dear violet ➳ andy biersack (currently editing)

12

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! trigger warning !
mentions of
self-harm

chapter
twelve
violet

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I could hear them talking.

I lay awake in bed, counting the shadows that seeped like spilled water through the window and slipped acrosss the white walls. I could hear the sound of cars as they sped by on the rain slick roads outside.

The duvet smelled incredibly clean; of hotel air conditioner and soap.

I lay on my back, shoes off, half listening.

Their voices were just soft murmers through the wall until I caught my name on Andy's lips and snapped to attention.

"... didn't save Violet out of guilt! I didn't spend the entire night running through the city with her, exploring the places most special to her, talking to her out of guilt! And you're wrong about her. She's not - why would you assume- ?"

I felt alarm course through my veins.

Guilt? What did any of this have to do with guilt? What in the world could someone like Andy possibly feel guilty about?

There came a faint sigh, and someone shifted around on the couch.

"I just. I don't want you to get hurt again, okay? She's so unstable. In the letters she mentioned that she self harms. She wrote to you to tell you that she was going to commit suicide. That's serious. What if she does something serious? God Andy, what would it do to you? She's insecure. She could hurt you. You can't go around trying to fix people all the time like this. I mean to be honest I'm scared for you. The drunks and the addicts? The fans? They need professional help. You can't keep pouring from an empty cup. You have to listen to me."

Oh God.

It was as if a slingshot had been released from deep within my chest, shattering something behind my ribcage to splinters.

I struggled to think.

She could hurt you.

I could. And I definitely would if we kept spending time together.

I would hurt him.

With my scars, with my razors, with my panic attacks, I would hurt him.

I didn't want to hurt him.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to dissolve into nothing, wanting to sink into the feathery matress and turn to dust, wanting to sleep deeply and never wake up.

I never meant to hurt anyone but myself.

Nobody else in this world deserved to have their soul shredded. Nobody else in this world deserved to feel the warmth of their own blood spilling through their fingers like hot paint.

I never meant to hurt anyone but myself.

He had to know that. Andy had to know that.

Outside, through the walls which had suddenly felt so paper thin, I heard Ashley say, "I'm sorry. It must be hard as fuck. She is very sweet."

And then Andy spoke. His voice was barely audible, but I could tell that he was closer to the wall. "All the sweetest things wind up killing you."

I rolled over and burried my face into the pillow, clamping my eyes shut and holding my breath, wanting everything to just stop.

I would wind up killing him.

Andy thought that I would wind up killing him, in the sense that I would break his heart irrepairably.

He knew that all I could do was hurt him, and he didn't even seem to mind.

Somebody said something, but their voice was too low and the words refused to reach me.

Then I heard Andy faintly. "You want me to promise not to fall in love with her? Because of her illness?"

I felt my heart violently skip a beat.

I clamped my eyes shut harder, not wanting to listen anymore, not wanting to lie here in this warm hotel bed with him just down the hall, not wanting to know, not wanting to exist.

"I want you to promise not to burn yourself out trying to help her. I want you to promise to keep a little distance."

There was a short silence. Then-

"Promise."

Just a whisper.

I felt my lower lip tremble, a fire rise in my throat, burning me from the inside out.

She's so unstable.

She could hurt you.

...mentioned that she self harms.

I'm scared.

She's so insecure.

And the worst part was that he was right.

Ashley was fucking right. About everything.

I was in love with him. I'd fallen in love with Andy, and all I would do was hurt him. Just like how I'd hurt my parents, just like how I'd put the hell in their eyes when they'd thrown open the door to my room at the worst moment imaginable and watched the blood run down my arms like crimson tears.

I was a weapon. I hurt people, I hurt people. There was nothing beautiful or romantic about falling in love with somebody like me. I was insidious.

The heavy silence in the room ensued, pressing into me like an invisible wall, making it almost impossible to breathe.

All the sweetest things wind up killing you.

He'd sounded so upset.

And it was my fault. All my godamned fault.

I screamed into my pillow until I felt my throat grow dry.

Maybe - maybe I could run away. Slip out the window and take off into the streets. Let them forget about me, the way they should.

I'd ran away before. The memory of it swirled around behind my eyelids, flickering like distant lightning. A shattered window. The stench of alcohol. Writing on the wall. A road clogged with traffic late at night. My sneakers hitting the ground as I ran ran ran and melted into the city like snow against an open flame.

That was the only way to avoid hurting people; running away.

The tears came, but I didn't feel them fall. I didn't feel them drip from my chin. All I felt was the fire in my chest, burning my wretched heart to cinders.

I had the feeling that there was something beautiful and precious dying within me, some vital part of me, the part that fueled any desire to live, being stolen. Being reduced to nothing.

I needed to leave.

Now. While I still could.

And not just the hotel room, not just Andy's life, but everything. I needed to leave this wretched world, and not just for my own sake anymore. While there wasn't a chance that I would break anything permanently, leave any unforgiveable damage behind. I needed to leave now, or else I would stay and only hurt Andy even more, hurt anybody that came close. It wasn't about me. It was about them.

I drew a ragged breath, and choked on it.

I had the most desperate urge to just end it all, to fade out into nothing. To go and never come back. (Maybe it was about me).

Go and never come back.

I slipped out of bed, and as my bare feet hit the smooth tiles, the cold shot through me like a bullet, numbing me to the core.