as a distraction. The only savior in his life happened to be the one thing that would tear him down for good. 

When he tried it the first time, upped his daily dosage of anxiety medication to three pills rather than one, he was thrilled. Finally, a solution to his mental torture. He had fallen into a near drunken state, his head clouded with fog and for once, not so many worries captured him so devilishly. 

Since then, he had slipped into a hellish routine. Wake up in the late afternoon, take much more of his medication than he should have, then he'd nap for hours or dissociate beneath his duvet. What else could he do to occupy his miserable days? The woman who assaulted him was in prison, but she wouldn't remain there forever. She wouldn't be there for nearly long enough.

All Sal could do was painstakingly count down the days to her release-- when he was sober enough to do so, of course.

When he would regain a bit of his clarity come nightfall, when the moon and stars occupied his empty days, he would stream. It was never for long-- he couldn't bear to engage in something he couldn't find it in himself to love anymore. She had stripped him of the few things he had once adored.

His birthday was approaching. He would be twenty two. In his past years, he feared the fated day. What if everyone forgot about him? What if no one wished him a happy birthday? But this year, he didn't even consider that, nor did he care. So what if everyone forgot him? He was beginning to forget himself too.

Sal glanced to the side, the weight of his own head too much for him to carry with benzodiazepines coursing through his veins. His internal enemy had transformed into his friend-- the medication he cursed for so many years had become his safe haven. He beheld the bottle, wondering if he could turn the pills inside into an eternal bed for himself. He could rest. He could finally leave it all. 

All the elderly scholars claimed that Aphrodite had been the greatest temptation, but Sal had found a substance that topped the goddess in that department.

He didn't want to continue in a world where he wasn't even living. Why continue to suffer when everything could be silent forever? 

The monster that haunted Sal laughed at him, mocked him as it towered over his limp form on the bed. The wispy trails of its shadows slithered around Sal's body, only adding to the chains that stood out against the fresh cuts along his skin. Its wicked grin failed to strike fear in Sal's heart this time. He looked at the abomination he was destined to become and didn't cower. With each passing day, he assumed he wouldn't be alive long enough to see this empty shell of a creature he'd eventually turn into. The land-born leviathan that made his life into a laughing stock had nothing on him if he could end it before it began.