Through The Dark (Niall Horan Fanfic)

Chapter 15

Aubree's POV

Waking up with the numbness thick and heavy and foggy in the brain is probably the worst part of depression. Because, starting off the morning with that, there's no getting better throughout the day.

Unless bipolar was in the list of problems like me because maybe I'd be laughing and smiling and purely happy later in the day or tomorrow.

But it's especially worse when the past days have been filled with that numb feeling and being too lazy and tired to do anything but lay in bed. (I had even called off on work three days in a row.) Sometimes I could just wake up and think that today's a new day, and my mind would be clear from the thoughts of yesterday. But not days like this.

I rolled over and winced as my stinging thighs rubbed against the mattress.

"Fuck," I mumbled and rolled back over. I slipped a hand under the waistband of my sweatpants, running my fingers over the damage on my hip bones and thighs. They were still freshly open from the previous night and the night before that.

I had cut really deep.

I ran my fingers along my wrists, too.

Everything sucked.

I wasn't even living anymore; I was just existing.

I picked that up from when my dad's mum was dying in the hospital. She was just attached to a breathing machine, and it was the only thing that kept her living. She was exhausted and she just sat in the hospital bed like that for a week, all shriveled and sick and old, until my mum confronted him, "She's not even living anymore. She's just existing. You can't keep putting her through this pain. I know you'll miss her. We all will. But it's better to let go."

And that's how I felt.

I felt like I couldn't breathe either. I felt like I was drowning while everyone else around me was breathing perfectly fine and living their beautiful lives.

Maybe I should just say goodbye to everyone.

Anyway, it's better to let go.

It was four o'clock before I actually got out of bed that day. And when I did, I stumbled and almost hit my head on the dresser. I leaned against it, steadying myself so I wouldn't pass out. Blood rushed to my head and I couldn't see for forty-three seconds. I counted because I was curious. And bored as hell. Not that I wanted to go out and do anything, though.

Marlene would be home anytime soon, and I didn't feel like being force-fed or talked to or even looked at today, even stronger than I usually felt those things.

I slowly walked out of "my" room, after grabbing a sweatshirt and sweatpants to change into after my shower, a hand against the wall the whole time to support my weak body.

I just wanted to die.

Once in the bathroom, I turned my playlist full of Paramore, Green Day, The 1975, and Bon Jovi on full blast. The people that lived in the flat next to us probably hated me. Oh well.

A lot of people hated me.

I hated me.

I stripped my body of my thick crew neck and sweat pants and fuzzy socks. I looked down and admired the red scattered slashes across my limbs. And my collarbones. And my ankles. And stomach. I wanted to make more.

I opened the cabinet door beneath the sink and thrashed my hands around the space, looking for a new razor. Once I found one, I used my stubby nails to rip apart the plastic. I sliced my fingertips about seven times doing so, but soon enough the three small but very sharp and full-of-relief blades broke free, falling to the ground.