Never Forgotten || l.p (au)

Chapter 21

I'm baaaaaaaack :))) Terribly sorry for the extremely long wait but here is FINALLY another update. I'm gunna try making these a little bit more frequent now that school is out and that I'm finally getting somewhere with my writing. The writer's block is gone !!

If you have any questions, inbox me or tweet me, @beneficialarry. And please please pleASE VOTE/COMMENT/SHARE AND ALL THAT JAZZ BC IT MEANS ALOT AND I APPRECIATE IT !!

Okay, I think that's all. Enjoyyyyyyy :D

P.S ily xx

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I didn't think I could be sad about Destiney waking from her deep slumber, I actually thought everything would go back to normal and I'd finally be happy again. But I thought wrong.

I really am elated that it's over and she's no longer in a constant inertia, but then I think about how she doesn't remember anything and all of that elation is ripped away from my body. It's like the storm is finally over, but the rainbow isn't pretty and inviting. It's ugly and deceitful.

"Good morning, Liam," Mark greeted me as I wandered into his room. Coming back here a second time definitely didn't appeal to me, but Dr. Wence told me it was for the better. 'It will help you,' he had said, but of course I wasn't gonna be the one to believe him.

I sit down in the small floral sofa that was placed opposite of the one Mark was perched on. He stayed quiet for awhile, taking notes in his poor little journal. The corners were frayed on the edges and the binder was worn out, with holes starting to form at the bottom. It had seen it's better days.

I imagined the things he wrote in it about me weren't very positive. It probably said things like 'No communication', 'negative attitude', or maybe even 'seems to act lifeless.' Because if there was one thing that I was sure of, it's that I felt lifeless.

I wasn't going anywhere with my life. I was stuck with Destiney on my mind and I couldn't move on from it. I couldn't move on from her. I'm not really living. I'm just kind of here, with no real purpose. 

"Okay Liam," Mark sets his journal on the table with his pen resting on top of it, "how have you been?"

I snort, rolling my eyes. How have I been? Is it even relevantly okay to ask someone like me that type of question? I took a piece of paper from the table and grabbed a pen. Anger and sadness surged over me as I wrote. My hand writing was sloppy and care-free, but I didn't have the patience to worry or care.

Once I was done writing, I slid the paper across the table so hard it floated off the table and landed on the floor. He took a deep breath, obviously fed up with my actions, then leaned over  to pick it up. After reading it, he picked up his journal and began writing more.

The longer he wrote, the angrier I became. Why does he have to write something for every little thing I do? So he can go around, showing it to his mates and telling them how pathetic I am? So he can get a good laugh out of my misery and make me feel like a bigger pile of shit than I already do?

He noticed my sudden tension, I realized, because he then said, "These notes and anything you tell me don't leave this room, okay? I only write things so I can figure out ways to help you. There's nothing bad in here." He waved it in the air with a smug look on his face, and I couldn't help but not believe him.

Maybe doing angry things is what he wants me to do. Maybe it amuses him to the point where it's the only reason he wants me to keep coming back. If that's the case, I'll stop giving him what he wants. I forced a friendly smile, nodding as if to say, 'Okay, I believe you. Carry on.'

My smile caught him off guard. I would be too, really. He stared into my eyes, searching for Lord knows what. But I held myself together and showed no sight of the pain I was suffering, both emotionally and physically. 

Two weeks; it's been two weeks since I've started having this stomach pain and nothing. Ever. Helps. I've tried pain reliever, I've even been able to keep bits of food down! But it doesn't help. I asked Dr. Wence - or he asked me questions until we got to the topic - and he told me it would take awhile and that I need to keep eating.

I just want the pain to go away.

"Right then. Um, Liam, what do you do on an average day? Lately, I mean." Mark asks, still not taking his eyes away from me. It was like he was studying every aspect of me, as if today was the last time he would ever see me. I really hoped that was it.

Instead of answering his question or writing down my schedule, I wrote out my thoughts. 'Take a photo, it will last longer.' I kindly handed it to him with a forced smile.

He held a smile of his own as he retrieved it from my hand, but it soon disappeared after he read it. He closed his eyes and sighed nonchalantly. "Look. I know you don't want to be here and quite frankly, I don't want to either. But it's going to help you get better, Liam. In the end, you'll be thankful you came. You just have to trust me and work with me on this."

See, he doesn't even want to be here! Why are we wasting our time? Why am I wasting my time? There's no point in continuing on with all of this. I should end everything, get it all over with. Then Mark could go home. Dr. Wence could take me off of this 'List of Worries', although I doubt I'm really on it. Naomi could focus on school and Chase. And Destiney..well she doesn't even remember who I am.

I need to go through with it this time. I've got pills at home, or a razor in the bathroom cupboard- "Liam, are you alright?" Mark pulls me away from my dark thoughts, his hand touching my arm. I hadn't even realized he came over to me. "You're shaking."

No, I'm not alright. Nothing is alright. It wasn't but a few seconds later that I was crying on Mark's shoulder. For what seemed like hours I cried. In a strange way, it helped just the slightest. "You're worse than I thought," Mark whispers, then quickly adds, "I don't mean that in a bad way. I just didn't realize how..how upset you truly were."

So in dumbed down terms, he didn't believe that I was depressed. He thought I was just playing games. Some therapist he is.

I had finally stopped crying, and of all the things he could have done, he wrote in his journal. I shook my head angrily and stood up from the sofa. I moved to the window to look down at the moving traffic and the people that had real lives whereas I was still here in this hell hole.

"Liam, will you say something; anything? It can be what's on your mind..please just say something." He wants me to speak. Of course he does, tha't what everyone wants. They want me to speak so I'll  crack and tell them everything. All of the bullshit I've bottled up inside me for the past months. "Please, Liam. It will help you, I promise."

I turn away from the window and look into his boring green eyes. I took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm tired of only existing, rather than living."