Don't Leave Me -DISCONTINUED/READ NEWEST CHAPTER-

Blow My Brains Out

I can't do it. 

I just can't do it anymore. 

The heartbreak is so bad my chest won't stop hurting. 

I feel like if I lifted my shirt, there would be a hole where my heart is. 

I had nobody. I was all alone and I can't deal with this pain. 

How could anybody like me. 

I'm a murderer. I killed my parents. I probably got Ma killed. If I had just went with Peter and Gianna and not put up a fight, maybe they could of gotten her to the doctors on time. 

The nightmares keep coming. 

Sometimes, it replays deaths. Andrea's. Amy's. Sometimes, I see Glenn and Maggie. I can't reach them. I run and I run but they are still far away. Other times, I'm killing them again. Stabbing and slashing. 

But the ones that hurt the most are of Carl. The look of disgust on his face when I beg him to see that I didn't mean to kill them. That they hurt me. But he kicks me away, cursing me...

...calling me a monster.

I don't know how Beth lived for so long after feeling like this. All it took was me holding her for her to stop. 

I don't want to feel anymore. Every touch feels like a burn, every word whispered is like a prayer, silently pitying me from under their breath. 

I vaguely recall a memory of Father Gabriel telling me that if you committed suicide that you would go to hell. Couldn't God take pity on me after all these curve balls that he threw at me. 

Ripping my family away, taking my face away, making me abandon everyone that I love, forcing my hand to kill. 

I'm back in my room. Peter and Gianna's clothes are still on the floor, half smoked cigarettes in the ashtray and empty beer bottles strew about. 

I find one of Peter's guns in the holder of a discarded pair of jeans. 

I pull it out, finding two bullets in the chamber. 

I knew where to shoot to sever the brainstem. I knew where to shoot to kill the frontal lobe of the brain. 

The gun was heavy and cold in my hands. I'm suddenly struck with a memory of Daryl teaching me how to shoot after I was fearful of guns when my face was shot. 

I sit in the entryway of the closet, the door cracked open just enough to let the light peer in as I curl up with my knees to my chest. 

I raise the gun up to meet my disfigured cheek, shivering when the barrel met my scarred flesh. 

I slide it past my toothless sockets and half parted lips to rest on my tongue, angled upwards. 

My finger slips to cock the gun, readying it. 

"Hey, kid. Supper is ready, it's meatloaf tonight!" Negan sings as he opens the door to my room. 

I can't help the tears that slither down my face as I choke back a sob. 

"Kid?" Negan enters the room and his eyes scan the contents, looking for me when he spots the half parted closet door. 

"Kid?" He swings the door open and time freezes when my eyes meet his. 

Time continues in slow motion as he falls to his knee's, reaching out and yanking the gun from my hands, tossing it so hard across the room that it dents the wall. 

"What the fuck, kid!?" Negan demands, grabbing me by my shoulders and violently shaking me. "What the fuck do you think you were doing!?" 

I can't answer him. Why did he care? 

"What the hell was that?" He keeps shaking me. "Why was the gun in your mouth?" 

It seemed so obvious to me. 

"I wanted to die." 

The words are barely a whisper as they leave my lips, causing Negan to stop shaking me. 

"Jesus Christ, kid." Negan falls back to rest his butt on his heels, he reaches up to run a gloved hand through his hair. "Why?" 

His voice was soft. Softer than when he delivered me the news that Ma had died. 

"I want to die." I don't know why I reach for the gun a second time but Negan just grabs my wrists with one hand, using the other arm to pull me flush to him. My back rests against his chest and I can hear his heartbeat thrum wildly. 

"How long?" Negan finally mutters. "How long have you been feeling this way?" 

I don't know the answer. I've felt this way for a while now. But just a few days ago, I realized what I was feeling. 

I close my eyes and pretend for a moment that this big man holding me is Glenn. I've just woken up from a nightmare crying and he comes to investigate. He see's me and pulls my covers back so that he can pull me into his arms, rocking me gently while he tells me funny stories from when he delivered pizzas from before. 

But this man isn't my daddy. This man right now, offering me comfort, killed him. 

But why does it feel so good to have him hold me? To tell me I'm a fucking idiot for trying to kill myself. That he needs his little right hand man. 

He asks me why I'm not wearing shoes. 

I haven't worn shoes since I killed my parents other than the trip to Alexandria. 

He tells me that he's not angry about Tony. 

Does he think that that is what caused this? Being molested by a pedophile? 

No, this is much more than that. 

I feel trapped in my body, dead, as Negan talks to me. 

I don't answer any of his questions. 

He scoops me into his arms like an infant. 

Like how Ma and Daddy used to. 

He carries me down the hallway, ignoring every person that tries to stop him. 

He carries me to his room but he has to pass by the wive's room first. 

Frankie see's me first and she screams, causing the other girls to look at me. 

They fret over me, surrounding me. 

I want Ma. 

"Why is he here?" One of them sneered. 

"He's on suicide watch." Negan answers before brushing past them and into his room.