Lunatic (l.s)

Chapter 2- L

(trigger warning-suicide/self harm- read at your own risk)

That's the thing about depression; a human can survive almost anything, as long as they can see the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it's impossible to see the end. the fog is like a cage without a key. The thing with the human body, living inside it can sometimes be difficult, and that's why sometimes people have to tear it open. The lines that he wears around his wrists are the to prove that he still exists, as much as he hates it, they will be there as an everyday reminder. 

Have you ever felt the need to slit your wrist, let all the feelings of guilt and depression bleed out, then sew yourself up to be happy again? That's the problem with cutting, once you start, it's almost literally impossible to stop. It's addicting, cutting is his drug. It serves it's purpose perfectly, once he cuts, he forgets about everything. He forgets everything that is and has gone wrong. All there is left is the concentration on his own cut. He forgets about everything but the pain. Pain has become his world. 

He's always hated when his scars started to fade, it meant that the pain he felt was disappearing with it too, but as long as he could still see them, he knew why he was hurting. The cuts run deep, these scars are permanent and always on display and it sometimes makes it difficult for him. He was alone, and most of the time, he preferred being alone. He had best friends, but they had ran for the hills when the had found out about his condition. Basically his entire family did too. Except his mother, of course. Isolation from the world was good for a while, until he realised how lonely he really was. He tried to be social, but it did the complete opposite. He couldn't even be happy if he tried. He was an outcast, he could never be normal. He had never wanted to feel so alone that he spent nights in his bathroom crying whilst red drips from his wrist, and fills his vision. But even though he begged to the gods above for everything to disappear, he lived with the daily reminder of why he was like this. He had to stare at the boy every day, while he felt the monster creeping through his veins, gnawing at the itch, begging for the pain that he was so familiar with. This monster, whatever it was, it thrived off the thought off Louis being alone. 

Love.

Love is what will tear everything apart, love is the one thing that no one really needs to experience because true love is the worst pain you can possibly ever feel. True love is why he's here. 

Unrequited love, if we're honest. 

He loves someone, loves them so much. Louis can't even look at the boy because it's so wrong. He has a girlfriend, not Louis, Stan. Stan has a girlfriend. 

Stan and Louis, they'd been best friends basically since birth, the pair were inseparable, that was until they both hit high school and Louis had come out about his sexuality, in private to his best friend. Louis had tried to throw himself into heterosexual relationships thinking they'd help with his troubles, but if it's not love, it's not worth it. Louis forces himself to say things, things that should never leave his mouth. especially to girls that he genuinely has no interest in. It's rude actually, but he does it, so maybe he doesn't have to get treated so badly. He holds their hands, but their fingers never fit right. He kisses them, but their lips don't feel right. 

The feelings had started so long ago that Louis has really lost count of the years, it was probably when they were about 9 or 10, Louis started feeling so strangely pulled towards Stan, it felt like there was a force pulling him towards his best mate.  Stan got a non-serious girlfriend at about 11, and Louis knew something was really up, when he went home and cried, and broke his mothers vase in a giant fit. He knew what he was feeling deep down inside, it was wrong. There had been people in their grades that had suspicions that the two were together, but it wasn't true, to Louis' disappointment. They were that close, that they used to even jokingly hold hands, and when they did...it was right, well for Louis anyway. Stan's fingers laced perfectly inbetween Louis' as if the gaps between his fingers were structured purely for Stan's. Stan had a thing for the hand holding, but it was always mostly when they were alone watching horror movies or something on a saturday night. It was the best feeling, well second best.  because, the first time they'd kissed, that was the best. Louis swears to himself that he'll never forget that moment. He'd be on his death bed and could still write an entire novel and a symphony based on those lips. It was Louis' birthday actually, his 16th. It was the first time they both had gotten completely blind drunk. Louis' mum and Stan's mum had allowed it to happen, and Louis wasn't so drunk, but he just played the part well. Stan however, was so off his face, it was amazing that he could even stand.  Louis doesn't really remember much, just the faint shout of a mate saying "just kiss already" and then he had his eyes closed and soft little pillows of bitter alcohol and strawberry chap stick against his lips. They were so soft and they moved so slowly, large hands cupping his jaw, fingers pressed against skin. Louis thought his skin would set alight. Stan's tongue was pretty good too, for someone at only 16 and little to no experience, he knew how to work it. His mouth tasted of alcohol and cigarettes, and for some stupid reason, strawberries. Louis kind of laughed at it later on when he found out his younger sisters had put lipstick on him because he was so drunk. He can't really say how long the kiss had lasted, because he'd been so caught up in the moment and in the feeling of Stan's mouth and tongue and his warm skin and the taste of him. But it ended as quickly as it started, you could say.