spinning webs

never meant to do you harm

A shaky hand weakly grasped a pen, scrawling messily on a piece of paper torn haphazardly out of a notebook from a desk. A large glass, nearly empty, sat nearby. A dim lamp was on across the room, giving a gentle amber glow to the space. Warren sat, quivering in his seat at his desk, crying silently. Teardrops fell and sunk into the paper, causing a few small tears in the page every now and then. Some landed on the desk, causing his bare forearm to become wet from the salty droplets. The thoughts had seemed to subside as he continued on in his evening, drinking a glass or two more of his mixed drink, the taste seeming to numb him. Maybe there's too much whiskey in there, He laughed dejectedly, a few more tears streaming down his face and dripping onto the desk.

He knew he could get heavy handed with his beverages, but especially more so on nights like these. They weren't common, but for some reason had been occurring more and more. Probably due to the fact that you haven't been taking your medication... A small sigh left him, pen lifting from the paper and resting gently beside it. "'S not my fault, y'know? 'S not like I want to not take it, I ran out." His voice sounded slower, and more groggy than he'd hoped it would. Damn. Maybe I did get a bit too heavy handed on the booze.

A short buzz pulled him away from the argument beginning to materialize in his head, and he glanced over towards his bed. A dim light shone from where his phone was, face-down on the bedside table. He looked towards the desk, and the scribbly writing, before standing on shaky legs and carefully making his way across the room.

[One new message: Jordan]

"Jordan," He sighed, smiling faintly. "Wha's Jordan up to?" He drawled, blinking hard against the bright light of the screen. He turned it down, blinking a few times to adjust to the difference.

['Hey Warren! I just got out of my night class, was wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight?']

Warren looked at the time on the top of the screen, the numbers reading 9:33pm. He took a moment to focus on the keyboard, fingers hovering over the screen.

['why's your nigjtclasd ony grt out noe ? shoudlnt youvhabe bern okt for awhile?? doejsnt itngey out at ritht?']

The message was intended to read 'why'd your nightclass only get out now? Shouldn't you have been out for a while?? doesn't it get out at eight?'. Warren stared long at the screen, debating responding at all due to his inability to type at the moment.

['War? You there? You've been typing for a minute or two now...']

The blond looked at his phone before deciding, fuck it, and sent the message, terribly written and full of typos as it was. He locked his phone and put it in his pocket, standing feebly and fumbling back towards his desk. Another glance at the paper there had his emotions returning and the tears he'd managed to restrain in the pause from writing welled back up immediately. Damnit. Why do I have to be such a burden? Why can't I just be alone? I don't want people to care for me! "I don't want people to worry! I just want to disappear," He hadn't realized he was talking out loud until he heard his own voice crack, which wouldn't happen in his thoughts.

A choked sob escaped his lips, and he collapsed over his desk, crying into his arms. Why does it have to hurt so much? Why can't I just be better? He took a quick glimpse of his surroundings, and noticed the large, tall glass. A surge of anger rose up in him, and he took the glass quickly in hand. Rearing back, he dumped most of the contents onto the floor behind him, but the object was placed gently back on the desk, a heavy sigh escaping the lips which were previously drawn in a tight, frustrated line. He sniffled a few times, strangling the sobs trying to escape his throat. Can't even break a fucking glass. Can only make a giant mess.

A slow, clumsy walk towards the kitchen proved much more difficult than originally intended, and it took him much longer than he'd have liked to return with paper towels in hand. Stupid carpet floors, stupid drunk actions, stupid feelings, stupid me, the list continued, a irritated growl coming from his throat, a loud hiccup being placed intermittently between the noise and occasional voiced curse word.

He knew that the cleaning would not be done well enough now, especially in his intoxicated state, so he decided enough was enough and placed the remaining paper towels over the mess, knowing full well he'd have a hell of a time cleaning it tomorrow. I can't do damn near anything now, not like this. Tomorrow-me's going to hate now-me, but fuck it. Doesn't he already? A self-deprecating laugh, much louder than expected, ripped itself suddenly from his mouth. The sound startled him, and caused more laughter. I am honestly such a Goddamn burden to myself, I really wonder how much of a fuckin' nuisance I am to all the people I talk to? Shit, I don't even know if I can call them friends. I bet they all hate me,...

The thoughts continued, and Warren found himself laughing and crying at the same time as he crouched on the floor next to his bed. He finally fell over, laying on the rough floor, shaking. Is this a panic attack? A mental breakdown? A fit? What the hell is my problem?

Yeah, pull yourself together. You're just a damn mess, now. No one wants to have to deal with someone who just cries all the time. It was less pleasing now that the voices had managed to butt their way in, circling his thoughts and constricting him until the negativity was all he could hear. The feelings that began to creep up overtook him, and he rushed to pull himself up and scurry to the bathroom. He nearly cracked his skull against the doorframe trying to get in, and collapsed by the toilet. It didn't take long for the contents of his stomach, most of which was alcohol, to spill into the bowl.

What a waste. All that expensive liquor down the drain, quite literally. Warren had certainly had enough, but he couldn't bring himself to push the thoughts away. He leaned his cheek against the door of the shower, relishing in the coolness against his seemingly-burning skin. He couldn't tell what the cause was, but it was probably because he'd just thrown up. Another short buzz pulled his attention back to reality, and he stood on legs even shakier than before to wash his hands at the sink and swish some water around in his mouth. The taste of bile was absolutely revolting, but he supposed that was the point.

[Five new messages: Jordan]

Worry creeped up his spine, but his brain seemed to dull the feeling, and Warren had a general feeling of disgust in himself and shame for neglecting responding to his friend.

['Speeches today, so it took longer. Warren, are you alright?'

'Warren, are you okay?'

'You've been drinking again, haven't you? Don't you know you shouldn't do that unless someone else is there to watch you?']

That message in particular stuck to Warren, and he felt anger rising up, tension growing in his shoulders. I'm plenty capable of controlling myself and being responsible! A glance at the toilet seemed to tell him otherwise, though. He flipped down the lid and flushed, washing his hands again. He then read the remaining messages.

['Warren, please, I'm worried about you.']

'I'm coming over.']