Sanders Sides Onshots Book 2 {COMPLETED}

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T.W. Self harm, Depression, Death. (I think that about sums it up, but the entire thing is angst. So read at your own risk.)

He looked down at his wrists. No lines looked back at him, no red stood out against his pale skin, nothing new, anyway. They thought he was clean. If only they knew what went through his mind, and the way the blade felt against his thighs. If only they knew how hard he tried to hide it all. If only they knew he wasn't okay. But they wouldn't ever find out. He'd never let them. He'd lie and hide and say he's fine only to beak and crumble inside. Because when he does, it gets ugly, and no one deserves to see that. Pain litters his features, and he hides away, and it's best that he keeps it a secret. He'd never wish to unload his pain onto his friends, because if he did, they'd see how truly broken he is. He wasn't the kind of person they wanted him to be, because if he was, he wouldn't be their friend. He'd say he was fine, he'd lie, he'd do it so convincingly, so why would they try to find what he meant inside. He'd fake a smile, a laugh, the joy, just so who he was stayed hidden away.

Broken.

That's all he was. And nothin would change that. No amounts of "you can talk to me." Would change that. He'd never escape the prison of his mind, he'd never be better, he'd never 'get over it' his cracks defined him, and he was slowly slipping further and further away. At first it was declining offers of going out. Then it came to sleeping too late, or not sleeping at all. There was no in between. He'd end up skipping school, with no real explanation. He'd wave his friends worries off. Tell them he was fine. If only they saw through it. He convinced them he was fine, when all he wanted was to be turned around, hand on his shoulders, and an intense gaze boring into his soul, with a voice telling him that they knew he wasn't fine. But they didn't know, they didn't see. They believe his lies. They thought he was okay. He'd sleep away the weekend, and in his waking hours, he'd stare at the ceiling, thinking nothing but self deprecating thoughts. He'd ignore texts or calls from his friends, he'd ignore his parents bustling about downstairs. He'd ignore their voices, ignore the pang of sorrow that came with them not saying goodbye to him as they left. He'd hear the door shut and he plunged into silence, giving his thoughts chance to increase in volume. To tell him more of what he knew.

Useless.

He couldn't help his friends when they were going through a bad time. He'd stand and watch and feel guilty, but not do anything. He'd end up slipping away, unnoticed by them. They'd never see him leave, he wasn't worth paying attention to, he had it worse, but they'd never know because he'd never say. He'd never admit to the torment he dealt with daily, or the overwhelming numbness that consumed him. They'd never see him for him. He was broken and empty. A shell of a human, who worked and functioned, most of the time, they never saw the exterior crack, or his face contort to one of pain when his boyfriend draped himself across his legs, no one saw and no one cared. They couldn't care, he'd end up hurting them more, the longer he stayed. His boyfriend held him during the day, when his mind was far away, but in the nights, he was left alone to fight. Demons ran wild in his head, repeating words constantly said. He didn't care, he wanted it to end, maybe death would be his only friend. Yet, reason won, and he lived on. His heart still beat, and breath still escaped. He stayed alive, for whatever reason, he knew not, but he did. Maybe he lived for the soft kisses from his boyfriend, or the small hugs from his friends. Even though they were insignificant, they kept him going. Even when his mind screamed at him to end it all, he'd try and think about the soft feeling of his boyfriends lips against his own, about the way his body felt pressed against his own. The way in those moments he felt untouchable and his mind silenced. They were few and far between, but he relished them all. It's a shame they got taken away so quickly.

Ruined.

He lost one of the few people he cared about, and it took a bigger toll on him than he'd have liked it to have. He remembered walking in on his boyfriend, the way he looked, weak and helpless. Broken. He was there when he took his last breath, and the person got away with it, because no one knew who had done it. That day haunted him more than he'd like to admit. More than anyone would ever know. His family seemed to be over it. His friends got better. He was the only one stuck in the dark. The pools of blood, the stains on his carpet, the fear in his eyes. The breathless words, trying to hold himself together, knowing he was losing his life with every passing second. "I love you". Why wasn't he there earlier? Why did he have to lose his boyfriend? The one person whose joy seemed to keep him going more than it should have. His grumpiness in the morning, and their stupid arguments. His music taste, and hatred for school. The one who would let him rant about whatever plagued his mind. Maybe that was what prompted him to think more in depth about his death. Maybe the idea of being reunited with the male he loves made it seem better. They would all say he'd get over it, that he'd find someone new. But they didn't know. They didn't know how he felt, or how different he felt around him. How everything seemed better around him, like the weight of his troubles lifted slightly when they were together. It didn't matter. It was over.

Help.

He needed help. More than he'd ever admit. But he didn't care. As he stood with his back to the world, eyes cast down to the rocks below, his fate had been sealed. His friends would be frantically trying to find him, trying to stop him. They were too late. They had no chance. He looked at his wrists, new lines had sprung to life, red blossoming on his pale skin, draining more out of him with each passing second. Ragged breathing sounded from behind him, causing him to glance quickly behind him.

"Roman." Patton stood there, doubled over, trying to catch his breath. When he finally looked up, tears were shining in his eyes, fear littered his face.

"What?" His voice was devoid of emotion, he didn't feel, he hadn't for years. He'd held on because of one person. Because one person managed to make him feel everything at once, but when he wasn't around, he felt empty.

"I don't want to lose you."

"You never had me."

Patton watched, torn between pulling him away from the edge, and between calling someone. Anyone.

"Please. Let me help." Tears fell down his friends face, and he felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he was going to leave his friend that way. He didn't want to give up. He'd finally convinced himself that he deserved this pain. Deserved this end.

"You're too late." Roman swayed slightly, the loss of blood affecting him. A simple gust of wind would push him over the edge, causing him to plunge to his death.

Roman watched as Logan arrived, breath short, tears falling on his usually emotionless face. He tried to find words to console them both, but he knew they'd fall before they reached them.

"I love you both. Thank you for dealing with me." He sent a small, sad smile in their direction, before letting himself fall backwards, plunging to the rocky ground below, letting the impact wind him, and remove any air from his lungs. He let the wounds bleed out more, which could have killed him before he reached the bottom, but gravity won, and, upon impact, he died.

Roman Sanders lost the battle to his own mind.

1391 words

Hope you enjoyed
Take care
Xx