Broken- And Fixed Again- (A Jamilton Fanfic)

Chapter 5: Starlight (part 2)

//TW: mentions of abuse, mentions of suicide, self-loathing, swearing\\

Alexander

The still air, filled with the rotting scent of desperation, of loneliness, and a deep seeded hatred, filled my lungs; it threatened to choke out any pretenses of life. It became a struggle just to breathe in the stuffy room, corrupted as I was with all the nightmares plaguing my mind to the point where sleep was nothing more than an old friend that had moved on, leaving me to behind to wait for them, even though I knew they were never coming back. I stared down at my hands, smudged with the jet black ink, and leaned back in my chair. Perhaps if I stared at the light of the lamp for just long enough, it could burn away the tears collecting in the corners of my eyes. They were nothing more than a nuisance, blurring the words I managed to scratch down.

I needed fresh air. I'd been up, stuck on the way to start this god damned sentence for at least twenty minutes, and I needed fresh air to help me think, and refresh me because I swear to god I was on the verge of having a mental breakdown and shutting off completely.

My stomach remained hollow and empty. My limbs ached. My eyes strained. My wrists were cramped from the hours upon hours I had poured into yet another stack of papers. Everything hurt, and I could hardly stand it anymore. From the moment the sun abandons me in the evening to the second it risks a glance at the mess that I had become in the morning, I do nothing but write and try not to think about the boy who had left me without once turning back.

But still, it was better than sleeping. Anything was better than sleeping, than facing those horrid fantasies. What was it about somebody else's death that seemed so frightening? It wasn't mine. It didn't effect my physical health in any way. I still got to face a new sunrise, I got the chance to move on and find a new sense of happiness, right, so why the fuck did it matter if he died?

Maybe I just hate being alone.

With a soft laugh, I glanced around the lifeless room, the desk filled with empty, unwashed coffee mugs and the floor littered with crumpled up papers containing nothing but my nonsensical, hardly coherent rambling. The only mark of the boy that had once lived here, the person who had once slept next to me, warding off those horrible dreams as if his mere presence exuded light and love, were the plants that remained where he had fled. I had done my best to keep them alive, and surprisingly, they hadn't withered yet under my care, as most else seems to do.

They survived, the last thing I had to hold on to him. Their colors were quite literally the last hope I had left. Maybe, just maybe, they could convince me to stick around for just a little bit longer.

I stood up, my legs grateful for the respite from their cramped position curled underneath the desk for hours upon hours straight, and stepped over to one of the ivy plants drifting down the windowsill. I brushed my fingers against the leaves, glancing out at the world below me.

I hated him.

It was so fucking unfair but for the shortest, most unbearable blip of a moment, I hated Thomas. I hated how he fled so easily, drawn back to the unwelcoming darkness as though the light burned too brightly. I hated how he never so much spared me a glance the second I could no longer benefit him. I hated how he disappeared so utterly and thoroughly, once more returning to the background of a hazy dream fading just out of existence, just the person who sits next to me in my stupid fucking history class and not the boy I would follow until the ends of the earth.