He is living to die, and she's dying to live
"No drug can ever numb reality; when the effects fade, reality returns ten times as agonizing. Only death can free me from this one. I will not be here to face reality," his raspy voice says as he gazes i...
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𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓸𝓻
Trevor stared down at the bottles of pills clutched in his trembling hand, the various labels and dosages blurring together. This would be the eighth time he'd attempted to end it all, to find the numbness that he so long had been searching for.
Each previous try had been a dismal failure, a cruel joke played on him by an uncaring universe. The bridge, the train tracks, the bathtub - all had resulted in nothing but frustrating survival, leaving him battered and ashamed, waking up in sterile hospital rooms. No matter how resolute his determination, fate seemed to have other plans, snatching him back from the brink at the last possible moment.
Not this time, though. Trevor tightened his grip on the pill bottles, his knuckles turning white. No more false starts, no more humiliating second chances. This was it - the final escape. With a shuddering breath, he dry-swallowed the entire handful, feeling the sharp edges of the capsules catch in his throat.
As he lay down on the bed, Trevor stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the drugs to take effect. The shadows in the room seemed to grow, swallowing the bit of light that filtered in through the small window of his tiny apartment. A strange sense of calm washed over him, the familiar embrace of numbness already beginning to pull him under.
There were no happy memories, no hope left to cling to. Trevor had long ago extinguished any last ray of light within him, worn down by an endless cascade of failures, traumas and disappointments. All that remained was a yawning void, a hunger for the nothingness that he craved for.
The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to slow, each second stretching into an hour as the drugs worked their insidious magic. Trevor could feel his heartbeat growing more erratic, his breathing becoming shallow. This was it - his final release.
As the shadows closed in, Trevor welcomed their coldness. No more pain, no more struggle. Just the sweet, eternal peace of the void. This time, nothing would stop him from finding the respite he so desperately craved.
The seconds ticked by, the steady rhythm of the clock on the wall the only sound in the suffocating silence. Trevor's vision began to blur, the shadows in the room growing ever deeper as the drugs coursed through his system.
He could feel his heartbeat growing more erratic, pounding against his chest with rapidly diminishing strength. Each breath became a struggle, the air catching in his constricted throat. The blessed void he craved was drawing ever nearer, the nothingness opening wide to swallow him whole.
Just when he thought he could hold on no longer, a searing pain ripped through his chest, causing him to jolt upright with a strangled gasp. His heart was racing, pounding against his ribcage as if trying to break free. Waves of nausea washed over him, and he barely made it to the bathroom before retching violently into the sink.
Trembling, Trevor looked up at his reflection in the mirror, his face ashen and drenched in a cold sweat. The drugs hadn't worked - somehow, he had survived yet another attempt. Anger and despair welled up inside him, and he slammed his fist against the cracked tile, feeling the skin split across his knuckles.
How many more times would he have to go through this? How much more failure and humiliation could he endure before the universe finally showed him mercy? Trevor pushed his body against the wall that connected the sink and sank to the floor, curling in on himself as sobs wracked his body. The darkness was closing in, leaving him gasping for air, suffocated by the weight of his own helplessness.
In that moment, he felt more alone than he ever had. There was no one to reach out to, no one who could possibly understand the depths of his pain and despair. He was trapped in a living hell of his own making, condemned to an endless cycle of futile attempts and devastating disappointments.
As the first golden rays of dawn crept through the grimy bathroom window, Trevor mustered the last of his strength to pull himself up from the floor. His limbs trembled with exhaustion, every movement an agonizing struggle.
Stumbling out of the bathroom, he made his way unsteadily across the cluttered apartment, his vision blurring at the edges. Just as he reached the front door, a wave of dizziness overcame him, and he collapsed in a heap in the hallway, unconscious.
The next thing he knew, he was blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights of a hospital room, the beeping of medical monitors assaulting his senses. A nurse was hovering nearby, her brow furrowed with concern.
"Welcome back, Mr. Everdean," she said, her voice tinged with a weariness that Trevor recognized all too well. "You really gave us a scare this time."
Before Trevor could even gather his thoughts, the door to the room swung open and a stern-faced doctor strode in, his eyes narrowed with a mixture of frustration and something that almost resembled pity.
"Trevor," the doctor began, fixing Trevor with an unyielding gaze. "This is the eighth time I've treated you for a suicide attempt in the past four years. I'm at the end of my patience here, and frankly, so is the hospital."
Trevor merely glared at the doctor, his jaw set in a stubborn defiance. He had no interest in listening to another lecture, another futile attempt to make him see reason.
"You have two choices, Mr. Everdean," the doctor continued, undeterred by Trevor's hostile silence. "Either you agree to a mandatory 2 hour emotional support group and commit to a comprehensive treatment plan, or I'll have you involuntarily committed to a mental health facility. We can't keep doing this dance of you almost killing yourself and us putting you back together, only for you to try again a few months later."
The words hung in the air, a harsh fact that Trevor knew he couldn't ignore. But still, he refused to acknowledge the doctor, turning his head away and staring out the window, his expression unreadable.
The doctor let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head in resignation. "Very well, Mr. Everdean. I'll give you some time to think it over. But I hope you understand that this can't continue. We're trying to help you, but you have to be willing to help yourself."
With that, the doctor and nurse left the room, leaving Jacob alone with his stubborn, self-destructive thoughts. Was he determined to go down swinging, no matter the cost?
