I'm So Sorry For Falling In Love With You

Ch3 - Loathing

Jeff hasn't even touched his phone since he came home a few nights ago.
Why bother?
He wasn't even upset anymore.
He felt nothing.
Austin's rejection hit him harder than it should have.
He couldn't remember the last time he ate something without throwing up, nor the last time he slept without waking up in a cold sweat, apologizing to the silence.

Ever since Ian moved out, Jeff was vulnerable.
Ian's presence was what kept him grounded before, but now his reassurance was gone.
And Jeff was alone.
He didn't know how to handle his emotions on his own, so he shut himself away from everything.
If he was alone, nothing could harm him.

No one could harm him.

No one but himself.

It's not like Jeff hadn't thought about it.

Giving the bathroom wall a new paintjob using a trigger as a brush.
Having one too many beers before sleep.
Writing his horrid thoughts out on his skin.

Jeff glanced over at the kitchen.
The knife box stood exactly where it always does.

The handles seemed so tempting now.

He sat up, the world spinning in front of his eyes.
He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath.
A shiver ran through his body and he looked into the kitchen again.

Still there.

He stood up, his vision blurring and he put his hand on the wall to steady himself.
He stood there for a few moments, waiting for his head to stop buzzing.
His legs started moving almost involuntarily towards the kitchen, his hand dragging against the wall in case he stumbled.
He got closer and closer to the box.
The edges of the knives were visible now, a small portion of the sharp blades sticking out of the wooden stand.
His gaze was fixed on the glistening iron, his other hand extending itself until it was mere inches away from the smooth handles.

Just a few lines.
Just a few quick lines.
Just a few lines to make him see if he was still real.

Jeff's heartbeat sped up.

His trembling fingers were nearly touching the handle, the smooth plastic inviting him to grasp it and pull out the blade.

Just a few lines.

Images of blood and split skin rushed through Jeff's mind and his stomach churned.
He touched the handle and retracted his hand like it was burning hot.
He shook his head, memories of red dripping down the kitchen sink projecting themselves in front of his eyes.
He didn't even notice the tears that started welling up in his eyes.
He took a step back, his stomach tying itself into knots as he remembered.

"Not again."

More and more thoughts of mutilation played in his mind like a badly recorded film and he felt sick.
Disgusted.
Revolted by himself for considering reliving the worst moments of his life.

He threw a hand over his mouth and rushed to the bathroom, not even aware of the fact that he was running.
He hunched over the toilet and gripped the sides of the cold porcelain, his already empty stomach struggling as he threw up nothing but acid, his throat burning and his eyes stinging.

When his retching and gagging stopped, Jeff pushed himself away from the toilet and pressed his back against the wall, gasping for air.
His vision was blurry and distorted, his tears felt like fire rolling down his cheeks.

He wanted to scream.
He opened his mouth as to yell at the now unbearable silence.

But all that came out was a gargled, barely audible sob before he broke down again, digging his nails into the skin on his forearms.

He felt nothing.