Taking a long exaggerated deep breath, Ashton walked out of his therapists office. He'd never liked the cream colored walls with the gender neutral paintings and the encouraging plaques placed directly above the therapy chair, taunting him as he attempted to speak about his feelings. "Never give up", they read. "You'll get through this" and the one he hated the most, "suicide is not the answer". Ashton found himself wanting to curse out the tantalizing image always positioned before his eyes. However, he had never attempted suicide. He was mental. Mental. . . As much as he hated hearing the word, he had come to terms with it. He had anxiety, especially when separated from his loved ones. He knew he'd lose them all one day, everyone knew this about their loved ones, but with him, that day was everyday. He worried every day his family would die, taking all of his happiness with him. He was always scared. This, of course, added to his problems in school. His mother had always said a guy like him should be popular. She expected him to have friends, attend parties, the lot. Ashton, however, was the complete opposite. He was the school joke. No one wanted to be friends with the tall socially awkward nuisance that had a panic attack in the small compacted elevator in freshmen year; or the boy that'd started crying when his mother didn't answer the phone in the middle of a junior year assembly. Eventually Ashton had no one. Even his own family treated him with condescension. It had gotten so bad his school insisted he'd go to therapy, and kicked him out, no one wanted a student with mental problems, no matter how innocent they were. So as Ashton walked down the crowded streets of his home town, pushing past everyone and everything without a second glance, he wished himself away, and with that, his cloudy mind found peace.
--
Silent. Still. Hushed. Noiseless. Yet again Ashton was met with the presence of tantalizing darkness and nothing but the quiet creaking of his old town house. Ready was an understatement. He'd practically launched himself out of bed when it was half past midnight and his family still hadn't arrived home. He slowed his breathing as panic began to set in. You mustn't care this much about other people, Ashton heard his mother saying, echoing in his conscience, they will never care this much about you. Those harsh words burned in his mind. No one cared about him, and for once the thought encouraged him to do something right. Grabbing his giant duffle bag, stuffed with a sleeping bag containing almost all of his clothing and other important items, he got up. He still hadn't changed from his day clothes, he'd known earlier what he was going to do, he just needed the courage. Without a second glance to his room, he grabbed his asthma pump from under his beige pillow, walking out of the room stepping quietly through the hallway to his mothers room. I don't care anymore, just as you'd want me to, He thought to himself. He was going to be free. He walked to her dresser, pulling the emergency wad out of the small jewelry box she'd kept in a drawer. He paused for a moment, as if waiting for any other sign that he should stay; there was nothing, his families absence being enough. Through the window, he saw the headlights of a car that wasn't theirs drive by, and he took off. Thumping down the creaky wooden stairs, he ran out into the night, without a care in the world besides where he was going to end up.
