Do You Think We're Okay? t.f. x reader pt2

vi

This chapter is gonna have a LOT of trigger warnings.
Like- a lot.

These subjects aren't triggering to me because I'm very open and I joke about my problems more than I should.
Humor is my coping mechanism, so the amount of suicide jokes I make in a day is too many to be considered "okay".

I know subjects like these are really hard for some to read, much less talk about, so viewer discretion is advised. ⚠️

Precious Pineapple of the Day goes to-
SherlocksGaze
She doesn't even read this book but she's one of my closest friends.
She's precious to me.
Love you, Ve.

This chapter's question is:
If you could have any superpower, what would it be?

My answer:
Either,
A) being able to control the elements such as earth, water, fire, and air, (&/or dark matter),
(I came up with the superhero name 'Le Elementair' which is French for 'The Elemental'. My name's French for Elizabeth, so I thought it fit well.)
B) being able to teleport me, another person, or object just by thinking of he/she/or it,
(You already know I'm kidnapping Tom Holland and Benny C ;))
C) being able to grow/control plants, such as vines, flowers, etc.,
(Who doesn't love growing flowers under every step you take?)
Or D) being able to switch universes, and be able to live out all of my dreams.
(Ex. I'd go to the Marvel universe and become 'Le Elementair', be an Avenger, and fall in love with Peter Parker.
Ex 2. I'd go to the HP universe and be Snape's daughter, and be immediate best friends with Draco.)

Anyways, on with the heartbreak 💔

Days.

It had been days since "the incident" with Tom.

Each day felt lonelier than the last, even though I had multiple people visit.

It just wasn't him.
They weren't him.
I wanted him.

No one else mattered.
Not even me.

Blood.

So much fucking blood.

It kept pouring and pouring, like the tears that somehow still escaped from my raw and sore tear ducts.

5 days after "the incident", I snapped, breaking my shaving razor heads in half, cracking it open, and sliding the extremely sharp, extremely thin metal razors out of the broken plastic.

1 cut right under the crack where my elbow is, where my arm bends.

2 cuts slightly farther down, not quite getting to the meaty middle of my arm.

3 cuts all along the middle of my arm, more blood than the beginning ones poured from the fresh wounds as I cut closer and closer to where my veins poked out.

4 cuts almost at my wrist, blood immediately dripping onto my tiled bathroom floor.
I looked like Carry. Like I had just gotten pigs blood poured all over me.

With little hesitation, I sliced my wrist.

5 cuts exactly, for each day I've gone without the sorry son of a bitch I'll call a father to my child.

As I was thinking about how much hatred I have for that man right now, my arm went numb.
I looked down at it, seeing a waterfall of blood pouring out of it.

My arm felt tingly and slightly electric, as the thick red liquid I needed to stay alive was drained from my appendage.

I smiled lazily and my knees buckled, causing me to drop to the floor, my back hitting the wall behind me.

My legs laid limp, my toes barely touching the cold wood of my sink cabinet.

My eyes became droopy, the need for sleep washing over me, enveloping me like a warm blanket right out of the dryer.

I slumped down against the wall, trying to get in a comfortable sleeping position, like a child who's bored in a dentist waiting area.

I closed my eyes and took slow, deep breaths, matching the slowing beats of my dying heart.

The tingling in my arm spread to my whole body, a drowning ringing following it, making a slight headache form.

The bathroom light that hung above me was so bright, it looked like when a baby is born in a movie, they show things from its perspective.
Muffled voices.
Bright hospital lights.
Blurry surroundings.

But instead of crying like a newborn, I felt.. happy.

That's almost poetic.
I giggled drunkenly at my silly thoughts.

From time to time in life, you think "what will my last thoughts be like?"

And you hope they're something meaningful, for emotional, or at least smart.
And I'm over here thinking about how poetic my stupid thoughts are.

I jolted forward suddenly, my heart stopping for a second.
Like a minor contraction, my whole body shut down.

My lungs collapsed, stopping my breathing.

My heart stopped, causing a burning, sharp pain flow in my chest.

My stomach dropped, making me dizzy as I felt like I was falling.

My eyes blurred, my surroundings becoming even more indecipherable.

But I was the only thing that stopped this time.
Time didn't stop, everything around me continued.
And that's when the first real, scary thought popped up in my mind:

The world continues. Others will live, move on. The wind still blows..
It's just me that's ending.

Nothing else, but me.