Four Hundred and Twenty | Yogscast Lewis (xReader)

T w e n t y T h r e e

T w e n t y T h r e e

S c a r s  N e v e r  F a d e  A w a y

When I was twenty, I had fallen into the wrong side of my moral code.

At the beginning, it took a toll on me. I hated it so much. The feeling of every inch of your body, withering and feeling like it was burning over a hundred degrees. Your eyes begin to see white dots forming into view and the clawing of your fingers as you try and snap at your throat.

It was even worse when I couldn't even hear myself cry.

But as I began to continue it, addicted to this habit of hiding and taking: it began to numb me. I forgot to realise those thoughts, the worries that I hated myself at doing. My mind palace piling in hateful stacks of memories as every comment I heard racked through my head.

It was weird - to feel.

To take it and feel yourself flood with tears. Because - in the depth of my mind - I think I was living in two worlds. One moment, I would be cold, unaware of opinions. And then the next I was yearning to tear myself apart.

"You know I hated it... when I found you." George muttered, the disgusted tone in his voice carried.

I had this conversation quite a while back, memorising how I reacted.

"To think you were wasting your life...Your fucking life!" He shouted, exasperated. "You are treasured with the gift that life gave you. And the one thing you do: is do that!?"

I rasped back, not wavered.

"George...you don't understand."

"Fuck I do understand!" His eyes flared with fury. "You're under pressure. Doing three flipping degrees at the same time! And you've never gone to me, or Pippa or Georgia! No...you fucking join some posh druggies and get high!"

"You know I was brought into this," I frowned, but I tried not to clench my fists. "I-I had no other choice!"

"No fucking..." He sighed and growled. "That man...Ralph has no fucking right to do that!"

Then my anger seeped through. "And how are they going to believe me? I'm a freak! No one likes me!"

I tried to tell him, that I was alone that time, and that when I had gotten back to Chelmsford to meet with family, I was cornered and persuaded.

George understood. But he was one of many that never accepted the fact that I had fallen into that trap. Maybe I didn't understand it myself, in personal way. I loved my life then. No mother to disagree with, no new step father to neglect my place in the family. No one calling me a freak and calling me names.

But the mind is a fragile thing. And that is why I enforced it with concrete and decided to create a full on border control towards my emotions.

Because, what Darker Me said: was always going to be true. She held all the power in me - the calm after the storm. The one who used up all their emotions and just turned full out assassin.

Fuck. That is horrid to remind myself of.

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