$uicideBoy$ Oneshots/Imagines

Two Tides Collide (Scrim)

Trigger warning(s): drug addiction, mentions of OD, suicidal ideation, substance abuse, PTSD, depression.

If you or anyone you may know have thoughts of suicide or self harm and or are suffering from drug addiction, please seek help.

Suicide/crisis lifeline: 988 (text or call)
SAMHSA (substance abuse & mental health service national helpline): 1-800-662-4357.

"Hello, are you here for the meeting?"

Moving my hand away from my face as I was biting at the skin around my finger nails, I've tried everything to stop the bad habit but hey, one step at a time. I nod my head at her question before responding.

"Yeah."

"Great, the meeting should begin in a few minutes. Help yourself to some coffee or water while you wait and pick a seat." Without saying another word, I brush past her and make my way in to the small chapel like place. Who the hell holds these kinds of meetings in a church?

Converters that's who.

As I open the large double doors my eyes immediately land on the giant cross statue in the middle of the room. Feeling the instant shame crumble inside of me, I sigh to myself;

'You've already made it this far. Just get it over with.'

Hearing whispers of people talking to one another while others sat there quietly, drinking their probably 2 hour flavorless brewed coffee, I grab myself a mini water bottle and sit down at the first chair I spot.

'What the hell am I even doing? Just leave.'

'But I want to get better.'

'There's no saving what doesn't want to be saved.'

Pulling my hoodie over my head I slump back in to the chair, glancing around the room. The smell of old wood along with strong incense fill my nostrils. In a way, it's soothing. In some ways it's not. Growing up with religiously strict parents meant getting up early on Sunday mornings and being forced to attend service. Hell, my parents even made me attend the church schools program. With all that shit being pushed down my throat at such a young age, it made me despise even setting foot in to another church as I grew up and moved out to be on my own. Don't get me wrong, some of the people were kind but when you have old fucks that like to get in your face saying you're going to hell for simply living and not constantly "worshipping", it can get a little fucking irritating.

My eyes land on the cross again, I can't help but to examine it. It's just wood but something about it really intrigues me.

"You say you help those who ask, why didn't you help me when I needed someone the most?" I whisper to myself as I am now glaring at it. "The pain and suffering you allow a child to go through. A child you claim to so called love. I looked for you and got nothing in response."

In the corner of my eye I see someone sit next to me. My first initial thought was to turn around and see who it was but I knew if I turned my head to see, they'd notice the glossiness in my eyes and I wasn't about to fuckin trauma dump on to a complete damn stranger. Not to one that is probably here for the same shit show I'm here for.

"You new here?"

Fucking shit, don't talk to me please.

"Yeah."

"Coo, I'm Scott. Been comin' here for the past 9 meetings." He gave me a small smile or at least from what I could tell. Still keeping my gaze at the cross.

"It's not so bad once you get through the introduction. Becomes less boring but you'd be surprised with the shit you hear."  He must've caught on that I'm not much of a talker. I never try to be rude to others without reason but I couldn't even come to terms with where I am at this moment. I just want to go home.

My parents signed a waiver from the hospital once they found me alone in my apartment, close to death with a needle to my arm and a lethal dose of oxy in my system. I never once heard my mother cry in my entire childhood. Until that day I laid in the hospital bed with a breathing tube down my throat to keep my lungs from collapsing from within me. My own body rejects me, how sad. I was placed under a medically induced coma and awoke 4 days later. With a short trip to the psych ward and a psychiatrist on my back about getting clean, here I am.

I wanted to die that day. And quite frankly, I still do.

I could feel his gaze on me as I still keep mine ahead. It's not an intimidating gaze, instead it feels more so like he's trying to read me. I turn my attention to him and what immediately stands out other than his face tatts, his blue eyes.

"You are hard to read."

I knew it.

"I'm not an open book."

He smirks at the snarky tone. Reaching in to his pocket he pulls out a lighter along with some Marlboro reds. "You smoke?"

I give him a confused look, "I doubt you can smoke in a church."

"A lil cig won't ban me. I'll puff one for me and the holy trinity, baby."

I try my damn hardest to keep myself from chuckling at his joke.

He stands up and walks towards the double doors, as I spot around the room I notice a few people with their attention on him. Some greeting him as he walks past them. Before reaching for the door handle he turns back around.

"You comin'?"