Kitchen Sink (A Joshler Fanfic)

Chapter One - The Sink

Just do it! The voices in his head were growing stronger. He wanted to ignore them, but they were too loud. Lean forward you worthless piece of shit! He didn't want to, yet he felt he had to. It would make the pain go away. At least that's what the voices told him. He let his hand slide into the water and soak for a moment before he cupped it onto his burning forehead. The water soothed his migraine, but only for a few seconds. The rope around his neck was rubbing his throat raw. He just wanted it to be over. The only problem was that he has had this fear of letting the voices take over his own mind and body. His nightmare was becoming a reality. He let the darkness take over himself and fill his veins with poison as he leaned forward slightly. He felt the rope tug at his throat, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. He liked it, but it scared him. It put knots in his stomach, but gave him excitement at the same time. He leaned forward just a little bit more. He gagged, then his vision started blurring. He let his eyes slowly shut. It was peaceful. The feeling of all his pain would go away if he just kept leaning... forward... slowly....... The sound of his mother's car door slamming jolted him out of his thoughts. His eyes shot open and he inhaled, regaining some of his sight and sanity. He quickly untied the rope and put it back in the sink. The front door opened and his hands were shaking violently but that didn't stop him from running to his room, slamming the door, and locking it quickly.

"Tyler?" She yelled. He didn't answer. He put his back to the door.

"Tyler I told you not to leave the kitchen sink running anymore!" 

His mother was yelling at him for leaving the sink running, but she didn't know the real reason it was running in the first place. You could have ended it there! Why did you untie the rope? What the fuck is wrong with you? Now your mom's mad at you. Great job. Great fucking job. The voices just wouldn't leave poor Tyler alone. He wanted to cut himself so bad. He did that when he was feeling down, or when he didn't want to deal with the world. He sat crossed legged on his too-stiff bed, lifted his sleeve and examined the scars. There were far too many to count. Each and every one gave a different story. There were small ones and much larger ones, but all of them meant something, and Tyler couldn't take any of them back. He reached under his bed and grabbed his trusty pocket knife and flicked it open. It was a gorgeous color. Mostly green, with flecks of gold here and there. The blade on the other hand, was Tyler's worst and most feared enemies, but at the same time, it was his best friend. The luster was beautiful, despite all the scratches and blood stains. He felt the familiar curves and edges with his fingertips, and made his way up to the blade. Before the voices could convince him to slice, he made a gash halfway down his forearm. The blood spilled from his skin, onto his old shaggy carpet. He sat, mesmerized by the way it would flow a deep red from the inside of him, to his skin, to the floor. This was nothing new, of course. He would watch the blood flow from his wrist to the floor every single time he cut. But still, he couldn't help but think that he, Tyler Joseph, was a real live living person, yet he didn't want to be. A knock on the door pulled him out of his suicidal thoughts. He quickly grabbed an old dirty shirt from the ground and wrapped his wound, slowing the bleeding for a moment, before his mom could barge in.

"Tyler honey, what are you doing? You left the sink running again." Tyler didn't look up.

"Sorry, I just forgot." She looked thoughtfully at him and sat on the bed next to him. He was uncomfortable, knowing what she would do if she found out he cut himself. She wrapped an arm around him. She always knew when he was feeling down.

"You have an appointment with Dr. Jones tomorrow. He said he had something special planned for you." He looked up at his mother, not believing a word she said. Tyler hated Dr. Jones and Dr. Jones hated tyler. He didn't want to tell his mom that he hated him, because he knew she didn't have the money to get a different counselor. Whatever this special plan was, Tyler wasn't exactly excited about it. He had no choice but to lie.

"I don't feel good. Can you cancel it and make it another time?" Unfortunately, every mom knows that trick.

"Nope. You're going. Sorry mister." She smiled and gave Tyler a quick squeeze before exiting the room. He sighed. He really really didn't want to go to stupid Dr. Jones' office. But, there wasn't any stopping mom. Remembering the cut on his arm, he carefully removed the grimy shirt. It was still bleeding a concerning amount of blood, but Tyler had dealt with this many times in the past. He did his normal routine of washing it, cleaning it, and bandaging it so his mother wouldn't notice. He was quite surprised that she had only caught him once, considering that he had tried to end his life multiple times before. He threw on a heavy sweatshirt (that was probably dirty) to cover the gash. He looked in his mirror, which had a series of cracks in the upper left corner. They were pretty annoying but Tyler was used to it by now. His hair was a mess and the fact that was wearing a saggy pair of sweatpants and an old baseball cap didn't help. His acne and lack-of-shower-face made the mirror look like it was making fun of him. It would have to do for now. He tossed himself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He was exhausted. Today was a rough day. Tyler knew exactly what he needed to make this day better. Josh. Tyler needed Josh.