Living With Jared Padalecki

32/ demons

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING⚠️

They know.

     This thought stays with me the whole way home, and when I get to my room, I pace around nervously. My hands are shaking and my heart is beating so fast that I think it will burst out of my chest and fly around the room.

     How the hell did this happen? I thought I was careful and thorough with my act, that my pain was not visible to others. But, there must have been a leak somewhere.

     I go into my bathroom and start washing my face, as if the cold water will wash my pain away. However, it does no such thing.

     Shutting the water off, I suck in a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror, cringing. As the negative thoughts start pouring into the front of my mind, I run a hand through my hair and try to stop thinking, but I can't.

     My eyes lock on my own in the mirror and I cringe again. Worthless, ugly, and burden are just a few of the words I am thinking now, about myself.  My eyes start to water.

     I close my eyes and clench my hands into fists at my sides. I can't do this anymore. This is no way to live, this is a way to die.

     It happens in a flash, quick as a blink of an eye. I pull my right fist back and slam it hard into the mirror, succeeding in my attempt to shatter it to pieces. My hand throbs from the impact, but I could care less.

     I pull away from the sink, taking deep, shaky breaths as I try to compose myself. In my room, I find a pen and a piece of paper and jot down a note to Jared, before leaving it on the bathroom sink, buried under the glass. He'll see it.

     Before leaving the room, I quickly review the note, making sure it does not sound stupid.

Jared,

     I'm sorry, but I have to go. I need to do this. Make sure the kids know that I love them. Good-bye.
    
     I don't bother leaving my name at the bottom, because he's going to know it's from me.

                                •••

     "Come on, come on," I whisper, wincing as I dig the blade further into my wrist. This is new territory; I have never went this deep before. The blood seeps out from beneath my skin, staining the silver blade and dripping off my skin as it hits my jeans, staining them as well.

     My head spins. I retrieve a bottle of sleeping pills from the passenger seat and open them, popping a few into my mouth. Taking more than usual leaves a dull ache in my throat, which I easily am able to ignore.

     Almost an hour, I have been sitting here, parked outside this old gas station that is located about fifteen minutes from where Jared lives.

     I feel dizzy, and I am pretty numb to the pain at this point. When my phone chimes from the passenger seat, I perk my head up lazily and retrieve it, seeing the message on the screen is from Jason.

Jason: baby, where are you?

     I don't respond. At the nickname, I would normally feel butterflies in my stomach, but this time I do not. I shut my phone off and toss it back into it's former location.

     Depending on when the guys got home, it is possible that Jason could have just found out. This knowledge gives me the advantage of having a little more time to get this done and over with.

     My phone chimes again. Instead of picking it up, this time I just leave it be. What's the point of looking at the messages if I am not going to answer back?

     I swallow thickly, taking a few more pills. With each few, I begin to feel even more faint, like maybe I am getting closer to where I want to be. I dig with the razor again, going scary deep again.

     The phone in the passenger seat is blowing up with messages now, and I find it rather annoying. The ringing echoes through the silence and through my head, even though it is not even that loud. Except now, every sense of mine seems to have been magnified somehow.

     I wince and glance over at the phone. The screen lights up the darkness, so I can faintly see it. I can also make out all the notifications blowing up the lock screen.

     Is this really the right thing to do? I think to myself. Another voice in my head attacks this one, though.

     Of course it is, it says. Nobody needs you; nobody wants you around. They want you gone. Really, they do.

     During my internal argument with myself, I must have screwed the lid back on the bottle of pills. I blink hard, my vision is becoming blurred, and I realize I have started to cry.

     Minutes later, I am sobbing. I'm not sure if it's out of frustration or fear or what, but it seems to be slowing me down. I curse myself as I once again reach for the bottle of pills.

     In my attempt to open it with shaky hands, I somehow spill the remaining pills all over the floor of my truck. I swallow again, trying to force back the lump in my throat. But the fact that I am crying makes it all the more difficult.

     I set my head against the steering wheel and let the tears fall silently, but my shoulders shake and I feel like someone ripped out my lungs. It seems impossible to get any air into them.

     "Charlie."

     Jason's voice does nothing to soothe me, in fact it just makes me panic even more. I had not even noticed his truck pull up behind mine, and I did not even see him open my door and widen his eyes at the sight of me.

     I muster up enough strength to pull my head away from the steering wheel and glance at him. His eyes widen and he audibly gasps at the sight of me. I immediately turn away, shifting my gaze back to the steering wheel.

     "Jesus, Charlie," Jason whispers, and I allow my eyes to fall shut as more tears escape them. I inhale shakily as Jason continues to try and make sense of this. Suddenly, he jerks the close-to-empty bottle out of my hands, eyeing me worriedly.

     "How many of these did you take?" He asks quietly, softly. I cringe as I look at the ground, to where the tiny white tablets lay scattered near my feet. I choke out a sob, covering my mouth with my sweaty hand. Jason gasps again as he probably takes full notice of the blood dripping from my wrist.

     "I can't, Jason," I say, my voice dry, and talking is painful from the lump in my throat. "I fucking can't anymore, okay?" I drop my head against the steering wheel again.

     "Okay, baby, come on," Jason says softly, touching my shoulder gently. I don't fight back; I am far too exhausted to try and put up a fight. "Can you—can you just come with me? I'm going to drive you to the hospital now." I nearly stumble as Jason helps me out of the truck.

     At the last minute, I finally feel the entire effect from the sleeping pills and blood loss. Halfway to Jason's truck, I collapse, but he catches me in his arms.

     "Charlie, no!" He exclaims, worry evident in his voice. "Stay with me, okay? I need you." He continues talking, but it is all just a blur to me, and my vision goes completely black.