True Colors [Tronnor AU]

Chapter One

[Connor]

๑ January ๑

You're not worth it

A desperate sob.

Nobody cares.

A hitched breath.

Look at how much of a loser you are, can't even kill yourself.

Maybe if he just stopped breathing he could be happy. If he could just stop and sleep, sleep, sleep.

But don't you remember, Connor? You're too scared. Scared of everything, even this.

He started hitting his head, first with his hands, then on his headboard.

It's not hard enough, Connor. It could never hurt enough.

The wall.

You're just not strong enough.

He bit into his forearm, into the soft skin of his wrist, but that didn't stop either the voice that he knew belonged to him, was a part of him, nor did it hurt enough to numb the pain in his chest.

Tears escaped his eyes, he reached up to them and clawed at his face, trying to make it stop, make everything stop.

„He won't stop sobbing, I tried calling his name but he just won't answer me, Sir."

„That's okay, just try to go back to sleep, Matt. It's all okay, I'll take care of him from now on."

Another sob, a needle, darkness.

How he adored the darkness.

๓ December ๓

„Listen up, man, this place is only for complete fuck ups like myself. If you're not one of us, get out as fast as you can. You have no idea how many teens we get every fucking month, and they all leave after five days, wannabe depressed, looking for stories. If you're one of them, then get your ass out of my room and look for another roommate, you hear me?"

Connor swallowed. Was he one of them? Wannabe depressed, maybe. Looking for stories, definitely no.

The bold, tall man with the neck tattoo looked at him. Shit, there it was. Dry throat, shivers, panic.

„Yes, sir.", he said.

The man made a noise between a hum and a growl and turned away.

Connor looked at the room.

White walls, white sheets, white light.

White. Clean. Innocent.

Not like you, scoffed the voice. Connor winced.

Still shivering, he sat down on his bed. He didn't bring much to the hospital. His book, his mp3 player, a polaroid picture. He pinned it on the wall beside his bed, laid down and stared at it.

It was late afternoon and the sun started to set. „Look at it, Connor.", he said. „Look at the sky, look at the flowers. Look at the colors. See, this is not only green, it's not even turquoise, not bluish green. This is what freedom looks like, Connor.", the boy swirled around, laughed and pinned the little flower whose color he just described onto Connors jacket.

„And see the sun? It's not just orange, yellow or apricot. It's hope.", he laughed again and gently touched the place above Connors eyebrow, only to trace the shape of his eyes, his jaw, his throat.

He leaned in, kissed the spot his fingers just left a second ago and then proceeded to whisper into his ear.

„Catch me, Connor."